I have never really been a particularly sporty person, even though I spent years dancing professionally I would not consider myself sporty in the traditional sense.
Even as a child running and jumping seemed a little bit impossible, as I suffered with severe back pain from the age of eight until my teenage years. I even had the pleasure of being encased in fluorescent pink fiberglass for a few months at primary school, while doctors tried to figure out what was wrong. This meant I was excused from PE lessons but did continue to attend dance classes after school, probably because I liked it more. I am now emotionally scarred by the thought of being head to toe in lycra whilst wearing said plaster cast around the trunk of my body. As a particularly tall child I probably looked a lot like a toilet roll holder! Things didn’t really get much more glamorous during my teenage years, because even after the plaster was removed I had to wear a particularly attractive surgical corset right up until the age of fourteen! It resembled the corset variety of the 1980s NHS glasses, more than anything you would see in Anne Summers!
When I could participate in school physical education, I think the teachers had higher hopes for me than what they witnessed. I have vivid memories of the 12 minute run, a challenge to see how many laps of the tennis court we could do in the allotted time, where Miss Sherry would be bellowing at me about my dance qualifications and my inability to complete more than one lap without looking like I needed emergency oxygen. I jogged round and round the outside of the tennis court resembling what could be likened more to a dying swan (in the literal sense and not that of a talented ballet dancer). Needless to say, my efforts were never in danger of breaking any records.
Last year I did set myself a goal of completing a charity swimathon, which after a change of work plans took place whilst on holiday in Malta. Even this potentially positive sporting experience was tainted by being forced to wear a borrowed swimming cap! It is essential pool attire on the island...apparently! Although I did complete the swim, I subsequently suffered with Tonsillitis, which I am convinced came from over exerting myself in a swimming pool and nothing to do with the swimming cap, being run down or walking around wearing summer clothes in March.
You can therefore perhaps understand why sport has not always been high on my agenda, but non-the less it has made it to the list! I am pleased to say that writing today at the beginning of June has in fact seen two sports completed already and given that sport is possible during lockdown maybe I'll become sporty at forty.
Surfing was whilst on holiday in Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands in November 2019, where myself and Edward enrolled on a one day course. On reflection this may not have been long enough, but all we had time for and possibly all my body would allow. The hardest part of this sport is actually getting into the standing position on the board, particularly when you have zero upper body strength! Yes of course staying upright is also equally challenging but sadly I didn’t get that far.
With a surf board under my arm, running into the oncoming waves I felt like an extra from the 80's programme Baywatch. That was until the instructor advised us that the waves were unlike any he had seen for a while!
Christian was not your typical looking surfer dude, with wild hair and easy going personality. Instead he looked quite conservative but had a mixed-up accent, which later he revealed was due to ‘the surf taking him around the globe’. A rather poetic image and one that conjured up in my head more of a story than perhaps he was willing to share. He gave me the impression that he preferred living from coast to coast and beach to beach because he didn't want life to tie him down.
As he donned his wet suit I noted his wiry physique, again not what I had expected of a surfing athlete. Although inexperienced in the world of surfing, I have travelled enough to see many a coast line adorned with figures on the crest of a wave. My mixed emotions of what to expect from this teacher were thankfully quickly dashed.
Christian was an excellent instructor whose approach to safety was commendable, even though we were continuing with the activity in rather dubious looking seas. I tried to not be concerned for my own safety when he pointed at the red flags and encouraged a group of young swimmers onto the shore. He tried to reassure us that the addition of a surf board meant we were not at risk like them. This made me even more anxious about what I was going to do! Filled with panic I chose to take solace in the fact that I was of a similar build to Christian and hoped this meant that I too could be riding the waves skilfully before long.
How wrong I was, surfing is incredibly difficult! Whilst I consider myself to have pretty good balance, nothing can prepare you for the lack of control you feel as you cling to the board whilst bouncing across the waves on your stomach. Suddenly I was heading towards the beach on a wave and trying to use what little arm strength I had to stand up. Unfortunately I plunged under the water and remained submerged for what felt like several minutes. My main concern was about the board that was attached to my foot and where it was going to end up. Was I suddenly going to be washed up on the shore with it knocking me unconscious as it came back down to earth, like the sea had spat me out for being terribly bad at this new-found sport?! As I looked up I could see trusty Edward rushing towards me from the beach. The instructor was also clambering at haste through the sea in my direction, which panicked me even more. I continued to be swept backwards and forwards by the powerful tide, eventually sliding onto the sand like I was being delivered back to safety.
Whilst submerged I was immediately reminded of a similar experience aged eleven. During my first holiday abroad to the Algarve I got caught by the strength of the sea as I was trying walk out of it together with my Mother. This sadly resulted in a rather inelegant display of us being tossed around like a game of volleyball. The embarrassing moment ended with a pubesent me hurriedly making my way up the beach to avoid the crowd that was already forming around us. As I reached the security of my sunbed, I could see that my new coral coloured swimsuit had not only gone slightly transparent, but the spin cycle experience had left behind stones and shells covering the core three places. The result was a rather biblical looking Eve meets Adam swimsuit! Luckily on this occasion I was covered head to toe in a wet suit, so this scarring memory was not repeated. However the image of me in a wet suit may now be something you cannot erase from your mind and potentially as traumatic.
When the lesson was over we felt accomplished; not in the sense of it being an achievement, but more that we had given it a go. A little bit like when your nine and receive a certificate just for taking part.
I am not sure if this is an experience I will ever do again, but battling the waves and coming out alive is good enough for me.
