Together, we’re going to paddle out far beyond where the waves start. Toward the line where the sky meets the sea. Easy, I think. Until it’s not. The waves are strong, and I am knocked over once, then twice, then thrown under. The board flies out from under me, then drags me from the ankle strap through the sand. Saltwater floods my sinuses; my knees skid across the sand, which feels laced with spikes. Every time I reunite with my board, with Malia, I’ve been pushed back toward the shore and what seems like miles to the left of where we began. Sometimes, as I’m trying to hop back on, another wave hits and it happens all over again before I can start in earnest.