A bet between friends: The Pushloop Challenge, or: Noodle soup for breakfast
Manuel Vogel
· 08.08.2026
There he is, my mate Matze, silently spooning cold noodle soup from the day before out of a large pot. The landscape rolls past us and the sun is slowly making its way towards the horizon. We’d spent two days in Hanstholm in northern Denmark, trying to finish what we’d started over a year ago: the Pushloop mission. But somehow it all seems to be turning into a never-ending story.
A few months earlier
The bus door slams shut with a loud bang – next stop: Rømø, Denmark. If I had to bet on one topic that’s bound to come up during our two-hour journey from Kiel to the North Sea, I’d say it’s the pushloop. My mates Klaus and Matze have had this manoeuvre on their wish list for ages and have gone over it a hundred times from A to Z. But they’ve never actually practised it properly. Too stormy, waves too small, wind too onshore, too cold – the list of excuses was always long. But with two windy days ahead of us, the topic is quickly back on the agenda: “I’m doing it today!” Klaus throws down the gauntlet. A provocative “Again?” slips out of my mouth, and what follows is the 101st discussion about axes of rotation, lines of sight and take-off angles. “Don’t overthink it – just tilt your head back and spin the thing,” I reply, knowing full well that tips like that won’t really help him. Ultimately, it’s clear: what the two of them need is a group challenge. It works just as well with toddlers as it does with adults: “Whoever lands a pushloop first gets a crate of beer from me,” I announce. Deal!
More Loop stories:
The pushloop is all in the mind
Two hours later, we’re standing on the beach at Rømø: The south-westerly is blowing hard – that means sideshore conditions with two-metre waves. We’re rigging 3.8 to 4.2 square metres. Just before Klaus can dash off towards the water with blinders on, I make him do a quick theory session on land too. The key points: take off steeply; as you climb, pull the mast towards your body and throw your head back. All clear? Whilst Klaus sprints frantically towards the water and cracks out a backloop to warm up, Matze is obviously taking a slightly more measured approach: from an old Ikea bag, he pulls out a Helmet as well as a protective vest, and goes through the manoeuvre again behind the bus. “Will you follow me and keep an eye on me?” he asks. Absolutely!
We’re just launching our boards when Klaus spots a ramp: he takes off, throws his head back at the apex – and lets go of his rig. Four metres up in the air, he hangs upside down in his footstraps for a second, whilst his rig spins round and round out of control. Our hearts skip a beat for a moment, and we’re relieved when, a few seconds later, he’s back on his board, unharmed.
Go for it rather than feeling your way
Meanwhile, Matze races out onto the water, with me hot on his heels. The first wave passes without a jump. We jibe off the beach, close the angle, pick up speed, and then I spot it – the perfect ramp: “Pushloooooooop!” I shout after him. And sure enough: Matze takes off, soaring straight up, throws his head back and rotates cleanly through the manoeuvre. He lands in the water-start position; two seconds later, he’s back on deck, looking visibly bewildered. His expression wavers somewhere between bewildered and utterly euphoric. Cheers, roars – it’s amazing what adrenaline can do to people. For the next 20 minutes, not a single stroke goes by without Matze attempting a pushloop. He rotates surprisingly well, regularly landing in the water start position. The fact that he can’t quite pull one off properly yet – never mind. The pressure’s off, the euphoria is boundless; after all, this was far more than he’d hoped for: “It’s not that hard at all, and the moment when you’re lying over the sail – that’s absolutely brilliant!”
Klaus, on the other hand, is a bit up in the air – in the truest sense of the word. He’s not giving up either and is bravely carrying on, but he keeps falling off: “As soon as I jump off, everything I’d set out to do is gone. Technically, it’s not that difficult, but you can’t just ease into it step by step.” After all the excitement, everyone needs to wind down a bit. We’ll put the topic to one side for today and enjoy the conditions. Klaus, too, quickly shakes off his disappointment and is soon back on familiar ground with his front and back loops.
The hangover after the party
One large pot of pasta later, we’re on our way north along the west coast – destination Klitmøller. The Pushloop party is set to continue here tomorrow. After a relaxing night, we head out onto the water at Klitrosen around midday. The wind is noticeably weaker than the day before – it’s enough for 4.7 sails, and the waves look quite round. Matze, of course, has the upper hand: “I’m on top form today!” Klaus is holding back on any bold claims for now. I settle back into my role as motivator and cheerleader and follow the lads. We surf a few runs with plenty of power, but the right ramp just won’t materialise. Minutes pass without anything happening. Then Matze spots the object of his desire. As I watch him race towards it at full speed, I still think the wave is too round: “Matze, NOOOO! Don’t do iiiiiiiiiit!”
