Back In The Water

I recently got back in the water after a two-month break. I wanted to try to write down some thoughts after every session. I had a few ideas while in the water about what to write about. I had a couple of fleeting thoughts that got interrupted by a set on the horizon. It was all pretty cheesy. I thought I could write about those people you know that you only ever see or talk to while in the water, and that it would feel surreal to see them in Tesco. I thought I could write about surfing a vast beach with no one else out and what it feels like. I thought I could write about whether it even matters if the waves are good because surfing is always fun. Then after a session when the waves were really shit, I forgot that idea because of course it matters if the waves are good or not. 

I didn’t end up writing anything. Other distractions got in the way. Where’s that flask of coffee? My feet are really cold. Where’s my towel? Is it bad to eat this whole loaf of bread at once? What shall I have for tea? How can I get my wetsuit to dry by tomorrow morning? Wonder if the swell will pick up. I really shouldn't have eaten that much bread. Yas forgot I brought biscuits. 

I’ve never felt that feeling of peace while in the water anywhere else. Some people feel zen when they do yoga, but I just think about how much it hurts and wonder how people can get their legs to bend like that. I did mindfulness once. It was in the basement of a nightclub. It just smelled like bevy and I really wanted a pint. 

I don’t forget about my worries while in the water. But I am okay with them. They feel more manageable, I don’t overthink them as much I usually do. They wash over me. 

I lucked into a dream session in the middle of the week. Sunshine was out. Glassy, chest high lefts peeling down the reef. One other person out. I was reminded of the joy of when the mental clarity of being in the water is matched with the dreamy feeling of surfing a perfect wave. I love the waves that you surf on instinct. The ones where you get to the end and realise you didn’t really think about what you were doing. It doesn't matter how it looks when it feels that good. 

The promise of “right, one more then I have to go” from the guy who was also surfing was broken multiple times. It’s strange sharing such a special experience with someone whose name you don’t know. It doesn't matter who they are or what they do for a living. Only the words that need to be said are said. I was going to say to him: ‘I’m glad you were there, or else I wouldn't have believed that just happened.’ I didn’t get the chance. A wave and a honk of the horn in the car park, then he was off.