This moment when you're completely enclosed in water moving at highway speeds, when one wrong move means getting slammed into the reef or washing-machined until you don't know which way is up.
Time stretched. Everything went silent despite the roar. I could see the light at the end—the exit, getting smaller as the tube closed behind me, collapsing like a dying star.
Flew. Just flew. Board tracking perfect, body compressed, breathing steady.
Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.
Then the tube spit me out like a bullet from a gun.
The world exploded into sound—the roar becoming a scream, wind hitting my face, and underneath it all, the crowd losing their fucking minds.
I rode the white water for another thirty yards, standing tall now, board skimming across the foam. Then kicked out clean, board flipping up as I dove off into waist-deep water.
The beach erupted.
Screams. Cheers. Whistles. Phones flashing like a lightning storm. A hundred voices chanting my name.
