The naked truth...

Not the skunk that died under my house. It's a figurative trope. I got skunked.

Half day Wednesday. I wrapped up my work early to get a surf in. Buoys are showing zero, zilch, nada. So I get on my no-surf-treadmill. South Torrey parking, suit up, jog for two miles with my board, catch a few at Ho Chi Minh's Endpoint. Done it a hundred times. Good exercise and a dip in the pacific puddle.

This time I get a cramp. The arch of my right foot clamps down! And I just reached North Peak (showing tiny little fun ones). I sit on the sand and apply appropriate stretches. Ouch. No surf for me. I jump in the water and rinse off two miles of sweat. I try to start back at a jog. Then I start getting a blister or four. Now I have to walk. Two and a half hours, four miles and zero waves later I get back to my car.

Skunked. I hope the weekend offers better.

P.S. In case you were wondering- there are NOT any waves south of The Pines and North of The Pier's Big Brother. Also, YES there are a lot of naked middle-aged men. Skunked!