You Have to be Ready

“You have to be ready. Get ready!” He wasn’t shouting, but it irritated me none the less. I vaulted — well, flopped — myself onto the surfboard. I wasn’t born graceful, and was being reminded of it today. And to think; I’d paid for this. On my vacation, I gave someone my money for this. I thought it would be fun, but that was quickly derailed when I realized fun really wasn’t the instructor’s goal. And I was basically stranded at sea with this dictator. I scooted forward, he pulled my feet, telling me to move back. “Remember, stay balanced. Paddle, paddle, paddle!” I look like a deranged fish, I thought to myself as I paddled. One. Two. One. Two. Just like he said.

He pushed my board and I heard him yell, “Get up now!” I lifted myself, trying to go into plank and then transition to standing. I tried it slow. I tried it fast. I fell every time. And every time he told me the same thing. “Please. Listen to me. When you stand, chest up, look forward.” I thought I was doing that. The past twenty times I tried to stand up on that board I thought I had done exactly what he was saying. The picture in my head and what was actually happening must have been horribly different, because every time I put my feet on the board, there was a moment of glory, a second of triumph, before I fell back into the undertow.

It had been about an hour and I was getting tired of this. I had another hour to go, and even though I wanted to quit, I’m stubborn. I was going to stand if it killed me. My left knee was starting to hurt from my super cool throw-yourself-on-the-board maneuvers. My arms were tired. My right hip was sore. I was also pretty sure I’d swallowed half a liter of ocean and the other half had basically flushed my sinuses. Salt water really stings when it’s going up your nose. I tried again. I fell. Again.

But I grabbed the board that was currently shackled to my ankle, and fought the waves back. Ricky waved his hand for me to hurry. “You need more practice. It’s more important for you.” How conscientious of you. What a nice compliment, Ricky, I thought. What he meant to say, what he would have said if he’d known more English was, “You are shitty at this. You’re not listening to what I’m telling you to do, and you’re going to surf a wave today. Your lesson isn’t up until you stand up.” He told me again, “Listen. Please. Chest up. Look forward. When you feel faster, get lower. Legs wider.” He demonstrated by squatting lower in the water. I nodded. I thought about smacking him in the face. What do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time Ricky! What I said was, “Yup. Yea. I hear what you’re saying. I get it. Apparently I can’t do it.” His response? “Come on. Get ready.”

Ricky wasn’t going to amend his teaching style to better fit me. He was a surfer and a champion deep sea fisherman, trying to teach a landlocked American how to play on a wave. I could speak Spanish with even less mastery than his limited English. And it wasn’t his fault I wasn’t getting it. Maybe it was partially his teaching style, but it was also partially me. If he couldn’t change what he was doing, then I had to change my response to it. And damnit if I wasn’t going to surf a wave today.

I got ready. I was able to turn myself this time, now that Ricky had shown me. The first time I just drifted away with the waves, helpless against the current. What a fitting metaphor, I’d thought at the time. I’d flopped back off the board and walked over to him. He showed me that I had to put both hands in the water and in order to make a right turn, paddle with my right hand while my left hand was also paddling under the board. “Now turn,” he’d said. I did a little half circle, and he closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Ok, get ready. You have to be ready.”

You can do this. You do yoga. Lots of yoga. You have good balance. You can stand on this goddamn board. Stand up. Look forward. Legs wide. “Paddle, paddle, paddle!” Ricky yelled. He pushed the me into the wave. It swept me forward, the foam curling. I lifted myself into plank, and placed my feet — one, two- onto the board. I made my back as straight as I could. My legs were wide, arms outstretched and I stared that beach down like I was coming for it. I flew on the wave, rushing forward, standing. Surfing! I headed straight for the beach, until finally I lost momentum and slowly sank into the shallows. Then I jumped up and down like a five year old. I was ok with that. I was so happy I was laughing.

I only actually surfed three waves that day, but when we walked to the shop that morning and later down to the beach, I’d never surfed a wave in my life. Watching people on the beach before the lesson, I wasn’t sure that I could do it. But determination is where the glory really lies. I wasn’t leaving that beach until I stood on that board. And so I did. Because even if I’m not always ready for the next wave, I’m sure as hell not ready to give up.

Originally published at marisamorby.com on December 2, 2014.

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