At Least She Tried: Sad Surfing-Disaster Selfie

     

     Being the adventurous (read: stupid) person that I am, when I was 40 years old, I thought it would be a terrific idea to learn how to surf. I figured that since I'm an athletic and dexterous person, I'd pick it up no problem. Little did I know how inane it is to underestimate the ocean and its power to humble a mere mortal.                                                                                                                After taking me two years to not soil my bikini bottoms even in the wimpiest of waves, I began feeling comfortable with paddling to the outside of breaks, at least on diminutive days. I especially enjoy my local break, Ke-ei, when it's not pumping. The pure joy I feel when dropping in on the outside, then catching the reform for a long ride all the way in, can't be matched by any other activity.

     One small day at Ke'ei, I was out enjoying an uncrowded surf session, catching wave after wave with ease. I felt elated that my skills weren't so rudimentary any more because I'd truly become a surfing zealot. However, the ocean doesn't like it when humans show hubris, and that day I got the smackdown—in the form of a fin to the face. As I was ready to go in, I made the rookie mistake of turning my back on a wave, only for it to tumble me tail-over-teakettle. Then I felt it; the slicing and sharp pain as the fin of the Wavestorm made contact with my face. I'd been hit by my board several times, but I could tell this time was different. I knew immediately that this one drew blood, and I felt with my tongue the gash that had sliced through my upper lip. 

     

As I paddled in at high speed, blood streaming down over my board, all I could think about was what blood can attract, so I paddled faster. Then I began to wonder how bad my face looked. I got my answer when I was exiting the water from the loud gasps and the shock on the face of the keikis playing on the beach. I was remarkably calm, and even laughed as they stared at me, wide-eyed and a little scared of the blood-covered auntie coming at them from the water. In retrospect, the whole thing was kind of amusing.

     One look in my car mirror told me I definitely needed stitches, so I strapped my board on the car and drove myself to the emergency room. This was right before I returned to the classroom at the end of winter break, so of course I fielded several questions from my students about the gash on my face. I wanted to tell an exciting story about how I bailed off a monster wave or battled a shark, but unfortunately, a couple of my body-boarder students had witnessed the whole thing, much to my embarrassment. The facetious quote I'll always remember from one of my students will live forever in memory: "At least she tried." And I have the scar to prove it.

~508 words