_________

I’ve worn out always being afraid / An endless stream of fear that I’ve made
Treading water full of worry / This frantic tick tick talk of hurry

My lifestyle determines my deathstyle / A rising tide that pushes to the other side
_________

Every so often, I get the idea in my head to paddle out at Marina State Beach. I stare
at the break from the parking lot as the Metallica pumps through the speakers.

'Look at it,' I tell myself. 'Beautiful rights, one after the other.'

At that point, it's a foregone conclusion. I am already sliding my feet into the wetsuit,
steeling myself for what I know is going to be a pounding. The wind is strong enough that
even the paragliders stayed home. There certainly aren't any surfers in the water. What
the hell am I doing? And those 'beautiful rights'? The vantage from the beach is a lot
different from the parking lot view. From this vantage, I would describe them as 'hella rights'.

Yet there I am, sitting in the sand, tethering the leash to my ankle. And there I am, running
right into the white water. Paddling couldn't be more ridiculous. And then it happens. A wall
of water rising in front of me. Two things are certain. It's going to be cold and it's
going to hurt. The first thing it does is take...I said 'take'...my stick right out of my
hands, hurling it back toward the beach. The next thing it does is collapse on top of
me, knocking me clear to the sand where it pins the side of my face for at least ten wet,
airless seconds. It isn't over. That's the best part. By the time I get to my feet, the bell
for round two sounds and I take a shot to the stomach that knocks me to my ass. That's gonna
leave a nasty bruise.

Now I am just angry.

I start to paddle again. Right at the wall. This time I plane over it and keep going.
It's crashing behind me, but I am not looking back. There's another wall rising in
front of me. I slide back and do a quick kick toward shore and dig in deep. One stroke, two
stroke, three stroke and that's it. I am flying down the face of the monster, setting up for
the cut. It's an incredible feeling to be in the pocket, taking what she dishes out and turning
it into pure pleasure.

...and knowing I am definitely in it above my skill level, once is enough. I am happy to ride
it in and get the hell out. There's a kid sitting on the beach, watching me walk out. He asks
if he can help me lug my board up the hill to the parking lot. Then it hits me.

"You thought I was going to drown, didn't you?"

"Um, yeah, but that was pretty cool."