You’re an athlete right. Or at least, you were once an athlete. Okay, well back in high school you dabbled in badminton. So, you’re kinda an athlete. Well, at least, you exercise a bit. Okay well, you occasionally get up from the couch to waddle your way to the fridge for another Black Label. And you gotta keep your thirst quenched with those beers as it’s high summer in South Africa, and man, it is hotter than a solar panel in the Sahara.
Exercising in this extreme weather is madness. Sheer madness. And although you’re privileged enough to have a pool, due to past water restrictions and high heat levels, the pool water is currently even swampier than your own undershorts. So, too hot to run, pool suffering from swamp ass – what to do, what to do. You’ve already rubbed an ice cube up and down your torsos, and it literally sizzled before steaming away to nothingness.
Brainwave – you live on the coast, so waves are a no-brainer.
But wait! You live on the coast right?! And you’ve seen those grinning, blonde streaked and tanned poephols frolicking about on their surfboards? How difficult can it be to surf?! After all, you had one of those polystyrene foam thingies as a child, a surfboard is just a larger version of those objects isn’t it?
So why not give surfing a go! After all, if mere preteens are riding waves, how difficult can it be for me? I’m a grown adult of course, and I possess the bucks to buy the equipment. That’s it, I’m gonna go get me some surfin’ stuff so I can paddle out and show those loser surfers how it’s really done!
The brick and mortar surf shop.
So off you go, dripping sweat, into some dingy den of iniquity resembling an illegal after hours poker club. Otherwise referred to as a surf shop. There’s two or three customers ranging about, and about the same number of shop assistants. The ages range from barely teen to barely alive. The oldest oke there, a weatherbeaten old pirate of a man with a supercilious smirk offers a “can I help you?” You reply you’re here to buy a surfboard. The pirate says he’ll get the manager. Said manager is not some impressively-haired Karen, but turns out to be one of the preteens.
“Hmm,” the preteen manager says, sagely rubbing his bum fluffed chin. “What sorta size do you need? Off the shelf or second hand?”
You shrug and offer a fistful of cash. The jaws of everyone in the shop drop like pro surfers being dropped from their sponsor’s roster. The preteen manager says it’s enough for a brand new off the rack potato chip surfboard. He mentions the brand name, shaped by someone that sounded like Pal Eric. Who cares what brand this surfboard is, R 12k is far less than what you paid for your last golf club. Anyway, so you pay and make ready to leave. However, preteen manager shouts after you. In his squeaky voice on the cusp of breaking; he yells you still need wax, grip, leashes and fins. Pffft, you scoff at such pointless trinkets, so-called essential equipment for surfing but you nevertheless hand over even more cash for the suggested items.
The best waves have the greatest numbers of surfers, right?!
“What about a wetsuit?” The older surf pirate suggests. You shake your head vigorously, laughing at this foolish suggestion. The whole idea of surfing in the first place was to cool off in the water! You load your goods in the car and off you drive to find a wave to surf. After checking several beaches, you decide on the one with by far the most surfers out. Quite obvious really, the place crowded with the most surfers will have the best waves, right? A no-brainer!
You prepare your board, then start over again when a (fellow) surfer getting changed next to you laughs when you put your fins in the wrong way around and you wax the bottom of your board. Finally ready, you head off to the shoreline, secure your leash around your arm and hit the water. Brrr! It’s, like, well, freezing. But how can that be?! It’s hotter than Hades’s G-string in midsummer Africa, and yet the water is colder than a witch’s mother-in-law. Anyhow, it’s fair to say you’ve cooled off.
You paddle in to join your fellow surfers, who seem to be yelling non stop at you. What a bunch of pratts! Can’t they see I’m one of them? With my leash around my dominant hand (yes, my leading hand – I’m not an idiot)? What about the fact I used to excel at playing prop in high school rugby? Who do these tanned twits think they are? Oh good glory. Here comes a wave! It’s huge! And there. Are. So. Many. Surfers. About to ride me over. Help!
Saltwater. Like – everywhere.
Your heart thumping, you turn to angle yourself correctly, a process that takes about 5 minutes. The wave arrives, resplendent with surfers going in both directions while simultaneously swearing at you like you’ve just stolen their girlfriends. Inwardly shrugging, you paddle for the wave they’re riding. The more the merrier, right?! Well, until you get obliterated by the wave. You go dizzy, you swallow saltwater, you snort salt water. You receive a salt water enema. When you finally stop seeing stars, you’ve basically been washed to shore and your board shorts are around your ankles, exposing what little of you remains considering the freezing water.
In retrospect, that was pretty fun. Apart from the enema.
You decide this surfing thing isn’t for you today. Maybe you’ll try again next weekend. Indeed, maybe you’ll reconsider that offer of a wetsuit. For now, you’re just content to watch these okes who were previously yelling at you so much. You watch them surf for a while. Such style. Such grace. And there appears to be some subtle rules or etiquette not immediately evident to the casual observer. You observe the fact the leash goes around one’s ankle, not one’s hand – who woulda thunk it! Also, some ou’s stand with their left foot forward, others with their right – unlike what you did with both feet together like you’re about to cough for a hernia check. Stance on a surfboard is clearly something to ponder.
Anyhow, you start to get hot as hell again. Another no-brainer, you decide to try paddle again simply to cool down. This time you avoid the other guys. You’re floundering, but after a while, you catch a little peak of white water. You get to your feet for just a second. A second only – but your life has changed forever! You’re now a surfer! Reinvigorated, you try again and again over the next hour or so, with varying success.
You thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but you understand the need for a wetsuit and the need to be fitter. You swear you’ll carry on with this surfing lark, but you need to thaw out so you head to your car. The window is broken, your cellphone is gone. As is your wallet and your clothes. But at least you had stashed your key safely in the sand. And what does another car break in actually matter? Not only did you achieve your goal of cooling off while exercising – you are now a surfer! You believe being “stoked” is the correct phrase for what you’re feeling. Or is it “sick”?
