Surfing in Sydney - You're Never Too Old To Learn

A few months ago, a friend called to ask if I'd likeanyone who accidentally took their wave, ensured
to join her on a surfing lesson at Manly Beach inthe closest I came to the thrills of surfing was
Sydney. Giving thought to my answer, twothrough the eyes of a six o'clock sports news
images flashed to mind. My thirty-nine year oldcamera.After the lesson I realised how irrational
battle weary body, attempting to hang five with athese fears had been. I'd seen dozens of board
gaggle of bewildered foreign backpackers andriders emerge from the sea every day. They all
pointing school kids. And more vividly, the look onstill had their torsos, and very few walked as if
the faces of my settled couple andthey had a surfboard stuck in their backsides.
married-with-kids friends if they knew I was evenNever again would I allow an issue outside of my
considering the idea.Having recently broken out ofcontrol to prevent me from living out my surfing
Sydney's Lower North Shore maximum suburbiadream!Which meant I'd need a more tangible fear.
and moved to fun-filled Manly beach, I had alreadyIt came to me just after the smirking surf shop
become a prime suspect in their case againstgrommet had taken my money and watched me
dirty-thirties attempting to recapture lost youth. Itleave with eight feet of fiberglass, a rubber suit,
wasn't that I'd been caught driving a redtwo packets of golden tan bikini girl board wax,
convertible sports car or acting suspiciouslyand his sunglasses stand wrapped in my leg rope.
outside Botox clinics. However, I had been hauledMaybe my sensible friends were right after all?
into Fresco painted living rooms and interrogatedPerhaps I was pathetically holding on to a long lost
under the glare of designer mood lighting overyouth?Coyly making my way down the beach, I
alleged mixed touch football games on weekends,felt the stares of sunbakers boring into me,
bar hopping on school nights, and clubbing on anyknowing exactly what they were thinking. A voice
night, sternly warned that such activities were notcame over the lifesaver club speakers. No-one
something a self-respecting man of my ageever understands those announcements, but I
should be involved in."Sure, count me in" I replied.heard it clearly, "You, the thirty-nine year old guy
Breaking the news to the fun police couldn't bein the hysterically fitted wetsuit. Act your age. Put
any more embarrassing than having to answerdown the surfboard and move back between the
the question asked of every male living in aflags. Nice and slow." Just as I thought the game
beachside suburb, "So do you surf?" with awas up, I took one last look at the lapping water
mumbled reply about body bashing in a pair ofand realised I'd come to far to stop now.
flippers. Besides, one lesson was hardly aMustering every ounce of courage in my
commitment. It was like a speed date. I'd hook upentertaining frame, I clutched my board like a
with a few boards, share some laughs, make aswagman with his tucker-bag and yelled, "You'll
fool of myself, and never be seen again.The daynever catch me alive", crashing into the sea,
arrived, and everything seemed to be was goingleaving the world of epochlitically correct troopers
to plan. Paddle out, thrash about like a puppet onin my wake.I've been honing my paltry surfing
amphetamines, catch a wave, attempt to standskills for a while now and still find myself upside
shakily, fall off comically, try to laugh at ones selfdown more often than not, but it doesn't matter.
louder than at those around you, and start again.As any golf hacker will tell you, one sweet drive
At this rate, I'd be back in the safety of the pubdown the middle of a long straight fairway
in no time, telling those who asked, "Yeah, I usedredeems 99 slices into the car park and dribbles
to surf until I wiped out on a submerged Germanoff the end of the tee. Just give me one smooth
and did my back in."Then the most bizarre thingride on a glistening blue satin-sheet wave,
happened. After landing one particularly kind waveoverflowing champagne froth in my wake, and
and staggering to my feet, the regulation leftnot a backpacker to be seen between my board
hook that had sent me crashing to the canvas alland the beach, and this middle-aged delinquent will
day never arrived. I was still standing, surfing rightalways be back for more. Because the only thing
over the top of the remaining backpackers, whilethat scares me these days is imagining what life
the school kids didn't even register a bump!Therewould be like if I'd never become a surfer
was no denying my giant esky lid was about thedude.Four things every late starter should know
size of the QEII, and would have remained stableabout surfing:1.Physiological studies have
with an entire Central African governmentdemonstrated that surfing is an excellent form of
onboard, however, gliding across water with theexercise. An aerobic fitness study at Deakin
sun on my face, salt on my lips, and sand in myUniversity found that competitive surfers rate
shorts left me exhilarated in a way no Sundaycomparable to Nordic skiers and distance runners,
night happy hour ever had. By the end of thewhilst my study found it reduced budding
lesson I knew that somewhere in a surf shop outman-boobs and wobbly love handles.2.Male surfers
there, a shapely piece of fibreglass was calling myhave licence to stand at the back of the beach
name.From an early age, I'd always loved Sydneyand ogle women for at least fifteen minutes
beaches. Face-planting on a sandbank afterlonger than other men before being arrested,
catching a 'dumpa'; having to "do a runner" acrossprovided they at least pretend to be studying the
the scorching hot sand until we found a place toswells in the water too. Female surfers have no
drop our towels; waiting ravenously in the shopadditional ogling rights over other women because
line for a chocolate Paddle Pop and a pie n' saucemen only wish they all did it more often.3.It is
with the sensation of course damp sand underworth investing in a good quality wetsuit. In
my feet, and scent of salt caking bodies underaddition to their heating benefits, they evenly
my nose; the golden tanned girls who, well, justdistribute excess body lard throughout the rubber
walked around being golden tanned girls. Myskin.4.No matter what your mates tell you, a
transcendental surfing lesson aboard the HMASwetsuit should be worn with the zipper at the
Polystyrene left me wondering, "Why didn't I tryback. I promise.Best places to learn to surf in
this years ago?"Amongst a list of very lameSydney:Manly Surf School Offers classes at four
excuses, only one seemed to have any validity.of Sydney's northern beaches daily throughout
Fear. As a teenager without a car, it had beenthe year.Bondi Surf School - Lets Go Surfing
less frightening to stand in the local nets andOffers classes at Sydney's most famous beach
watch cricket balls fly towards my face, orthroughout the year.Simon Hillier runs Get There,
attempt, and often fail, to jump BMX bikes overa freelance writing service based in Sydney,
5ft ditches, than let golden tanned girls see meAustraliaIn a career spanning 18 years, Simon has
hanging out at the beach with mum and dad.Inworked in advertising, television production, travel,
my twenties, I was building a career, travelling thesales and marketing, and e-commerce. In 2005,
world, and discovering that there was more to aduring a rare moment of clarity, if not sanity,
female's beauty than the shade of her tan. BySimon leapt from the relative safety of his office
this time my parents were permitted tocubicle, into the murky waters of freelance
accompany me in public, however, the thought ofwriting, where he now specializes in feature
prehistoric man-eaters licking their lips underneatharticles, travel writing, copywriting, web content,
my bobbing sea biscuit, and tales of 120kgebooks and scriptwriting.
neanderthals performing surfboard proctology on