I grew up about as far away from saltwater as one possibly can. I learned to swim in the gross but still waters of pools, ponds, lakes and rivers. Meanwhile, Jaime was spending his summers sleeping just yards away from the Mediterranean Sea like an asshole.
I saw him surf for the first time on our recent trip to visit his family in Valencia. It was evening, and as I sat on the beach reading, I'm embarrassed to admit that I was terrified watching him. Don't get me wrong, he was being a totally righteous babe, but every time he would dismount (?) a wave, I would lose sight of him for what felt like five shark minutes.
However, on our way back to the apartment, Jaime was swarmed by little Spaniards.
Niños: "Did you get some really big waves!?"
Jaime: "Meh. They were okay. Nothing special."
Niños: "Oh man! He's surfed bigger waves! He's probably surfed the biggest waves in the world!"
Jaime: "Get away from me."
I craved that kind of fame for myself, so the next day, I asked him to teach me. He walked to his abuelos' house and brought back a child's surf board. I was sort of hoping he'd say no.
The thing about good surfing waves is that they're bigger than normal waves, and you have to fight through them while tethered to a heavy plank that's longer that you are. Every time a wave came, I was flipped over and dragged by my ankle until the entire sea was in my lungs and my bandeau top was around my waist. Normally, I wouldn't care, but 75% of the people around us were related to Jaime.
I made my way back to shore, took my top off and put Jaime's t-shirt on. He wasn't thrilled. "Ugh. When my shirt gets wet, people are going to know that you have boobs." I figured that they had already figured out I have boobs when they saw my boobs, so I tried again.
When I finally caught a wave, I started to realize how a person I love so much could love something so horrible so much. I was hurtling towards the beach; it felt like my feet were in my ears. I wasn't about to ruin it by trying to stand.
The end result of being flung onto the sand miles away from where I needed to be to catch the next wave really harshed my buzz, though.
My advice is to cuss as much as possible on your way back out. I like "motherfuckingshitgodfuckingdammitwwwwhhhyyyfuckyoufuckingfucker!" but really, whatever you say won't make a bit of fucking difference, so just say what feels right in your heart.
Another piece of advice I have is to take regular breaks to reapply your sunscreen. I don't care if all you want is to get just a little bit of color on your legs for the family dinner celebrating your marriage that night. Do it.
"Your ass looks like a tomato, and I'm actually scared," Jaime said.
Just never, ever give up. Keep trying and trying and never stop unless you want to.
Well, I hope this post got you stoked to try something new! Hang ten, Broseph, and other things!
A photo of us at our wedding celebration later that night.
I'm on the left.
I'm on the left.
