On his belly, he hand-paddled to circle back for one of the bomb waves that come in before sunset and after the smiling dolphins leave. Shearwaters cawed and cried overhead.
"Catch it!" he heard his coach screaming from somewhere over the freight train roar of the surf.
"Got it!" he bellowed back, squinting.
He grabbed the sides of the longboard in chaturanga pose, and vacuumed in his core to hinge his hips high enough for his feet to clear and toes to hang off in front.
He stood victorious like Poseidon, riding to shore.