It doesn’t look that hard.
When you see guys surfing on TV, it looks quite easy. Just step on the board and go. Stand up and ride the waves.
My buddies Brett and Jeremy brought me surfing for about two hours last Thursday at some beach called Bolsa Chica (I think) near Los Angeles, and the closest I came to getting on two feet was when I crouched down, balancing myself with my hands.
Other than that, I spent 119 minutes, 55 seconds either paddling on the board, getting tossed off it, or resting. And that’s another thing. Surfing isn’t any kind of a leisurely activity. All that paddling and leg strength — and if you’ve seen me, you know physical exertions aren’t my strong spot. I’ve probably exercised less than 20, OK, 10 times in two years of college.
But even if you’re bad — and believe me, I’m bad — surfing is a blast. Just attempting to catch a wave, paddling as hard as you can, trying to stand up, ultimately falling and getting a mouthful of salt water is quite invigorating. As cheesy as this sounds, surfing is a very life-affirming act. It’s you, a couple of friends, a surf board and the ocean. Time slows down, and you just feel a lot more connected with nature and the earth than when you’re hitting a ball with an aluminum bat or hitting a rubber puck with a composite stick. Even with the presence of a wetsuit (and thank God for that), surfing is very organic. It’s a pure sport, and I can see why so many people, especially on the Left Coast, fall in love with it.
Of course, my sporting experience out West wasn’t limited to just hitting the waves over and over. I also took part in a sport that, while it’s not exclusive to Cali, isn’t exactly a tour de force back in the real world (a.k.a., East Coast). My buddies and I took part in a nine-hole Frisbee golf excursion. And while I’m not about to say that the disc version is comparable to the club and ball version, chuckin’ that Frisbee and trying to hit the cage is quite fun.
This may be a little hard for you, the reader, to picture, if you don’t know what a Frisbee golf “hole” looks like. It’s a metal pole, with basically an extended basketball net, made of chain, surrounding it. To hole out, you have to get the disc to rest in the chain netting.
With holes of about 300 feet, Frisbee golf is no easy or restful task. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been throwing anything around, let alone with the whip-like action a Frisbee requires. Remember we went over this earlier. I write about sports; I stopped playing them a while ago.
Anyway, I don’t know if they were buttering me up, but my buddies said I took to the sport quickly, and it was a cool twist on an old favorite. In the park we were playing, there were barbecue (there’s something I’m good at, but not cooking it – eating it) pits all over the place, reminiscent of a Dre or Snoop video. All that was really missing from the afternoon was a bit of the chronic.
Although it would be nice to see sports like these two flourish back here, there are the obvious differences in the scenery. The prospect of surfing off of Boston’s beaches doesn’t leave me giddy, and the idea of skiing in the Valley seems as though it would result in cuts, bruises and breakages.
So maybe its best to leave the board out West and enjoy the winter and skiing and hockey and all the great things that come with being a “wicked good”-saying, New England born and bred guy.
But there will always be a little part in my heart that wants to try and stand up on the board, that wants to conquer a giant, OK, five-foot wave, but hell, I’m not exactly Rashad Bell in terms of stature.
Send me back to Cali; I’m going to be the next Johnny Utah.
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