December 3, 2023, 4:36 pm | Read time: 6 minutes
Beach, board under the arm, and off into the sea to ride wave after wave–for some, the highlight of every vacation; for many others, a dream they hope to fulfill someday. This was also true for FITBOOK editor Nuno Alves, who wanted to learn surfing last summer at the age of 40 and signed up for a course for the first time. After three days in the icy waters of Ofir in northern Portugal, he looks back on his experiences with a sobering view of his talent–and with determination toward the next waves.
Oh, how I imagined my first time surfing differently. Slip into the wetsuit, get the surfboard and a few basics from the instructor–and then off into the water. I saw myself paddling elegantly into the open sea with strong arm movements, reading the ocean with a daring surfer’s gaze, anticipating the perfect moment. And then, paddle, paddle, paddle, raising my upper body, smoothly standing up and riding the wave. Well, it turned out differently, of course. The first setback came with the wetsuit, which I initially couldn’t get into, only to find out once I managed that I had put it on backward. Oh, how embarrassing. This wasn’t the only failure.
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And then I had the biggest board of all under my arm …
For years, or rather decades, I’ve been toying with the idea of finally starting to surf. It’s literally close at hand, as I’m always in the north of Portugal with my family, not far from the Atlantic coast. Last summer, the plan finally turned into a course, just in time before my 50th birthday. And to avoid making it too obvious as “man in midlife crisis wants to feel young and cool again,” I signed up the whole family for the course, including my wife and two daughters (13 and 15). At least one could think that the parents were fulfilling their children’s greatest wish and accompanying them. In truth, it was more the other way around. The enthusiasm among the family beforehand wasn’t that great. But that was about to change…
After I got past the wetsuit faux pas–at least other course participants had similar experiences–it was time to choose the board. The instructor: “Ever surfed, snowboarded, skated?” I’ve skated before, but with modest talent. So I said, “No.” And so they handed me, at 5’7″, the biggest and thickest board of all, not one of those short, agile ones you see with the cool girls and guys. With this bulky thing, I headed to the meeting point about 100 meters further down the beach. By the way, the surfboards of my wife and daughters were considerably smaller. So were those of all the other participants. What kind of impression had I made?
At least I could make up for it a bit with the instructor. Maybe it was my practiced daring surfer look or the fact that I don’t look quite so unathletic for my age. The instructor seemed to see potential in me. When I then compared the movement from lying on the stomach to standing with a burpee, he signaled to me with a long-drawn “exactly” in Portuguese that I had understood. Grins exchanged, followed by a few stretching and dry exercises, and off we went into the sea.
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It seemed as if I simply didn’t belong on the board
It didn’t start off too badly. The 9’0 board remained stable, I could paddle, sit up, and get a feel for the small waves of Ofir. First impression after 10 minutes: cautiously optimistic that I might ride standing toward the beach someday. But for now, I was glad the wetsuit served its purpose in the 60-degree water temperature in midsummer, while I made countless attempts to finally execute the movement fully at the beach break: paddle like crazy, push off with the upper body, bring my right leg into the rear position, pull the left forward, and find–and above all, maintain–balance with bent knees.
The reality looked more like this: I paddled like crazy and still missed the wave. Or: Thanks to a push from the instructor, I caught the wave but placed my hands completely wrong, tilted sideways, and fell into the water. Or: I caught the wave, placed my hands correctly–Yeah!–and performed a burpee with such zeal that the surfboard shook under my clumsy landing and simply threw me off like a horse throws a rider at a rodeo. It was as if I simply didn’t belong on the board.
It felt like one big failure. That didn’t change even when I managed to stand a few times. My legs were too shaky, the rest of my body too stiff–my whole posture too unworthy for such an elegant sport. Instead of looking like a graceful Kelly Slater in the tube, it looked more like the courtship behavior of a gorilla in knee-high surf. At least I didn’t seem to stand out much, as the beachgoers kindly ignored me. I was just another wannabe surf dad in his late 40s among many. Who cares.
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“As frustrating as my failure was–it felt good”
Was that it for my surfing ambitions? Just chalk it up to: “I’m too old for this” or “I should have started earlier”? Nope. As clumsy as I was, as frustrating as my failure was–it felt good. I was exhausted afterward, had sore muscles, worked on my motor skills, and at least achieved one clear goal: to have tried it at least once.
When learning a new sport, one tends to indulge in fantasies of perfect movements, but often underestimates the relevance of the many defeats along the way. They increase our resilience and teach us humility. FITBOOK author Nina Ponath also experienced this when she ventured into a new sport for her: kitesurfing.
For unsuccessful surfers like me, the constant falling, getting up, and paddling back can also feel like a flow that, with some determination, might eventually lead to the true flow of a wave ride. Not perfectly executed, but completed in good form. At least I can say: I will try again. So will my youngest daughter, who had much more success and now constantly asks: When are we doing the next course, Dad?