Bucket list: 19. Go surfing

"Do you swim well Doll?"

I waited before answering, while my mind analyzed some tucked away data. I wouldn't say I was anywhere near Michael Pelps, but there was a point in my life I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up....did that count?

"Yea. we can swim."

And with that the verbal agreement was official and I had signed my brother and myself up for our first surf lesson. After hanging up with "Rich" I felt a slew of emotions that went together about as well as the ingredients of a Hawaiian haystack. (personal opinion folks) First, I felt sorority sister giddy. I mentally pictured my hot self (I am "hotter" in my mind) catching a wave while doing some balletic move.

Quite quickly after that a rush of nervousness invaded. Would I be the first person to get their arm chewed off by a shark while attempting to surf for the first time? would I get stung by a man of war? (I had to look up what they were to truly capitalize on my own fears)

Since insecurity is friends with fear, that too came to visit. Would I get up...or would I be paying hard earned money to drink my weight in salt water?

In the end the giddiness won out and I dramatically demonstrated my surf moves to both Jason and Jesse to a. get Jesse as excited as I was and b. to ease my guilt that I "informed" Jason that the surf lesson was my birthday present (Memo: birthday was a month ago. Still using it though)

The day of the lesson arrived, then the hour, then the final minutes. Finally I was able to meet "Rich" face to face. Our lesson began with a waver form that I didn't read I just signed.(No need to be reminded of the likelihood of injury at this point).

Next were some safety tips. I nodded my head. I don't think I was listening.

Finally we got to lay on the surf boards. We were taught the steps to get up. My "oh so coordinated" self fumbled nervously. In my head I reminded myself, "I am a dancer. This is just like choreography. I should be better at this than anyone else."

Next to me, my brother picked things up quickly. Rich noticed and said, "I bet your brother got the straight A's and you were the drop out."

We laughed. Little did he know. My brother was the smartest dang dropout there ever was. But regardless...it was HIM that was the dropout.

Rich made us demonstrate the steps several times, and then before I knew it, we were being led out to the water--by a nine year old that was Rich's "assistant".

Great. I was about to be schooled by a kid who hadn't even read the boxcar children yet.

This same nine year old, who we will call "Dillon" quickly exposed his bipolar maturity. I paddled furiously to keep up with the group only to finally realize he had my ankle rope and was hitching a ride. As soon as he was discovered he switched gears and started barking orders. "scoot back...paddle like this...don't go that way..."

Dillon took the first wave. He did a head stand. No joke. Then the little punk gave the instructor bunny ears.

I was up next. With a push from "Rich" I made every effort to stand. That effort was then accompanied by a move I once attempted in the middle of a horse 4-h show. Back then it was called "poop/arena sand looks better than riding a bucking horse" move. This time it was called "Lets visit the coral and the ocean floor with our mouth open" move.

I was met with a new completely unpleasant experience; salt water in the eyes. I hauled myself back on the surfboard with one hand while the other tried to claw out my shrieking eyes. Partial blindness had set in.

The other problem with bailing was that I was no longer near the instructor or the waves, which meant I had to "swim". Remember how I had confidently told "Rich" that I was a good swimmer? I hadn't thought about the fact that you could only use your arms.

The first few strokes were endorsed by adrenaline. But as each stroke met with another wave and my surf board floated farther and farther away from the instructor my swimming zeal faded. In fact, my arms began to hurt so bad that I started envisioning myself being told by some solemn faced doctors that my arms were in a coma.

By the time I got back to "Rich" I thought my shoulders were going to fall off, but I had little time to think about that as he pushed my surf board back towards the waves and shouted something motivating like, "don't fall this time!" at me.

Like a robot I pushed myself up, stepped up and kept my center of gravity down and my arms outstretched for balance. They must have put training wheels on the board, because be some miracle I stayed balanced and rode the wave.

"This is pretty cool!" I told myself. Suddenly my confidence was up. I had stayed on on only the second attempt! That had to be a record! Maybe "Rich" would like to personally tutor me so that I could be Hang ten on the pipeline...


Meanwhile my brother was having similar success. Especially since he got to go twice as often as I did because he was able to swim back to the instructor faster then me. (Or maybe I just rode the waves longer)

Rich continued to yell suggestions at us. I probably looked like a fool out there, but I was a dang happy fool. By the last time though, I was so beat I could barely swim to Rich. In fact, I am not proud to admit that he had to help tow me back to shore. I am also not proud to admit that he kept telling me not to drag my feet. (I wasn't dragging my feet....I just weight that much!)

After our lesson we borrowed Dillon's board for a pictures.

Today over lunch I expressed my surprise that I "wasn't even sore" from yesterdays excursion. (remembering how tired I was). I raised my arms to demonstrate and suppressed a yelp and a grimace. Scratch that. Super sore. But super happy. One thing off the bucket list. Hopefully its a repeater.