One too many sports...

Biking ruined me this weekend. If only I could stick to one sport. I checked the waves early Saturday morning, and it looked close to flat. I should have known, and just said I wasn't going to ride, but I did. Of course, that was when the waves came up. Andy and Mark had checked it, too, and had decided to go skiing, instead. By the time they got back, they happened to drive by the beach and said, Whaa? The swell from Henri must have started trickling in by then, and they scored it at Andy's beach for at least a couple hours. Meanwhile, it was meant for me to ride the bike today, apparently, because if I hadn't we may have lost some Sundogs today.

I had decided not to do the extra loop, and had pulled into a shady spot to wait for the others to catch up. Three guys joined me, before Ro and BT came along and I said BREAK'S OVER, GUYS, and we pulled out just as some little blue car driven by a teenager decided to run a red light and came screeching across the intersection sideways where we would have been waiting, as usual. Something had made me stop sooner, and at a spot we never stopped before. Weird. Ro called me a hero. So, that's why I guess I didn't surf on Saturday.

Sunday was another story in my sad and pathetic saga. Got up, checked the pier, and there it was. WAVES. Joe just arrived in town, and this is the only weekend ride we could do together, so naturally I could not bail this morning. I looked out on the clean, empty lines and wanted to cry. No one would understand, except another surfer. My biking pals just laugh at me. I hate them sometimes, for not understanding, or seeming to care. But, I know they just don't understand. How could they? It makes me feel like an addict, again, so I keep quiet. Maybe one day, I will grow out of this. Nah, probably not.

So, I formulated a plan to leave the bike group once we got back to St. Augustine from our beginning point at Jax Beach. This was altered a bit when Joe decided to sprint with Derek and Sean for the Gate station. I thought he was going to pass out on us. There he was, flat on his back, heart rate through the roof, and I couldn't get him to his feet. He hasn't been riding lately, so he is not in his usual tip top condition. So, I stayed behind with him, and we trundled on back by ourselves to St. Augustine. By the time I got back to Sean's, and to the beach, the wind was raging onshore. I felt so sick inside to see it. It was like so many nightmares I have had, of getting to the beach too late. It wouldn't have been so bad if there had been waves lately. But tomorrow will make three weeks (!) without surfing for me. If you surf you understand, if not, you can slide down a razor blade slide into a pool of peroxide. Well, there you go. I better surf soon...