That afternoon, I fought like the main character of an action movie the low-budget version. I paddled again and again, fell again and again. The small waves felt like a final boss that refused to lose. Every time I fell, I stood back up with a tough-guy face even though my lungs were already asking for early retirement. Then came one kind wave. I stood up. ONE MINUTE. Just one minute—but it felt like a victory cut scene. The world slowed down. The wind applauded. The sun seemed to say, “Congratulations, you are free.” At second 30, I started posing: chest out, national-hero smile. At second 45: legs shaking like a TV antenna in the wind. At second 60: SPLASH!— a freestyle fall with absolutely no score. But underwater, I laughed to myself. Because even though it was only one minute, it felt like I had just declared my own independence. Not long. Not perfect. But valid. And since that day, I believe this: sometimes victory isn’t about how long you stand, but about daring to try again and again— and falling while laughing. 🌊😄