When we got to New York City, I went from one interview to the next. I was a guest on MTV announcing what videos were coming up next. I read what I was supposed to say off a big sign someone was holding. I hope I didn’t come off sounding dumb!
At the hotel, they pick you up to take you to the television show in a limousine. People think that a limo is a really cool kind of car but now that I have been in them, I think they’re way too showy. Honestly, I prefer my old Beater back home to a stretch any day!
I had never been in a TV studio before. They all have a “green room,” which cracks me up because nine out of ten times it’s not really green (so why do they call it that, would someone tell me?). These are places where guests on TV shows wait until they are called. The rooms are usually full of food and drinks (anything and everything you could imagine) plus a TV to watch the show in progress.
The whole TV studio process is kind of interesting. When you watch TV, you only see the host and their guests, but in reality there are lots and lots of people all around. Some shows with audiences even have signs that tell the people when to clap. At first it’s very nerve-racking to have all these big cameras pointing at you: they do your hair and makeup; then you get out there, and they shine big lights on you and hang a microphone over your head. At first I was totally distracted. But after a few times, I got used to it. You kind of have to tune it all out and just focus on the conversation and the questions being hurled at you.
A director makes sure that everything runs on time, and the host is getting signals about how much time is left but is able to coolly keep a conversation going without freaking out as the clock ticks down.
Some TV shows are taped, edited, and then run at a later date. In this case (like when I was on 20/20 and Inside Edition) they film a whole bunch of stuff but only show a tiny bit. They don’t ask you what to leave in or take out—so you kind of cross your fingers and hope for the best.
When my friends ask me what the best thing about going to New York was, I always say there were two things that stand out for me:
1. The snow and everything that goes with it; ice skating and making snowmen and throwing snowballs.
2. The free all-you-could-drink sweet wild orange tea they gave me at the Sheraton Towers.
That’s it.
I guess you could say I wasn’t all that impressed by the big city. There are lots of homeless people in New York, and that made me really sad. The guys at MTV had me go on some kind of spending spree but there wasn’t really anything that I was interested in buying at the overpriced shops there. So while we were doing this, I passed a lady sitting on a steaming sewer grate to keep warm. I felt sorry for her and tried to help by giving her some of our lunch and a little bit of money. The people I was with acted like it was some kind of big deal. It’s not. I think that it’s simply what Jesus meant when he said “When you do good things to the least of these you do it to me.” It amazes me that so many people in New York can just walk by a stranger who is cold and sick on the street and not even look them in the eye. I can’t do that. I can’t turn away from someone in need. Not when just a little kindness can go so far.
I’m on Oprah!
A lot of people were nice to us. Peter Jennings let my whole family hang out in his office even though I didn’t do an interview with him. From New York I went to Canada and Chicago to be on Oprah’s show. Like most of the TV people who interviewed me, she was nice and kind, but it’s not like these people want to hang out with you after the show and get an ice-cream sundae. It’s more of a hello-good-bye type of thing. But I didn’t really have any expectations so I wasn’t disappointed.
It never occurred to me at the time, but when you go on all these TV shows there are millions of people who are watching you at home, and they suddenly feel like you have just come into their house and they know you. You’re an instant celebrity, just like that.
For me the whole thing about being recognized, being “famous,” is both a blessing and a curse. I like that my life can serve as encouragement to people; I like that I can tell people about Christ. Then there are the negatives: all the activity and attention gets in the way of my being able to do things that I want to do. For example, if I just want to go out and be with my friends, it becomes hard when strangers come up and want to meet me. I feel like I have to be nice to them, but to be honest, sometimes I just want to ignore them.
Doing interviews cuts into my being able to go to surf contests or camp with my church or hang out with my friends. I even got way behind on my schoolwork because of all the things I was doing and had to cram and work really hard to catch up.
I know that God has put me in a place where I have a chance to be of help to people all over the world. And I constantly have to remind myself, ten times a day (if not, my brothers remind me, my parents remind me) that this isn’t just about me being in the spotlight. There’s a greater good here, so if that means I have to make a few sacrifices or give a gazillion interviews, then it’s worth it.
no autographs, please!
Sarah Hill and I were given first-class seats on the six-hour flight from Kauai to L.A. It’s pretty brutal being cooped up on a plane that long, and we hardly slept a wink. But we made the trip because I had been invited to give out Dove awards at the Gospel Music Association; the Grammys for Christian music. I was psyched.
Sarah suddenly elbowed me in the ribs. “Hey! Patrick Swayze is sitting right near us,” she whispered.
“He keeps glancing at you. I think he knows who you are.” That made me laugh out loud. Patrick Swayze knows me?
“He keeps looking back at you!” she insisted. “You want me to give you a piece of paper and pen; you could ask for his autograph?”
“No,” I replied.
“Why not?” Sarah asked anxiously.
“‘Cause I get tired of people asking me for my autograph.” I told her.
