A Year and two days

Yesterday, a year and two days after open heart surgery, on a day when the nor’easter spilled out over the sea and a small South West groundswell curled over the sandbanks, my wife, her friend and I went for a surf.

With the white V’s of snow covered mountains behind us, and the sun dodging licks of high cloud, we waded into the sea. I managed to pilot my big, blue learners’ board beyond the whitewater. Out back I waited until a small clean right hander rolled my way. As the wave picked me up I attempted to jump to my feet – back, knees and ankle all protesting the contortion. Ankle especially – the sharp shock of pain cleaving through it almost toppled me. But it didn’t. And the friendly little swell forgave my clumsy start, leaving me time to turn down the line. I swept across a couple of sections adjusting, trimming, turning – sailing – sploshing down eventually in the shallows.

It was a very shaky return, each wave hurt my ankle more, my heart felt funny, and I struggled for breath worse than I ever did before surgery. And, when I paddled down the beach to try and surf some of the steeper lefts, I failed, more or less.

But I made it. Nothing so certain as a come back, my body feels too fragile to try it again for a while. But I rode a few waves. I surfed again. And that was pretty sweet.

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