"Paddle paddle paddle, up!" I paddled hard and pushed myself up as the board began to tilt forward with the surging wave. Standing with my knees bent and arms extended to the sides, I was suddenly surfing. I pictured myself in a classic surfer pose with the silliest grin on my face.

The first ride lasted about ten or fifteen seconds before it petered out. I plopped back down on the board with my legs hanging over the rails. It was short but exhilarating rush. I soaked in the moment and then lowered my stomach to the board with my feet together at the fin. I cranked around to face away from the shore and paddled out for another wave.

I've dreamt of surfing, written about trying, but never imagined actually attempting it. Typical for a guy who loves surf music, surf movies and Santa Cruz but never surfed a day in his life. I didn't want to be that guy. When the opportunity presented itself on the calm, warm waters of Waikiki, I grabbed it.

I took a group lesson from an experienced surfer. When I say group, I mean another guy and myself (he's in black, I'm in yellow). It was a two-hour session, but my arms only lasted an hour and a half. My upper body needs strengthening. I see many pushups and pool laps in my future. My sense of balance was better than my paddling. Even then, I still had a few ungraceful wipeouts.

Half of the fun was relaxing while scoping out waves and observing some of the amazing surfers. There was one tanned surfer girl who could turn her bright yellow surfboard around on a dime and then slice through the water with ease. I was watching her when a big wave unexpectedly knocked me off my board.

In the end, I was exhausted and stoked. My aching muscles would haunt me for a day or two, but it was well worth the high.