The signs of a new long period South were on the rise. On Tuesday I figured I'd squeeze in an hour before work. Took out my twin fin, paddled out to the point, sixteen guys and myself. I caught a few nice set waves, drove down the line, stalled and front flipped off the board. It was going to be a good day.

Wednesday was my day off. Eager to surf something that felt more like a real wave. I head up the coast to one of my favorite SoCal spots. There's residue chop on the water-maybe I'm picky, but I want glass. Around the bend I find it. At the top of the stairs, a slew of onlookers stand around watching. The sets are more consistent than I've seen in years. As I set to descend, a guy yells, "Ready sister? Think you can make it out?" I'm figuring whether the intonation is cocky, snide, or just plain mean. "We'll see!" I reply.

I'd be lying if I said his comment didn't set me off-kilter a bit.

Water's edge, and just when I think there's a window between sets, yep-slammed on my ass. I get out, take off my leash, and consider driving to where my girlfriends are surfing, down the way. My plan was not solid. I know what I want. It's not much, just get out there and manage to select one of the shapelier waves, NOT the biggest drop, NOT the huge closeout, NOT the right. I count forty-six guys in the water in two-takeoff zones. Three strikes, you're out. I find another channel, and make it.

Days like this I watch a few sets come through until I feel ready. OK, I line up. The spot is perfect, and now hesitation returns. I've caught this wave before, bigger. I love the drop, the speed. The tide is sucking out, both swells building. I am sitting way outside and still duck-diving sweeper sets. I start to paddle into a good size wave and see the guy inside from me paddling for it, too. "If you had it, I wouldn't go," he says, and off he goes. I did have it and stopped paddling when he started. This is the never-ending game.