Old and creaky

It was my first day back in the water after two weeks and a cold. I forgot how much fun surfing can be when the water is clear enough to see stingrays underfoot and the sun is lighting up the sky (and unfortunately blazing down on fires in the valley). I also forgot how easy it is to lose muscle, cardio-vascular capacity, and timing when all you do is lay in bed and blow snot out your nose for two weeks.

137 pounds, 1 virus infection, 1 week no surf

I came back from the east coast with a cold. I would be okay if it were a normal cold, instead, I have the mother of all sore throats. I've never been in such pain. But a visit to the doctor told me I'd lost three pounds, even though there was nothing she could do for my throat.

I also came back from the east coast with a grudging acknowledgment that I'm no spring chicken anymore. I headbanged my way through a song late in a Cape Cod wedding reception only to wake up the next morning with a kink in my neck which progressed all the way down my back by the end of the day when we had driven to meet my brother in Boston. I was sitting in his back-room poker game with a backache that unfortunately, and amazingly, outweighed my curiosity at his vaguely shady hobby.

That said, I've missed and will continue to miss this swell until I'm well.

Hopefully fewer pounds, 0 cigs, 0 alcohol units, no breakfast

I'm really glad I'm going to be out of town this weekend, because I could see the sets start rolling in this morning and it wasn't pretty -- but it looked FUN. If I'd done what I wanted to do this morning and taken out my 9'0" thruster, I'd probably have taken my share of suicide drops. But no, I kept to my commitment to ride the short(er)board until I learned how to ride it -- which I haven't done yet, so I hesitated on waves that the adrenaline junkie in me would have paddled for.

At 7am, there were some shoulders and I managed to hit the lip going backside -- ugly, but I did it. By 8am, I was shivering in my springsuit because wave after wave was big and unrideable. Gloved Guy was taking some insane drops and, from over one close-out, I could hear him hollering all the way down. When he paddled back out, I laughed at him.

"We could hear you yelling, 'Whooooo!' on your entire ride. That's a good thing because then we know you're okay!"

I'm glad I'm not going to be here this weekend. I'd be tempted to be a part of the carnage. Weekend warriors and crowded point breaks. Good times. I'll be thinking of y'all while I have lobster rolls on the Cape and chomp on a hot dog at Fenway.

140 pounds, 1 beer, 1 cigarette, 1 Killer Shrimp

I thought donating a pint of blood to the American Red Cross would bring me down a pound. I was in the doctor's office with my shoes off, hoping that bleeding the day before would tip the scale in my favor. It didn't happen.

Me and the Okazaki are doing better, but I still wonder why people feel the need to ride shortboards and "paddle." What is this "paddling?" Isn't it better to be up and riding a wave instead of swimming all the time?

I have to keep reminding myself that I have to ride this board like I don't have two longboards sitting dry in the garage if I want to learn how to ride this board. Good thing I'm going away this weekend so I won't be tempted to break out the 9'0" thruster when the purported monster waves come rolling through.

140 pounds, 1 beer, 0 cigarettes, 1 short(er) board

7'0" Okazaki and me = v. bad.

I'm indulging my Bridget Jones neuroses at the moment. I'm taking a page from chick lit to chronicle my ill-fated relationship with a shorter board. I'm not usually weight conscious, but I stepped on a scale for the first time in a year... and I'll never do that again!

I'd rather wash dishes

I surfed with N at Pipes in Encinitas this weekend. COLD! What happened to the water temp? On Sunday, I paddled a lot for rolling waves that didn't break. I turned to my friend and said, "Where have you taken me?! Don't you know me? I DON'T PADDLE!" But I got some nice long rides that made up for it. It's nice taking off on a wave and consistently finding a shoulder ahead of you.

On Monday, I was frozen because I'd learned my lesson from the day before. Don't paddle for waves that look good on the horizon, but peter out at the line-up. Since I didn't paddle, I didn't stay warm. Still, though, consistently kicking out frontside made the session worthwhile. Now, if only I could learn how to do that going backside.

