“You good?”
No. “Yep.”
He closes the last inch of the zipper, and I mumble a thanks, wondering what is going on with me.
• • •
George has bookedus a private lesson, so once we’re given our surfboards and taught how to carry both between the two of us, we peel off from the rest of the group and follow our instructor down a trail toward the beach, making small talk. Liz is from Tofino, has been surfing since she was three, and carries her longboard above her head like it’s not even there.
The trail opens onto a large crescent of pale sand. The beach is relatively quiet. There are a few dog walkers and a couple of people sitting on the pale gray driftwood logs that have been tossed up on shore. The ocean is where the main action is happening—the water is speckled with surfers.
Liz begins our lesson by drawing the outline of a board in the sand with her finger to show us how we’ll be positioned on it when we’re in the water. We’re given pointers on swimming out of riptides and how to fall safely. We’re shown where to lie on the board, how to center ourselves, and a beginner technique for popping up onto our feet.
George and I use our index fingers to draw the shape of our own imaginary boards.
We lie down on our tummies and practice paddling to catch a wave.One,two,three,fourstrong strokes; push your hands down next to your chest on the deck of the board; arch yourback, head up, chest proud; one knee forward, then the other into a sort of lunge, rising with most of your weight on your back foot. It’s kind of like a series of yoga poses.
Then Liz shows us a more advanced pop-up, which involves springing from a plank position into a crouch and then rising. Even in the sand it’s exhausting.
“Looks like you’ve got the hang of it,” Liz says to George as he jumps to his feet with ease.
“Show-off,” I say.
Like me, every inch of him, from his nose to his booties, is covered in sand. Unlike me, he looks sporting and athletic. With his wind-tossed curls and ass-hugging neoprene, he’s a model of rugged West Coast vitality.
“It’s all the protein I ate at breakfast,” he says with a wink.
“Just wait till you see what I can do on a stack of pancakes.”
Liz laughs. “You two are cute. Okay, Frankie. Show us what you’ve got.”
She watches me pretend to paddle.One,two,three,four; plant my palms in the sand and come into a plank; then drag my legs forward like concrete blocks into a low crouch. I wobble before I get to my feet. It takes me double the time it took George, and there’s no popping or springing involved. I cast a look George’s way, to get his gloating over with, but he’s staring intently at the ocean. Good man.
“You might want to stick to the first technique,” Liz says. “But once we’re out there, you can see what feels right. Today is about becoming comfortable on the board and learning to read a wave. I want you to get a feel for that moment when it pushes you forward and you paddle into it. If you ride a wave on yourknees, that’s a successful day one, and then we’ll see about day two.”
“Day two?” I glance at George.
“I booked two sessions. Surprise,” he says with a smirk.
“Ready to get out there?” Liz asks.
I nod, staring out at the surf. “Prepare to eat my surf, Saint James.”
Picking up my board and carrying it into the water makes me feel like the coolest person in the universe. At my ankles, the ocean’s icy teeth pierce the wet suit, a sharp bite against my skin. But I walk deeper, savoring the chill. I set my board on the surface, guiding it out. Liz is to my left; George to my right. We wade through the surf to where the water is just below my shoulders, and when Liz climbs onto her board, straddling it, I do the same. George and I watch as Liz paddles to greet a wave, rising to her feet before it breaks, and soars across the water.
With its sandy surf breaks, Tofino is an ideal place for newbies. No coral reefs or rocky shores to tear open your skin. Liz makes it look so easy that I wonder if it’s a little boring for her. She’s like a BMX racer riding a tricycle.
“Want to give it a try?” she asks when she makes her way back to us.
“Just pick a wave and go for it?” I say.
“And don’t forget to paddle hard.”
We stay a few meters apart, the three of us sitting on our boards, facing the horizon, watching the water’s undulations. The sun’s reflection shimmers this way and that atop the surface, dancing with the swells. The ocean looks like it’s breathing, swallowing, and releasing energy—a living thing.
“There’s one,” Liz says. “Get on your boards, quick, and I’ll tell you when to start paddling. Remember to look where you want to go.”
I lie on my belly, my adrenaline already surging as I try to remember how to align my body, when Liz yells, “Now! Paddle.”
