Waking up and feeling quite exhausted, I nearly opted out of my surfing lesson. The sky is overcast, reminding me of the heavy books I had decided to pack in my backpack; I can hear them calling my name.

One of the girls who works at the hostel convinces me that experiencing a surf on a rainy day is worth pushing past the lethargy, so I put my bathing suit on and climb into the van.

Part of the reason I wanted a break from surfing is that the waves can feel quite relentless. You catch one, you feel good, you swim to the surface- only to be met with a gigantic wall of ocean ominously hovering above your head. The wave crashes above you, and then for kicks takes your board too. Rinse and repeat about two more times.

By the time you paddle back (the hardest part of surfing) you feel like you have gone to war with the ocean. You did not win.

But the person from my hostel was right. The beach is stunning, mountains fading into the background like a distant memory, the ocean a dark turquoise. The waves have not calmed but there is a sense of peace.

The lesson begins with my continuous and violent forced baptism. I feel like a rag doll being pull towards the beach with every crashing wave, salt water up my nose, stinging my eyes, swallowed accidentally. I try paddling back only to be overtaken again and again.

After a succession of waves I feel the final straw has been drawn and I have entered fight or flight mode. A powerful wave is coming towards me, mocking me, ready to throw me back towards the beach once more. I hold onto my board with both hands, jousting it into the wave with full strength. I find myself on the other side of the wave, board in hands, electric red in my eyes, a new passion coursing through my veins. I am ready to take on my new nemesis: the ocean.

I love surfing.

Song of the Day:

Viscous – Lou Reed