Achilles 071315

Surf Report: 2-3 feet
Water: Cool/Warm
Atmosphere: Sunny
Winds: Marginal

Mel texts me at 0632 AM with a screenshot of Surfline with a poor to fair rating at Venice.

"In?" she asks.

"Still deciding. I think I'll go in 30," I text back.

We initially had agreed to surf Venice breakwater since that is closer to where she works. She gets back to me later saying that she is just leaving her house. I didn't see it until I am driving to breakwater though.

I text her back, "I usually park south of the pier. I was gonna go to breakwater though."

As I keep driving, I text at a red light. "What's the call commissioner?"

She doesn't answer back. She doesn't need to. I know where she'll be. We have a connection.

I park at my usual spot and get changed. Walking down the asphalt, I can feel the small pebbles bite at the bottom of my feet. I get to the sand, and scan the horizon for any sign of my sister from another mister.

I see a familiar paddle style on a familiar board, with a familiar wetsuit wedging the short-haired surfers' butt cheeks. MEL.

She's on her neon railed board, which I have ridden my fair share of times. I paddle out with my hair still dry, and dive under water. I sneak up to her, grab her board by the tail, and start shaking it. She yelps, looks back, and we both have a laugh.

It's been forever since we have surfed together. It's such a great way to start the day off to surf with friends you can call family.

Mel goes for a wave. In typical kamikaze style, she paddles hard, pops up, and eats shit. I see white water explode upwards as she disappears from view. She re-emerges, a bit frazzled, a bit rattled, but ok.

I paddled for a wave, and miss it. My arms are at my side, and Mel smiles and says, "It always looks like you're flying when you paddle for a wave!" Indeed, surfing is probably the closest feeling to  exhilaration of flying.

I go for a right, and fit in a few pumps before holding my hands out to try to make it past the last section. I stick both my hands forward, as if to reach out to grab the second section of the wave.

I gotta go to work, I think.

"I gotta get to work," Mel says. "One more?"

"Fosho," I say.

I go for a steep left, and fall midway on the drop. I felt that I psyched myself out on making the drop. I didn't believe that I could make the drop, when I had already made it down halfway. I need to stop doubting the drop. But I digress...

The board gets flung up and the inside rail is aiming straight for my left leg. My achilles tendon gets nailed by the rail. Third hit in a row, since Saturday, on my left side.

I shake it off, and try to catch a party wave with Mel. I don't get in on the wave she catches, as she pops up and stands on the wave, taking it all the way to shore on the white water, managing the up and down bumps on the inside.

I throw up a double shaka and she waves back from the shore.

I have to catch at least a good one to end the session. No way am I paddling in on a close out.

I go for right, and the thing closes out.

I go for another right, and only get a half pump on the white water.

I finally get a left and stick a steep drop. I get a pump in it before it closes out. It wasn't THE RIDE I was hoping for, but it was a satisfying ride to take that left. I take the white wash in and walk up the beach with my aching achilles.

Surf is like a bottle of wine. It's fine to enjoy by yourself, but the same bottle tastes extra delicious when sharing with a friend. Thanks for paddling out, Mel.

Mahalos Mother Ocean!!