40 | lower trestles
t h r e e w e e k s l a t e r
I was coughing up salt water.
Malia draped a towel around my shoulders as I hiked myself up the beach, dodging fans and reporters on my way back to the cool down room for the surfers at the top of the cliff overlooking the beach.
"Not now, not now," Malia said as she backed a few journalists away from us. "You can talk to her later."
I'd just taken down #4 Alicia Brooks who snuck into the finals after a technicality in Tahiti bumped her ranking up, and since facing her was my first heat of the day, I effectively executed her. I came out of the gate aggressive and took the first waves I could, throwing down hard, technical tricks because I finally had the confidence to know that I could. I posted up an unreachable combo score before the heat had even hit the halfway mark, and Alicia knew it. I was not in the mood for mercy or prisoners today, and the only thing that had been on my mind for the last month was winning here...even if it was only to distract me from literally everything else in my life that seemed to be falling apart at the seams.
I never turned my back on the ocean, and it hadn't turned its back on me. It was all I had left, but maybe that was the way it should have always been.
The new format for the World Surf League finals was primed for hard-hitting, high-scoring heats as it was all jammed into one single day where lower seeded surfers had to fight their way through the higher seeded surfers. For those lower seeded surfers, it was a test of pure stamina, as you had the potential to surf in six heats in one single day. Last year, Stephanie Gilmore caught a clean 24 waves before even reaching the final heat. For perspective, I caught 18 waves in the entire event in Tahiti, all the way from the round of 16 to the final round.
That was why my 2nd place finish in Tahiti was so critical - it solidified my #3 place in the last rankings before the finals, so I'd essentially get a free pass while the two girls who were #4 and #5 duked it out to face me. As if fighting your way through several other surfers in one day wasn't enough, the actual final was a best of three. So even if you somehow managed to make the final, you now had to surf against the person who had been sitting around conserving energy all day in potentially three more heats...and that person sitting waiting for me was obviously Carissa.
Despite living only 30 minutes from San Clemente, I hadn't surfed here since the last time I was in the finals two years ago. Maybe it had been trauma, maybe bitterness, but whatever had stopped me from coming here in the past, it had all washed away this weekend. I had enough of other people's trauma and bitterness now to make what I'd been through the last few years look like an insignificant little drop among the crashing waves on the shore. Perspective could do that to you.
I couldn't even think about Carissa right now, as I still had to face Brit at #2. I heaved out a sigh as I leaned against the wooden deck railing overlooking the beach at Lower Trestles. The finals were always here, as it was considered to be the hardest, most technical wave in the country. It was even a hike to get out there, as it was a two mile walk from the street down to the shoreline, down the cliffside and through uneven paths of brush and sand.
Of course, that hadn't stopped the thousands of fans that trekked out here to see the best surfers in the world compete for a world championship. The beach below was all but packed wall-to-wall, including people with my jersey on. A few months ago, the possibility of that seemed intangible and unreachable. Now that I was here, and the reality of me winning felt closer than I would have thought possible, but a hollowness blanketed anything good I could have felt about it.
"You need to stay hydrated." Malia tapped a cold water bottle on my shoulder as she joined me on the deck. I silently took the bottle and downed a quarter of it before handing it back to her.
"I don't need to remind you of this, but Brit isn't a pushover," Malia continued. "She's not gonna roll over like Alicia did and just hand you the heat."
"I know," I replied curtly, not taking my eyes off the water.
The sets had been rolling through all day, and we couldn't have asked for better conditions. If this was all I had left, I was going to make sure nobody and nothing could take it away from me.
"You are surfing like a woman possessed today," our resident "sideline" reporter Laura caught me as I made my way up to the deck after beating Brit in the third round. "Is there anything you've been doing differently today that has made such a difference in your surfing?"
I shifted my weight on my feet as I repositioned my board under my arm. "Not really," I shook my head. "I'm just focused. I want to win, it's that simple."
Laura forced a smile, unsure of what to do with my curt response, then wished me luck in the final round before I caught back up with Malia walking towards the cool down room. Physically, I felt better than I had all season. I was throwing - and nailing - maneuvers that six months ago I'd be afraid to throw. Mentally, I had shut down. I wasn't allowing myself to feel anything other than the desire to win.
I sucked in one last breath before making it down to the beach, and Carissa and I met at the shoreline before going our separate ways into the water for the first heat of the finals. It was best two out of three, and I knew I needed a first round victory.
"Good luck," she called over to me, keeping her facial expression stone.
"Yeah, you too," I replied.
Carissa took the left shoulder down into the water, whereas I opted for the right so I could put myself in a better position to snag some right-handers from the jump. The wind began to kick up as a few sets rolled in as we paddled out, forcing us to duck under and coast over waves before we could even catch one. The fatigue was finally starting to work its way into my arms and shoulders as I paddled out to the lineup, and I forced myself to breathe in that same way I was taught.