Tuesday, back at the home break. Sunny. Warm water. BUT it's so hard to go back to those dumpy close-outs when you've had two days with shapely waves. It was so hard to go back to those close-outs that I woke up this morning at 6:30 and briefly pondered loading up the surf gear only to decide to clean the kitchen instead.

***

Also, not in surf news, I've been having a hard time giving the Red Cross a monetary donation (but they're getting my blood). I just don't feel like giving a percentage of my dollar to administrative fees in this case. I gave to them when it came to the tsunami in December, but for some reason I feel like the behemoth organization is not the best way to get things done here in the States. That's part of the social ethos that got us into this mess -- we rely too much on a large organization (the federal government and the despicable Bush administration) that doesn't have a clue about what's best on the local level.

(By the way, I heard Halliburton and their subsidiaries have already been awarded the contract to rebuild the military bases in Louisiana. Your tax dollars are going straight into the pockets of Dick Cheney, once he's done with his gig as VP of the U.S.)

I am impressed with the work of a local comedienne named Tig Notaro who will be driving down to her home town of Pass Christian, Mississippi. She's renting a truck in L.A. and making the trek to drive supplies down to Mississippi on Thursday. I'm about to get my ass off this chair and use my lunch break to buy things like bottled water and diapers. It's not going to be tax-deductible, but at least I know that the dollars I spend are going to directly effect a person's life.

Malibu, 2nd point in the evening

First time at Malibu ever for me last night. It was crowded at 1st point, but I stood and watched the sexy sexayyyy longboarders do their thing. I took Coop to the hairier 2nd point to meet Dean and Steve. Head high set waves... and I always seemed to take the first one. I would turn to paddle out and see, on the horizon, a series of 5 more that I had to turtle and drown under. But still, I was happy to have a big and non-threatening (big waves, non-grumpy people) introduction to the spot. Grumpy people concern me more than big waves -- why is that? Maybe because nature is dispassionate in doling out its punishment. People, not so much.

This morning, I think I was a bit kamikaze at my break. I feel bad about that, but people kept paddling to where I was. See? People suck. I suck. I get grumpy and I get stupid. And I got the bigger, heavier board.

Heh heh...

Head high!

Two nice bombs of a right that stayed open on Sunday and Monday. LOVE it. I had a dentist appointment scheduled for Tuesday morning, but I've moved it in hopes of catching a few more.

I'm slightly worried that paddling into head high close-outs doesn't get my adrenaline going like it used to, because I'm afraid I might be tempted to chase adrenaline in the future. But I think I'm just being neurotic about worrying.

First words

I woke up this morning and something was different.

"Oh my god. It's sunny."

I usually don't talk aloud to myself and there was no one in bed with me, so you know how exciting the sight of blue skies through my window was for me to mutter words first thing. I hopped out of bed and suited up and knew there wasn't going to be great waves where my time could allow me to go, but I went. Swimsuit and boardshorts. Funky tan lines. Paddled out to the buoy twice.

Sun-ny.

3 times to the buoy

It takes me a minute and 30 seconds to get out to the buoy doing a regular paddle and a minute 40 to get back knee-paddling. I only timed my last paddle to the buoy today, so this is a purely unscientific presumption: I suck at knee-paddling.

Pretty, but never

Gene just did this. It's a very pretty 12-foot gun. Gorgeous, but I am at this moment promising myself that I will never be in a position to want a 12-foot gun. Overhead to double, okay. But I will not ever, never, no stinkin' way, set my sights for anything that needs a 12-foot gun.

Goofies all the way down

There's this earth/existence myth. I don't know which culture, but it starts with a person saying that the earth was supported on the back of a giant turtle. When asked what the turtle was standing on, the reply is, "It stands on the back of another turtle. It's turtles all the way down."

