Last month after a few weeks without waves I decided that I needed to find a surf school to ensure that I'm not basically kneeboarding for the rest of my life. I read up on a few and found one in particular in Costa Rica that looks pretty good and is quite cheap. (The schools in California are three times the price. Meh. Keep 'em.) Nothing fancy, but that's ok. I think it might even be the same school that the author attended in that book I won from Patagonia. Well, once I started really looking into it, the insecurities crept up and I decided that I just can't. I can't do it. I can't travel that far, alone, and look that silly and be terrible and wipe out 1,000 times and have people wonder, What is she doing? Why did she even come here?
You know what I think now? I think I wasn't desperate enough before. I hadn't gone long enough without wax in my hair and salt water up my nose. I had the luxury of thinking I would be surfing soon enough, maybe on Christmas. No? Oh, ok. Probably on New Year's. No? How about the following week? 15' waves you say? Oh.
So I guess I'll keep tossing pennies into the jar and keep focusing on a time, hopefully relatively soon, that I'll have the good fortune to be able to have 2 or 3 practice sessions a day on beginner-sized waves and wipe out 1,000 times and make a complete fool of myself. Damn. I should be so lucky.
*With-draw-al, noun. Discontinuation of the use of an addictive substance.