I moved to California a couple years ago with this idea that I would be able to windsurf a little more than the dozen or two sessions that I was getting while living on the east coast. I wasn't geographically or employmently set up to windsurf on the weekdays, and only occasionally on the weekends. The Northern Virginia area where I was living was an hour away from good potential wind and water locales (on a rare no-traffic day). I had the opportunity to move to a windy place and I pounced on it. My working hours stayed the same (Eastern Standard, that is) so I was also amazingly afforded long afternoons every day I could pull my carcass out of bed before sunrise.
After a year of settling in and tuning up, I was really ready for a season with a lot of time on the water. I learned how to make the right decisions about where to go and when to catch a lot of sessions that I otherwise might have missed. My best friends became the people who had the same obsession and ultimately my starvation for the sensation of planing was only fortified. Here I sit, a man whose thoughts are maniacally overrun with one, singular and repeatedly redundant thought:
ME WANT WINDSURF
And me windsurf indeed took place, more so than I ever imagined.
What more fitting word to describe the lusting infatuation I have for windsurfing than "a gross".