A keeper.

There are, of course, many different levels of fear. There is, for instance, being startled when a book falls from a shelf and makes a loud bang on the ground. There is a halloween corn maze. There is being in the middle of a bait ball while a pack of vicious, ravenous sharks chomp, chomp, chomp. There is losing a daughter and her friend in a halloween corn maze, quickly realizing that they may never be found.

While the last of the examples is scariest, the second to last just happened to a brave surfer at Sebastian Inlet, Florida though, miraculously, he escaped unscathed.

According to Miami’s Channel 7 News, Eli McDonald had decided to go to Sebastian to “do some surfing.” There he was, doing some, minding his own business with his fiancée Laura Evans on the beach when horror struck.

“Next thing I knew, I got stuck in the middle of a mullet bait ball and they (sharks) were just jumping everywhere. One hit me in the head and I seen a big tarpon go underneath my board,” he said.

His fiancée stood helplessly on the beach, watching the madness unfold and telling the television station, “Only thing I could do was take pictures and ask God not to let him get bit. I was terrified. I wanted to go scream and run up and down the beach but, you know, I knew that he would know what to do in that situation, and I also knew that he would want me to capture whatever I could.”

A total keeper.

McDonald escaped unscathed, his future wife captured the moment and now he knows he can trust her in a halloween corn maze.

Decisive.

See photos here.

An overwhelming sense of love.

David Lee Scales and I were chatting, as surfing’s grand Olympic debut culminated some few months ago, when I brought up the need for “Carissa Moore Day.” Or maybe David Lee Scales brought it up. In either case, the Hawaiian surfer has done it all, multiple Association of Surfing Professionals and World Surf League titles, first-ever Olympic gold, forcing a premium surf magazine to make an embarrassing apology, and deserves a day.

Well, the humble surf podcast episode somehow made it all the way across the ocean and somehow into the ears of Honolulu Mayor Rick Blangiardi who somehow recognized the error of his ways and, forthwith, declared October 6 as “Carissa Moore Day.”

Moore, gracious as ever, declared, “I’m so honored to be here. I’ve felt this outpouring and overwhelming sense of love from my community, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without all those people, without all that love,” before adding, “It’s my hope that anyone that is young and chasing their dreams that they know that anything is possible if they work hard and they put their heart and mind to it.”

She did not mention The Grit! nor did she need to for we toil for the sake of toiling.

During yesterday’s toil with David Lee, anyhow, I also disparaged Gerry Lopez’s great legacy.

Win some, lose some.

Listen here.

"The surf was particularly heavy."

Portuguese surf news is reporting that Josh Moniz, brother of Seth and Kelia, wiped out while surfing Supertubos, near Peniche, Portugal, “hitting the sand with violence” and had to be transported to the hospital via ambulance.

Per the translation from Portuguese:

It was at the end of this Thursday morning, October 7th, that Joshua Moniz, after hitting a tubular wave on the beach of Supertubos in Peniche, fell helplessly having hit the sand with violence. His friends promptly brought him to the sand and called 112.

The Hawaiian is a Pipeline standout from the much-loved family was in town ahead of the Challenger series. A local informed me that Moniz had to be dragged out of the water by friends and was rushed to Lisbon by helicopter after his first stop at the local hospital.

Surf cams caught him being loaded into the ambulance.

Information just in, from a source close to the family, confirmed the accident.

“Yes, he got slammed on his back at Supertubos. He was temporarily paralyzed and airlifted to the hospital. (Seth’s coach) Rainos Hayes went to see him and said early indications were that it was, indeed, temporary and early tests are coming back good.”

Many prayers for Josh..

It is time to practice Brazilian ballet.

A spectre is haunting modern mankind – the spectre of a full blown, lifelong acceptance, love even, of intermediacy. All the surf powers of old Europe and new Europe, of America and Australia, even South Africa and probably Costa Rica have entered into a holy alliance to enforce this spectre: The Inertia, Electric Surfboard Acid Tests, softops, Costco.

It’s now completely chill to be perpetually ok. To be ok with being perpetually ok.

“Best surfer in the water is the one having most fun” etc.

Ah, but the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of greatness.

Woman and man refusing average and striving for actual best. Pushing, pushing, pushing to be better every single day and eventually iconic.

Julius Cesar.

William Wallace.

Joan of Arc.

Kelly Slater.

What happened to us?

Maybe we all just need WHOOP straps.

For I was, myself, was until recently a full-blown acceptor of mediocrity, accidentally, having slipped into a non-aggressive routine. A laziness both mental and physical had taken hold. I’d paddle out, catch a few waves, wander home to poke Kelly Slater in the digital eye, wash the sunset down with a cocktail, rinse, repeat but a few precious months ago my life partner Derek Reilly told me to get on the program, to jiujitsu, and to strap a WHOOP around my wrist. He had fallen head over heels in love with chokes, arm bars, pretzeled limbs etc. and also fallen in love with measuring his physical progress, mastering his domain, learning how to better himself through high-tech insight and I became enraged.

First, I did not want to jiujitsu. I did not like the aesthetic, men sprawled on the ground and clammy. Men wearing pajamas. I did not like the word “rolling” or the phrase “hit the mats.”

Second, I did not want a WHOOP strap. I did not want to be told how hard to train or how to sleep by a sleek modern appliance nor did I feel the need for guidance due a natural genetic skinniness.

I was ok.

A funny thing happened on the way to ballet, though. My young daughter loves the French, Italian, Russian art with singular passion, is enrolled in a fine academy and attends hours a day five to six to seven days a week pirouetting, rond de jombe-ing, tendu-ing. One evening, as I watched her toil under the yoke of a powerful and uncompromising master, who regularly got in her face and ordered her to “be allergic to average,” my heart stirred within me. My young daughter had, in fact, become allergic to average, was striving to be the absolute best ballerina the world has ever seen, was putting the hard work in daily while I was what? Merely enjoying the journey of trying to be funny?

I looked at my wrist, already wrapped in stylish black, since Derek Rielly had sent and I didn’t want to hurt feelings, logged onto my phone’s WHOOP application, saw “Day Strain 5.2” and wept.

Day Strain 5.2 was David Lee Scales adjacent.

And it was at that very moment that I purposed, in my heart, to strive for greatness again. To be a good example to my daughter and all children everywhere, David Lee Scales’ children too. To do the Brazilian ballet, as Derek Rielly had instructed, but also learn to kick, to punch, to block, to throw.

To then challenge my erstwhile nemesis to the greatest trilogy in fight history.

Smith vs. Goggans III.

A physical and mental masterpiece for which to endeavor.

But first I must train and train smart.