I surfed "LPB" for the first time with Surf Sister and CYT. Last year, I'd stopped there for a peek on my way to find surf. Shoulder-to-head-high FUN. I was so happy to watch all the little rippers and take my own drops that I got a little excited. I was so amped that on one wave, I forgot to look to my right down the line. I dropped in on CYT (who I swear makes every wave she paddles for). SORRY! Luckily, I saw her bright board and was able to grab my rail, stall, pull back, and hold on to my board so nothing and no one got banged up. BAD BAD GRACE.

But way fun otherwise. My first wave was a steep drop that I just had to get out of my system. It was big and had no shape whatsoever. I held onto the rail and just tucked in, speeding down the face of the wall. I got smashed on the inside, but the adrenaline was worth it.

I've never seen so many goofy-footers congregated in one place in my life. Goofies all the way down.

Full Moon

I surfed Full Moon Topanga last night with Firefly Mark.

SHIT. THAT's what surfing's all about. Use the Force, Luke.

Clear skies, picturesque light pollution coming off Santa Monica in the distance, and moonlight glinting off the rolling chest-high waves.

It took me a while to get the hang of it, and it took me a while to actually get into a wave because I was nervous about the quick hollowing of the point which always kicked my ass -- even when I could SEE it. But I got a few -- nothing like Firefly got -- but my favorite ride was one where the spotlights from shore reflected off the wave hollowing out and I took off anyway. I made it and was trying to get trim, but it was too fast for my Cooperfish and my lack of ability. I got tossed like I haven't gotten tossed in a while and it was my favorite ride.

Why?

Because this is how I learn. I am a student of the Wipe-Out School of surfing. You wipe-out. You figure out what you did wrong. You change. You wipe-out again. You adjust. You do this enough and then it clicks.

On a normal chest-high DAY at Topanga, there would be fifty grumbling guys at the point and if you got worked by a wave like I got worked on that wave, there would be no chance of you EVER getting to take-off and get worked again.

I was happy to be able to wipe-out at Topanga without all the pressure. I need more of those waves.

Cooperkook

After weeks of flat, I knew today everybody would be out en masse to any of the point breaks that would take the South swell. I drove to Sunset with my Cooperfish Hornet, repaired, unwaxed, and saw 100 people sitting and waiting at 6:30. No thank you. I'd rather take my chances with close-outs at a beach break.

I ended up at the Pier and it was pretty much as Uncle Grant said (sans yesterday's Catholic guilt). But it was better than OP and I just liked the look of waves higher than my knee.

It took a thousand years to wax my newly repaired board, and I ran out of wax. But there was no way I was getting up to the nose anyhow. I paddled out.

Man, did I stink!

After actually starting to figure out Sensei J's huge-ass board, I was all wrong on my own board. I didn't even know how far forward or back on the board I was supposed to be when paddling out. Then, first wave, one with an actual shoulder... I friggin' kooked out and pearled. PEARLED! When's the last time I did THAT?

I figured out that I'd been shifting all my weight forward when paddling for a wave on the log so as to gain enough momentum to get in the wave. I didn't have to throw my whole body into it on my board. Fixed.

On a left, I was so far back on the tail that when I moved to turn it off the top, the board swung wildly out of the water. Obviously, my body expected to haul 35 pounds of log. I didn't have to do that either. Fixed.

I caught a few decent rides after those initial disasters. Still, though, not quite dialed back into my board. I guess I shouldn't have expected a homecoming with open arms.

It was the breast of times...

It was the worst of times.

I went out today because I've grown large and I thought a little paddle might help. I raced J-Deluxe out to the buoy. He won. Bastard. But he showed me how to make my knee-paddle more efficient.

