Last wave.

Any surfer even vaguely aware of music has, at the very least, heard of the New York venue CBGB. The bar, which opened in the Bowery district in 1973 and named “Country Bluegrass Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers,” or CBGB & OMFUG for short, quickly became the place for the hot New Wave and punk sounds of the time.

A veritable who’s who played on its cramped, darkened stage from Elvis Costello to Patti Smith, The Ramones to The Misfits, Reagan Youth to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

CBGB became an iconic Mecca but closed in 2006, becoming occupied by designer John Varvatos and environmentally conscious surf brand Patagonia.

An odd fit?

Maybe as Patagonia feels more… I don’t know… not Phish but maybe something like Phish to me. Journey?

Allman Brothers?

In any case, according to the local Bowery Boogie newsletter, Patagonia is no more. Per the report:

The Patagonia Surf shop on the Bowery rode its last wave.

Corporate pulled the plug on the Lower East Side outpost at the end of October, leaving a retail vacancy in an area that has been upscaled in a big way over the last decade. Store signage was pried from the facade, and the interior scraped bare.

Ready for the next occupant.

Patagonia signed a ten-year lease on 313 Bowery back in 2012, but Hurricane Sandy postponed the launch by a year. In its prior life, this address housed the CBGB Record Canteen, the annex which later morphed into CB’s Gallery in the late-1980s, hosting shows of various genres.

And there we have it.

Coldplay?

Dave Matthews Band?

I’m really struggling to musically cast Patagonia.

Can you help?

Not cool.

Last evening, at roughly 8:30, my personalized digital fitness and health coach instructed me that if I hoped to achieve peak performance the following day, I should consider going to bed.

My life partner, Derek Rielly, maybe sensing shakiness in the quality of my life after an ill-conceived suggestion regarding a three-time surfing champion, also advised that I “focus on sleep” and calm my humors.

Not ever liking to be told what to do, I blatantly ignored the both of them, went out for a late night Korean barbecue feast, came home and watched a World War II drama featuring a small Dutch town getting brutalized by Nazis into the wee hours.

A mistake.

WHOOP knows me better than I know myself, knew I needed that shut eye as “sleep is one of the most important things a person can do to improve recovery, boost the immune system, and make fitness gains.”

The stylish black strap “recommends hours of sleep needed for optimal recovery and tracks sleep stages, disturbances, respiratory rate, and more.”

It takes nightly measurement of when light sleep is engaged, when REM, or “the mentally restorative sleep stage where a body consolidates memory and learning,” is entered, when slow wave sleep, or “the physically restorative sleep stage where a body restores muscular, cellular, and skeletal systems,” is embraced.

A modern miracle but did I listen?

Did I heed?

No.

And I barely woke up for a pre-sunrise surf, drank too much coffee and gave myself a good case of the jitters, forgot my wax, chose the wrong board for very small Great White shark infested Cardiff-by-the-Sea, went left on a right, dropped in on a SUP pilot without care, told a kindly Brazilian to buzz off then felt bad when he sweetly apologized, calling himself a “newb” in the process, came home, wrote this story then rushed off to bark at children for not employing the break-apart strategy in mathematics.

A series of unfortunate decision makings and the day has still just begun.

Performance not peak and tonight I will listen to my personal sleep coach, whose feelings are hopefully unhurt by this poor showing due intransigence.

I will be a better me tomorrow.

Cool under fire.

Yesterday, the three-time surf champion, jiujitsu master Joel Tudor issued a dire warning for those who might be thinking about surfing, or swimming, southern California’s bucolic Cardiff-by-the-Sea.

“Don’t surf Cardiff,” he began the shock Instagram directive. “It’s infested with ten-foot White sharks that are attracted to soft tops, stand-up paddlers and tourist swimmers. Stay safe and find a lake or go take a hike. This was today at 8:12 am.”

The accompanying photograph featured a chunky Great White jumping skyward.

Hungry.

Scary.

I just so happen to live in the aforementioned Cardiff-by-the-Sea and Tudor’s cautioning should have alarmed me greatly but I also just so happened to wake up nearly 72% recovered.

For those who don’t know, the greatest personalized digital fitness and health coach, WHOOP, not only measures strain and sleep but also recovery.

But what is recovery?

Well…

Recovery reflects how well prepared your body is to take on strain, and is a measure of your body’s ‘return to baseline’ after a stressor. The size of these stressors – which can range from illness, exercise, psychological stress or sleep deprivation – determines how much your body needs to recover.

When your recovery is high, your body is primed to take on strain.

When your recovery is low, you may be at greater risk for injury, or overtraining (during intense workouts).

Recovery is highly personalized to each individual member; this means that two people with the same combination of resting heart rate, heart rate variability, respiratory rate, and sleep performance on a given day could get very different recoveries.

72% is a fine number and my body felt primed to take on the strain of ignoring Joel Tudor.

First, I went on a 2 mile Chariots of Fire beach run, lowering my time significantly.

Next, I jumped in the water to cool off, just where that Great White had breached, tourist swimming.

Last, I paddled out for a small wave surf on a 4’10 Album Seaskate soft top.

The surfing, itself, still didn’t register as an “activity” but my heart rate, equally, did not bump up even one click above average.

Ice-water in my veins due growing up surfing properly Great White infested Oregon?

Years spent cavorting around the al-Qaeda infested Middle East, copping a Hezbollah kidnapping etc. (buy here)?

Or a recovery so fine, and knowable, that I was ready to take on any strain?

Testing fate?

No.

Trusting recovery.

WHOOP, there it is.