There are three reasons I love this guy. First, he's awesome. If he's bored on a weekend, he grabs a board and paddles between the Hawaiian Islands the same way you or I might walk the dog or grab some frozen yogurt. Second, he married volleyball player Gabrielle Reece, who I find to be the most beautiful woman in organized sports. Third, and most importantly, he's become an absolute legend and completely revolutionized wave riding without selling out. He's not technically a "pro surfer," meaning he doesn't compete on any tour, which is something I've always found antithetic to my chosen activity. Laird Hamilton just surfs.
If I've piqued your curiosity, the first thing you want to do is rent the movie Riding Giants, a documentary about this history of big wave surfing feature Laird and the many bad-asses that came before him. Once you've done that, check out Force of Nature: Mind, Body, Soul and, of course, Surfing, written by Laird and, presumably an uncredited, highly-stoked ghost writer.
The book is basically a primer on how to live like a surf god. While some it presumes that readers also live in an island paradise with no need to work, plenty of disposable income and a skeleton made of titanium, there's still plenty of great intel to be digested here.
Part one, "Mind," is a series of meditations and musings on positivity, goal setting and hard work. Daily inspiration stuff. Nothing too amazing. Again, it's easy to be stoked when life has stoked you back like this.
"Body," however, I found a little more interesting. I especially love how it opens.
"I look at my athletic career as the intersection of two lines on a graph. One shows my physical abilities, such as oxygen uptake and muscle density, either flattening or gradually declining. The other line shows the cerebral factors - maturity, judgment, experience, passion, perspective - continually rising, Where the two lines cross, I regard as my peak."Inspiring stuff for a man looking down the barrel of his 40th birthday.
This section also discusses his training techniques, some great exercises, nutrition (The man likes his espresso. Who knew?) and his "injury map," a fairly impressive chart of all the wounds he's overcome over the years, from the 134 stitches in his head to the Skilsaw through his thigh.
The "Soul" section points out that you can be the biggest athletic hellman on Earth, but what's the point if you don't enjoy it and make sure the people around you enjoy it as well? I also really like this passage:
"Your path is yours alone. And if that's the path less traveled, that's absolutely fine. The world doesn't need more conformists, The world needs more people who create and question and search. If you don't fit in, celebrate it, and then get ready to stand your ground. Our society has some rigid roles for people, and then you decide that you don't want to play the same game as everyone else, you might not get much support for your decision. Don't let that discourage you. The best way to find your path is to start with a dream and then refuse to listen to anyone else;s opinion about what you 'can' and 'can't; do in pursuit of that dream."The final section of the book, "Surfing" is basically just 46 pages of surfing porn. There's no point in me explaining this section here because if you know what I'm talking about, you'll love it. If not, skip it.
Steve and I talk about Laird sometimes. We both agree that he's incredible. Steve, however, thinks he can be a bit hippy-dippy, noting that Laird walks around barefoot as often as possible because he wants to absorb the energy caused by all the lightening bolts that hit the earth at any given time. At first blush, this does seem a little silly, but I buy it. Surfing is all about energy. When you ride a wave, you're not riding water, you're riding pulses of energy that started thousands of miles away and are now moving through you. It's only reasonable that a surf would seek that transference in other parts of his daily grind.
Due to my spinal injury, I've been beached for a while. And even though I spent the first 40 years of my life mostly barefoot or in sandals, I now need to wear joggers most of the time to inhibit back jarring. It sucks. I miss that energy flowing through my system. But I also take solace in the fact that Laird Hamilton once crushed his vertebrae when a jetski landed on him and he's back in the water. Soon, I will be too. In the meantime, I'll keep his book handy and, this weekend, I might take off my Nikes for a few minutes and feel the electricity.
Now I just need an American Express sponsorship and a smokin' hot volleyball player wife and I'll be all set.
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