Ultrafit: Surfin' WPOA

It's 90 degrees and still, the air moist though faintly chemical inside the simulated tropics of Bloomington's Water Park of America. Tube slides snake overhead. A wave pool laps at an artificial shore, where children splash and scream for joy under dome lights made to mimic the sun.

Near a bend in the Lazy River ride, front and center in the water park, Chris Impagliazzo is waxing his surfboard. "Helps with grip," he says, pushing a small white bar against a plastic deck, then rubbing some wax on his feet.

A wall of water jets behind Impagliazzo. The 50-foot-wide FlowRider Surf Simulator is roaring as a gigantic frame of foamy white and blue.

Opened in 2006, the FlowRider is the park's centerpiece attraction and an engineering feat that circulates 24,000 gallons of water per minute. One of only a handful in the country, the FlowRider employs three high-power pumps to create a surfable medium where water moves up a ramp at 35 miles per hour. Wave Loch Inc. of La Jolla, Calif., built the Bloomington FlowRider as well as more than 40 others from Moscow and South Africa to Ogden, Utah, and Sandusky, Ohio.

The frothy pseudo-wave is only 3 inches deep, and there is no curl or barrel. But surfers like Impagliazzo, a 21-year-old lifeguard at the park, can stand up to cut, spin and ollie on the rushing plane of water.

"I was addicted the first day I tried it," Impagliazzo says.

A small national scene has emerged for surfers like Impagliazzo, who last year traveled to five states to compete in FlowRider competitions. He won nine medals and has garnered sponsorship from equipment manufacturers in the industry.

Jerome Tuisalo'o, another lifeguard, plans to visit four or more cities this summer on a national tour. "We'll see how I rank," says the 18-year-old, who spent his boyhood surfing in Hawaii, where he was born, before moving to Bloomington at age 10.

The Water Park of America -- the self-proclaimed biggest indoor water park in the country, called WPOA for short -- employs dozens of lifeguards, of which 10 to 15 compete in FlowRider contests. "They learn during their off hours and get amazingly good at the sport," says Andrew Becker, the facility's director of aquatics.

Last August, the water park hosted a competition, attracting about 60 surfers and body boarders. Each rider got 30 seconds and was judged on tricks and style through several rounds and elimination heats. Surfers as young as 8 as well as middle-aged men competed. "A big range in skill and ability," Becker notes.

On the first weekend in August, the park will host two days of competition as part of the traveling Flow Tour. The event, which will have a format similar to last year's competition, is open to pros and recreational riders alike.

I visit the WPOA on a dreary Wednesday evening, swimsuit in a bag and ready to experience FlowRider. It's spring break, and the line stretches down a feeder ramp on the wave's edge. Kids and teenagers in swimsuits lean on a railing to cheer. Surf sessions start at the bottom of the wave, where riders ease out backwards to catch the flow.

Impagliazzo is giving a lesson. "Weight on the back foot, weight on the back!" he shouts, a clueless young surfer sliding toward the current. In two seconds, as the boy fights for control, the FlowRider's stream snaps the board out from under his feet, his body nearly flipping, then rocketing up-ramp and out of sight over a transom.

"You ready for this?" Impagliazzo shouts, looking my direction.

I step onto the thin, wobbly, 4-foot-long board. It feels more like a skateboard deck than anything used in surfing. Impagliazzo holds my hands, then nudges me into the fray. "Back foot!" he shouts.

But it is too late. I drift out backwards, streaks of jetted water a dizzying plane below. The board feels adrift on its own, and I surf for a couple seconds before zip, splash, womp, and I'm gone.

"It took me four hours to stand up the first time," Impagliazzo says as I stumble back down the ramp.

Try No. 2 is equally embarrassing. I've surfed in the ocean several times, though the skills do not seem to transfer to the FlowRider.

I decide to watch instead.

Four times a day, water park lifeguards close the FlowRider off to the public for demonstrations. Lifeguards whistle and the line slinks away. Then the surf wax comes out and Impagliazzo, Tuisalo'o and other regulars prepare to dazzle. "The demos give us a chance to show the potential of surfing here," Becker says.

A female lifeguard dives in first, scooting down the wave on her belly, cutting turns and spinning around. I watch with Becker from the sidelines.

Dressed in a yellow rashguard top and board shorts, Impagliazzo is on deck. He jumps on the water as soon as the body boarder is out of the way, swooping across the FlowRider's face, kicking rooster tails and spray 40 feet past the edge. He is a blur among the mist and flying water, slicing the foamy plane, dragging a hand to turn.

Near the Lazy River, swimmers are stopping to watch. Screams echo on the ceiling, the course of a waterslide snaking past lights and ventilation pipes at the back of the hall.

Impagliazzo pauses midface, carving a stalled turn, engulfed in rushing water but balancing still. The crowd screams, and Impagliazzo seems to notice. He dips a knee to turn, rocketing across the face, then cutting back. Spray soaks the crowd. The surfer smiles, barely visible through the mist.

Stephen Regenold is a Twin Cities writer and author of the syndicated column www.thegearjunkie.com.