Windsurfing

It looked so easy from the beach. ‘How hard could it be?’, I thought to myself,
as I watched 10-year olds skim across the sea at breakneck speed.
It was a sunny, breezy day on the Spanish beach and my mates and I were
checking to see if we had enough money to rent a windsurfer after last night’s
pub crawl.
Those of us with heavy hangovers were lying zombie-like on the sand with
towels over our faces, but Roger, Paul and I were keen to try windsurfing before
we flew back to London the following day.
We had enough money for two windsurfers, so we decided to share and in
minutes we were having a beginner’s lesson from a handsome tanned Spaniard.
He made it looked so easy, so I jumped on first and immediately fell off.
Over the next twenty minutes, I fell off 16 more times and I was convinced that
my windsurfer was broken.
Paul jumped on and immediately flew off into the horizon like a professional. He
even walked around the board successfully and began to sail back to us. ‘He’s
brother’s got a board’, informed Roger. ‘That’s why he’s so good.’

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