If Amazon Prime had a delivery service for brand new shoulders, they sure would have my business. I’m assuming that “snap, crackle, pop” is supposed to solely be in your cereal, and not coming from a creaky body, right?
I had to laugh when I paddled out in Hermosa with local ripper Sarah Foley this morning. Everything was so jumbled with riptides every 10 feet or so, the waves themselves seemed disoriented and didn’t know which way to break. I skimmed down a few faces that I just couldn’t seem to figure out, like bumpy liquid puzzles that I was trying my best not to sink the nose of my board under. With so much water moving me around every which way, I got out and ran towards some friends on the pier, yelling “This is literally the most confusing surf session I’ve ever had!!”
I took a breath and paddled back out, timing totally off and getting caught inside by the sets and pulled far too close toward the towering, barnacle-ridden pilings. A break in the sets finally gave me a clear path, and it seemed as though right when I made it past the breakers, the water calmed, the surface glassed off, the shape got better, and the waves were ready for riders. A few slashes from Foley on her shortboard and myself ending with a nice rollercoaster and I was beat. A protein bowl at Brothers not long after had my full and undivided attention.
Home and showered, I thought I was done, but I got that call. That call when a spot is good and you’re so beaten and tired but the other end of the line gets the best of you. Jeff Phillips, master of shit-giving, king of the reefs, and big wave charger told me to come surf. And I tried not to. But even with Jeff wielding his weapon of nagging and teasing (calling me a little girl, and telling me I’m handicapped), if there’s a chance to be in or near the sea, I just can’t help myself.
And so I went, on the condition that I would sit at the top of the cliff and rest my shoulder, sunning myself for a while while watching the talented, close-knit crew surf the lefthand reef, full of a rocky obstacle course, especially with the dropping tide. How I ended up in my springsuit I don’t know (I blame Jeff), and I must’ve slid down that cliff of mud and trodded barefoot over a field of sharp rocks, because all of the sudden I was following Jeff and Jason out into the not-so-deep blue sea, trying to figure out how to paddle a board over 3 feet shorter than my go-to (I’m not allowed to ride a longboard here). I was stoked to see a few familiar faces, do a couple turns on my shortboard, not lose my hat that I forgot to take off, catch 5 (I told myself only 3) good sized waves, and only cut my feet up a little bit on the reef.
Now, I think it is time more than ever, to go back and see Dr. Scale, who with his voodoo shoulder magic put me back together when I was in a sling and one-arm paddling in circles. Since I can’t seem to keep myself out of the water, a little chiropractic pain will more than suffice.
