Fuck, that means I’m the highest point!

I need to get out of the water and head home before things get too dangerous.

Lying flat on my board, my arms are ready as the swell of the wave starts to lift my board up higher. Paddling as fast as I can to match the momentum of the wave, my board starts shooting forward, and my heart is beating fast. I love the adrenaline rush of being one with the water rushing to shore.

Pushing my body up and then jumping to my feet, I steady my balance which is no mean feat with a moving board underneath you. Slowly standing to my full height of six-foot-two, I take control of the way I’m skimming across the wave. I guide the nose of the board and ride the wave just below the crest that is holding off just in the slightest. One wrong move and I’ll be thrown headfirst down the wave towards the ocean floor with a sharp pointed fiberglass board following me. It’s designed so that the board is strapped to my leg, so I can’t escape it. Even though that strap can stop me from drowning, that’s only if I manage to dodge being speared by the board in all the craziness. I’ve wiped out plenty of times before, but today I’m determined will not to be one of them.

I might be a grown man, but the kid inside me is still high-fiving himself for a perfect ride all the way to the shore. Standing up in the shallows and tucking my board beneath my arm, I’m satisfied that once again I beat the ocean. While it might be the place that calms me, it also feeds my competitive nature that I try to keep just to myself these days.

As I stand next to my truck, peeling my wetsuit off, the first of the lightning flashes across the sky. I’m looking forward to getting home and taking that first sip of my cold beer while I sit and watch the storm roll in. Slipping my boardshorts up my legs under my towel, I catch movement down near the shoreline. The noise of the wind and the thunder is getting louder as the raindrops fall.