It was humbling to be tossed around by the sea.
At a certain point it reminded me a lot about life. It reminded me that you can’t always fight against the current. Sometimes you have to work with it. And balance is key.
So the ocean waves swallowed me a few times. They knocked me around and pushed me down, but I always stood back up. Even when they smashed me into the sand and my leg bent in a way it’s not meant to, I was still ready to run back out there and catch another wave. Although, I ended up with a slight limp because lets face it, your leg is only suppose to bend certain ways.
Oddly enough, this reminded me a bit about life too. Sometimes it tries to breaks you. It tests you, constantly, to see how strong you are and how you will handle certain situations.
Luckily I didn’t hear anything snap or pop. It wasn’t broken. I could tell right away it was a muscle strain or something muscle related, but I wasn’t worried. The guy I was with was a lot more worried about it then I was, especially once he saw I was bleeding. It was barely any blood. Really.
“Oh, you’re bleeding!” he said.
We were standing on the beach after my spill into the water to examine my knee. Apparently he was EMT certified and insisted that I come with him. I looked down and saw blood mixed with saltwater as it ran down my ankle. During my fall the surf leash had somehow slid down and cut me. And when I say “cut” I mean dug into my ankle.
“Huh, look at that,” I said.
“Do you want to clean it up?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, thinking the saltwater would clean it good enough. “A shark won’t come after me, will it?”
“No. You’d have to go way out there.”
What I said was meant to be a joke, something to lighten the mood, but I think he was being serious and his answer was a little unsettling.
In the end I let him clean it and put a bandage on. Although, the bandage came off with the force of the first wave.
Apparently there was a swell that came in during the week and was suppose to last all weekend. So we were venturing out into high waves and a strong current. The waves were also breaking close together. There was a lot of pull too. On minute you would be one place and the next you would be half way down the beach. (An exaggeration, I’m sure, but things were pretty rough out there).
Anyway, enough about my leg bending at strange angles and my nasty ankle gash (which if anyone is curious now has a nice looking scab on it and greatly itches). But would any other surfers out there like to share a story of any of their injuries? I’d be interesting in hearing. I always love a good story.
So, injuries aside, I went back out there and had a blast. Besides, it was just a little flesh wound and I wasn’t going to let it stop me.
I’ve always loved the ocean, but surfing took this deep affection to the next level. To me, surfing provides a connection to the ocean like no other. You have to work with the waves and the current. You have to be able to read the ocean in order to catch the good waves. You have to know how to read the ocean…period. You have to be willing to understand the unpredictability of the ocean and nature itself.
The feeling of catching a wave is almost indescribable. Being pushed by a force that is so much greater them me (and lets face it, could kill me) is actually wonderful. Riding those waves is freeing, in a way. It’s the feeling of being in the water, of the wind, the smell of and taste of saltwater.
And I loved every minute of it.
I simply love the ocean.