Dangerous evidence ignored.

I am not what would be called a “science skeptic” but I certainly don’t weight the “boring arts” as heavily as some others. This world, this universe contains secrets far larger than the human mind and the human mind is fallible. Mistakes made. Data measured wrong or the importance of that data misapplied. Take the simple egg, for instance. For years we were told to only eat the white part. Now, thanks to recent discoveries, we know the yellow is where all the hot action is.

And if scientists can mess up the simple egg, they can certainly misapply figures regarding our favorite pastime. A recent study in the online academic journal Sports Health looked, for the first time broadly, at surfing related injuries and the relative damage they cause. Shall we put on our Thinking Caps, bifocals and tweed jackets to examine? It’ll be worth doing so purely for the natty look we shall achieve.

Harry “Tate” Greditzer, MD, a radiologist at HSS and avid surfer himself, launched a study to determine the kinds of orthopedic injuries a recreational surfer might sustain and how often he or she required surgery. “The primary purpose of the study was to characterize MRI patterns of acute surfing-related injury at HSS, an urban musculoskeletal hospital,” Dr. Greditzer said. “Secondarily, the purpose was to report the proportion of those injuries that required orthopedic surgical intervention.”

The search yielded 109 patients with surfing-related injuries who had MRIs. A total of 90 patients came to HSS within six months of their injury and were included in the final analysis. The median age was 36, with patients ranging in age from 12 to 66. Three-quarters of the patients were male.

Acute surfing injuries were diagnosed with an MRI in 72% of study patients. The following injuries were reported:

Shoulder: 46% of surfing injuries

Knee: 28%

Foot or ankle: 9%

Spine: 6%

Elbow: 6%

Other (rib fracture; muscle strain or muscle laceration): 5%

“When compared to other extreme sports, surfing seems relatively safe,” said Dr. Greditzer. “However, it’s important to keep in mind that our study looked at recreational surfers. We did not include professional surfers, so the patients in our study were not able to generate as much speed, get barreled, or launch into the air like a professional or amateur can, where the potential for injury is much higher.”

Now, I’m sure Dr. Greditzer is a brilliant man and did not mean to be misguided but he left out a giant category and an even larger sub-category. Shark attacks and debilitating fear from being attacked by a shark. I have had a shoulder injury, had it surgered and know the pain but it is nothing like getting eaten whole and, from the looks of our recent shark-pocalypse not as likely. I would put “shark eating” above “shoulder” and when debilitating fear is factored in… Well, I would simply like to see this study re-done.

Also, I don’t see “decapitation due SUP foil” anywhere on the list.

Or, on becoming a god.

As previously declared, I am currently in New Smyrna Beach, Florida and for those not familiar with America’s naughty li’l dangler it is an hour and a half drive from Jacksonville to the north, a three and a half hour from Miami to the south, next to Daytona Beach where mustache men drive souped up sedans in one large circle 500 times.

Two days ago, I surfed very fun waves in trunks and felt good. The water was warm, the air was warm and even though the lineup was plenty crowded it didn’t feel that way. Many peaks. Much spread. Little ego. It was one of the most enjoyable surfs I’ve had in weeks.

Yesterday there was bad wind and not waves but it was Saturday and the number 1 college football team in the country was playing the number 2 college football team in the country, both of which happen to be in the SEC or Southeastern Conference. Now, those who care about such things know that the SEC dominates the college football conversation and to be in Florida, which also happens to have a team in the SEC, during a potentially historic game felt fated. I wandered through town to a sports bar, pulled out a stool, ate chicken wings, drank vodka soda with a twist of lime and only received slight frowns from the otherwise friendly locals for that second choice.

Did you know they call vodka sodas “skinny bitches” in Denmark?

Watching LSU throttle Alabama surrounded by southerners was a culturally rich experience. Fulfilling. There was a man who cheered loudly and had a long braided beard that he paired with a Trump 2020 hunting cap. A couple that looked fourteen but must have been twenty-one in matching shirts that read “Let’s get slothed” featuring a stoned sloth. A grandma who cursed Alabama like a sailor. A bartender who insisted on shouting “Roll Tide” in her weathered face. Smiles and backslaps. Groans and hollers but it was as if everyone was family.

Then last night, under the stars at the Florida Surf Film Festival, the very best surf film festival in the entire world, I chatted with Shea Lopez about outwitting Surfline, flying down to Puerto Rico before breakfast, surfing all day and being home for dinner and the all to easy plus plentiful plus short routes to Central America.

Hunter Martinez’s Lost in Thought played in the background, a fine film, and I thought to myself, “Some places are better than others to be a surfer and between fun warm waves, easy flights to funner warmer waves, college football, chicken wings and only slight frowns from otherwise friendly locals for being a skinny bitch, central Florida is that place.”

Let's consider all we have instead of all we lack.

November is a month of thankfulness in the United States of America. A time to reflect on all that we have instead of all that we lack. Oh it’s so easy to get trapped in patterns of desire, craving more, needing just one more thing in order for everything to be ok.

Then one more thing after that and one more thing after that.

Like, I would finally be satisfied if professional surfers had their freedom. Or I would, at last, be complete if the 1989 World Champion Martin Potter hung up the headset for 2020.

But one shift, one adjustment will never bring satisfaction for satisfaction is all around us and I was reminded of that this morning. Would you like to read the passage that spurred my self-development? It would be rude of you not to and let us turn to the rich, both literally and figuratively, pages of Forbes magazine:

Only an hour past sunrise, a line already has formed outside Goofy Café + Dine in Waikīkī.

Tourists sneak a hearty breakfast in before they head out for a day of island excursions. Locals come in for coffee and loco moco – a hamburger patty served over rice topped with a fried egg and gravy. Even Makoto Hasegawa, director of operations for Zetton Inc., the burgeoning restaurant group that runs the café, stops by after his morning surf to recharge on an acai bowl before starting his workday.

As Oʻahu prepares to kick off its annual season of surf competitions this winter, Hasegawa and his staff have one dream: that legendary surfer Rob Machado will visit Hawaiʻi and their café to indulge in monster swells and the new special that they named after him: the Goofy Machado Acai Bowl.

On and on the story goes, describing why Rob is the staff and owners’ favorite surfer, how they hope to lure him (two cups of unsweetened acai blended with bananas, blueberries and strawberries to create the bowl’s base topped with a heaping spoonful of peanut butter that’s blended with yogurt to boost creaminess and nutrients. Manoa Chocolate cacao nibs, fresh, local papaya, chopped macadamia nuts, sliced banana, hemp-seed granola, and a drizzle of Big Island Bees raw honey complete the dish) and how they will all just melt into giant puddles if he ever dawns their door.

This heartwarming story stopped me dead in my crusty tracks.

I get to spend time with Rob Machado almost every day. I get to post up with him at the free cheese sample station while shopping for organic produce (him) and vodka (me) at Seaside Market. I get to smile and wave while passing him eating açaí bowls outside the local Sambazon while also quietly thinking that I hate açaí and that he is disgusting and likely pre-diabetic for eating the damned stuff. I get to chastise him sternly for being a dangerous parent when we drop our kids off at elementary school on bikes and his isn’t wearing a bicycle helmet because Rob forgot to put it on.

I get to see Rob Machado so much that he probably thinks we’re best friends or something.

It is time to recalibrate, right now, and admit that I don’t need anything else in my life for I am the luckiest son of a gun on earth.

Are you feeling thankful?

For what?

P.S. Goofy Café + Dine… if you make me a signature dish I’ll visit as long as it’s not gross açaí.