Concentwate. This Is Not A Chawade.

Something is happening with alarming regularity. I join the rest of the Dawn Patrollers on a morning with very, very good conditions - and I screw the pooch. Like this morning. Glassy, head high sets at the Shores, many of which were closeouts, enough of which were very ridable for any surfer worth his salt. And. I. Didn't. Catch. One. Fucking. Wave. Worse, infinitely worse - I didn't put much effort into it. Sat there like a buoy while guys were taking off all around me. Afterwards, as I was towelling off and chaning back into my street clothes, I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror of my truck, and looking into my own sorry doe eyes, I just...I saw a man crying out. Crying out, "When Lord? When can your faithful servant ditch this overcrowded beachbreak to whom I am a constant victim of its folly, so much so that it prevents me from putting ten over or getting barrelled or even pulling floaters like I used to be able to do on my beloved Brewer, may she be resting on racks in Your garage, Lord? Fuck! When, Lord, when? WHEN'S GONNA BE MY TIME?!!"

I figure that on GOOD days, I'm having about a 50% success rate, success defined as my own satisfaction with how I surf. And I've come up with a number of excuses:

• Crowds. At the Shores, when it's good, it's terrible - every wave is a party wave, with multiple surfers making the drop and doing a synchronous bottom turn. Yawn.
• Quality. The bad, flat days have hopelessly outnumbered the good.
• Access. Home Break, even when other areas are firing, is very fickle. Thus I'm required to drive. Problem being that apart from the Shores, there's not too much locally - Del Mar is about as far north as I want to go right now, and it's out of the question when I go surf on Fridays.
• Equipment. I'll confess: I've never felt that I've completely meshed with my board. I've made adjustments to the center fin (I deferred to the cut fin that came with the board, but I just don't feel that it gives me the drive I want), but I don't have that board dialed in like I did with my dear departed Brewer. When you're a rookie surfer and you can routinely pull floaters on a 9'2", make smooth carving bottom turns on steep, head-high waves, and take long, laconic rides on waist high mush, you know you're on the right board. Several years later, I still feel like I haven't fully figured out the Hollingsworth.
• Going solo. Sad fact - I no longer surf with friends. Over the years we all got married, got real jobs, moved all over the county, and everyone's on different schedules. The last time I hung out with my old roommate, who taught me how to surf, he revealed that he hadn't surfed in something like 6 months. It's more fun, IMHO, to paddle out with friends, and it's one of the best ways to push yourself to do better.

But these are all excuses. And I know the real reason why I seem to be regressing. I don't have my head in the game. This morning, sitting in the lineup, I kept thinking about work and our upcoming move and needing a new car and everything EXCEPT the sets that were rolling through. The aforementioned things can be fixed. The "me-being-a-headcase-in-the-water", gonna need to come up with some creative solutions. Ritalin, maybe?