Surf Your Heart Out

Today I took a surf lesson from a small, locally owned store on Main Street called Head Shots Surf Shop. The clothes are grossly overpriced due to them being your typical Surfer brands. Which I don’t really get because despite boards being a little pricey, that’s really the only financial investment required to surf and most surfers are usually the bum types. I digress.

My surf lesson was surprisingly inexpensive at $40 for an hour & a half one-on-one private lesson including board rental. That was the going rate for lessons in the Dominican Republic where Middle Class Americans can live extravagantly.

Head Shots

My instructor was a good ol’ Southern boy named Andy complete with a deep accent. He was really upbeat though and that definitely helped since I wiped out more than once. He also got more than he bargained for when, despite wearing my most sports-friendly suit, he got a glimpse of my bare ass when I was hopping up on the board once and a shot of one of my breasts when I stood up after one of my wipeouts. But ladies and gents, I surfed! I actually rode a wave, more than one. We’re talking standing up, steering the board with my feet, riding on a wave. It was amazing!

I was absurdly invigorated. I loved it! I mean, okay, the salt water burning my eyes and leaving a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth was not so great. But just the feeling of taking on the waves. It was…liberating and freeing. I completely understand the obsession that people have with it. It’s addictive. It’s like a drug. I might even go rent a board tomorrow and try my hand at it further, on my own. Who knows? Maybe I’ll surf my way across the world as well.

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