It’s not easy being a celebrity. And I’m not sure I’m very good at it. When I watch my interviews, I notice that I hem, haw, fidget, and give back a blank stare or one-word responses a lot of the time. Sometimes I’m just not in the mood to talk. And often I’m just plain bored telling the same story over and over again.
But I’m trying to get used to the whispers and stares that come not from just being a girl with one arm but being the girl shark-attack victim.
People aren’t always nice. While I was waiting with Sarah for a flight, a man approached me and in a cocky and cruel way asked, “So, are you still surfing Tunnels?”
I couldn’t help it. I felt my eyes well up with tears. “What was that supposed to mean?” I asked Sarah, who gave the guy a full dose of what Hawaiians call “stink eye.” “Forget it,” she told me. But that’s easier said than done. Sticks and stones and cruel words do hurt me.
Strangers approach me on the beach, in airports, in shops and restaurants. They ask for autographs; they come up and tell me I’m “an inspiration.” I’m interrupted at dinner by people wanting to be in a photo with me. It’s totally bizarre.
And you know what’s even stranger? Being a top professional surfer would have brought me only a sliver of this recognition and probably only within the tight-knit surfing community. “You’re something more now than a surfer,” friends tell me. “You’re the bearer of hope for those who have been handed a bad deal in the card game of life.” And you know what? That’s a lot of responsibility for anyone to take on!
Luckily, I have my home base to keep my head on straight. I don’t get any VIP treatment in my little corner of the world and that’s how I like it! To my friends and family I’m just Bethany, and nothing much has changed in spite of the loss of an arm and the media frenzy.
This is the real world, where people love and care about each other, warts and all. I really hope Patrick Swayze is lucky to have his own home team who feels the same way about him.
13
back in the waves
Imagine the one thing you love to do the most. Now imagine, out of
nowhere, something happens and you realize you may never be able to do it again. How do you feel? Sad? Angry? Shell-shocked? For me, the answer was all of the above.
In the hospital, I would look over at the bandaged stump where my arm used to be and think, “Now what?” For a while, I doubted that I would ever surf again. Everybody knows that it takes two arms in order to surf. I tried to tell myself, “Hey, I’m okay with this. I mean, surfing isn’t everything, right? You’ll find something else to do to have fun.” I remember telling Sarah, “I guess I’ll have to get back into soccer.” And I told my dad I wanted to be a surf photographer, since that would be the only way I could still stay close to the sport if I couldn’t directly participate in it.
I know that a lot of my friends and my parents’ friends privately thought that my days as a stand-up surfer were over. They were kind enough to never say that to me but I know that they were thinking it.
Only my brother Timmy knew nothing could keep me out of the water. He figured that I would join him in being a body boarder, since they don’t stand up on a wave. He even had his sponsor, Viper, send me a free pair of body board fins.
But even before I got out of the hospital—in fact, by the second day of my one-week stay—I was talking differently about the possibility of surfing again. My whole family stood behind me and tried to encourage me as much as possible.
My parents had no doubt that I probably could figure out a way to get up on a board but I know they felt my competitive days were over. “Bethany, I am sure you can do whatever you put your mind to,” my dad told me. He was a great coach, the king of the pep talk. I would hear his words echoing in my ears every time I got on my board.
Some people thought that I might be afraid to go back in the ocean ever again. But to be honest, I didn’t really have any fear of that. I had about three to four weeks of healing and recovery before I could give surfing with one arm a try. I had some stitches on what was left of my arm that had to come out, and the doctor ordered me to stay out of the water until everything healed up. I set a deadline for myself: Thanksgiving Day.
The day before Thanksgiving, some of my friends from the Hanalei Surf Company girls’ team were going to go surfing. I decided I would go down to the beach and just watch . . . but of course, I couldn’t stand just to do that. The water, the breeze, it was all too tempting.
the first surf
The wind on Kauai usually blows from the northeast. These are called tradewinds, but on that day it was coming from a different direction. This makes all the surf spots that are typically good with tradewinds become choppy, blown out, and terrible, yet opens up surf spots that usually don’t get surfed because the wind is not right for them.
In addition to the unusual wind pattern, we had a decent northeast swell, so with the wind conditions and the swell directions, we all knew that a little secret place in Kilauea would be the spot.
The beach we chose is off the beaten path. We all knew that this first surf session since the attack, for better or worse, would be a very important moment—and would surely make the news. We drove to the beach late in the afternoon, and when we came down the trail, what we saw got all of us really pumped up. The place was about as good as it ever gets. Sand bars had formed all over the surfing area and it was packed with local talent.
I decided to ride a long board, my nine-foot one, instead of a short board, because with a longer board a wave is much easier to catch and the board is more stable. The more advantage I could give myself to start with, the better. I told myself, “You can do it. You can paddle and get up with one arm.” But quickly another voice inside my head yelled back, “Forget it. You’re going to fail.” I tuned out that nagging self-doubt and headed for the water.
