Before breakfast, Ted’s daughter and I were going to go for a jog but we decided to check out the waves before we began our trod through the muggy morning air. According to the surf report, not much of anything was forecasted for the entire week, but a stiff southeast wind began blowing during the night so we were hoping that would push up some waves by the next afternoon.
What we saw when we got to the top of a beach access was almost magical. There were waves: clean, pretty, and most importantly, big enough to catch without a push from someone. We couldn’t believe our luck! While the run would have been good, we decided to can it in favor of grabbing our rash guards and boards. A short time later we were paddling out.
Today we arrived at what will be our home for the next seven days: St. George Island
Ted’s family spent a week here a few years ago and they have wanted to come back ever since. So this morning, his youngest daughter came over from Pensacola; his mom, sister, brother‑in‑law, and their girls drove over from Jacksonville; and his brother-in-law’s sister flew up from Miami. It’s a house full of people completely stoked about the week ahead.
Okay, so ever since I got my new board, I’ve had this weird fear of breaking it. I believe it began after I excitedly told my ex-surfer coworker that I was the proud owner of my very own board and his response was, “Good for you; don’t break it.”
It’s just, the board is really nice, and it was a gift. How horrible would that be to break most definitely the coolest gift I’ve ever gotten?!
If all I wanted to do was go surfing before, it’s really all I want to do now that I have my own board. The first weekend after getting Greenie was packed with things I had to do but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
We scurried down to the beach around 6:30 on Saturday morning so I could make it to the baby shower I was co-hosting for my best friend at 9:00. It was a pretty small day, so we walked up the beach about 10 minutes to a spot where the waves were breaking slightly larger than elsewhere. Continue reading
After my Roxy failure, I made two determinations:
1) Don’t get a soft-top. While it would give a little if it were to sail into my noggin, my knees couldn’t take it. After an hour on the thing, they looked like those of a nine-year-old who had fallen off her bike.
2) Don’t get something too narrow. Admittedly, trying to remain upright while sitting on the board was a fun way to stay occupied when waiting for a wave (I mean, who doesn’t like a challenge?), but it wasn’t so fun when I’d miss a wave because I had inadvertently rolled over right in front of it.
I’m a pretty practical person. I still pack my lunch even though I left elementary school a long time ago, I once paid my electric bill with money my dad and stepmom gave me for an Easter dress; and I bring my own snacks to the movies. So when Ted mentioned getting my own surf board, I thought, “but those are expensive and we can just share.”
Yet, the idea did appeal to me. I never spend money, real money, on anything indulgent like this, and my parents gave me cash for my birthday a year ago specifically intended for something recreational. So after mulling it over for a while, I decided I would start perusing local shops for a gently used board.
All I’ve been thinking about since my first lesson is getting back out on a board. Let’s face it, I’m hooked.
Luckily, the winds have kicked up a little surf, so this morning before work, I had Lesson Two. It was fun loading up the board just after sunrise and driving down to a quiet beach while most people were still sleeping. This is what surfers do – they hit the waves before the rest of the world hits their snooze button.
This weekend was phenomenal! After much ado about surfing, Ted took me to the beach for my first surf lesson and I’m in love with it!
After trying for a few waves that didn’t pan out, I caught one that took me all the way to the shore. I think I actually may have heard him yell, “Jump off! You’re going to run the fins into the sand!”
I grew up on the northwest panhandle of Florida, about 20 minutes from the beach. As a kid, I loved the water and often tried to convince my parents to allow me to sleep in my swimsuit. Yet, I never learned how to surf.
I tried once as a 17-year-old but I can’t really call that a success. After what I can only imagine was an arm flailing of a paddle, I miraculously stood up on the board long enough to let out a screech of delight before falling back into the water.