Swimming out beyond the break is no big deal. Swimming back is what counts. That is what it feels like to be 12 trips into a 24 trip work schedule. You can get away with bringing your true love and a bicycle along sometimes, but most of the time you have to cover yourself in petroleum jelly and kick, kick, breathe. Kick, kick, breathe.
One of the first rules of blogging I learned was this.
1. Nobody cares about the weird dream you had last night.
What if it involved a surf contest though? In seriously heavy conditions? Cancelled by a massive pod of frolicking narwhals? What if you are both relieved and disappointed that the contest is cancelled, but also thrilled and exhilarated to watch the loping narwhals rolling and dropping into hotel-sized surf, and not 4 story zone restricted hotels, but an anything goes Myrtle Beach style condominium sized wave?
I get it. You still can’t expect anyone to care.
It’s like the contest organizer told me this morning with a shrug of his tanned and hairy shoulders, “What can we do man? Narwhals ride the big waves dude!”
So here we go. Iron the khakis, gas up the rental, run barefoot on the treadmill until you get blisters, and then swim back in with the tide.