Dropped off at the pool (I'm pooped)

For the first time, in what I now realize is a really long time, I swam some laps today.

I used to swim 3/4 of a mile three times a week. This would have been in 2003 and 2004. It amounted to 40 laps, I think, and took about half an hour or so. On one occasion, I swam the full mile (to get a certificate saying that I did) and it took me just under 50 minutes.

Today I drove to the gym in Potrero Hill (got lost on the way) and did 16 laps in a little less than 15 minutes. I probably could have done a lot more if I knew how to go a lot slower, but I'm used to swimming at a certain rate and frankly, my arms and lungs couldn't maintain it for very long.

But then I was able to go in the steam room and the sauna, so all-in-all it was a good trip. I hope to return tomorrow after class, but we'll see if I'll be able to.

This is all in preparation for surfing, which will recommence soon.

Everybody's Learning How

I'm sore. My hands and forearms mostly. Also my neck, from lying on my stomach and looking up for so long. My arms are also sore and the sides of my ribs. Yesterday my calves were sore too.

While jumping over the waves, making my way out to the sea, I found myself drinking a bit of salt water. After my hour lesson was up, I had another hour to use the equipment but I had to take a break. I lugged my board up the beach to wear Kate lay, reading and enjoying the (mostly obscured by clouds) sun. I told her that it felt like I'd just eaten a whole bag of sunflower seeds. Which was true. I went back out at about 2:45 but the tide was coming in, and it was hard to make it more than 20 feet from the water line. The waves were bigger then, and closer together so after jumping over or through a dozen waves, I was still only in waist-deep calm water. I'd see a big wave coming and would jump on my board, not out of excitement to catch the wave, but out of a self-preservation instinct of not wanting to jump through it. My last two runs I couldn't bring myself to drag my already rubbed-raw knees across the sand-covered board, which made it more of a nine-foot body board than a surf board. I should have tried the second method of getting up he showed us, but I was so good at the first and too tired to experiment.

With my first wave, I got to my knees, but couldn't get on my feet in time. I'd misjudged how quick I needed to move. The second time I try, I wait for the other four in my group to get their first time over with. Freddy, my Brazilian instructor, came over, said OK, now, and pushed me when the wave came. I jumped up, spread my arms like Styles on the roof of his van and rode the wave in to the shore before jumping off in ankle deep water.
I was a surfer. I am a surfer.

After my first time up, it was about 20 minutes until Freddy and I were near each other again but he'd seen me catch a lot of waves. He said, let’s do a big one, so we waited. He pushed me again as he yelled, paddle paddle paddle, then up up up. It was a big one and I tried to steer like I was snowboarding, but it’s much harder because you’re on top of a wave and trying to move what is essentially a nine-foot boat with your undertoned abs. I mostly went straight to the beach, but I swung it a little to the right.

The one thing that sucked, other than the sting of salt water in your eyes and the puckering dryness of it in your mouth, was the kelp and seaweed. My leash kept catching it, which meant that when I rolled onto the board, I would be dragging an anchor with me. I’m sure that once you stop walking the board out and do the paddle-out-then-sit-on-the-board-waiting thing it’s no longer a problem.

Freddy high-fived me several times after the lesson, and I told him to buy himself a couple of beers (though with the casah, he could only get one at LA prices).