My brother Noah wanted to film the ride on his video camera, so he put it in an underwater housing and swam out with it. (He is so stoked about my first ride that he carries it around on his laptop and shows people all the time.)
My dad took off work and came into the water for a front-row view, just swimming along with me and shouting, “Go, girl!” at the top of his lungs, and hooting with encouragement. A family friend named Matt George, a writer for Surfer magazine, was with us at the time, so he came down and was cheering me on. And of course Alana and a bunch of my friends were there too.
Alana and I walked into the surf together just like we did on that early Halloween morning. It felt so good to step into the liquid warmth and taste the salty water that swept over me. It was like coming back home after a long, long trip. To think I had come so close to losing all these things that I loved so much forever: the ocean, my family, and my friends. I was not afraid of being attacked by a shark. I didn’t even think about it. My whole mind was concentrated on catching a wave and getting up on my feet. After that, what to do next would come naturally.
Alana paddled through the rolling white water (surfers call this “soup”) and headed farther out to the blue unbroken waves. I decided to make it easy on myself and ride some soup to begin with. In some ways it was like learning to surf all over again. I had to learn how to paddle evenly with one arm, and when I felt the wave pick me up, I had to put my hand flat on the center of the deck to get to my feet rather than grabbing the surfboard rail the way you would if you had two hands.
My first couple of tries didn’t work: I couldn’t get up. I have to admit I was a little bit discouraged. I thought it was going to be easier than it was. My dad, who was in the water with me, kept shouting, “Bethany, try it one more time. This one will be it!” So I did.
Then it happened. A wave rolled through, I caught it, put my hand on the deck to push up and I was standing. I guess I started getting the technique wired after that. Of course once I was on my feet, everything was easy.
It’s hard for me to describe the joy I felt after I stood up and rode a wave in for the first time after the attack. I was incredibly thankful and happy inside. The tiny bit of doubt that would sometimes tell me “You’ll never surf again” was gone in one wave! Even though I was all wet, I felt tears of happiness trickling down my face.
Everyone was cheering for me. It was a great moment! I caught a whole bunch of waves that day, mostly white water, but getting up got easier and easier each time.
The next day, Thanksgiving, we were supposed to be leaving for the mainland. I went down to the beach that morning with Sarah and my friends. I wasn’t suppose to go surfing but I couldn’t control myself.
I saw a guy with a nice camera on the beach, and I was afraid he might be a paparazzo, so I walked up to him and asked him to please not take any pictures of me surfing. Then I paddled out with my friends.
Holt got out his video camera and filmed my rides. That day I didn’t ride the soup but took off on the blue waves. It was much easier than it was the first day.
When I got home and told my parents that I couldn’t restrain myself and that I went surfing, they weren’t upset. In fact, they understood completely . . . because they were surfers too. As time went on, I got more and more comfortable catching waves and standing up with one arm. I figured out some things I could do to help as well. Getting out through powerful surf was going to be hard because most surfers grab the rails of their boards with both hands and dive the nose under oncoming white water, a move called “duck diving,” since it resembles what a duck does when it goes underwater. I couldn’t duck dive with one hand until we came up with the idea of putting a hand strap in the top center of my board that I could grab hold of and use to push under the white water.
Sometimes people ask me if I am ever scared of sharks now that I am surfing all the time again. Well, the answer is yes, sometimes my heart pounds when I see a shadow under the water. I do think about it a whole lot more than I ever did before I was attacked. Sometimes I have nightmares about being attacked by a shark. And I am not ready to go out and surf Tunnels again and am not sure I will ever go back there.
Alana and I sometimes talk about it. Sometimes we say to each other that we wi
ll go out there again on October 31—a year from the day I got attacked, just to prove to ourselves that we are not afraid. But then I get spooked.
Yet even when my nerves get the best of me, I do know this: God is watching out for me, and while I don’t want to do something stupid like paddling out where someone has just seen a shark, in the end, I trust Him to take care of me.
the best I can be
I wish I could say I just hop on a board and that’s all it takes to win a competition. The truth is a lot of stuff—and a lot of sweat—goes into preparing, now more than ever, because of my attack and because of the level of competition I’ve reached.
So here’s my typical daily “Rocky” routine:
I run on the beach, swim laps, lift dumbbells, do lots of stretches and stomach crunches, and ride an indo board (aka a balance board) and a skateboard. There are times when the last thing I feel like doing is running another mile, but I am seriously concentrating these days on stepping up the physical. So just in case I don’t feel like pushing myself, I have a great coach from Australia, Russell Lewis, who has trained other world champs, to push me farther and harder than I ever think I (or any human!) can go. He’s been with me four years and he’s amazing. He helps you feel totally prepared: once, he had half the girls he was training fill out heat sheets and pretend they were judging a surfing contest while the others went surfing (and then we switched roles). The goal: to help the girls in the water learn what judges were looking for. Russell critiqued us on our riding style, performance, even head placement (the head is the heaviest part of the body, and putting it in the right place makes a difference in drive and speed down a wave).
Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board Page 8