It's about that girl who can’t surf good (but does anyway)

👋 Hey, I’m Zuz and I run this joint 😜

We’re sitting in a cozy pub in Woolacombe, England, finishing our lunch when October says: "Let’s go out again!" But there’s no freaking way I’m putting back on my wet wetsuit, wet booties, wet gloves, and wet hood. It’s February, the water temperature is 4°C/39F, and I’ve already had my fair share of ice cream headaches this morning.

These days, October probably still lives in the UK’s surfing capital, Newquay, and competes in local surf competitions. Meanwhile, I’m more of a summer/weekend/when-inspiration-strikes kind of surfer—despite living just a 15-minute bike ride from a surf break. To each their own.

🆕 How it started: A not-so-graceful beginning

My adventure with surfing began during our first trip to California. My husband, on the very day we were flying out, decided he wanted to try surfing. He surfed Third Point in Malibu with an instructor, popped up on his first try, and caught the bug. I, however, did not participate.

At the time, I had never learned to swim. A friend had only recently taught me at 22 by pushing me into a pool. If I wanted to surf, I needed to put my head underwater—and preferably, not drown.

When we returned to the UK, I was on a mission. I started taking swimming lessons. A few months later, I was ready to embrace the freezing waters of Porthcawl, Wales, for my first surf lesson. It was a disaster. I didn’t pop up once while watching my husband and his best mate have the time of their lives. Imprinted in my memory is the instructor shouting, "Do not paddle!" To this day, I’ve never been more confused.

But despite the disastrous first surf attempt, I had fun. We joined a London surf group of beginners and started traveling every weekend to get some waves.

🇬🇧 The reality of surfing as a Londoner

If you’re not from the UK, it’s hard to comprehend the level of dedication (or insanity) required to surf while living in London.

1. Transport conundrum
   Oh London! A city blessed with an extensive public transport system. As a result, most young people don’t own cars. Carpooling means coordinating pickup times or hauling a surfboard on the Tube (subway) or a bus to meet a driver. I have utmost respect for surfers who manage to get a longboard through station gates, down steep escalators, and onto a train.
   

2. Storage purgatory
   Now, picture this: You live on the third floor, no elevator, and have to carry your board up and down the stairs every time you want to surf. Oh, and finding storage for not one but two surfboards in a tiny London apartment? Eventually, I opted for a storage unit near the main freeway, picking up my board on the way.
   

3. Traffic hell
   The closest surf break is about two hours away—and it rarely works. The real options? Wales, North Devon, or Cornwall. But the drive back on Sundays? That’s for the truly insane. My longest drive back from Newquay? 11 hours—for a distance of 429 km/267 miles. Because it took so long to get to and from the surf, we’d often camp in summer and splurge on hotels in winter just to surf two days instead of one.
   

4. The waves (or lack thereof)
   Most London-accessible surf spots are beach breaks, often messy and unpredictable—especially if you’re new and can’t read surf reports properly. Winter waves are better than summer waves, but they require a 5mm wetsuit or a 6mm steamer, plus neoprene everything because it’s freaking cold.

🏋️‍♂️ Persistence (even when you suck bad)

Despite all these never ending hiccups, our London surfer group spent nearly every weekend attempting to surf. Some of us improved quickly; others (me) struggled. We’d book trips to Peniche, Portugal, hoping for better conditions that would make us better surfers. 

It took me years to have a truly good surf. Enter: Waikiki, Hawaii—on an 11' longboard in 0.5' rolling waves. Absolute dream conditions. I had hours to pop up. I always say that I’d be a decent surfer if only I could pop up. Catching a wave? No problem. Turning? Zero issues. But popping up? That’s pure luck, every single time. My struggles with popping up are exactly why I created Girls Who Can’t Surf Good.

🌊🏄‍♀️🌴🐻 From a small local meetup to a global community

When I moved from the UK to California, I surfed Linda Mar/Pacifica and Bolinas while living in San Francisco. Since jumping over to LA, I surfed Venice Beach, Malibu, El Segundo, Newport Beach, and San Diego.

In 2017, I started Girls Who Can’t Surf Good as a local LA meetup—5-6 girls surfing together at LA breaks. But when we moved to Facebook, it became something else entirely.

Today, it’s the world’s largest and truly global community for female beginner surfers (and beyond), with 74,000+ members.

We went from a few LA girls who wanted to surf at local LA breaks to a community of:

🏄🏼‍♀️ Girls who want to travel the world and meet fellow surfer girls in North and South America, Australia, Asia, Africa, Europe…
🏄🏿‍♀️ Girls who never surfed, or surfed once and want to get back into it
🏄‍♀️ Girls who are getting to surfing in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s
🏄🏽‍♀️ Pregnant surf girls, postpartum surf girls, surf girls recovering from serious injuries
🏄🏻‍♀️ Girls who are apprehensive about getting into the lineup and girls-who-can-surf-just-fine
🏄🏾‍♀️ Girls who are looking for advice about wetsuits, boob-holding bikinis, hair ties that will keep your hair in place and sunscreen that won’t burn your eyes
🏄🏼‍♀️ Girls, like me, who still can’t pop up for neither love nor money

It’s a beautiful collection of women who share one thing: the love of surfing. Whether it’s a lifelong obsession or just something they’re excited to try on vacation—we all are Girls Who Can’t Surf Good.