A wild tale of murder and woe.
The swell of Covid, and post Covid (if we can dare imagine we are through the worst pandemic the world has ever seen including, but not limited to, The Black Death) surf adopters continues to stagger lineups around the world. Outdoors, naturally socially distanced, healthy and also exuding a vibe to others.
The perfect activity.
Though, as Poison fans knows, every rose has its thorn and might the surfing life actually be an ouchiest of all options?
A 42-year-old vulnerable adult learner is very much sounding the alarm bells in a new essay The Old Man and the Sea which declares, “Solidly middle-aged, author Santi Elijah Holley decided to learn how to surf. What could go wrong?”
Our guide begins thusly:
When I finally come up for air—after spinning, flipping, somersaulting, and twisting under the waves for what seems like an eternity—I spit out a mouthful of ocean water and wonder what compelled me, at age 42, to take up surfing. I’m not an especially athletic person; these days, even a leisurely walk around my neighborhood in Northeast Los Angeles causes my knees to ache. I used to be more active. As a teenager, I skied and skateboarded and clambered over large rocks and rode a bicycle for pleasure. But in adulthood, I spend most of my time sitting at my desk, staring at a screen, and feeling my body atrophy bit by bit. Deciding to start surfing was an impulsive decision, a desperate resolve to feel alive, a raging against the dying of the light. I wanted to know I was still capable of trying new activities, enjoying new hobbies, and learning new skills that served no practical or professional purpose, that were purely for personal amusement. A surfboard, at any rate, isn’t the worst purchase one can make during a midlife crisis. It could’ve been a Harley-Davidson. Or hair plugs.
He then realizes he needs a surfing lesson and takes one in Santa Monica with three Korean girls as classmates. The piece goes behind the paywall, at this point, but I have to imagine the “What could go wrong?” bit was directly answered. He was ripped off by the surf instructor, made fun of by an onlooker who had begun surfing last year and thus considered himself a local, sent home in such a cloud of self-doubt and timidity that his partner immediately recognized and publicly shamed him later that night when the couple dined with friends at Bub & Grandmas.
When they got home, she twisted the knife, further, telling him he wasn’t a man while he was down trying to fix the dryer by himself instead of calling for help. He became so unsettled that he hit her in the head with a hammer, killing her. The local police got involved while trying to solve another crime leaving our adult learner in a high state of agitation while trying to cover his tracks.
Eventually, guilt and justice, plus his bumbling inactivity, catch up and all is admitted with surfing fingered as cause.
The moral?
If you don’t surf, don’t start.
And, now, without further ado…
