Finding Community in the Cold

I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have pursued my love of the outdoors through silent sports. At the tender age of twenty-three, there is still so much to unearth and I know that I have only just scratched the surface. Looking back at the naive person that I have been, and am still looking to outgrow in many ways, what stands out most was how I used sport as a way to find self-gratification in sharing my story. 

Back then, a lot of my activity was for show. It took me years to understand that I was insecure about my love of risk-taking and adventure-seeking. I had to live a little more life in order to feel confident in both solitude and participating in sports with peers. Ideally, things no one should ever feel ashamed about. From a young age, it was made apparent to me by my peers that “being a loner” and being comfortable with alone time was something that was uncomfortable for others. As a child, the rejection and severe bullying I suffered from those I considered my friends and coaches alike forced me to make a decision that I still regret to this day. I stepped away from competitive skiing and allowed the influence of others to make that choice for me.

Now, in an attempt to reverse my psychology, I am allowing myself to understand why I deserve to feel comfortable as a woman who claims space in the sports I have partaken in all my life. By doing so, I have learned that sports education and participation are only half of an experience. The other half, which I feel is much more important, is the community around sport. I had come to the realization that I was on a mission to find my community in the cold. 

In early 2020, an opportunity presented itself which offered me that very chance: to find a community that I so desperately longed to feel a part of after denying it years ago. I feel that my generation loves to make promises and plans without the intention of following through (I am still young, older readers: please let me know if this assumption is true). Friends always talk about the things they want to do and you collectively go into specifics about how it will all play out: the road trip, the sights, the pit stops for food, the inside jokes that are birthed, musings about the belly laughs that hurt so bad yet feel so good for the soul.

For me, this fantasy passed into the realm of reality. To me, the most covetable moments are those that you want to relive so badly, knowing that something so special can never truly be recreated again; bittersweet. My most untouchable moment took place my first time surfing. 

It felt like a Patagonia, Yvon Chouinard, Let My People Go Surfing cut-for-time scene, which was very fitting seeing as how everyone on this trip worked at the Patagonia store in Toronto. Somehow, a few of us were able to get the same day off. 

The winds were perfect for beginner surfing. It seemed like all of the schedule juggling and childish pleading with our managers had finally paid off. If you surf on the Great Lakes, you will understand how difficult that act can be to coordinate since waves on the Great Lakes are wind-generated. 

Thinking back to this day truly puts in bold the miracle that had to take place.

The day began with me alone in my 2006 Chevy Equinox, corralling three others out of our six-person crew. The carpool process started off slow and we asked the question, how many people does it take to ratchet a surfboard to a roof rack? Three. After a 30-minute hold-up, we were off to wrangle some more, then get our wetsuits and boards.

There’s just something about watching four other beginner surfers (and me in the mirror) try on 4-millimetre wetsuits for the first time. I will say it is one of the most hilarious and tiresome performances I will ever be a part of or witness. My technique was to wrestle the wetsuit up my legs, one at a time, which felt like an hour-long upper-body workout. I then held onto the wetsuit’s torso as tight as I could and began jumping in an attempt to inch the suit up the rest of my body. Once I was able to squeeze my arms into what felt like sausage casings, I strained my neck more than ever before, trying to get my hood on.

Now, imagine the rest of the squad repeating this process 4 more times, and don’t forget to include the grunting, groaning, laughter, sweat, and tears. Luckily our fearless leader Aly, the most experienced of us all with (experience), was there every step of the way supporting and laughing right along with us. It made me realize that regardless of how embarrassing the scene might have been to an audience, we were allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. I felt secure in both my wetsuit and in my ability to finally be amongst true friends.

As we left the shop, we all had a noticeable pep in our step as we danced out of the door, with a coffee and a surfboard in-hand. After throwing on the ratchet straps (struggling for another 20 minutes to secure the surfboards) and getting yelled at by an old man for parking in the wrong spot, we were raring to go. 

We had to make our way to the surfing spot and since we were all Torontonians, and I can see Lake Ontario from my balcony, I made the educated guess that this would be where we would be surfing.

Wrong.

Aly informed us that Lake Eerie was the place to be, another two hours away. We packed into the Equinox, which is unfortunately AUX cordless & the CD drive was out of commission. Luckily our friend Liz had brought her speaker along with her so we could save ourselves from listening to TikTok’s greatest hits since that is what seems to be on pop radio these days. With Dolly Parton serenading us, we were off. That car ride will forever be remembered as one relationship bonding. I consider my rapport with Aly, Liz, and Mason to be so much richer because of that time together.

