The guys are carping because the water is "flat and choppy." That means that the waves are low and they break frequently. I do not realize that this means I will have to paddle like a madman. So they leash me to the board and Greg escorts me into the surf. It is cold. Really. It is winter here.
First obstacle was sucking down a mouthful of salt water trying to jump over a breaking wave. Makes me feel queasy. But there is no time for that; I have to get on the board now and paddle hard to get beyond the breaks. They have already told me that when I feel the board catch the wave to immediately jump to my feet, be sure to line them up on the center of the board, and stand up. All in one move. Before the board shoots out from under me.

Well, friends, this is the best I could do. That is me on one knee and one foot. Greg watches behind me. As soon as the wave dies and I fall off, he encourages me to get back on and paddle out again. I am exhausted. But the next wave is coming up. "Hurry, hurry, Dad! Paddle!" Boom, I get knocked off the board. "Get back up, Dad! Come on, push. Here, I'll turn you around."
When the next wave comes, I try to stand up and I feel the board slip out from under me. It goes one way; I go the other. Not one fiber of one muscle in my body has any strength left. I call it quits for the day. What do you expect from a guy who spends almost every day exercising his fingers (well, six or seven of them) on a computer keybord? But at least I got up twice. And I didn't die.