First Wave...again.
Everyone remembers their first wave. For me, I was about seventeen years old. We had taken a surf trip down to Hatteras, and I was just happy to be included in the surfing plans. The waves in Hatteras were unlike any I had surfed before…they were long, clean lines of surging energy that came from hundreds of miles away, swelling with each inch until peeling off into the distance along the shoreline. I paddled out easier than at home in Ocean City, dropped in with similar ease, and finally enjoyed that nice, smooth ride I had been waiting so many years to enjoy. When I moved to Florida, I was sure I only had the best days of surfing ahead of me. I was so close to some of the greatest longboarder waves on the East coast! But, a few months after moving, I broke my leg. The ACL tore out a section of bone in an unfortunately accident around Thanksgiving. Which meant surgery, physical therapy, and recovery. A long, long…..long recovery. I was never that great of a surfer. But I loved it. I loved being able to be out in the middle of the ocean, spending time with my dad, watching the dolphins swim so close that you could almost reach out and touch their backs. Just being so connected with nature is an exhilarating experience. In order to experience that thrill again, I had some work to do. Physical therapy was rough; because of the specific type of ACL injury that I had, I needed to keep my knee still for awhile as it healed. This let the bone heal, but lead to scarring that needed to be broken up and painful pushing and pulling to get my range of motion back. Four weeks after my injury, I sat inside as everyone went surfing. They came in, cold, talking about the awesome session, getting showers and tea to warm up. I was still on crutches and was supposed to be for another two weeks, but I attempted to make little steps around the kitchen. I couldn’t believe how weak my leg had become! Once my physical therapy changed to focusing on weight-bearing exercises, my confidence grew some. I did extra leg presses on the machine so that I would be ready for practice pop-ups on my bedroom floor. Those first pop-ups were…interesting! I had a big brace on my leg and it was stiff and sore. But I was one step, or one push-up, closer to getting back out on the water. My first day back out surfing was pretty ridiculous. I did not really get up on any waves. The first day, and few times after that day, I tried to get up the same way I always had. I incorrectly crawled up a little bit because I was insecure with my balance. With a broken leg and limited range of motion, this was not working. I kept finding myself falling over and off of my board. I was determined to get that feeling back that I longed for since the injury. Labor Day weekend, almost one year after breaking my leg, I went back to Melbourne, ready to surf. That first wave I got—my second “first wave,” was even better than the first. It included the pain and frustration I felt over the last few months. It was fueled less by that (frustration doesn’t get you anywhere!) than being surrounded by people who cared about me. I heard my “uncle” Charlie yell, “Go Lisa, go!!” and later shout out, “Ride that wave!” as we both dropped in and cranked a left turn and rode one in together. Before I broke my leg, I didn’t have the control to know when it was okay to share a wave or when I better stay out of the way. I couldn’t drop in and pop up on a chest-high wave and live to tell the tale. I think if I had tried I wouldn’t have been here today. Sometimes, when bad things happen to you, there really is a reason for it. A lot of the time, a great thing can come out of it, you just can’t tell what it is yet. I loved surfing before this injury, but not as much as I do now. I love having the respect for my space around me, the warmth from those who care about me, and understanding how to flow with a challenge, rather than let it defeat you or try to fight against it. When I learn these things when I surf, I can apply the same ideas to my life.