The hold down

on 'that place' and conjuring it

With a bit of luck, I get to go surfing twice a week. I drop my kid off at preschool and drive on to the break. I won’t tell you where (obviously), but it’s a sweet little and nearly-always reliable spot.

So anyway, last week, I paddled out and it was about seven feet — which is big without being huge — but the wind had been working on the ocean through the night, and so the waves were a bit unpredictable. Kind-of choppy. And I’m usually really good in the water but I got pushed into a bad spot after a few rides; ducked beneath two hills of white-water, ate another one and then another and I was paddling like hell and out-of-breath and when the next one came, it took my board out and pushed me under.

The hold down, that’s what they call it. (Sometimes they also call it the rinse cycle) It’s almost never more than fifteen seconds.¹ I was maybe under for nine seconds. And I guess I was just unprepared, I didn’t see that wave and so I didn’t take a gulp of air before I went down.

When you’re in the ocean and the ocean decides it wants to hold you under, there’s pretty much fuck-all you can do about it. Really, the only rule is don’t panic. If you freak out, you’re gonna have a bad time. But I needed to breathe. Like now. The panic bloomed and ballooned in my chest, you know how it moves: right there behind your sternum. But I kind-of bit it away — went to ‘that place’ — and in a second or two, I was back up.

I threw my head around, pulled in my board, and paddled back out. Didn’t even think about the hold down until I was driving back to pick-up my kid from preschool. And along the way, through strawberry fields and flora-green hills, the day seemed a bit brighter than usual.²