cray for surf

I'm crazy for surfing. 

My friend and I discovered we both wanted to become surfers while we were bouldering in Everett in April. Now we've surfed ten times in Massachusetts and we're planning to surf through the winter.  

People think we're crazy. Our coworkers, our family, our friends. 

"You can surf in New England?" they ask.  

Yep, we say, and we refuse to admit there's anything odd about it. There really isn't, actually--once you're a surfer, you look at a puddle and you wonder if you can surf it.  Here in Mass, we have a whole coast to play with.  

It's not like we're in Montana. And now that I'm crazy for surf and I watch every movie, YouTube and web clip about surfing ever, I've discovered you CAN surf in Montana. River surfing. But I'm really more of a coastal surfer right now. 

My husband thinks I'm crazy. I walk around quoting a .99 cent Trader Joe's card I gave him last year: Nothing else matters when surf's up! I holler it out then I throw out my hands and wiggle my hips like I'm on a board.   

He thinks it's a phase, like the flower farm I was going to start (which I still plan on starting someday!) but I tell him, "It's not a phase, it's a lifestyle."