IMAGINE DECIDING TO begin tennis, only to find out that moving from the pro shop to the initial marker—without gripping a iron, no chipping or rolling or hitting free from a hazard, simply walking—requires more bodily effort than you’ve mustered in your whole adult life.
It’s ocean gliding. I would eventually discover that what renders paddling a foam slab so torturous is not only the amount of muscle demanded, but the truth that the essential muscles are called upon by ocean athletes and essentially no one else. Consider the levator scapulae. These muscles link the neck to the deltoids; should they disappeared, you will detect. But they’re meant to be the background crew of the anatomical system, rather than the stars. Pulling a hand and forearm through sea while positioned on a surfboard is among the rare activities that thrust them into the limelight.
What I rapidly realized, during my introductory ocean tutorial, was that my scapulae were ill-equipped for the challenge. Nor were my upper torso connectors (which join my chest cage and spinal bones) or erector spinae (extending vertically through my rear). I took a few pulls toward the coach, before fell into the water.
“Okay,” she told me cautiously, after I finally got there. “How about we . . . try to glide on water?” Even though I engaged in athletics in high school, and serving as White House speechwriter took the lead on the softball team—the Sports Squad of the United States—I didn’t envisioned I’d end up on a surfboard. I previously threw out my spine lifting a sack of cat litter; ocean sports needed amounts of both coordination and madness that I didn’t own.
More challenging, my age was mid-thirties, which is, in wave culture, veteran. But following the toughest time of my days, a year defined by post-lockdown laziness and depression, starting ocean training felt like a way to break free from my decline. Beyond that, it was a chance to prove to myself that I was even strong, hardy, equipped of recovering at a period when the universe seemed keener than previously to strike me.
What I did not considered was really riding swells. The coach gripped the hull of my Wavestorm and directed me toward the sand. For a minute, she kept hold of the craft and chatted. Afterward, abruptly, she snapped to focus. I glanced over my shoulder, observing her vision. A rising curve of ocean had emerged behind us.
“Paddle row propel!” she urged. I pushed.
“Pop up pop up pop up!” she called. I jumped to my feet, swung my limbs like losing balance on black ice, and toppled into the water.
How come rising to my footing on the land had felt straightforward, was evident, is that it was effortless. An infant can stand up on solid surface. On the ocean the most fractional error—a hand set an bit too far ahead; limbs stretched a half second delayed; one foot placed a bit off alignment—sent me falling. If I was lucky, I dropped into the ocean. When less lucky, I bounced off my board onto my spine base (or occasionally), alternatively, my leg and then my rear), and fell into the water.
“Quick question,” I asked. “Do you think I’m especially bad at this?”
My instructor thought for a moment.
“So,” she responded. “Everybody’s different.”
It was precisely as I’d worried: I lacked strong sufficiently for this. I no longer aspired to find out I could be a secret ocean prodigy, or even to ride a swell. All I wanted was to stop trying and go home. Once only fifteen minutes left in the class, I started procrastinating for time.
“So,” I said, “you brought up you owned a kitten. What’s her title?”
“Woochee,” Katie replied. One swell glided calmly by.
“What hue is she?”
“Black.”
“Plus what kind of term is ‘Woochee’?”
“It comes from a Chinese expression, actually. It means ‘nothingness.’” Another swell passed below.
“How old is she? Was she rescued from a temporary care or a shelter? Does this represent your first cat?”
The class would quickly be over, and with the end approaching, I continued the queries rolling. “How much time did you need you to learn standing?” (Several attempts. It seemed impossible.) “Family member surfs in chilly season. He must be bold, yes?” ({She didn