As we approached the surf spot, the city’s quintessential sights shrunk in the rearview mirror as its sounds muted. Turn after turn, I found us all searching for wind in the trees around Lake Eerie. Aly grew worried that the wind might not be strong enough. There was the possibility that we had driven two hours for no waves at all. Although a very rational fear, as cheesy as it sounds, I knew that the day would come together as I shifted into park.

Even if the surf was less than ideal, the journey alone had already begun to renew my faith in the power of community. Aly got out and ran up the sand dune. As the rest of us hurled to keep up, she turned around eagerly.

The closer we got to her,  the more we saw what she had seen.

Waves.

Thankfully, nothing to turn a nose up at and definitely large enough to ride.

And windy enough to humble me at that moment.

The waves tumbled in with the January wind and rain. As my eyes panned across the deserted beach, I was amazed by the natural beauty of Lake Eerie and the sheer power of the Great Lakes. I was surprised that people shy away from surfing on a lake. Selfishly though, in that moment, I felt lucky to have this all to ourselves.

My second time putting on a wetsuit was worlds different from the first that had happened just a couple of hours before. I could not squeeze myself in fast enough whilst also avoiding getting sand on every inch of my wetsuit, inside and out. I remember shaking with anticipation and watching my anxious breath leave me and enter the cold air. I could hear waves rolling over each other, craving the unknown sensation of how the water would feel on my skin, through the wetsuit.

Making our way across the boardwalk and onto the beach, we all organized ourselves into a semicircle on the beach and began dryland training. Aly taught us feet and hand positioning, paddling, and pop-ups (you know, the surf moves). Clever old me had been watching YouTube tutorials for hours the night before and pre-practicing, thinking that would give me some edge in the water.

I was wrong.

In that rehearsal the night before, I had not factored in the weight nor the altered mobility of a 4 millimeter wetsuit.

After a few words of silent motivation to myself, I was bewildered to receive thorough, verbal encouragement from my peers.

It was as if they knew, that passed my façade of confidence, that my inner self was scared shitless. I was grateful for those kind words; I still am.

We approached the water together. The initial licks of cold water went unnoticed. As the water began to take our bodies in, gradually, I began to feel what felt like a chilled weighted blanket wrap itself around me.

Comfort.

Reassurance.

Without thinking, I proceeded to dunk my head under the water which I knew immediately to be a mistake. The second that I reemerged, a gust of wind stung my cheeks and my wet eyelashes froze together like frost crystallizing on a windshield.

Not so comfortable.

No longer quite so reassured.

But here I was wading in the water, surfboard beneath me, waiting. ‘For what, exactly?’

We were waiting for the wave.

Let me inform you, in case you are not already aware, moving through the motions of popping up on a board is a process near-impossible to put into words.

As my hands and feet struggled to find their destinations on the board, my mind was preoccupied with looking ahead and trying to enjoy the surf. I kept getting caught up in how surreal this experience was.

Was this my life? It felt unfamiliar but welcoming.

In that situation, I did not care what I looked like from the outside or what anyone at all thought of me. I’m happy to attribute that healthy mindset, in part, to the good people I had the privilege of surfing with that day.

Everyone took their turn as the waves came one after another, each as steadfast and willing as the next. As they continued to roll in, something started to happen between us all. Rowdy and shameless, it was a celebration.

With every person’s next attempt, everyone had their moment of pride.

Whether we “stood up” or not, whether we were overcoming our fear of water by just being there, we all cheered and screamed in support, in validation. In these moments of uplifting each other, I could not help but sit back and relish, nostalgic, this feeling of togetherness and unity.

I thought about our long morning and how it had ultimately led us here. Our hopes and fears melted away into what was happening right now. I felt closer to my peers than ever before. This shared adventure in this new experience proved to me that I really should be saying ‘yes’ more. I tend to make excuses or completely deny the idea of participating in a group adventure out of fear of being let down, just as I have been many times before.

Little did I know then that allowing myself to be in situations that can disappoint can also surprise me in such unexpected ways. Given that I am with the right people.

Aly took it upon herself to orchestrate the day, talk openly and honestly about her own experiences in the surf community, and was by our side every step of the way. That day I was so grateful to her and I continue to be inspired by all of my peers in silent sports every day.

I now feel confident that I can take it upon myself to take others into the outdoors because I don’t need anyone else’s permission; I can create those opportunities for myself. I know now that I, too, have the ability to create a community for others.

I am indebted to the rain that continued to pour that Friday afternoon because it disguised my tears. Tears that were a long time coming, only waiting for me to feel that I had found my community in the cold.