Surfing Blog #2, first day on surfboard
My First Day on a Surfboard: A Late‑Life Beginning
Childhood Attempts: Pretending, Not Surfing
I had tried a few times as a youth to ride a surfboard with no luck. Growing up near the ocean, it seemed natural to want to imitate the surfers I admired from the shore. But the reality was far harder than I ever imagined. I had no idea what I was doing—no sense of balance, no understanding of timing, no clue how to paddle into a wave.
Those early attempts were clumsy and short‑lived. I would flop onto the board, push myself forward, and immediately nosedive and tumble off. The ocean was patient, but I wasn’t. I quickly realized surfing wasn’t something you could fake. Pretending to be a surfer was easy; actually becoming one was something else entirely.
Puerto Rico at 54: A Lesson With My Daughter
The next time I tried was decades later, around age 54, during a vacation in Puerto Rico. My daughter, who was 14 at the time, and I decided to take a surf lesson together. It felt symbolic—me finally confronting the dream I had shelved as a kid, and her experiencing it fresh, with youthful energy and curiosity.
We booked a surf lesson at a stand we found on the beach. The instructor guided us to the shoreline, boards in hand, and explained the basics. He helped push us into white water waves, the foamy remnants that roll toward shore after breaking. It sounded simple enough: lie flat, paddle a little, feel the push, then pop up.
But it was very, very hard. I became extremely short of breath from paddling, even just a small amount. My arms felt heavy, my chest tight, and the waves seemed to swallow me whole. I was shocked at how exhausting it was to simply move the board forward.
And yet, in the middle of all that struggle, something miraculous happened. I was able to stand up once. Just once. It was a shaky, fleeting moment, but it felt like a shocking victory. For a brief second, I was riding a wave, balanced between ocean and sky. Then I fell, laughing, gasping, and amazed. My daughter had a little more success standing up three times and loving the experience.
That single stand‑up was enough to hook me. I was astonished at how hard surfing was, even with a lesson, but equally astonished at how rewarding it felt to succeed, even for a heartbeat.
The Summer in New Hampshire: Humbling Lessons
The following summer, my daughter and I decided to continue our surfing journey closer to home. We signed up for a few lessons in New Hampshire at a surf shop in the town of Seabrook. The Atlantic there is colder, rougher, and less forgiving than the Caribbean, but it was accessible.
The lessons were very basic. An instructor brought us into the water, positioned us on our boards, and pushed us into white water waves. Occasionally, we managed to stand up, wobbling and grinning. Most of the time, we simply fell off while trying to clamber to our feet, heads hanging down, hands on the board with butts in the air.
It was exciting, but also humbling. Despite lessons, though, it felt as if we were not making any real progress. The ocean reminded us that surfing is not mastered in a handful of sessions. It requires patience, persistence, and countless hours of practice.
Still, those lessons gave us something valuable: shared memories. My daughter and I laughed together, encouraged each other, and celebrated every small success. Surfing became less about performance and more about connection—between us, and between ourselves and the ocean.
The Physical Challenge: Breath and Balance
One of the most surprising aspects of surfing was the sheer physical demand. I had underestimated how much strength and stamina it required. Even paddling a short distance left me breathless. My arms burned, my lungs strained, and my body felt clumsy.
Standing up was another battle. Timing mattered. Balance mattered. Confidence mattered. Every attempt felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. Sometimes I would pop up too early, sometimes too late. The rare times I was successful in getting to my feet, I would almost always topple over virtually immediately.
And yet, every fall carried a lesson. Surfing taught me to respect the ocean, to respect my body, and to respect the process of learning.
The Emotional Journey: Humility and Joy
Surfing at 54 was not just a physical challenge—it was an emotional one. I had to confront the reality that I was a beginner, starting from scratch at an age when many people are winding down their adventures.
It was humbling to realize how little progress I was making, even with instruction. But it was also liberating. Surfing reminded me that growth doesn’t stop with age. It reminded me that joy can be found in effort, not just in achievement.
That single stand‑up in Puerto Rico, that shaky ride in New Hampshire—those moments were small, but they were monumental to me. They proved that it’s never too late to try, never too late to learn, never too late to feel the thrill of something new.
Lessons Learned From My First Day
Looking back, my first day on a surfboard taught me more than just technique. It taught me:
• Patience: Progress is slow, and that’s okay.
• Humility: The ocean doesn’t care about your age, your ego, or your expectations.
• Persistence: Every fall is a chance to try again.
• Connection: Sharing the experience with my daughter made it richer and more meaningful.
• Perspective: Success isn’t measured by how long you ride a wave, but by the courage to paddle out.
Why Surfing Matters to Me Now
Surfing has become more than a sport. It’s a metaphor for life. The ocean is unpredictable, powerful, and humbling. Learning to surf is learning to adapt, to persevere, and to embrace the unknown.
At 54, I don’t expect to become a master surfer. I don’t expect to ride massive waves or perform tricks. What I do expect is to keep showing up, to keep trying, and to keep finding joy in the process.
Surfing has given me a new way to connect with my daughter, a new way to challenge myself, and a new way to appreciate the ocean. It has reminded me that beginnings are possible at any age.
Looking Ahead
My first day on a surfboard was clumsy, exhausting, and humbling. But it was also exhilarating, joyful, and unforgettable. It marked the start of a journey I never thought I would take.
Since then, I’ve continued to practice, to learn, and to fall. Each session brings new challenges and new victories. Each wave teaches me something different.
I don’t know where this journey will lead. Maybe I’ll ride longer waves. Maybe I’ll travel to new surf spots. Maybe I’ll simply keep paddling out, falling, and trying again. Whatever happens, I know this: surfing has already given me more than I expected.
It has given me humility. It has given me joy. And it has given me proof that it’s never too late to begin.
Final Thoughts
My first day on a surfboard was not glamorous. It was not easy. But it was real. It was the beginning of something that continues to shape me.
I had tried as a youth, with no luck. I tried again at 54, with my daughter by my side, and found both struggle and victory. I tried again in New Hampshire, humbled but hopeful.
And I will keep trying. Because surfing, like life, is not about perfection. It’s about showing up, paddling out, and embracing the ride—no matter how short, shaky, or surprising it may be.