I was out of bed at 6:30am this morning -- which, a year ago, was not so early. I woulda been in the water already by 6:30. But this year, 6 friggin 30. Out of bed, filled up my water bottle with hot water, hauled the big-ass board into the car, and drove.
I had every intention of going into the water no matter what. I'd grown soft and grumpy, so it was time to go for a paddle at the very least. I drove to the Venice Pier and stupidly walked out to pet Murphy the dog and say hi to the Pier birds. There, from the Pier, I saw texture on the water and uninviting walls on the south side. The north side had better corners, but that's not saying much. Dribbly drabbly.
So, I drove to Porto for the first time since the parking lot's been torn up. Textured and peakier than Venice, but that's not saying much either. Waist high at the most and crumbly. I just couldn't do it. Woke up at 6 friggin 30 and drove around, but I couldn't do it.
I have no idea what it's going to take to get me out on the weekdays. The weekends I'll go out just to be social, but I don't really feel like I'm surfing anymore.