What Doesn't Kill Us

by Scott Carney

In the split second that he realizes that he’s lost control, he thinks about what the crash might be like and then plans to minimize the damage. Whether this means rolling into a ball, diving off the board, or whatever else opportunity puts on his doorstep, he believes that there will always be a moment when he will have a semblance of control again. The trick is waiting for it to happen. The swirling currents and crushing forces are, after all, just forces. They ebb and flow and dispassionately dispense opportunities as they do obstacles. During a crash, the water rushes over his body and asserts its will. In the torrent of water his limbs aren’t his own. He’ll be smashed by water, rocks, the board he was carrying, and whatever else gets in his way. In these moments of utter powerlessness Hamilton submits and relaxes. In the eye of the maelstrom there’s nothing to do but let nature run its course. It will either kill him, maim him, or let him go. The Zen during the tumble is humbling and can tick by for breathless minutes. Hamilton’s lungs might burn and his body might be brutalized by the swirl around him. “But at some point,” he says, “if you make it far enough, the grip will loosen. You have to keep your mind still while you are in the midst of it all, knowing that your chance will come.” And when it does let up, Hamilton taps into all of the stored up energy in his body to make his move. That’s when he lets the fight-or-flight response take over. He uncoils like a jac...