I peered through the window of the smallest plane I'd ever flown in as we rushed toward the water, dropping lower until I could only pray: ``Please don't let me die. Not before I surf.''

A hair past the beach, the plane touched down on a tiny landing strip in Tambor, Costa Rica. It was an hour's drive on mostly unpaved streets from our final destination: the surfing paradise of Mal País, a tiny town on the Pacific with a couple of dirt roads, an abundance of surf shops and endless waves.

For me and my friend Amy, both journalists turning 30 this year, the girls' getaway was a long-awaited chance to trade desks and computers for boards and rash guards, an opportunity to cram a few more adventures into our 20s before it was too late.

We booked our trip with Kelea Surf Spa, an outfit that caters to female surfers and offers vacations ''where the greatest worry is sand in your surf wax.'' Five other women, in their 30s and early 40s, flew in for the session during the last week of January: a pair of cousins from California, an art conservator from Ottawa and two friends from California.

I was thrilled to spend a week with women who shared my sense of giddiness about surfing, excitement about exploring a foreign country and enthusiasm about pampering. I wanted camaraderie, bonding, shopping buddies and fellow surfing newbies who wouldn't make me feel silly if I crashed and burned in the water. They were all that and more.

Our surfing concierge, Annie, is based in California but spends chunks of her life in Costa Rica and Hawaii during Kelea's sessions. Fulfilling every good stereotype of a surfer girl, she is tan and blond, laid back and effortlessly cool. She treated us like old friends as soon as we met and entertained us with stories of surfing misadventures and local gossip.

Amy, who lives in Chicago, had never surfed before. Most of the other women had some surfing experience; mine was limited to a single outing five years ago, when I caught a wave that lasted a few seconds. It was thrilling. I wanted more.

GETTING AN EDUCATION

Here is the thing about surfing: Once you're standing on the board and hurtling toward shore, it's euphoric. But getting to that part, especially for a clumsy novice, can be difficult.

Even carrying the oversized foam beginner board is a struggle unless you have long arms or a packing mule. During the week, the short-limbed among us worked with a few options, including the balance-on-your-head method and the double-up-with-another-surfer approach.

Before hitting the water on Day One, we reviewed paddling out and studied how to aim the board over smaller waves. And we learned the turtle roll, to be used in big wave emergencies when it's better to roll under the water than crash into it head-on. This turned out to be an extremely useful skill.

After practicing popping up from a belly-down position to a crouching pose on our boards on the sand, we headed into the water, staying in the ''washing machine'' closer to shore.

We always had a couple of instructors working with us, including Annie, who liked to lead us out as far as possible so we could catch a longer ride in; Julia, a native of Germany who runs a surf shop and photography business in nearby Santa Teresa; Nano, who was born in Mal País, and Quique, a Uruguayan who always said ''one more wave'' when you wanted to call it a day.

For people who have never tried it, surfing is like ice skating on a rolling log while hurtling down a water slide. Not only do you have to stand up on a wet surface, you must stay up while shooting forward. Somehow, that first morning, Amy and I both got up before long. Our form was not perfect, and our rides were not epic. But we beamed as we took tentative jaunts on wave after wave, applauding each other and our newfound skill. Both of us also had spectacular, tumbling wipeouts that first day, but those only gave us bragging rights. By the next morning, our chests, arms and legs screamed with pain.

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