Some lemon popsickles and 17 hours of sleep apparently do wonders for the flu. After waking up from what was probably similar to some type of coma, I surprisingly felt like a million bucks and felt an energy I hadn’t had in days, and all I wanted to do was surf until I dropped.
The morning offshore winds carried me to El Porto, my Manhattan Beach home base, and I was ever so grateful to be feeling nearly 100 percent and ready to take on some surf. I’ve had some pretty bad injuries during my 365 days of surf challenge, but I’d rather be injured than nauseous — worst. feeling. ever.
Seeing some familiar faces at Porto and catching some waves that had me feeling like I was flying had grins protruding from my face — which was starting to show some color in it finally. The water temp dropped a bit and was a crisp 60 degrees, cold enough to make anyone feel alive and recharged. One brave soul was in only his boardshorts, and paddling around under the even mild rays of sun made me feel a bit overdressed in my 3/2 mm fullsuit. I shared some fun waves with a few 45th street frequenters, us trying to carve back and forth, smiling with aloha spirit. Offshore perfection eventually turned to onshore mush, and my long session was over before I knew it.
