I began my outing by counting the 1517 steps it took for me to get from the front gate of the new pad to the sand. The ocean was battered by the mostly onshore wind. The slight kick in swell was being torn up, but not to the point where it wasn't rideable.
My DHD is still at my in-laws at this point, so I'm riding my 5'10" epoxy Merrick.
I spent the first half hour of my session going for waves and either missing them or catching them and having them close out on me.
The wind was keeping out any potential bro-brahs out of the water, and my lackluster results probably caused them to step on the gas and towards their responsibilities for the day even harder.
A little peak came up and was pushed from behind by another one. I whirled around, caught it and popped up. I swung around the section on this 3' beast, did a small but efficient snap, then pumped twice before laying into a rail-burying, speed-burning cutback. It's my signature move, several notaries have approved it as being specific to only me. The most telltale sign it's me is how I burn all of my speed so I have zero hope of recovering, unless the wave kicks back in with a steep section in the critical half-second of flotation I have.
I called it a day after feeling the wind gust up.