"No, don’t do it," I think. "But his body seems to be already programmed."
But his brain is obviously already programmed: he jumps off, flips round and, for a brief moment, enjoys the view of the water through his sail. Then he crashes down. When I reach him a few seconds later and ask, “Are you all right?”, he’s still hanging from the rig and just looks at me sheepishly: “I need a minute!” Pieces of his carbon fork are bobbing around him. The sail is torn and he has (as we’ll discover later on land) actually managed to leave the imprint of his nose on the monofilm. Blood is dripping from his upper lip. Because the fork is still intact on one side, he at least manages to get ashore under his own steam. But despite all our encouragement – the day is over for him.
Klaus manages to get a taste of it too – just in a different way: his attempts are getting better. He no longer falls off completely with every attempt, but manages time and again to at least keep one hand on the handlebars and keep spinning. Hats off to him! This goes on for half an hour, then he’s had enough for now: “After a few attempts, your head’s completely knackered. The tension really takes it out of you. I’ve had enough of that for today and would rather just surf normally, without any pressure,” he sums up afterwards on the beach.
Goodbye, comfort zone
The following months pass without our Pushloop Challenge getting back under way. Not enough wind, waves too small… There it is again, the list of excuses. Then, one late-summer morning, we’re sitting in the bus again with a coffee, watching the conditions improve. I bring the topic back up: “Pushloop Challenge today – you know the drill!”
“What are you actually doing today to get out of your comfort zone?” Klaus retorts, with a slightly reproachful undertone. Touché! I’d actually quite enjoyed my role as coach, motivator and smart alec, but things are now taking an awkward turn. “We’ll have a go at push loops, and Manuel will do a push loop forward! Or a one-handed push loop,” suggests Klaus. I break out in a brief sweat, but can’t come up with any arguments as to why the challenge shouldn’t apply to me (apart from the list, of course).
It’s like a rollercoaster. One moment you’re learning, the next you’re facing setbacks.”
We agree on a pressure-free warm-up session, so that we can then tackle the task as planned after a break and when conditions are better. Matze bends his mast straight away during the warm-up and has to swim. Going well! I want to get into the groove with some normal push loops to prepare for the push-forward, but the mere thought of it blocks me so much that even the standard routine won’t work out. After an hour of sub-par performance, we meet up at the bus to grab a bite to eat. Clips from the last Pozo World Cup are playing on the smartphone. Köster, Paré and Brawzinho are whirling through double loops, push loops and push-forwards. It all looks so easy – almost as if it were from another planet. Meanwhile, here on Planet Earth, the mood is rather subdued; what’s supposed to be inspiring feels rather leaden at the moment.
The experiments give the audience goosebumps
A short while later, they set off anyway, using small sails. Klaus reverts to his old tactic: don’t waste a moment, put on your blinders, get out on the water and round the mark. In his view, tips and practice runs seem to be completely overrated. The result today is once again a mixed bag: a few promising attempts are repeatedly followed by capsizes that give the spectators brief shivers down their spines. When Klaus waves me off, I can no longer talk my way out of it and take to the beach with a knot in my stomach. The 4.0 sail is perfectly powered, the waves are solid, and any hope of an excuse is fading.
Matze, the surfing pressure point, is right on my tail. It doesn’t take long before the first decent ramp comes my way and I know: it’s now or never. Take-off, head back, twist the sail under my body. The height might be enough for Köster & Co to string on a forward, but for me the transition from backward to forward rotation takes far too long. I sense what’s coming, yet I still half-heartedly pull in during the descent. That’s just enough to turn the tip of the board slightly towards the lee before the impact hits. It wasn’t much like a push-forward. Still, a feeling of happiness washes over me at that moment. I plucked up the courage; the spell is broken.
Goodbye euphoria, hello doubt
One run later, I give it another go – but once again I lack the height and that final bit of conviction to pull off the forward. With a crash, the mast slams into the deck of my board and I clatter onto my side. As I surface, coughing, I realise it wasn’t a mistake to wear a protective vest. Goodbye euphoria, hello doubt. Back to the beach for now; perhaps I can work out from the photos what’s missing. A short while later, I realise: almost everything is missing. The road to the push-forward is going to be long and painful. And right now, I’m not sure if I even want to go down that road at all.