In, clench, count to four, exhale. In, clench, count to four, exhale. In, clench, count to four, exhale.
A set rolled in quickly as the wind began to pick up, and Carissa outpaddled me to it as she dropped into the wave. I watched her disappear over the crest, and I knew from the cheering at the beach that she'd nailed something big.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The set died, and I knew there was nothing I could do when it came to the waves - we have no control of the ocean out here, and sometimes we're forced to just sit and wait, wait, wait. It felt like an eternity before I finally caught a wave, but it faded under me quickly as I could barely connect two carving turns before the wave died out.
That was how the entire first heat went, and frustration bubbled up inside of me as I paddled back to the beach, losing the first heat in pretty major fashion. Carissa had outscored me by almost 10 points.
Malia and I had time to debrief as we swapped out for the first heat of the men's final.
"I don't need to tell you anything about Carissa you don't already know," she told me when I was switching out my event jersey for a dry one. "I know she's been sitting around all day, but that can also work to your advantage. You have momentum, so use it."
"I know, I know," I replied with a groan, wringing water out of my hair and pulling at my rash guard.
"Hey, listen," Malia grabbed my shoulders and repositioned me to face her. She crinkled her eyebrows as she looked down at me with concern veiled over her dark eyes. "While I really appreciate your shoot to kill mentality today, I don't want that being the only thing you're taking out there. You're getting frustrated, and I need you to reign it in."
I scoffed. "I'm not."
Malia heaved out a sigh. "Look, I'm not going to bring it up, but-"
"Then don't," I snapped.
Malia took a step back and raked a hand through her hair. "Okay, I won't. The only thing I'll say is this: I want you to have fun out there. Of course I want you to win but...look at how far you've come, and what you've overcome to get here. No matter the outcome, I want you to be proud of that. Of all of that."
She gave me one last faint smile before leaving me to marinate in my thoughts one last time before going back out onto the water.
The last few weeks in Tahiti and leading up to the finals, it had been easy to push down everything that had happened recently. I shut off social media, I didn't read articles, and I hadn't spoken to Gemma. I didn't need any of that bullshit knocking me off-balance, literally or metaphorically. Let people think what they want of me, and of whatever had happened, because in my head I thought winning here today would obliterate all of that and make everything else just go away.
But what was the point of winning if I couldn't at least have fun and be proud of what I've accomplished? I should want to win for me, and me only.
When it was time to get back in the water, I felt better. Lighter. Ready. I won the second heat, and we were now tied at one heat apiece, so in true dramatic fashion, it would come down to the final one.
I took the same route down the right shoulder as a steady gust of wind cut through the water. I glanced to my left to see Carissa already out the back, and my arms ached as I tried to paddle myself quicker out to the lineup. I pushed myself forward on willpower alone - I'd caught over 20 waves by now, and I was officially on empty.
A set seemed to swell up right in front of me without warning, and I didn't have time to brace myself as I was knocked off of my board, and churned underneath the water. When I broke the surface with a sputtering cough, I'd been pushed even further down towards the cliffside and away from the lineup. When I pulled my leash to bring my board back to me, my heart shattered when I realized only half of my board had come back to me.
The entire top half of my board was missing, and the horn signaling the start of the heat sounded across the beach. Panic surged through me, my whole body trembling with adrenaline as I flailed my arms up to get the attention of the assist jetski.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I slammed my arms down into the water. I treaded water as I turned towards the shoreline, where I'd been pushed so far away from the beach that Malia needed to run through the crowd to bring me a new board.
She waved at me from the beach, and I knew as the assist ski approached me that I'd need to paddle back to the beach, get my new board, and paddle back to the lineup - the assist ski was only allowed to take us so far before I'd need to paddle the rest of the way there and back, and time was already beginning to chip away on the 35 minute heat clock. My heart rattled against my ribs, and I gasped for breath as I heaved myself onto the jetski. When I looked back to the shore, I saw someone else with Malia, stripping off their shoes and socks as she strapped my extra board to their ankle.
The entire world slowed to a screeching halt when he turned his gaze out to the water, his icy eyes wide with determination as he pushed his white hair off of his forehead.
I blinked and shook my head, convinced I'd hit my head when I wiped out and I was hallucinating, but when I opened my eyes again, he was still there, talking to Malia as he pulled his shirt off and listened intently to Malia's instructions.
Atlas had jumped onto my board and into the water, paddling out to me. A wave came through and nearly knocked him off the board, but he recentered himself, flicking wet hair out of his face as he continued to make his way through the water.
