“All you can do is try to be healthy and pray to stay healthy. If you don’t have your health, what else do you have?”

A wise friend recently said that to me. He’s spot on. That’s what this post is about.

And it’s been a while. Too long. Six protracted months since my last installment of Triple B. We’re now at that time of year where the cold forces me to throw self-consciousness out the window. If I want to surf, I’ve got to squeeze myself into a skin-tight, all revealing wetsuit. It’s worth it, though.

I had this post ready to go 25-days ago. So really it’s been a seven month drought. But I had a good reason for the additional month. You see, my younger daughter became a statistic. On February 1st, she came down with the flu. Flu A to be specific. She was admitted to the hospital on February 4th. And over the next two weeks, our world was rocked from top to bottom. She spent eight days in the PICU. She had flu, pneumonia, blood infection, fluid on her lungs, a collapsed lung and a chest tube. She’d appear to improve one minute and then tank the next. There’s nothing more mentally, emotionally, and spiritually debilitating than watching your child suffer while you are powerless to help.

She’s doing okay now. Just managing effects of the pneumonia. I’ve also learned to write pneumonia without getting a spelling error. Silver lining.

My own health is another reason for the writing drought. I’ve learned something important about this sport over these few months – surf boards and human bodies are very alike. I’m going to launch into a diatribe about the physical human condition. Before I do, I promised myself and my wife something. I promised I’d not turn into a Werther’s sucking, crotchety old man complaining about his injuries and illnesses. So, this is my last “injury” themed post for a while.

I’ll start with the body. As I’ve mentioned, surf injuries are inevitable and largely a rite of passage. You slice yourself with a fin and your friends celebrate… if you’re not getting hauled to the ER. So, it should come as no surprise that once again I found myself on the wrong side of fate. This time, though, it had very little to do with traumatic wipeouts.

Back in September, on a warm and wavy Sunday, I woke up early and hit the Manasquan Inlet. The air and water were still warm, so all I needed was my old board and myself.

Running up the beach toward the break, I watched as my friends caught clean, perfectly peeling waves. I picked up my trusty 1968 Hot Curl, jumped into the ocean, and paddled out. First wave that I saw, I turned to paddle into and “pop”! My entire back seized up and I found myself unable to move.

Pure adrenaline. Looking back, that’s how I figure I got myself and my board out of the water. Once on the wet sand, I lay there staring up and trying to figure out what to do next. I figured, if I stretched maybe the pain would magically go away. So I gave it a shot. I tried to sit up and touch my toes but could barely move. I knew that was it. Somehow, some way, I dragged my board up the beach. I heaved it into my truck and then heaved my crooked-backed self into the driver’s seat. Again, pure adrenaline.

Bad news, good news. One of my surf friends happens to own a physical therapy organization. He’s one of the best around. So, I called him up and scheduled my first of many visits.

After sitting with him for a few minutes, he told me I sprained my SI joints. What the hell are SI joints? I’d never heard of them. They’re supposed to be strong. They sit at the base of the spine, right above the hips. They are stabilizers. And they are mostly solid. But, if the soft muscles around them aren’t also strong and limber, you’re doomed. I was doomed. My muscles were not strong and were not limber. I’m about as flexible as a rock. “This is going to take some time,” he said, “and you’re out of the water until I say you’re ready.”

“How long?” I asked him.

“At least a couple of months,” he said, being realistic.

I surf as a mental and spiritual outlet. The news hit hard. But instead of fretting, I decided that I’d do everything possible to heal up and get back in the ocean. Not mending was not an option.

Fast-forward to October 31^st. I was finally back in and caught my first waves. A glorious comeback. But I kept thinking about how doing something so simple screwed me up so badly. Over the course of the next two months, I got in a couple times a week and strengthened my core. I’d grab that same classic old 1968 board and paddle, then I’d stretch. Cold be damned, I got in.

Boards and bodies. They’re so alike.

Fast-forward again to the middle of December. The air was icy. I met my friend in Bay Head for a short session. The waves broke, but closed out, so we had to choose wisely. I just wanted to get salty. About 30 minutes in, and a rogue set came barreling toward us. I screamed “outside”. Three or four waves, at least overhead and about to break 20 yards from where we were bobbing, popped up. We paddled hard to make it past them.

I knew I wouldn’t make it. So I slid off my board and grabbed the nose. The first wave’s strong white water ripped toward me, I dove down below and pulled my board hard. The power was too strong. My board slipped out of my hands. As I popped up, I saw the next wave curling over my head. I knew it’d break right on me, so I ducked under the cold surface again. When I floated up, I pulled my leash to get my board. “What the hell!” I yelled.

“You all right?” screamed my friend.

“Yeah, but my board isn’t!” My classic. My surf nostalgia. I damn broke it as the SI joints.

We swam out of the water and I carried my injured board to the car. My friend snapped this pic. “It’s a rite of passage,” he said. “You do this long enough, you’re bound to crack a board.”

“Of course,” I said. Seems like everything bad that happens while surfing is actually a rite of passage.

Now, the board is at Gordon’s Surf Shop. He’s the best repair guy around. “Boards are hard glass on the outside and soft foam on the inside. A board this old will have a weak spot. It’ll be a tough fix, but you’ll have it back in the water,” he said.

Bones and joints and muscles and glass and foam. The older they get, the more prone they are to dings and dents and breaks. But it’s not got me down. I’m writing this late at night, reading through all my collected notes and sipping Last Wave’s Cracked Rail. It’s a comforting amber ale crafted in partnership with Gordon’s. It’s the perfect creative companion. I sip the brew. I pen a post. And I pop a Werther’s.

Stay healthy, everyone. It’s all we’ve got.