Luckily, there’s Plan B – the one-handed push loop. I’ve had this move in the back of my mind for a long time, but I’ve never tried it. Until now, it seemed like an uncomfortable step forward; now it feels like a step back towards my comfort zone. Admittedly, it’s quite terrifying to let go of the sail hand in the middle of the climb and turn the sail with the top pointing downwards. But the moment when you’re hovering over the sail with one hand and looking down towards the water is simply unforgettable. After a few attempts, things are actually starting to come together, and even though the landing isn’t quite working out yet, I find myself asking: “Why didn’t I do this sooner!?”
The cracking sound in the neck
Now it’s Matze’s turn. But he’s been conspicuously quiet and even looks a bit pale around the gills. Nerves? Memories of the last crash in Klitrosen? Or is it perhaps the pasta from the day before? I put it down to nerves and slip back into the role of the tow pilot. The tried-and-tested tactic: a few short warm-up runs on land, a safety run to get into the swing of things, and then go for it! Even on the first run, the wind drops a bit; there’s no sign of any high-powered surfing. Bobbing about, waiting, shaking my head. Matze is still looking pale.
After 20 minutes, the wind picks up again. A small wave rolls in and I can already tell from the way he’s approaching it that Matze’s set on it and wants to capsize the board. The wave is small – actually, too small. In my mind’s eye, I can already see him drifting through the North Sea, surrounded by carbon fibre shards, all over again. He jumps off, throws his head back boldly, spins out of control and lands face-first – luckily, this time next to his rig. After his last attempt a few months ago, I’m glad that everything went off without a hitch this time. The most important thing, though, is that, despite the bad experience last time, he tried again – and he, too, rightly counts that as a success: “The wave was puny, but it actually went surprisingly well.”
After that, the wind dies down again, so we head away from the water for a bit. Whilst we’re chatting away, Matze seems a bit out of it. He manages to make it up to the dune before his pasta dish comes flying out of his mouth. One look at the colour of his face and it’s clear straight away: he won’t be surfing today. Matze spends the rest of the day in the van, just vegetating. Still, he wants to see if he’ll be fit again by the next day. A very brave decision, which means that, instead of heading home early, Klaus and I get to enjoy another pretty good session on the water, completely without any pressure.
A miracle cure over a pasta breakfast
In the evening, our patient is at least able to eat some noodle soup and drink some chamomile tea, but we can’t stop wondering what exactly knocked him out like that. The noodles from the day before? Unlikely. A tip from another surfer puts us on a new track: “Perhaps whiplash?” That could be it. Did he perhaps throw his head back so violently that his vertebrae are now out of alignment?
“At first, you don’t dare to do it for ages, and afterwards you ask yourself: ‘Why didn’t I do it sooner?’”
The next morning greets us with wind, sunshine and waves. Klaus and I tuck into muesli, whilst Matze has noodle soup with a painkiller. Then something happens that we would never have thought possible: he experiences a miraculous recovery. Perhaps because the stiffness in his neck has eased, perhaps for other reasons. In any case, an hour later he’s standing in front of the bus, rolling up the sleeves of his wetsuit. “Are you sure?” asks Klaus, frowning. He nods. At any rate, he’s decided to give the ‘pushies’ a miss today.
The group challenge is the perfect way to motivate yourself
So, quite unexpectedly, we get to enjoy another session as a trio – brilliant! It really brings home the point: sometimes a group challenge is the perfect way to motivate yourself and try something new. But you have to be careful not to lose the fun because of the pressure you’ve put on yourself. The best approach is probably to set yourself a time limit. 30 to 60 minutes is enough. During that time, everyone gives it their all. Afterwards, you tick it off the list and put it out of your mind – time to enjoy yourself.
A few hours later, we’re sitting on the bus on our way home. The Danish countryside rolls past us and Matze is spooning up the last of his noodle soup. Once again, we’re heading back without having achieved the goals we’d set ourselves. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. We’ve all had the courage to step out of our comfort zones and come back again. Once again, we’ve got stories, impressions and experiences that will stay with us. And at some point, we’ll take on the next challenge. Hopefully without the noodle soup.
Manuel Vogel
Editor surf