I'd planned to paddle out at Calumet to join Steve earlier this morning. "Look for my blue board shorts," he'd said. However, fate intervened when my husband's car broke down on his way to work. After rescuing him, I drove by the park to see what I'd missed, and saw blue board shorts about to drop to the ground as Steve changed behind his SUV.
Even armed with his favorable report, my mind was roiling with a thousand reasons not to surf Calumet: I'd have to paddle out alone at a new break. The entry and exit were tricky, with shorepound smashing into a steep cobblestone beach. The wind was coming up. The tide was nearing a 5' high. The waves were easily head-high+, a size I haven't surfed in I don't know how long. My neck is still a bit sore, and now so is my back after an unfortunate first and last encounter with hot yoga on Monday. My 6'2" is called for due to the softness of the waves, but I can't duck dive it and haven't ridden it in a while (although I surfed my buddy Luke's 6'8" and 8'0" in Hawaii - and had surprising fun on the latter, but more on that later since I've got two writing assignments due this week). And so on.
Just take it easy and go to Tourmaline, my inner coward whispered. But the part of me that looked at the waves and thought,
That looks fun!, chimed in with one of my favorite adages:
You regret more the things you don't do, than the things you do.
And so I went. And it
was fun. Which isn't to say that I didn't get stuck inside once, bailing my board (no one was nearby) and swimming under and out, under and out, through the four or five waves in the set. But I got a bunch of rides, and a couple of the waves were taller than me, soft green ramps that let me down gently to speed along on the distant energy of Hurricane Marie. Fear put aside, and no regrets - that's the path to stoke.
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