I waded through the shallows, board tucked under my arm like a war trophy, water streaming from my hair and shorts in thick rivulets that slapped the surface with every step.
The foam swirled around my calves—cold, bubbly, full of sand and seaweed that wrapped around my ankles like slimy fingers before the tide yanked it back out with a wet hiss. Salt crusted every inch of exposed skin, pulling tight, stinging the tiny cuts on my knuckles and feet from earlier glass.
My lungs still burned from the last sprint-paddle, chest rising and falling hard, ribs flaring, heart slamming against bone like it wanted out.
My body hummed—that post-surf high mixed with something deeper, darker.
Muscles still fired hot from the paddle-outs and duck-dives, shoulders screaming with good fatigue, forearms tight from gripping the rails so hard I'd left fingerprints in the wax. My skin tingled everywhere the sun touched, scalding, alive my new stats flaring.