With my heart in my throat, I slid off of the assist ski and urged my aching arms to paddle over to him, meeting him halfway between the shoreline and the lineup. These last few weeks I'd tried to convince myself I never wanted to see him again, but now at the sight of him actually in front of me, I realized it was all I'd wanted. Even if he wasn't mine, even if we weren't okay, I just wanted to know he was.
"I think this is yours," he said as he slid off the board and pushed it over to me.
"Atlas..." his name left my mouth breathlessly when I broke the surface, and all I wanted to do was reach over and touch him, still not entirely convinced it was actually him in the water in front of me. "What are you...why...?"
A wave came through and nearly took us both out, forcing us to duck under the surface and catch each other under the water. His hands found my arms, and god damn it he was really there, and his touch was as real as that very first night he'd caught me after being knocked over on a dance floor in Monaco.
"Because I'm a fucking idiot," he said as he sputtered out water, barely keeping his head up above the waves. "Because you're amazing. And because I love you."
My lungs were desperate for air. "Atlas, I..."
"You don't have to say it back. I know you do," he cut me off. "But right now, you have a championship to win."
"But-"
"Go!"
I nodded and waved the assist ski back over to us and hoisted myself onto my board as the guys on the ski pulled Atlas up onto the back of it. As it zoomed away, he lifted a thumbs up into the air, which was met with cheers from the beach.
10 minutes had come off of the heat clock by the time I'd made it to the lineup, leaving me with 25 minutes to drop in a winning score. I hadn't really caught my breath, but I didn't have time to.
Carissa had dropped in a 6.7, but thankfully in those 10 minutes that had gone by, it was still her only wave, and now that I was in the lineup, I had priority. I dove for the first wave in the next set that passed through, desperate to just get a number up on the scoreboard. I needed a feel for my backup board as the fin configuration was slightly different, but I carved out a few rail turns at the top of the wave before closing out cleanly. It wasn't a 6.7, but it was something.
Adrenaline fired off in my body like I was being electrocuted, and as I took a moment to glance back to the beach, Atlas had made it back and was standing by Malia with a towel around his shoulders. We made eye contact, and he lifted his arm under the towel to wave at me. My heart lifted in my chest, and for what felt like the first time all day, I allowed myself a smile, and allowed myself to be truly present in the moment. Like Malia had been trying to tell me all day, I should be proud of where I was, and how far I'd come.
I'd overcome more than I'd even allowed myself to truly process these last few months. I'd overcome an injury that I could have let dictate my entire season. I'd overcome the apprehension that I'd never be as good as I once was. I'd overcome the fear of loving someone else so truly and so genuinely at the risk of my own feelings. Even though Atlas and I clearly had some things to talk about and work through, it was obvious he was ready to try and overcome that too, and I'd be a hypocrite if I wasn't going to let him try.
I took that mentality through the rest of the heat, and the thought that I had the power and had the drive pushed me. There were two minutes left, and Carissa and I were tied at 15. She had priority, and as the water stilled, we floated in each other's space to try and play a little bit of mind games with each other. If I could trick her into taking a wave, priority would shift back to me, and I'd have one last shot.
A set rolled through, and I paddled forward as if I was ready to take the wave, which sprang her into action and forced her to take it just to keep me off of it, even though there wasn't much to the wave. She managed one turn before it faded out underneath her.
I was suddenly in control of my own destiny. You can't control the ocean, but you can control what to do when the ocean gives to you. The second set rolled through, and I grit my teeth as I paddled forward and dropped into the wave. I needed just one clean turn, one connected maneuver, and that was all. No fancy moves, no big tricks, just pure, perfect basics. When I carved two turns off the lip of the wave, that was when I knew. I dove off the wave cleanly, and the horn rang out across the beach, signaling the end of the heat, the end of the round, and the end of the season.
I was so overwhelmed with emotion, I didn't know how or what to process first, and part of me just wanted to slide off of my board and float off into the water in silence. I'd done it. After everything, I'd fucking done it, and above anything, I felt pure relief, because no, I wasn't washed up, and I wasn't at my limit. I was a fucking champ again.
in losing grip
on sinking ships
you showed up just in time
this love is good, this love is bad
this love is alive back from the dead
these hands had to let it go free, and
this love came back to me
this love (taylor's version) / taylor swift
i know i tease you guys a lot about the angst, but did y'all really think i was just gonna leave sav and atlas hanging like that? i'm not *that* heartless.
as i think a lot of you know by now, i'm very invested in professional surfing and religiously follow it, and this scene was inspired by a real life scenario that happened to my fav surfer carissa moore back at the j-bay open in south africa, where she broke her board before a semi-final heat and her husband was ready to jump in the water and paddle one out to her in pretty intense conditions. true fucking love right there.
two chapters left <3
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