I nod. “Understood.”
She gets back down on her stomach and does it again. “See? Loose. Fluid. Free of movement. It will help you move around on the water. Now your turn.”
I lie flat, and Wendy stands over me.
“Keep your shoulders neutral on the board,” she instructs. “Hand. Toes. Jump.”
My feet swing under my body, and I stand.
“Again.”
I do it.
“Again,” she says, moving her board closer to mine and doing it with me.
After a few more times, we move on.
“Okay, now we’re going to practice paddling.”
She shows me the movement.
“Head left, head right. Watch the waves. When I call it, we’ll do a pop up, then advance to the next level.”
I fake paddle with my hands cupped, like she showed me. Seconds later, she’s counting down, and then we’re both landingon our feet. The movement is clean. My body has been trained for this since I became a marathon runner.
“Not terrible,” she says. Her hand presses against my calf to adjust my foot. The muscle tenses, and she holds the position longer than an instructor would. “Palms. Toes. Pop up. Where your hands are is the sweet spot on the board. It’s where you’ll want to land for the best balance.”
Wendy crouches beside me and taps where my hands are. “Feet here.”
When our eyes meet, heat rolls through me.
“You’ve got this. Now, on the count of three,” she says.
Palms. Toes. Up.
We spend the next hour on dry ground, and I absorb every instruction she gives. We work through pop ups, paddle form, and board positioning until it’s drilled into me. Wendy moves to the side and hands me a bottle of water.
Once I drink half of it, she bends over and picks up the board. “Ready to get in?”
“If you think I’m ready.”
“We’re going for it.”
The waves roll in, and I watch the white water. I’ve run this shoreline every sunrise since I arrived. I’ve watched it from the balcony through every shade of blue and gold. The sound is the only thing that has stopped my brain from spinning, but I haven’t been in past my ankles. Water has always made me anxious. Currents move however they want. The ocean is an environment that can never be controlled.
Wendy is already waist deep when she turns back. She looks at me, seeing I’m having a mini breakdown. I wait for the question that every person asks me, but it doesn’t come.
“The break is gentle today.” She gives me the same confident tone she used to correct my stance. “We’ll stay in the white water. I’m right here.”
There’s no pep talk or concern on her face. She took one look at me and understood, then adjusted her approach without making a big deal about it.
“You can swim, right?” she asks with a laugh.
“Yes, I can fucking swim,” I tell her, walking in.
“Great. It’s a requirement.”
Being closer to her relaxes me, but that feeling is only temporary as we go deeper. The water hits my knees, and my breathing shifts. Soon, the ocean is at my ribs, and my knuckles ache from holding the board so tight. She puts her hand on the end and holds it in place.
