Between mid October 2009 and mid January 2010 I didn't spend more than five consecutive days in my own bed. Sometimes only two nights at home separated a couple of three week long adventures. Sharks in Mexico, well-pumping in Nicaragua, waterfall climbing in Fiji, the holidays in Baja, posing in Panama. It was amazing. But it was exhausting.
By February, the best winter for surf in So Cal since I've been a surfer was going full steam. Back to back to back long period swells, days and days of pouring rain. At one point I just stood in the kitchen, a soapy plate in my hand, and stared at the rain pounding the earth in a sudden drenching for the fourth or fifth time that day.
It feels good to be home.
I wake up at 5:30. My boyfriend brings me a cup of strong coffee and I geek out on the internet until it starts to get light. I use a fit ball as my computer chair and every ten minutes or so I roll backwards to glance out the window, checking the flag for wind direction and strength.
Black turns gray and I pull on a beanie knit by my sister, grab my Sector 9 and skate a few blocks to the beach. If it looks good I'm pulling on my 4/3 Vapor and booties, grabbing a Cliff bar to eat while running back down, sneaking under a fence, and trying to block out the ice cream headaches to get a few empty waves before the sun brings the crowd.
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