I usually post on Fridays and/or Sundays, but this past weekend was a different kind of weekend for me. One of my newest hobbies is running. Actually, I think I wrote about it back in the fall/winter, but running a half-marathon is a bucket list item. Although I had run one in February (in Austin), I wasn't pleased with my finish time, which was considerably slower than I thought it should be. I ran injured back then, but by April, was injury-free and, by May, started training for another one. I chose the San Francisco Marathon/Half-Marathon in July because it was the only place that would be cool that time of year. The time snuck up on me, and all of sudden this past weekend, I found myself in San Francisco. I thought I might be able to surf a little while I was there, but when I planned the trip, I guess I didn't really give myself enough time. I flew out there on Friday, completed a little sightseeing on Saturday, ran on Sunday and was back on the plane for home Sunday afternoon. psheewww... It makes me tired reading it. It also makes me wonder what I was thinking to pack in so much activity in such a small amount of time. So, needless to say, I had no time to surf. I did, however, have time to read about surfing.
Several days before when googling surfing books, I found a book called "Surfing's Greatest Misadventures: Dropping in on the Unexpected." I downloaded it on my iPad in iBooks and chose it as my travel reading. Although I didn't get a chance to finish it, I am more than halfway through it. The first few chapters dealt with sharks, and more viciously and precisely, shark attacks. As a new surfer, I probably shouldn't read about shark attacks, but I felt a strange kind of "distance" from these stories. I guess everyone thinks it won't happen to them, but I'm pretty realistic in thinking that if, by some odd chance, it happens to me, there is nothing I can really do about it. The stories were gruesome and quite frightening, but I can't let them frighten me. After the first four or five essays, the stories became a little more lighthearted. Perhaps "lighthearted" isn't exactly the right word, but it's the only word that fits right now. The stories included some tragedy, but mostly self-imposed tragedy. One of my favorite essays so far, is one written by a Houston Chronicle outdoor/fishing writer named Joe Doggett called "Baptism with Bradshaw." Doggett apparently surfed at Flagship before deciding to go to Hawaii to surf North Shore's Sunset break with Ken Bradshaw. Bradshaw also came from Texas. His native surf beach was Surfside, before he eventually made his way to Hawaii and became a sponsored big wave surfer. In the essay, Doggett goes to visit Bradshaw, gets taken out on some waves -- real waves and when faced with a huge wave, can't follow through.
"I sat with my head down and exhaled with a whoosh. Then I turned again. My initial reaction was: I'm a dead man." He ended up "turning turtle" to get to the inside. "'I'm way out of my league," I said, gagging and choking, pulling myslef back onto the board. 'I need to get out of here.'"
Ummm...I found this story interesting. I've felt that way before even on just the small waves in Galveston when a storm was coming in and the waves were only 4-ft. I've also felt this way other times in my life when things seemed beyond my control. I've worked real hard to regain control, but have come to learn that some things are out of my hands. Sometimes, no matter how bad I want something to happen, I can't make it happen. Sometimes, other people decide. Those times can be difficult and sad. Surfing, running and cycling can certainly help me through it as long as I know my own physical limitations.
