My ill-fated beach adventure

So I'm house-sitting in Long Beach again. It's wonderful. A whole house to myself; near the beach so the weather is nice; and the neighbors remember me.

One of these neighbors has a little 505 racing sailboat that he's rebuilding. I asked him if he could take me sailing while I'm down here, but he said the boat's not ready, it's not safe enough for a novice sailor like myself. But he suggested I take sailing lessons and I'm looking into that.

But then he got really excited. "Surfing!" he said. "I know in my soul that you're a surfer. I can just tell."

Really? I wonder what makes him think surfer when he looks at me. Is it the fact that I hate the beach (all that sun and sand and salty water - blech)? Is it my high-maintenance hair? Is it that I very obviously don't participate in sports? I'm not sure what it was, but he insisted so I decided to humor him - and maybe even surprise myself in the process.

He made a call to his friend and daughter's boss - Michael of M&M Surfing School in Seal Beach - and told him to expect me this morning. I got up early and at 7:30 we were heading down to PCH. They had a board already picked out for me and a wet suit set aside. I slathered on the sunscreen - the last thing I needed was to reburn the same bad burn from last weekend - and headed out to the water.

The instructors - the real surfers - did the little safety chat: shuffle your feet when you walk in the water, there are sting rays; if you have to jump off your board, bend your knees, the water is more shallow than you think; no diving! Then we got into the sand-based lesson. Lie down; paddle; scoot; knees; main foot forward; shift; stand.

I was a pro!

I got my board and followed an instructor (happy 18th birthday Jonathan!) into the water. Up on the board, face full of ocean, fall off the board. I did this a couple times and managed to get up onto my knees on a couple waves. Then the life guards told us to go further up the beach - apparently we were drifting into the swimming competition near the pier.

We all moved past life guard tower 5. I was standing in the water with my board next to me, trying not to be in anyone's way. I was about to hop back onto my board when a searing pain shot through my toe and the water around my foot swirled and settled. I was just standing still and was stung by a sting ray!

Pain is a powerful motivator. I got onto my board without any balance issues, did my best wave riding back to the beach, and hobbled out of the water, blood pouring out of the wound and my toe ring already beyond removal from the swelling. I proceeded to limp quite painfully up the beach toward the life guard station. Finally the life guard truck was spotted and flagged down, and I hitched a ride the rest of the way. I hobbled into the little compound and they plopped me in a chair and my foot in a bucket of scalding hot water. I'm still not sure which was worse: the pain of the sting or the pain of the hot water.

I spent a little over an hour with the life guards, and three other sting ray victims came and went while I convalesced. Finally I was able to put weight on my foot and I shuffled back to the "school". I said my thank you's and accepted some sympathy, limped to the car and drove - gingerly on the pedal - home.

One of the life guards suggested I go back to the surf lesson in the afternoon. He said it's like getting back on the horse. Well, I was thrown off a horse once and I know when to quit.

Actually, I may try again, but not soon; I'm a little shy of the ocean just now.