I got up at the butt-crack of dawn today for the sole purpose of hitting this south swell before the herd arrived. I am never, ever a part of the dawn patrol, but unlike Cyrus and Steve's unemployed asses, I have a job so more often than not I have to be one of those weekend warrior assholes. Considering it's May, and I was in Santa Cruz, the last thing I expected were rain drops spoiling the fun.

I still went out to the spot to begin an inner-debate between my consciouses. One one hand, the surf looked pretty good. There weren't too many bodies out in the water, and the ones that were sitting on boards were catching some sweet, long rides. On the other hand, it was cold, the rain was coming down fairly hard, and the thought occurred to me that when my session would end, I would have that nasty wetness sticking to my body as I was changing out of wetsuit. Not to mention the chances of getting sick increases when you're out for hours in the rain.

In the end, I decided not to surf. I've never enjoyed surfing in the rain. Yet as the day progressed, more and more bodies kept going into the ocean with their boards. And it made me pontificate: Was I being a big pussy, or were the ones still going out there obsessed crazies? Am I alone here?