Where Do You Max Out?

 Comfortable on a Small day at Bells Point, Martha's Vineyard, MA

There seems to be an unspoken rule among serious surfers in Northern California that respect can only be gained by charging the biggest waves possible. This is scary on many levels.  Maybe its a competitive paranoia that I posses, but the need to go big, BIG, BIGGER, seems to be well ingrained in surf culture and it certainly seems to be reinforced by the hyper-adrenaline infused media.

I've been surfing up and down Highway 1 for the past four years and still get butterflies every time the swell surges to 8+ feet. I grew up in Massachusetts, started surfing at age 17, and swim as gracefully as a cat-nipped up Siamese kitten. I have no business paddling out at Mavericks. Ever.

I feel a burning desire to push myself to the next level, but where do my abilities max out?  From the adrenaline overdose and ensuing numbing fear that I've experience on double overhead days at Ocean Beach, well I seem to have found it.  Maybe that's what growing up is all about: pushing your potential, while maintaining the awareness and intuition to call it a day, crack a beer and relax on the beach when things get beyond your comfort zone.  And to be honest, I'm okay with that.