"Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." – 1 Corinthians 15:57
For a moment, Alana felt weightless. Her feet lifted slightly off the wax that coated the deck of her shortboard. The next instant, when she reached the bottom of the wave, her feet made contact once again as she bent her knees to absorb the impact.
A sheen of offshore mist drenched her face, causing temporary blindness. Alana could still see by touch, however, as she reached out with one hand to steady herself. With her knees still bent, she drove up towards the middle of the wave and emerged from the crashing whitewater. She was still a little unsteady on her feet because of all the speed she had acquired from her drop. As soon as she spotted a patch of open water, she raced up and slammed her back foot into the tail of her board, creating a quick snap that brought her speed down to normal.
All that took place in a matter of seconds, but to Alana's trained mind, it seemed to go slower. Her senses took in the churning whitewater, spraying mist, and limited room for error all at once. She barely had to think about her next maneuver—it just happened. The section in front of her broke; she raced up and over it with a magnificent floater. The shoulder of the wave became mushy and fat; she twisted her hips and turned back towards the pocket to maintain speed. All in all, she had a total of four of five sweeping turns before riding off the wave and into calm water. She had milked it nearly all the way into shore, making that the first successful score of the heat.
Alana didn't even realize how much adrenaline was pumping through her veins before she paused to look back at the beach. As soon as her eyes alighted on the crowd, she placed a hand against her chest, as if to calm her racing heart. Did I really just do that?
Swiveling her head back towards the ocean, she saw her competitors bobbing up and down in the lineup, all three of them yet to catch a wave. Alana laughed out loud, the only kind of relieved laugh that comes from a surfer who just succeeded in pushing the envelope on a big wave. She whooped again and began paddling towards the lineup. I hope you liked that one, judges!
Minutes later, she—along with everyone else in or watching the competition—discovered that the judges had loved it. Alana was rewarded with a 9.8, giving her the highest single-wave score of the morning. No one, not even the guys in the following heats, could surpass her score. She successfully advanced through Rounds 1, 2, and 3, followed by the quarterfinals, and then straight through the semis. Maya, unfortunately, lost to a girl from the opposing school in the quarters.
The adrenaline from Alana's first wave stayed with her for the rest of the competition. She received multiple congratulations on shore from teammates and strangers alike. She felt some satisfaction, too, at watching the other competitors' heats and realizing they were overly cautious in the water. Where Alana had gone for the biggest wave of the morning, the other girls—and most of the guys—tended to stick to the smaller waves. Even then, they didn't pull off as many maneuvers as Alana had. No one else even came close to taking such a big risk as she had.
Now the finals were right around the corner. Alana had dealt with the pressure all morning, but the moment when it finally mattered was here. She gripped the rails of her shortboard and swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach. Placing first was more important than ever, and she wanted it badly, much more than usual. The thought of a potential sponsorship made her woozy.
"Remember," Cole said as he observed the waves, his arms folded across his chest, "you still have the highest single-wave score of the event."
"That was back in Round 1," Alana pointed out.
"So?" He grinned. "You've done it once, and you can do it again."
It was time for the girls to line up near the water. Two were from the opposing school and one was from Alana's team, but all three looked slightly scared as they watched the booming waves in the distance. Alana herself felt shaky and unsure—not because of the waves, but because of the immense pressure to do well.
"I hate competing," she muttered.
"What?" Cole asked, leaning closer to hear.
"Competing sucks," she groaned. "It's not fun. I hate it."
"Even the part where you get to surf awesome waves with only three other girls out?"
Alana pursed her lips. "Well..."
Cole took that as his cue to continue. "Look, if you really hate competing this much, then nothing is keeping you here. You don't have to compete if you don't want to."
The way Cole said it made it sound so simple. Alana could just walk away—walk right off the beach and not have to wear her white jersey and listen to the announcer drone about every little detail. But Cole was wrong about the fact that nothing was keeping her there. The reason her feet were still rooted in the sand was because she had a potential sponsorship within reach. The hope of getting new equipment, free clothing, and maybe even free surf trips with other Roxy girls far outweighed Alana's loathing to compete. So what if she had to face some pressure every now and then? That was a part of life. The fact behind the matter was that Alana could surf, and she could surf well. Competing was just a foothold to showcasing that surf talent to the rest of the world.
"Hey," Cole said, touching her elbow. "Are you okay?"
She sighed. "Yeah. Just lost in thought."
Cole's blue orbs stared at her for a few seconds before a small smile worked its way onto his face. "Before you get in the water, can we pray?"
She nodded. They closed their eyes and bowed their heads, and at once the noisy world around them vanished. Alana felt Cole wrap his hand around hers. "Heavenly Father," he prayed, his deep voice soothing to Alana's ears, "thank you for a great swell and a beautiful morning. Please keep everyone in the water safe, and give Alana your peace that surpasses all understanding. Give her the ability to perform her best in this final. And above all, win or lose, let your will be done. Amen."
Alana opened her eyes and squeezed his hand affectionately. "Thank you."
Cole winked and saluted. "Go get 'em, Walker."
She let out a deep breath and turned towards the ocean. The three girls were still standing at the water's edge, waiting impatiently for the air horn to sound. Alana jogged over to them and fastened her leash around her ankle. When she straightened back up, she breathed another silent prayer of her own.
The announcer spoke a few words, and then it was time. The crowd cheered and called out various names before being drowned out by the sound of the air horn.
