Crash, Swish, Roar. The lonely empty silence is overpowered by a wall of foam rushing towards me. Wheels of sand are churning beneath my feet. My golden locks are flattened and hunched over my head to form a thick curtain over my eyes. Light ripples are printed against my olive stomach as the sun beams through the oceans unsteadiness. I look below me and can’t see where the sand bank ends; I look above and realize it’s a long way to the top. Don’t panic Kate, you’ll get through this. I try to paddle to the top but am halted by something severely weighing me down- My board. That’s what got me in this mess in the first place. I can see the floral pattern peeping through the sand that is rapidly crawling over it. I quickly rip apart the Velcro of my foot strap and watch my board float to the surface effortlessly as I attempt climbing through the water to reach the surface. The fin of my board becomes more visible to me as I ascend. Finally, an alleviating sensation blasts through my mouth. Air. Crash, Swish, Roar. Just as I get a breath, the powerful monster swallows me once more. It finally hits me that I’m going to be under a long time. These are 20 ft waves, I think to myself. There is no way I am getting out of here the easy way. I feel the blood surge to my head as the paranoia sets in. When I was 5 years old, Dad woke me up one morning and informed me that he was finally going to teach me how to surf. I was ecstatic. I used to watch my brothers in envy as I crouched on the damp sand with my head between my hands resting on my knees, sulking at the fact that I wasn’t allowed to surf until I was 5. Well, that time arrived when Dad was taking me, and nothing was going to hold me back. I watched Dad approach me as he returned from a blue and white hire tent with a long (well what seemed long at the time), bright yellow foam board. It had a small white fin sticking out its rear. We stayed shallow and like any impatient 5 year old I began to suffer from frustration as I continuously nose dived into the sand at my efforts to stand up.
began to go surfing everyday either before or after school. Eventually his love for surfing grew
Surfing has come a long way since it was first conceived (roughly 1500 years ago). From the Polynesian “watermen” and Hawaiian Kings, to the European takeover in Hawaii and surfing's American debut in the early twentieth century and all the way through present day, surfing has had a rich history. Over the decades, surfing has fit in to a number of roles in society, but whether we surfers are seen as beach-bums or heroes (as of late), we still surf only because we love it, because the ocean’s calls us, because nothing else on this planet can create the sensation felt by riding a wave.
When I get to the top of the wooden platform, I close my eyes as I feel the cool breeze against my face. It feels peaceful up here, I think. All of the sense of peace was gone when another lifeguard says, “Next!” I look to my right and I see Makaiya standing on the sand with both thumbs up smiling. I smile back, but then I look down at the now terrifying water that waits below me.
When I was about 10 years old, my mom took me to a roller coaster theme park in Massachusetts. I was terribly afraid of the huge roller coaster that appeared in front of me, and while I waited in line, the anxiety of waiting to die in a roller coaster made my heart beat through my chest. The huge coaster went up and down and up and down, and even though my mom continuously asked me if I was sure that I wanted to go, I repeatedly said yes. I wanted to make it clear that I was a man, not a crying baby. Stepping onto that roller coaster was what I remember the most.
A mangled pair of ratty skate shoes step onto the rough grip tape of a long wooden deck that has been cut, shaped, and sanded to perfection. As the feet push off, the board rolls down smooth pavement beginning a ride on an adventurous journey. Glossy polyurethane wheels roll on the asphalt as the rider leans left and right controlling his carves on the street. The wood deck flies just a few inches above the ground with the feel of a surfboard gliding through smooth water while riding a wave. When the rider begins to descend down a hill the longboard picks up speed rapidly. Now the speed is so fast the rider’s eyes start to tear up from the wind. He must carve on the board to control his speed. The sounds of the bearings, which are hidden in the soft wheels, make a humming as they spin down the road.
When I was seven years old I learned how to ride a bike I started of in a less bumpy place then I started in a more crowded area. I remember the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as I rode. My step dad and step brother were both cheering me on. They yelled for me to fall over because I was rolling toward the road. I fingered the ground that was as hard as a rock. I was fine I just got up and brushed myself off.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
My parents still tell me stories when my brother and I would fall asleep riding with them. When I was five I got a Mini Z 120 that was the best thing a five-year-old could get and let me tell you I rode the daylights out of that. I only hit two trees and one pickup and the house two times, dad was never happy about that, but then again I was only five. Then when I got older I would ride with my dad on the back and tucker would ride his own and then now and then I would drive with my dad with me. Then one day I was riding on my own. I was 13 and we got to Ventura and we had to get gas so we pull into the gas station there was a DNR sitting there. I didn’t have my
I was at my grandparent's house for 4 days and in those 4 days, a lot happened. They have this little scooter called shark board which you kneel
This summer i went to Lagoon. It was super fun. We drove to it, and we were super cramped in our car. But luckily we made it. When we got there, the first thing i saw was The Wicked ride. I wanted to ride it, but at the same time i didn’t think i would do it. Then we got our tickets and they let us into the park.
I shucked off my sandals as I ran to the beach right where the waves ended. I asked my dad if I could put just my feet in the water and before I knew it I was neck high in the water.
The women we have encountered in this unit are trapped in various ways. Mrs. Mallard in Kate Chopin's "The Story of an Hour" is most trapped by love. The protagonist in Godwin's "A Sorrowful Woman" is a little freer and the protagonist of Minot's "Lust" is the freest of all. Mrs. Mallard wants to be free from her husband love. She is a target in their. She felt mistaking getting married and non-end able love of Breantly. However, she is feeling happy after hearing the new, of her husband's death. This news was confirmed by the man were working near the railway line and her husband friend Richards. She does not think it is a bad news, she "stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair". She started thinking, "in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life" want her to get ready and start spring with a new ways. As compared to the protagonist of Godwin's "A Sorrowful Woman", she free of doing or saying anything to anyone. Her husbands always say, "I want you to feel freer, he said, understanding these things (40)". Ev...
I have not done very many activities over the summer. My parents just bought a lake house a few days before Memorial Day, so we spent all summer out there. While we were out there I thought I might as well benefit myself by trying a new water sport. I really didn’t want to, but my mom made me learn how to water ski.
Not being able to make one more step to my “Destiny”, feeling petrified, I gather all my courage and scream! HAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa……. My scream slowly faints into nothingness. I look around and see that I don't recognize this part of the world which is something truly amazing. As my brain scans this area I hear sudden movements across from me. I see piercing eyes looking at me like those of a predator hunting his prey. This is the first time I feel this horrifying feeling, the feeling of being hunted. Then out of the bushes comes out this weird and enormous creature, most likely the monster my father would annoy me about. I whispered to myself “ He was right”. Then! With a sudden urge I started running as fast as I could, feeling the monster chasing me was the most terrifying event I've ever been in. I ran and ran, until I came across what looked familiar to me. “I'm close! I'm near home”. I enter the bodies of water that I call home hoping that this creature cannot swim. Once again, I was wrong. This monster had what it looked like long limbs that it would use to swim and a hole where it can breath from. While looking at this creature I envision him speaking out , calling in an unrecognizable language. At this point I was terrified for my life, not only did I imagine the monster capturing me and cooking me for dinner. I also thought that what if I can fight back? “NO!” I screamed in a
Drummer, my swim instructor, threw me off the diving board into the deep end. I was only six.