Early morning coastal chill is gross. If you’ve ever lived near an ocean, you’ve felt it. The cold moisture sticks to your cheeks and clings to your fingers, leaving them numb and stiff and absolutely impossible to text with. 

During those cooler months, getting out of your sweatpants and into a wetsuit to go surfing is a massive pain in the ass. With your feet on frigid concrete and wind blowing through the tear in the seam of your suit, you’re the opposite of excited about getting into the water. But you do, because you love surfing more than you hate the cold. 

On one of those mornings at the Oceanside Harbor when I was 19, I pulled my board out of my car. I tied my key to my bathing suit and zipped it safely into my wetsuit. It was early and the wind hadn’t picked up yet and the waves were 3-5 feet with the green light on Surfline, which meant it was packed. Standing on the shore, I saw a lot of short hair. Between 100 and 200 heads, if not more, spread between the sharp jetties that mark the area. Walking into the water, shuffling my feet, my thoughts jumped sporadically back and forth as they normally did on days like that one. 

Just stay out of the way.

No, you have every right to be here. 

But it’s rude, especially when these guys are better than you. 

You can’t possibly know that they’re better than you until you’re out there. 

There’s this little voice in the back of my head that speaks for all of the prejudice against women that I fight so hard against. It’s saying, “Don’t be the clueless, annoying girl in the lineup.” 

But here’s the thing: I have never in my life seen a clueless, annoying girl in a lineup. I know that this thought comes from a place of internalized misogyny and the worst thing about it is the fact that I’m neither clueless nor annoying and I know that too. 

I’ve been surfing for well over a decade. I’m not a pro but I can hold my own out there. I’m working toward a cutback and I’m getting close. I’ve paddled out into 7-9-foot swells. I’m a solid intermediate-level surfer. But still, being the only woman in a literal sea of men when I was younger was intimidating. I felt like a representative for my entire gender when I was out there and I’m sure lots of other women and girls feel the same way. 

My friends who surf are solely dudes (ladies who surf or want to surf, please DM me for a girl gang opportunity). I remember being out with a couple of buddies when one of them said, 
“You’re no fun when you surf. You act so serious… You scowl the whole time.” 

The next time I paddled out alone, that comment popped into my head as I noticed that my arms were crossed and I was, in fact, scowling. It was my defense mechanism, the only way I felt comfortable taking up space in the water. And I shouldn’t have to feel like that’s the only way I deserve to be out there. Angrily. Aggressively. “Masculinely.” 

After I recognized the way I was acting, my approach to surfing changed. I realized that I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone but myself; not to my friends and especially not to strange men I don’t know. I started loosening up. Having more fun. Actively encouraging other girls in the water. Getting better. 

I’m writing this to every person who has ever felt intimidated in a lineup because they weren’t like everyone else in it and to everyone who isn’t a cishet white dude who is thinking about taking a shot at surfing (or any other male-dominated sport). The ocean belongs to no one and nothing but itself. Don’t let any man, or the perception you have of any man, let that get in the way. Even if you’re just starting out. ESPECIALLY if you’re just starting out. 

That space is yours too.

Have fun.