If his story doesn’t make something under your breastbone feel a little warm, I’m not sure you have anything in there.
I am a bad surf journalisming.
On the first day of the Olympics, I drove the 405, because I am a Californian and that’s what we do. I did not watch surfing on the opening day. As I traversed the 5, the 73, the 405, the 10, the 1, and the 101, updates from friends hopscotched the cell phone towers. Once in a while, I sneaked a look. Mostly, I didn’t know what was happening and I felt fine — as fine as a girl can feel on the 405 and all the other freeways.
Driving in the summer in Southern California is an adventure, and not in a good way. Every time I get in the car, it feels like paddling out on the most crowded day I’ve ever surfed. There’s always that one guy. Parking is about as likely as scoring a set wave during a Surfline Swell at Trestles. I’m desperately trying to focus on doing the thing — catching a wave, or driving the car — while fighting against becoming the worst version of myself. I’m just an idiot surrounded by a sea of other idiots.
Last Tuesday I surfed tiny Swamis, mostly just to savor the absurdly warm ocean temperatures. I got lucky and scored a parking place not that far away at all. I wore a bikini which felt delightfully breezy after so much time in rubber. Two long-timers paddled around, happy to be there. How’s it going, bro? Oh, you know, living the dream!
On Saturday I was in San Clemente at Sur Coffee — they have a delightful elderberry hibiscus iced tea — when I messaged my friend to ask if Caroline won her heat. Parked on the 405, I eventually saw the answer. Caroline won — and by the end of the day, she had the highest heat score of the opening round.
That was right around the time that a friendly dude tried to tell me that the hood on my rental car was not securely latched. Now, you would think that a modern car with every convenience would tell me this very important thing. It did not. Also, it is very hard to understand a helpful dude while driving in traffic on the 405. Only once I went much faster did I see my hood begin to levitate. This seemed bad, actually.
I pulled over to the slim excuse for a shoulder and punched the hazards. Crawling through the car, I exited on the passenger side. I smashed that hood down. But it didn’t stay! This also seemed bad. I smashed it again! Then it stayed. It just needed some extra convincing. I crawled back through the car, merged into traffic, and continued on my way. Thanks, helpful 405 dude!
In Malibu, I saw four bros packed into a GTI with a Sex Wax air freshener hanging from the rearview and four boards stacked on the roof. The whole setup looked like a clown car, what with the bros, the giant boards, and the tiny car. Living their best life! Bro Summer is here, baby!
At the Malibu Blue Bottle, where a crazy lady had locked herself in the bathroom, I learned that Caity won her heat, too.
On the second day of the Olympics, well, you can see how this whole thing was going. You’d think that the next day, being home and no longer on the 405 — which, at a certain point, I began to think that maybe the 405 was going to become my home — I would in fact, watch the Olympics. But, I did not.
Blame the fleas. Living on the coast in California is great. Really, it is. But occasionally, there are some minor threats to the tranquility of the whole situation. Eventually, inevitably, there will be fleas. And you know what? I hate those little assholes. Burn me on a good wave on your stupid Wavestorm and I will still hate you less than I hate fleas. But fleas, we had them.
Between vacuuming the couch and combing the cats, I dropped into the Olympics livestream. The waves looked bad. Also, I had fleas to kill. So, I did not watch the second day of the Olympics. My cats were very happy about this life choice.
I do know that Molly lost to Johanne and it didn’t seem right that they met in the second round. Eventually, the gaps in performance levels on the women’s side should narrow, and the double-CT heats won’t stand out quite so much. At least, I hope that’s what happens. For now, the draw is weirdly lopsided. Caity meets Tati in round 3, for instance. I don’t love it.
On the third day of the Olympics, I watched the surfing out of one eye, while I tried to finish a story on deadline with the other eye. This was not an easy task. Do not try this at home. I am a trained professional. At something. My editor wanted his copy. Teahupoo was firing.
I stopped writing long enough to watch Kauli dispatch Griff. It’s a tough loss for Griff, but it’s hard not to be happy to see the local boy advance. I skipped some heats to finish my story. It’s hard to be responsible.
But the men fucking sent it today. João’s return from his horrifying injury at Pipe to win his heat in massive Teahupoo caverns is a near-perfect sports story. If his story doesn’t make something under your breastbone feel a little warm, I’m not sure you have anything in there. He fought a brutal hand-to-hand battle with Ramzi in which they traded nearly non-stop barrels. It was up there with one of the best heats I’ve watched lately — and maybe ever.
After that no-holds barred fight, the much-anticipated John-Jack heat felt anti-climactic. The wind began to hit it, and both of them got smoked on their opening waves. The swell lulled out. Jack managed to put it back together and get the scores. Inside three minutes to go, John pulled into deep one, but it was too little, too late. Jack advanced, and both Americans are out.
If João’s heat was one of the best I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure the final heat of the day was one of the scariest. The wind whipped through the lineup and turned it to chaos. Ethan and Connor surfed like they believed in immortality. Watching Connor cartwheel down the face, I wasn’t sure he was going to come back up. Ethan won it in a ballsy as fuck performance. If you were thinking he’s just a pretty face with stylish turns, guess again. They played for keeps.
The men’s quarterfinal draw is hilarious, really. Alonso Correa and Inaba Reo open the party. Then it gets silly, and I’m beginning to think ISA needs a rule against seeding surfers from the same country against one another. Kauli and Joan, Gabe and João, and Jack and Ethan all meet in the quarters. Two Australians enter, only one can leave. You get the idea.
Next call is tomorrow morning, and women’s round 3 could be next. Caity and Tati meet in heat 6, and it should be straight fire if it runs in good waves. Looking at the seeding, I’d expect most of the CT girls to advance, though there’s always the possibility for surprises. I do like surprises.
Unless they’re fleas. Fuck fleas.