Before the swarms of people showed up to (not) get (craptacular) waves, I had a surprisingly nice left -- the only wave with any kind of shoulder. I steered the borrowed boat of a board pretty well and was able to do a top-turn. As the wave closed, I did my patented stall and fall onto the leashless board (since I can't kick-out). Unfortunately, the water angled the board a little and hit me right in the breast. That's gonna leave a mark.

Everybody else is amped up because of this supposed swell coming in. I know better. I'm not a true surfer because I'm not that optimistic. I think those islands are in the way. I think we'll have more surf than we've had in the last two weeks, but I don't think it's going to be anywhere near chest-high. And we're talkin' about MY chest, the bruised one. As a short dumpy Asian chick, chest-high is about three feet off the ground.

My baby's back!

Coop looks better than when I bought it used. Aqua Tech color-matched it almost perfectly. Shiny!

Coop's back. Now, where are those waves?

Whaddaya use for bait?

Suzy Q called last night and said she was going to Sunset in the AM. I shrugged and said I'd go for a drive.

At 7am, there was nothing in the line-up except for a couple kayakers, a bunch o' birds, and Sherman sitting on his board casting a line with his fishing pole. I wonder if he caught anything?

What a gorgeous board

I pulled into Aqua Tech this morning before work just to harass them. Ken was nice (and working with a guy who'd brought in a beautiful longboard with a nose concave). He looked for my board and I immediately spotted it on the saw-horses. Big sleek glassed-in fin. Ken apologized and said it should be wet-sanded and ready at the end of the day. There's nothing to surf in the water, so I'm not overly worried. I was just happy to see all 9'7" of it.

Seeing Coop reminded me of this exercise I did at a writers' retreat years ago. We paired off and one person was blindfolded while the other person led the blindfolded partner to a tree. Any tree at the retreat. My friend led me from the clipped grass, over rocks, through weeds. I could hear the sounds of the ever-rushing river move from my left ear to my right as I turned and felt the sun on my face. When she put my hands on the bark of a tree, I was allowed two minutes to touch the tree, walk around it, smell and taste it if I liked, then she led me back to our starting point.

After taking off the blindfold, I was supposed to retrace my steps to try to find the tree. Crunching over gravel, hearing the river, feeling the sun, I knew I was going in the right direction. Then I got lost. I didn't know where to go from there.

I'm admitting this now after all these years... I cheated. I turned slowly in a circle and mumbled a little as if I was trying to get my bearing, but I glanced at my friend when she thought I wasn't looking. I saw her dart a look in a particular direction. I knew that was the way I was supposed to go.

(I also knew at that moment she would be a horrible poker player.)

So I made some noise about thinking maybe possibly I was going the right way and I stumbled off in the direction she inadverdently pointed. I walked about ten feet over some weeds and rocks and there it was. The tree stood there with its arms akimbo, "What took you so long?"

This is probably the closest I can come to explaining what a dream is like. I mean, when you're dreaming, you "see" images without actually seeing them. I didn't actually have the visual stimulus of actually seeing this tree, but I recognized it instantly. The tree was exactly as I had pictured it... without actually having pictured it.

And all this is to say that I had a similar feeling of "What took you so long?" when I saw my board.

And to say that there are no waves, so I'm talking about trees.

Who needs therapy?

I don't really have a subconscious. That is, my dreams tend to be pretty straightforward. Last night I dreamt I got my Cooperfish back from its repair visit to Aqua Tech. And I dreamt it was the size of a boogie board. It was also incredibly thin, like a dinner tray.

I think it's been over a month now. I've called every week or every other week and they tell me it's gonna take another couple of days. I think it's probably time to pay them a visit. I just want to make sure my board, all 9'7" of it, is there.

To suck or not to suck

I'm wondering if it's better to suck in a wildly stinkerific kind of way or if it's better to just suck in a mediocre kind of way as I am doing.

I need a beater nose-rider. That's the next board on my "want" list. I want something that is huge, heavy, doesn't turn from anywhere but the tail, but is also old and cheap so I won't worry about hurting it as I learn.