Surfing is Harder than Cimbing

About two weeks ago, I remember thinking that climbing was really hard. I still believe that it is. However, surfing, that almost overly mythologized soul-sport that my little-girl self imagined I was born to conquer, is beating me so thoroughly that I'm considering throwing in the towel. So to speak.

Scott and I load our free plastic surfboard (compliments of Michal Stewart), three bicycles, and not nearly enough sunscreen into our Camry and drive a fuel-efficient 60mph down to Bogue Banks, NC. We scoop our good friend Nick at the airport and plunge into a seven day binge on poshness at an extravagant beachfront house with a psyched group of surfers.

The surf is big. Big and burly with steep faces and gnashing roiling whitewater jaws of turbulent doom. My quietly resolved husband, who until recently has been a bit nervous around open water, charges into the foamy maw and embarks on an almost supernaturally steep learning curve that, within days, deposits him into a happy land populated with wave after wave of long face rides on dark green faces. He is humbly grateful for this gift.

I am a teeny bit jealous and stunned at my lack of competence. Most upsetting is the fear. I have never been apprehensive swimming in big waves or turbulent ocean, but as soon as I'm belly-down on a surfboard I am afraid. So I don't commit. I only pretend to try hard to catch waves, stubbornly remembering the sickening plummet over the front of my board to the bottom of the ocean, waiting for the surfboard to stop spinning above my head and start dragging me by the ankle in the direction of the shore. I only halfheartedly paddle into the break. I turtle roll and turtle roll in the impact zone until I'm exhausted, telling myself I'm too nervous to paddle past the breaking waves to the serenity of the big green swells. I want the joy that's bundled with this sport so bad but I'm too lazy to stop pouting, turn on the fierce grin, and start charging.

Good thing there's so much beauty around me. Enough to penetrate my entitled little sulk. I can sit on the porch at sunrise and watch the dolphins surf in the big waves that scare me. And see the pelicans fly overhead in gorgeous silent formation with their ironic prehistoric smiles. I know I'm lucky girl. A lucky chicken girl with great friends and eyes that can love the world around me.