Is Surfing Cool?

Where I grew up in the sprawling lands of suburbia, anything that was not from there was enticing. The sea. The mountains. Great wide open spaces. And anything to do with these natural places was super attractive. Sailing, skiing, or better still, snowboarding, and even camping were really appealing. The winner for me was surfing. To me, surfing was something that only the mega cool did. These guys oozed freedom, plus they looked good, from the salty blonde messy hair, to the big baggy t-shirts and bare feet (think early 90’s surf dude), everything was so totally desirable. I wanted to be a surfer. I wanted people to look at me walking past the chain stores on a suburban high street and think ‘she’s a surfer, she’s cool’. I nicked my brother’s Transworld Surf magazines, and tried to read myself into being cool, without actually putting my feet anywhere near a board.

It was a family holiday to south west of France, not far from Hossegor, that gave me my first real memories of surfing. I distinctly remember the power of the ocean as I stood with my mum and brother in the legendary beach break, getting smashed around, but loving every minute. Despite my apparent interest in surfing I didn’t really embrace given opportunities on this holiday. My brother did, and always came out of the water with a look on his face I could not quite fathom, elation, fullfilment, something like that. I remember going to watch the Rip Curl Hossegor surf comp. That was the height of cool (to me), sitting there on the beach in my Rip Curl Hossegor cap, while Gary Elkterton ran past. And possibly even Kelly Slater, but he was an actor in Baywatch to me, not a surfer.

Eventually, many years after this I did get into the water. In sunny Cornwall. And it was worth the wait. Now I was cool too! Yeah, I was part of the cool gang. I bought the clothes, the gear, and all I wanted to do was talk about surfing, and work out when I could next drive the 4 hours to Cornwall. In hindsight, these weekends were probably more about the socialising and the drinking than the surfing. If in fact I was surfing. I had a board and a wetsuit. But not a clue. I was having fun, and that was enough to keep me going. And I was cool.

It wasn’t until I moved to France, to the beautiful Hossegor/Capbreton area that my focus shifted. Suddenly was surrounded by staggeringly talented people, who looked like they’d just stepped out of a surf mag. I mean, these were the uber cool. A melange of surfer and French chic – it worked. I discarded their omnipotence and kept working on my own skills, forming my own opinions and experiences in the water. Oh my goodness. I was beginning to think that perhaps I was a surfer! I was doing OK. I grew in strength, knowledge and confidence, and life was becoming a blissful existence. I didn’t care about being cool, I just wanted to capture that feeling again and again and again.

But now I’m back to square one. Or possible two. After falling pregnant and having a wonderful son, I have become lazy, and have spent too much time making up excuses as to why I can’t go in the water right now. So now I have lost all my strength, knowledge and confidence. I have almost forgotten that feeling. Almost, but not quite, and I feel now that I have acknowledged my laziness and excuse creating – like an addict – it is time to get off my backside and get back in the water. I no longer care if I’m not one of the cool kids. I want to have fun. And I am determined to get some blue juice back in my life. It feels so much better than being cool.