I started surfing back in 1998. One of the Janitors at my high school, Joe, is a big time surfer. It was hard to NOT know who Joe Miller was; he was certainly one of the most popular people in school. We eventually got to know each other pretty well and became friends. I loved to go to the beach all the time, and my senior year he told me I should learn how to surf. What the hell, why not?
Joe's brother owns a windsurf/surfing shop call ASD. My first board was made by them and had "BITCHIN!" written on the bottom of it.

For me, there is no better rush, no better proof that life is worth living. It still amazes me just how high and low life can be. I often compare different parts of my life to see if one extreme balances the other. The other morning, driving in traffic, somebody cut me off only to go slower than me. Grrrrrr!

The next morning I was out among the cliff faces and offshore wind blowing the spray of waves in my face. People kept driving up to the parking lot; they'd look at the waves and then turn away. I was the only person in the water a quarter mile out paddling into in waves twice as tall as me. I looked towards the shore and saw my friend Kent; his arms were crossed in frustration. He didn't like the size of the waves, and maybe they were a little heavy for him.

A set was coming in, I could feel it. There was no visual yet, but the old brain was screaming to paddle outside.

Sure enough, here it comes.

The first wave is a no go. I think, "Gee, if THAT looks big, what the hell is behind it?" I paddle over that wave and the next one. I can see the wave I will ride now. It's bigger than expected, a bit bigger than I really wanted. I wait for it, carefully positioning myself. I want to be exactly where it will break, which is over the reef, but a bit further back than the previous waves. I spin around and haul-ass towards the shore.

For a brief second, the ocean is flat.

I can feel the wave looming behind me, angry. The world starts to tilt slightly, then it gets exponentially worse. Being lifted up the face of a wave, building as it rolls across the reef, the hand of mother nature herself picks you up without effort, a fairy-tale giant about to devour you whole. The whole world closes in, your vision gets smaller, focused only on what's absolutely necessary. Nearly vertical now I stop paddling, the lip is feathering to my left, trying to knock me off. I pop up only to slip away at the last second, perfectly timed.

I am a missile, faster than any natural thing should ever go. The sound of the water coming in from behind me is all I can hear, that and the hiss my board makes as I try to out run the ocean; which is now folding over itself to get at me. I make turns just to play around, and get that cool feeling of leaning sideways enough to somehow defy gravity. I start to relax as I come to a stop.

I look up and now Kent is much closer to me, and much less convinced that he would be able to go out and surf. I put up my arms as if to say "See? it's easy!"

He doesn't take the bait, he is frowning and I would not be able to see this if I weren't almost to the beach now.

I rode that wave for at least a hundred yards.