The Streak
On June 25th, 2004, I woke up at 5:00 in the morning, drove 30 miles to the beach, and went surfing for an hour before work, catching at least 3 waves before getting out of the water.
So began the streak.
For the next one hundred and sixteen days consecutively, I went surfing every day. Most of those days were spent at the same spot, between lifeguard tower 10 and lifeguard tower 16 in Huntington Beach, CA, on the same stretch of dark sand where I had stared surfing 9 summers prior.
On October 18, 2004, I went surfing on the second day of autumn's first rain storm. The water had become visibly polluted with the storm water runoff. Weather forecasts called for more rain in the following three days. Most surfers were staying home. Only a handful of souls, either brave or stupid, could be found in swimming the water along the beaches. The Surfrider Foundation, an environmental group dedicated to beach issues, posted an advisory on their website urging surfers to stay out of the water until 72 hours after the last rainfall.
The streak ended on October 19th, 2004, when I woke up at 6:45 in the morning, ate a bowl of corn pops, and drove directly to work in the rain.
Aside from the gasoline for driving to the beach, the money for surf wax, and two replacement fins for my surfboards, I didn't spend any money on this endeavor. The surfboard, wetsuits, and shorts that I used were all items that I owned prior to starting the streak, and continued to use after the streak was over. There were no membership fees to pay, no daily supplements to buy, no lift tickets - nothing of the sort. Aside from one or two days at the state beaches, I didn't even pay for parking, though it should be noted that the city of Huntington Beach added parking meters to the east side of Pacific Coast Highway between 17th and 18th street in the first week of October 2004.
The time can only be classified as leisure time, or "play time". While it was exercise, it can't really be called sport. I never felt that I was competing with anyone.
Once in the water, the entire experience was non-commercial. I didn't have to pay a beer company to see the dolphins of Huntington Beach or the schools of sting rays at Scripps Pier. There were no payments to any Hotels, Airlines, Travel Agents, Restaurants, Movie Theatres, Theme Parks, Bowling Alleys, or Golf Courses. The time I spent surfing spent was completely unprofitable to anyone in the radio or television production, programming, distribution, or advertising industries.
While I was in the water, I would like to say that I was subjected to no advertising of any kind. This is, however, not true. Looking back at shore from the water at Huntington Beach, the visible trash cans on the sand feature brightly colored ads for soft drink products, teen blockbuster movies, and surf contests. On several days, I surfed within visible distance of contest tents, brightly and loudly adorned with the logos of clothing companies, wetsuit manufacturers, retailers, and cell phone providers.
As a fringe benefit of this daily playtime, I have received the gifts of daily exercise. I have unintentionally lost approximately 8 pounds without having made any conscious changes in my diet. At the end of the streak, my upper body was in the best shape of my adult life.
Also, I got a lot better at surfing.
I was never, to my knowledge, criticized or judged for my choice of surfboard, wetsuit, or gear. Aside form one Newport Beach kid who yelled at me for missing a good wave, I was never even criticized for my surfing ability, or lack thereof. In fact, I was complimented on several occasions, by casual acquaintances or total strangers. The only criticism I received from other surfers was for disobeying the rules of surfing etiquette, the right of way laws by which all surfers are expected to abide.
My wife, when the streak was over, called me at my job. "I'm just glad it wasn't me!" she said.
A friend and fellow surfer, Chris, also called my office that morning. "So, how does it feel?" He asked.
I told him that I felt odd. A part of my day was missing. It was the first day that I hadn't seen the ocean in nearly four months. I had left my carpeted house, drove over the concrete and asphalt roads, walked across the brick plaza of the office park into the carpeted office building. There was no ocean involved in my morning.
"Yea.." Chris sighed, "That gets old real quick."
More Later,
-Travis
copyright 2004 Travis R. English
So began the streak.
For the next one hundred and sixteen days consecutively, I went surfing every day. Most of those days were spent at the same spot, between lifeguard tower 10 and lifeguard tower 16 in Huntington Beach, CA, on the same stretch of dark sand where I had stared surfing 9 summers prior.
On October 18, 2004, I went surfing on the second day of autumn's first rain storm. The water had become visibly polluted with the storm water runoff. Weather forecasts called for more rain in the following three days. Most surfers were staying home. Only a handful of souls, either brave or stupid, could be found in swimming the water along the beaches. The Surfrider Foundation, an environmental group dedicated to beach issues, posted an advisory on their website urging surfers to stay out of the water until 72 hours after the last rainfall.
The streak ended on October 19th, 2004, when I woke up at 6:45 in the morning, ate a bowl of corn pops, and drove directly to work in the rain.
Aside from the gasoline for driving to the beach, the money for surf wax, and two replacement fins for my surfboards, I didn't spend any money on this endeavor. The surfboard, wetsuits, and shorts that I used were all items that I owned prior to starting the streak, and continued to use after the streak was over. There were no membership fees to pay, no daily supplements to buy, no lift tickets - nothing of the sort. Aside from one or two days at the state beaches, I didn't even pay for parking, though it should be noted that the city of Huntington Beach added parking meters to the east side of Pacific Coast Highway between 17th and 18th street in the first week of October 2004.
The time can only be classified as leisure time, or "play time". While it was exercise, it can't really be called sport. I never felt that I was competing with anyone.
Once in the water, the entire experience was non-commercial. I didn't have to pay a beer company to see the dolphins of Huntington Beach or the schools of sting rays at Scripps Pier. There were no payments to any Hotels, Airlines, Travel Agents, Restaurants, Movie Theatres, Theme Parks, Bowling Alleys, or Golf Courses. The time I spent surfing spent was completely unprofitable to anyone in the radio or television production, programming, distribution, or advertising industries.
While I was in the water, I would like to say that I was subjected to no advertising of any kind. This is, however, not true. Looking back at shore from the water at Huntington Beach, the visible trash cans on the sand feature brightly colored ads for soft drink products, teen blockbuster movies, and surf contests. On several days, I surfed within visible distance of contest tents, brightly and loudly adorned with the logos of clothing companies, wetsuit manufacturers, retailers, and cell phone providers.
As a fringe benefit of this daily playtime, I have received the gifts of daily exercise. I have unintentionally lost approximately 8 pounds without having made any conscious changes in my diet. At the end of the streak, my upper body was in the best shape of my adult life.
Also, I got a lot better at surfing.
I was never, to my knowledge, criticized or judged for my choice of surfboard, wetsuit, or gear. Aside form one Newport Beach kid who yelled at me for missing a good wave, I was never even criticized for my surfing ability, or lack thereof. In fact, I was complimented on several occasions, by casual acquaintances or total strangers. The only criticism I received from other surfers was for disobeying the rules of surfing etiquette, the right of way laws by which all surfers are expected to abide.
My wife, when the streak was over, called me at my job. "I'm just glad it wasn't me!" she said.
A friend and fellow surfer, Chris, also called my office that morning. "So, how does it feel?" He asked.
I told him that I felt odd. A part of my day was missing. It was the first day that I hadn't seen the ocean in nearly four months. I had left my carpeted house, drove over the concrete and asphalt roads, walked across the brick plaza of the office park into the carpeted office building. There was no ocean involved in my morning.
"Yea.." Chris sighed, "That gets old real quick."
More Later,
-Travis
copyright 2004 Travis R. English
posted by travinator @ 1:11 PM
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