surfing.

Or, rather, not.





I have been surfing since my freshman year of high school. So, that would have put me at about fourteen in 1999. I began when my Sunday School teacher, Tressie, invited me to have a lesson with her children. The water was over eighty degrees and clear. I would never feel ocean water this warm again. I did not get up that day, but I knew it was something I wanted to do.

So, my parents bought me an ugly shortboard for fifty bucks. I was a six foot Timpone with atrocious neon splashes across it. I never got up on that board and rode it infrequently until I was sixteen. Then I got a nine foot Iron Cross longboard that, supposedly, got second place in some surf contest in Hawaii. Several times a week, I would load up my boards in my brown 1982 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser station wagon and drive to the Oceanside peir or Carlsbad power plant, where I would ride the soup for hours.

I always left the shortboard in the car, just in case. It eventually got stolen, since my doors didn't lock. Then, a few months later, my longboard got stolen as well out of my car in my parents' driveway. They were kind enough to spring for a new board, a nine-three longboard by a local shaper. I do not recall what the name was. It was a very plain, but sturdy board. I would take this to the same old spots infrequently and did my best in any conditions in the whitewash.

Eventually, I moved down to San Diego and sold this board for a Pinayo funboard. I think it was seven-two. This was when I really started to surf. I surfed Ocean Beach and Carlsbad as much as I could. I began catching breaking waves and really moved around on them. You could even say that I carved once or twice. I also learned to paddle to the outside, though not far and only when the surf was breaking close to shore.

After a while with the funboard, I could ride any type of board relatively successfully. A few times I went down to the end of Cable Street at low tide and even down to the cliffs with a longboard to paddle out (usually with Manna). I even rode a friend's shortboard extremely well. I carved some peaky waves like I had never carved before.

However, I made a mistake. I went out at the cliffs by myself. There were not a lot of people out, but the last few times had gone fairly successfully (with a bit of pouting and a few tears from anxiety) and I felt brave enough to go on my own. The surf also looked small and was barely breaking as I watched it from atop the cliffs. I paddled out all on my own, which was a feat on the funboard, and waited for the set to come. It came and I was overly cautious as I spent probably an hour barely touching the edge of the breaking section at Garbage.

After a few failed attempts at catching the edge of the break, I found myself in the middle of it. I paddled for a wave that was crumbling behind me. Another surfer that was out saw me go for it and cheered me on. I paddled hard, but as soon as the surf hit the back of my board, it sent my nose under. I was tossed around for about thirty seconds with more force than I had experienced from any wave so far. I popped up no where near by board, but I had a leash and made my way towards it. When I reached it, I saw another wave coming and I dove, since I didn't want to lose control of my board and get hit by it. I was tossed around for what seemed like a full minute and when I resurfaced, another wave rolled right over me as I gasped for air. It rolled me around violently for a while. When I resurfaced, I coughed the water out of my lungs and desperately clawed toward my board.

This left me shaken and drained, but I managed to paddle anxiously to shore. Once there, I rested and calmed myself. I walked slowly back towards the stairs and climbed them, still shaking slightly from the experience.

I didn't surf for a few months. When I got back in the water, I could not bring myself to paddle to the outside. I could not even bring myself to go past where my feet could touch.

I have been like this ever since, with few exceptions (for some reason, calm, peaky storm conditions on overcast days calm this fear and I can go way outside).

I have a panic attack every time a wave over two feet rolls in and my feet aren't planted firmly on the ground. I also panic while underwater for more than twenty seconds, even in the safety of a pool. It is as if I will never resurface or be able to breathe.

So, I have decided to let it go. I still love the ocean, the beach, and surf culture, but I cannot bring myself to surf properly. It is extremely embarrassing looking like its my first or second day of surfing every time I go out.