I am a BS kid.
Before soccer -- that is.
When I was growing up, my friends and I did not have the frenetic schedule of British prime ministers -- being chauffeured from engagement to engagement by a now-outdated hot voter group.
Blame it on soccer.
Sure, we had little league and Pop Warner, but we never traveled long distances for games.
Soccer seems to have inducted American children into the same migratory class as the Sooty Shearwater. Think locally. Drive globally.
I thought about that lifestyle this past weekend while I watched a three-day skimboard competition here in Melaque.
If you have not seen skimboards in person, you are missing one of life's true sports. (I took a literary run at the topic in gidgets wanted.)
Imagine standing on a beach that has a single surf break just a few feet from the shore. Your sole sports kit is a board less than four feet long, similar to a surfboard -- but with no fin.
You need to watch for the hint of a wave powerful enough to lift you and your board, but not too large to overpower your skill level. You know it when you see it.
When you do, you run as if the IRS is hot on your audit trail. You drop your board on the wet sand proving Newton's laws of motion -- as it speeds along with your strides.
You jump on the board as it enters the water, and you skim out to your wave. If all goes well, you do a spin or two on the crest -- or a jump -- or a curl. Whatever your free spirit chooses.
It is a young person's sport. Until this weekend, I would have said "a young man's sport." But I finally saw two young women skimboarders on Saturday.
But it is definitely not a sport for the post-20s set. The legs go. The center of gravity shifts. Stay in skimboarding too long and you will look as ridiculous as Dick Cheney in a mosh pit.
The competitors this weekend did not look ridiculous. They were as graceful as Baryshnikov. As athletically powerful as Michael Jordan. Or did I mean that in reverse?
I should have taken the time to learn the competition rules. I didn't.
I simply enjoyed the experience as an art form. Camus would have been proud of me.
And I knew I was in Mexico when the competition was over. The competitors did not climb into their mothers' vans.
They simply walked back to their homes and hotels.
Just like BS kids.
Note: If you are interested in seeing part of the competition, take a look at: Skimboard Competition.
