I Had Been Frightened of Everything. Then I Tried Surfing.

VISUALIZE DECIDING TO start golf, just to realize that moving from the clubhouse to the first tee—without swinging a golf club, without stroking or rolling or hitting free from a bunker, only walking—needs more muscle effort than you’ve gathered in your whole grown-up years.

That is surfing. I would later learn that what renders rowing a surfboard so agonizing is not only the amount of strength needed, but the truth that the necessary tissues are called upon by wave riders and practically few others. Take the levator scapulae. They join the cervical area to the upper arms; were they gone, you’d notice. But they’re supposed to be the stage managers of the biomechanical world, not the leading performers. Pulling a arm and elbow to wrist through the ocean while positioned on a surfboard is one of the few movements that thrust them into the forefront.

I soon found out, during my very first surf lesson, was that my upper back muscles were not ready for the challenge. Neither were my scalene muscles (joining my chest bones and back structure) or erector spinae (extending straight down my rear). I took ten strokes toward Katie, then plunged into the ocean.

Conquering Fear Through Ocean Sports

“Alright,” she said cautiously, after I reached her. “Maybe we can . . . aim for a wave?” Although I played sports in my teens, and working as White House speechwriter batted leadoff on the government league—the Softball Team of the United States—I didn’t expect I’d end up on a board. I once strained my spine hoisting a package of cat litter; surfing required amounts of both skill and madness that I was without.

Additionally, I was in my mid-thirties, which is, by ocean sport norms, ancient. But post the worst year of my life, a time marked by after-COVID inactivity and melancholy, taking surf lessons appeared as a way to escape from my decline. Beyond that, it was a chance to show to myself that I was still resilient, still hardy, still equipped to bouncing back at a period when the environment seemed more ready than ever to overwhelm me.

The aspect I didn’t think about was actually catching breakers. Katie clutched the hull of my board and aimed me toward the shore. For a moment, she held on of the craft and chatted. Then, all at once, she focused intensely. I peered over my shoulder, following her line of sight. A curving wall of water had emerged behind us.

“Stroke stroke row!” she yelled. I paddled.

“Rise rise pop up!” she urged. I jumped to my footing, pinwheeled my upper body as though falling on hidden danger, and plunged into the sea.

The cause rising to my stance on the sand had appeared simple, I now understood, is that it was simple. A toddler can stand up on solid surface. On the sea the most fractional mistake—a arm positioned an bit too far forward; arms extended a moment delayed; a lower limb planted slightly off balance—made me fall. If I was fortunate, I splashed into the sea. If I was unfortunate, I bounced off my board onto my lower spine (or occasionally, for a change, my leg and then my tailbone), and kerplunked into the water.

“Short ask,” I said. “Is it that I’m especially poor at this?”

Katie thought for a good while.

“So,” she finally said. “Each person is different.”

It was just as I’d feared: I was not strong enough for this. I no longer hoped to find out I was a undiscovered ocean natural, or to even catch a breaker. The sole aim was to give up and head back. With fifteen minutes left in the session, I began wasting time.

“Then,” I said, “you mentioned you had a kitten. What is her title?”

“The name,” she replied. A wave passed safely past.

“What color is she?”

“Ebony.”

“And what sort of term is ‘it’?”

“It’s derived from a Mandarin term, really. It translates to ‘void.’” One more swell moved underneath.

“What age is she? Did you adopt from a foster home or a rescue? Was this your first cat?”

Our lesson would soon be done, and nearing completion, I maintained the queries flowing. “How much time did it take you to master to stand?” (Several attempts. This was inconceivable.) “My brother-in-law goes out in winter. It’s wild, right?” (She had no issue. This was also surprising.) “Do you need the information of a reliable local cat sitter?” (Not necessary, her sibling would care for the cat if she was away. This I comprehended.)

Suddenly several events occurred at the same time.

My instructor’s eyes got large. Not is-David-going-to-have-a-heart-attack-dragging-his-board-to-the-beach? obvious. Thrilled big. In a quick {movement|motion|action