Nikki Yeager

 This morning I woke up bright and early for my first surfing lesson ever. It was 7am, raining and 40 degrees outside. 

I rolled out of bed and managed to text the surf instructor with my eyes half closed with sleep.

Me: Are we still on for today?

A few seconds later I felt the reassuring vibration from my phone - there was no way we'd be able to go out today. 

Him: The wind died down last night and there's no rain. See you soon! 

Let's just ignore the fact I need a coat to go outside.

Still unbelieving I managed to haul my exhausted but to the train for my wintertime surf lesson. The guy had calmly assured me that with today's wetsuit technology a little cold weather doesn't need to stop a surfer. I never really bought it. 

It took me two hours but I made it to the Rockaway beach with about 10 seconds of walking between the train and the beach to ponder just how stupid my decision to book surf lessons in NYC was. Just enough time to regret it but not enough time to really talk myself back to the train. 

The wind blew and I pulled my coat closer to keep myself warm while hustling along the tiny beach road I was on. A few minutes later and I was peeling layers off down to my bathing suit. 

And into the wetsuit I went. 

Without wasting any time our two instructors marched us down to the waves where the dark cloudy water broke in angry splashes of white. The ocean did not look happy today. Someone really pissed that ocean off. 

Two other surfers (the only other people in the world crazy enough to brave the choppy water and freezing temperatures) ran sat in the water about 100 feet away. I adjusted my leash and then looked out again to the ocean. 

Still angry. 

And without warning our instructors ran off to the side.... one of the other surfers had smashed into the rocks along the edge of the beach. Everyone experienced in the ways of the mighty New York water rushed off to save the poor little surfer. 

He struggled. My instructors ran out to the waves. The second surfer flung his board aside and dove in. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, the half drowned man was brought ashore where he stood up, took off his leash and walked away. 

My instructor nonchalantly jogged back over: "Ready to go?" 

Ummm... sure. Let's jump into the same ocean that just tried to kill that man. Good idea. 

Despite my reservations, I'd paid for this lesson and I was getting in that water if it killed me. Without thinking I followed the surfer-teacher out to sea. And by the time I felt the least bit wet I was up to my shoulders in water. Cold water. 

But he was right - the wet suit was a little cocoon of warmth and happiness protecting me from all the lay below. 

And off we went. I had about 10 seconds of instruction and then the man holding my board gave me a shove.

"PADDLE!" 

Instead of paddling I flailed my arms like I had Tourette's and hoped for the best as waves attempted to yank me off my little board and pull me under. 

"UP!" 

Jumping up shouldn't be hard. But let me tell you this, I'm pretty confident in my ability to make it look impossible. 

I slammed my hands down on the deck of the board and pushed my little chicken legs out in front of me. One knee immediately smashed the board and the other leg flew randomly to the side. I stumbled, fell and then rolled around in the 40 degree water for a few seconds. 

Classy.

For another hour or so I made a mockery of the sport and rather than doing anything similar to surfing, I let the ocean beat me up for fun. 

By the end of an hour or two, I'd spent about 10 minutes standing on my board and the rest wrestling with an opponent about a hundred thousand tons larger then me... unsuccessfully of course. And after that I can only tell you one thing:

Surfing if probably the best and most challenging thing I've done out of all the others I've tried this year.

I'm counting down the days to go again. Anyone want to come next time??