I shaped a board once. Just once. I did it a few years ago, and, up until recently, I thought that was more than enough for this lifetime.
It’s not that there was anything wrong with the board—a wide, thick, almost-rockerless, chop-tailed 5'5" quad that had plenty of giddyup in gutless knee-to-chest high surf, and could turn on a dime because, well, there really wasn’t much board to turn. It was just that I knew someone else—say, a 50-year veteran shaper like my dad, Robin Prodanovich, who makes all my boards—could make me a much, much better version, and they could probably do it blindfolded with plastic cutlery.
Sure, I could try to put in the 10,000 hours to master mowing foam, but that’s a lot of time to spend…