When learning to barefoot ski, go slow and have a hard head. Learning to breathe water might help.
By TERRY TOMALIN
Published June 20, 2003
[Times photo: Ken Helle]
Junior national barefoot jumping champ Michael Suarez shows how to barefoot ski.
TEMPLE TERRACE - There are two ways to learn how to barefoot.
If you are young, agile and fearless, get a national champion like Michael Suarez to show you how it is done.
If you are old, clumsy and scared, get a veteran like his father, Tony Suarez, to tell you what not to do.
"I'll save you a lot of time and pain," the elder Suarez, a former show skier, said. "Just remember, whatever you do, don't plant your feet."
The sport of barefoot skiing, the act of skimming across the water on nothing but the feet God gave you, was born March 6, 1947, in Winter Haven. Dick Pope Jr., son of Cypress Gardens founder Dick Pope, generally is credited with being the first to shed his skis.
In the half century that followed the sport grew by leaps and bounds. Purists, such as 16-year-old Michael Suarez, are attracted by the challenge of mastering something that looks simple but is actually extremely difficult.
"It is harder than you think," said Michael, of Odessa. "It takes some people a long time to get the hang of it, because when they first start they fall really hard and then get scared to try it again."
Michael, who has barefooted since he was 11, is the junior national barefoot jumping champion. He has a wide assortment of tricks and can spin on his back then hop up on one foot behind a boat moving 40 mph.
Normal water skiers travel about 22 mph, but because the surface area of the human foot is much smaller than that of a ski, speed must be added to lift a barefooter out of the water.
But water feels like concrete when you hit it going that fast, Tony said. I took his word for it and slipped into a heavily padded wetsuit he said would protect most of my vital organs.
To shorten the learning curve Mike lowered a padded boom off the port side of the ski boat. It's easier to learn hanging from a boom than a rope, they assured me.
"Looks simple enough," I said. "Just hold on to the boom, then stand up."
Not quite, they said. A barefoot student starts laying face down in the water. As the boat picks up speed they pull up on the bar, swing their hips around, slide along the water on their rear end, then slowly stand up.
"Just don't plant your feet," Tony repeated. "If you do, you'll land right on your face."
The moment of truth had come. Soaking in the warm waters of the Hillsborough River, I took a few deep breaths, then in the words of the late Gary Gilmore said, "Let's do it."
Suarez gunned the engine and a halo of spray engulfed my head. I lifted my face out of the water to get a gulp of air, then pulled hard on the bar, swinging my legs around. Now, feet out in front, I skimmed along on my butt for a few seconds until I mustered the courage to try to stand.
I had never realized that the human brain actually "floats" inside the cranium until I felt mine smash against the side of my skull. I watched the stars spin in circles for a minute, then Tony brought me back to reality.
"You planted your feet," he said. "I told you not to plant your feet."
I asked Tony how I looked. Besides a nose bleed, he said, pretty good. At least I still had all my teeth, I thought to myself.
So we tried it again, and again, and again, until Tony gave me a little advice.
"Be patient," he said. "Slide along on your butt for a while. You don't have to stand right up."
Time is relative. A rodeo star who rides a bull for 10 seconds is a hero. I'm no cowboy, so I figured five seconds of barefoot skiing for this weekend warrior would be victory enough.
So I grabbed the bar for the seventh and final time. I started off face down, swung my hips around and slid across the water on my rear end. Slowly and carefully I applied a little pressure to my feet and lifted my backside.
Skimming across the river I suddenly realized I was barefooting!
One, two, three, four, I counted to myself. I was almost there.
