Water rushes through my sinuses, cleansing my nostrils like a nasal saline enema.
A soft whoosh portends the dull thud as board hits skull with the ferocious power of Poseidon's rage.
I emerge, bloody but unbowed, and set upon catching the next violently crashing set.
So much for good intentions.
It seems no matter how hard or fast the paddle, I am forever destined to be churned like so much milk in the froth, rag-dolled and spun heels over head twice, thrice, and again.
The energy sap is a drastic one, realised in the seemingly impossible slog against the current as I drudge body and board back into the line up, determined to make one last push for glory.
Here we go. This is it.
The edge curls, and my heart quickens as the water is suddenly crested with a thousand white stallions, thundering towards the shore.
Here we go. This is it.
PADDLE! My brain screams in perfect sync with the onlookers. I oblige, forcing my shoulders to serve their turn long after they are gone.
I engage in powerful, rapid strokes, propelling my board along. I check over my shoulder at the onrushing wave.
This is it. Here we goOOooooooo.
I am lifted by the racing swell, and sent skidding at a rate of knots.
Heart pumping, eyes blinking, seize the moment.
Arms extend. Toes scrabble for grip. Adrenaline courses through me, and it feels as though each limb, muscle, and ligament are acting independently, unaffected by each other or the core.
I pop up slowly, my tired body riddled with lactic. The back foot hits the board, and I bring the front forward.
Poor placement. Bad grip.
The board, still charging forward, vanishes as my foot slides across it. I fall, landing with a hard slap on my back, which groans under the stress of impact.
I am done, and attempt the brief limp to shore utterly drained and devoid of vitality. I narrowly avoid being grounded on the rocks.
Thus ends my brief surfing career, enveloped in ignominy and pain.
