Sure, I write about the adventurous aspects of Daytona Beach family vacations all the time; it's what I do. But as a resident, was I really prepared to experience them first-hand?

The proposition was simple - take a Daytona Beach surf lesson. As a 40-something with his best days of wave riding behind him, I was bit skeptical of the offer … check it, I was completely terrified by the very idea. However when a female co-worker gives you this kind of opportunity you only get one chance to say yes, or face getting the dreaded 'stink eye' for the next month.

I accepted with a smile, safe in the knowledge that my newfound dedication to swimming and running had re-sculpted my previous body, courtesy of Popeye's Chicken and Coca-Cola, into something more suitable for sporty dares. So a silly surf lesson would be a piece of cake, or so I prayed.

When surf lesson day arrived I was a bit nervous, after attempting to stomach breakfast (and failing) I arrived at Safari Surf Shop in Ormond Beach, and was greeted by the shop's owner. He continued repairing a surf board in his parking lot and with a sideways glance said "So you're going to surf today?" he questioned, perhaps already knowing the brutal salt water assault that awaited me.

When my coworker, LCB, arrived, decked out in her surfing attire, you could almost see the owner saying "finally, one of our own has arrived." LCB told him that the lesson would involve me (already mentioned), herself (although she really didn't need one) and our friend Sandy, a renowned global daredevil.

Sandy, who is infamous for traveling to the ends of the globe for new experience, arrived in classic fashion - already decked out in surf attire smiling with her usual devil may care attitude. As LCB and Sandy chatted with the owner, our surf instructor arrived, almost on cue, riding a skateboard.

Ryan the Surf Guy, as he became affectionately known to me, looked as if he fell off the pages of 'Surf Stud' magazine. The man had negative numbers in body fat, wore dark glasses indoors, and basically oozed the confidence of a guy who had surfed Tsunami waves in Tasmania, and lived to tell about it. He eyed us all a few times, then his stare focused on me.

"You surf before man?" he asked, sizing up my 5-foot nothing frame with some wonder. "Well, yeah but that was probably 20 years ago," I said, not trying to look any more dorky than I already was. After some quick instruction about "surf board carrying etiquette," we were off to our surf lesson.

As we crossed A1A to make our way to the Granada Blvd. approach, I pulled a shoulder muscle three times trying to carry my board (which I was doing incorrectly as I learned later). I finally gave up trying carry under my arm and surrendered to the old stand by, lifting and supporting it on top of my head - much like a villager does when they carry their clothing bin to the nearest river on wash day.

While some Florida beaches are a bit too crowded for my comfort, the ones in this part of the Daytona Beach area are definitely not. To my relief there were very few beach goers at that hour of the morning, "fewer witnesses to see my surfing crimes," I thought quietly to myself. Ryan the Surf Guy took us through a process of "land" exercises first, describing wave activity and thing to look for, when scouting potential waves. It dawned on me while listening to Ryan that most of the surfers I had grown up with all enjoyed and innate cosmic sense of themselves when they surfed in large body water - almost a spiritual communication between man and nature.

Soon we were "waxing" our boards. Wax is rubbed on the top surface or "deck" of a surfboard to allow traction and grip for the surfer, when they go to "plant" his or her feet, when going for a stand up or a ride. (You might know the stuff as Mr. Zogg's Sex Wax.) After asking as many questions as I could to stall things, Ryan alerted us it was time "to take this into the water."

Although every nerve ending I had was on full alert, I tried to stay focused on the positive nature of the whole experience … the cool water under my feet, the dog leash on my ankle, the sharp board fins that could slice my nose off, the sting ray that just sauntered by me. After my overactive imagination settled down, I became hypnotized by the beauty of the ocean, its majestic power of roaring waves lifting us up and down as we paddled out, and hearing the sound of a wave reaching the beach with a loud WOOSH sound.

Ryan had us 'line up' to watch the point break, the spot at which a surfer 'picks' the formation of a wave and begins to paddle into it for a ride. Although Ryan did most of the work the first few times, something amazing happened to me. On my very first attempt, Ryan pushed me into the break, barking orders to "paddle, paddle, paddle, STAND!" And I did… riding the very first wave of the day all the way into shore.

I dismounted the board, fighting the first urge to check to make sure all of my limbs were still attached, and I was face to face with an audience of two elderly women who said "Wow, that was great for your first time!" Not knowing if a bow was appropriate or not, I settled for a non-committal smile and a humble "thanks," before returning to the sea with my other surf buddies.

For the next few hours, we all took our turns standing, falling (and drinking lots of salt water), laughing about it, and doing it all over again. Was it Plato or Jeff Spicoli, who said: "All we need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and everything is fine."

Indeed, he was right.

Nick Conte is the Director of Internet Services for the Daytona Beach Area Convention and Visitors Bureau, where he writes about -- and now fully embraces! -- the many great adventures to be had during family beach vacations in Daytona Beach.