Sitting on my board, the water was up to my waist. I was frozen, not from the frigid North Atlantic’s icy waters. No, I was frozen, unable to act or move from something that I didn’t believe impacted me. As I sat there my thoughts wouldn’t quiet themselves.
A set rolled through. A bile of resentment bubbled and burned in my throat as one after another, people caught waves. Some waves I let go, others I was in the wrong spot for. I missed every wave in that set.
Within minutes, the four who caught those great rides were already paddling past me into the prime real estate of the line up. Grinning from ear to ear, they knew that when the next set rolled in, they’d be on it. There were plenty of waves to go around. And they caught most of them. Pricks.
I hate everyone here. I hate him. I hate her. I hate her. And I really hate him.
Most of all though?
I was hating myself.
Why can’t I assert myself somehow?
There’s an unspoken rule in surfing that emerges. If it’s busy and you miss a wave wh…
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