I started standing paddleboarding not because I wanted to be an athlete. I started because I
needed space – to free up space from noise, screens and a life in a hurry. What I found on the
water was not just a wooden board and a paddle, but a different rhythm of life.
When I stepped on the paddleboard for the first time, I remember how unstable everything felt.
The water moves under me in a way I can’t predict, and my instinct is to tighten every muscle. I
fell down in a few minutes. But when I climbed back to the board, something surprising
happened: I laughed. For the first time in a long time, I felt relaxed about failure.
Study and slow down
The paddle board forced me to slow down in other ways. ʻI he fonuá, I am used to handling multiple
tasks at the same time – checking my mobile phone, considering the deadline, and planning the
next step before completing the current task. On the water, this mentality doesn’t work at all. If I
hurry, I will lose my balance. If I resist the movement of the water, I will fall down.
Standing on the wooden board taught me to listen – wind, water flow and my own breathing. I
started rowing early in the morning. At that time, the water was very calm, and the world felt like
it was not finished. Those quiet times became a ritual. No notice, no expectation. It’s just
fakamalohisino, breathing and reflection.
A different kind of fitness
Before playing paddleboard, my idea of fitness was always related to intensity: more difficult
fakamalohisino, longer running, and measurable progress. SUP changed that point of view. Ia
strengthens my core, improves my posture, and enhances my endurance, but it never feels
punished. Instead of counting the calories burned, I began to pay attention to the feeling of my
body.
Sometimes, the paddle board is a kind of exercise. At other times, it just floats, sitting on a
wooden board, letting my legs drag in the water. I learned that exercise is not always aggressive
to be effective. This change slowly affects the way I treat other parts of my life – work, food, mo e
even rest.
Loneliness and connection
One of the most unexpected gifts of the paddle board is the balance between loneliness and
connection. Alone on the water, I feel deeply independent. I learned to believe in myself – my
potupotu tatau, my judgment, and my ability to cope with changing conditions.
ʻI he taimi tatau, the paddle board connects me with others in a quiet and unforced way. Talking
on the coastline is different from talking in a crowded room. People talk about the wind
conditions, favorite routes, and sunrise meetings. There is no competition, only sharing and
appreciation.
How SUP becomes a way of life
As time goes by, the paddleboard is no longer what I “do”, but what I build my life. I planned a
trip to the lake and the coastline. I woke up early to drink calm water. I simplified my schedule so
that I could spend more time outside.
This change in lifestyle is not drastic, but stable. I find myself longing for less stimulation and
more existence. Instead of pursuing stable productivity, I attach importance to still moments. Ko e
paddle board didn’t give me the answer, but it taught me how to ask better questions.
The lesson of water
No matter what you bring, water has a way to reflect back. In stressful days, it reminds me to
soften. In the days of distraction, it needs to concentrate. On calm days, it rewards stillness.
I learned that balance is not control, but adjustment. The chessboard never stops moving, and so
does life. Stability comes from response, not resistance.
The last thought
The standing paddle board didn’t change my life overnight. It changes it slowly and quietly, one
session at a time. It taught me how to adapt to uncertainty, how to enjoy hard work without
obsession, and how to find peace without escaping from reality.
For me, SUP is no longer just a sport. It reminds us that life is like water, always in motion – ko e
best way to move forward is not to fight against it, but to move forward with it.
