Salt in my hair, and my viens.

First surf of the season. Cold, but warming in some metaphorical sense. The contact of my body with the board, fitting into my old moulds. The rush, the sensation of pumping down the line, seeing the tip of the wave deflating in front of me, watching the world soar past, hands free. The excitement of the open, clean face lined up ahead, endless possibilties. Watching my feet dangle in the water, catching myself out that my leash is a gigantic fish, swimming around me. Paddling trhough sets, getting crushed by powerful whitewash, tumble-dried and spat out. Laughing with friends, shouting and jostling, without a care in the water, real world forgotten. It's the best place in the world.

Now my arms feel like lead. It's a nice feeling.