It was on. Like the rest of her heats that morning, Alana sprinted into the water, paddled through the impact zone, and raced to the lineup. The waves were still big and threatening, but the tide had risen dramatically, making the peaks flatter and harder to catch. That meant the other girls wouldn't be as hesitant to go for a set wave. If Alana wanted to stand out, she needed to pull some tricky maneuvers.
For the first ten minutes of the heat, the ocean was relatively calm except for a light sideshore breeze and a few underdeveloped swells that moved past the girls unridden. There wasn't much chitchat or eye contact between the four of them. They were poised underneath a cloud of anticipation and adrenaline. Often, two or three would chase after a small wave, only to realize that it wasn't going to break due to the high tide. Then the paddle battle would die out and the girls would sit up on their boards, thinking, False alarm.
Alana was a little peeved that the final was nearly halfway over and not a single wave had been ridden. If she did place first, she wanted to win with an awesome wave, not a crumbly insider that she could barely catch. She soon gave up on chasing the small swells and sat squarely on the edge of the lineup, waiting for a big set. When she heard splashing behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that one of the girls from the opposing school had actually caught a wave. The remaining three competitors watched in envious silence as the girl performed two turns before pulling out of the wave because it was too slow. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.
Minutes later, the score came in: "5.3 by the surfer in pink!"
Alana bit back a laugh. A 5.3? That was an average score. Did the judges seriously expect anyone to do better, with no waves on the horizon?
Suddenly, there came a series of splashes. Alana turned around and realized the three girls were paddling even farther towards shore, chasing any small wave they saw. Alana folded her arms across her chest and groaned. She knew she should follow those girls, but what if a big set happened to come on the outside?
She sat and simmered in silence for a few more minutes. Should she surf the shorebreak or wait for a big wave? Should she scramble for a little ride on the inside or take her chances outside?
Finally, when her frustration was at its max, a few swells suddenly rushed by. She strained her eyes to see if any more bumps were heading her way. Sunlight glinted off the whitecaps in the water—was that a bulge? Alana sat up straighter. She held her breath in anticipation. If this was the set she'd been waiting for, then she had no time to lose. All the other girls were inside; she was alone with no one else to claim this wave—if this even was a potential wave.
As the bump grew closer, Alana stuck her hands in the water and pushed herself back a few feet. She needed to judge where it would break and whether she would go right or left. But then, beyond the first swell, she spotted two more. A relieved smile broke out on her face. Thank You, Lord!
A series of shouts and splashes turned her attention back towards shore. She saw the other girls paddling rapidly in Alana's direction. They had realized a set was coming too late. Alana knew they would never make it outside in time.
With a few powerful strokes, she put herself in position for the second wave. Because of the high tide, the peak wasn't as steep or threatening, so she had to make a determined effort to catch it in time. Once she did, she slow drop-in was ridiculously easy to make. Before she knew it, Alana had glided towards the bottom of the wave and had a wide-open shoulder in front of her.
She performed a series of slow and fluid maneuvers that kept her directly in front of the whitewater. Once the wave began to hollow out a bit more on the inside, she launched into some faster turns. When her head rotated, her arms—and then her torso, hips, and legs—all followed in sync, creating beautiful arcs of spray that flew from the back of her board. She couldn't help but smile. This was what she was made to do. The feeling of executing a fast, controlled snap and sailing back down to the bottom of the wave was like no other adrenaline rush she had ever experienced. Surely this was the best moment of the heat.
But even before she realized that this ride guaranteed her first place, she had one more obstacle to overcome. The wave was slowly closing out—one section of whitewater was about to meet another, terminating Alana's ride. She wondered briefly if she should try an aerial, but quickly dismissed the thought when she realized that the wave was too slow and fat for such a speedy maneuver. Instead, she made a large, sweeping bottom turn before using all of her momentum to race back up the wave. With perfect timing, she drove up and into the lip just as the two sections of whitewater collided. With her shortboard pointed vertically above the lip and her head directly beneath her hips, she executed the fastest snap of the entire competition. She rotated so quickly that she had to bend her knees farther than usual in order to keep her surfboard under control. When she rode straight out of the maneuver in front of the whitewater, she threw up her arms and smiled. Now that felt amazing.
The other three girls were lost somewhere behind her, probably duck-diving under the remaining waves in the set, but Alana was almost all the way into shore. She angled back towards the whitewash and stalled, letting the wave crumble past her. As soon as she began to sink, she laid down on her shortboard and regained her balance. She felt elated. Surely the judges would reward her for the best wave in the heat and the best maneuver! That meant—here Alana gasped—her ride had been more than enough to cinch first place.
The thought of winning the competition and being sponsored were overwhelming. Goosebumps sprouted up and down her arms beneath the thick material of her wetsuit. She closed her eyes and laughed with joy. Not for the first time that morning, she exclaimed, "Thank You, Lord!"
Minutes later, the air horn sounded. The final was complete. By the time the girls had made it safely into shore, Alana felt herself swept up by the surging crowd. The Anderson twins lifted her onto their shoulders before she could even set foot out of the water, and Dylan (with Tammy sitting atop his shoulders) dutifully lifted Alana's shortboard high into the air behind the trio. It was a rush of excitement and joy.
As Alana was carried towards the makeshift stage on her friends' shoulders, she beamed at the long lines of strangers on either side of her, two of which were smiling women donned in Roxy apparel and holding Roxy bags, giving Alana congratulatory looks.