Trapped

Crash, Swish, Roar.

The lonely empty silence is overpowered by a wall of foam rushing towards me. Wheels of sand are churning beneath my feet. My golden locks are flattened and hunched over my head to form a thick curtain over my eyes. Light ripples are printed against my olive stomach as the sun beams through the oceans unsteadiness. I look below me and can't see where the sand bank ends; I look above and realize it's a long way to the top. Don't panic Kate, you'll get through this. I try to paddle to the top but am halted by something severely weighing me down- My board. That's what got me in this mess in the first place. I can see the floral pattern peeping through the sand that is rapidly crawling over it. I quickly rip apart the Velcro of my foot strap and watch my board float to the surface effortlessly as I attempt climbing through the water to reach the surface. The fin of my board becomes more visible to me as I ascend. Finally, an alleviating sensation blasts through my mouth.

Air.

Crash, Swish, Roar.

Just as I get a breath, the powerful monster swallows me once more. It finally hits me that I'm going to be under a long time. These are 20 ft waves, I think to myself. There is no way I am getting out of here the easy way. I feel the blood surge to my head as the paranoia sets in.

When I was 5 years old, Dad woke me up one morning and informed me that he was finally going to teach me how to surf. I was ecstatic. I used to watch my brothers in envy as I crouched on the damp sand with my head between my hands resting on my knees, sulking at the fact that I wasn't allowed to surf until I was 5.

Well, that time arrived when Dad was taking me, and nothing was going to hold me back. I watched Dad approach me as he returned from a blue and white hire tent with a long (well what seemed long at the time), bright yellow foam board. It had a small white fin sticking out its rear. We stayed shallow and like any impatient 5 year old I began to suffer from frustration as I continuously nose dived into the sand at my efforts to stand up. My skinny, weak arms were stiff and tender from the paddling and my body was beginning to give in after 2 hours of consistent failure. Then I saw Matt, my oldest brother draw near to us as he strolled casually across the sand. He grunted to himself arrogantly as he watched me disappear beneath the whitewash several times. I knew I had to show him I could do it. As the wall of foam advanced, I paddled my tired little limbs as fast as I could, and used the last of my energy as I brought them underneath me and stood up on the board. A cold gust of wind embraced my face and the adrenalin pumped through my body. 'That'll show him' I thought to myself- those were the greatest 3 seconds of my life.

Air.

Crash, Swish, Roar.

I was 8 the first time I went surfing with both my brothers. The waves were perfect that day. They glistened magically as the contrast of the sunset reflected onto the crystal blue water. We paddled out to the back, and bopped on the water as we sat on our boards waiting for the ideal breaker. The swell mounted as the wave began to form. 'This is it!' yelled Blake as we got down on our boards. We viciously paddled as the wave began to break. It was then that I felt that thrilling sensation and knew I was on it. We all were. As