On mornings like these, there is nothing better than that rush of frigid salt water as it pricks bare skin with its first touch. The warmth from my wetsuit, gloves and boots envelops every inch of me. Only my face is left to fend for itself against the bitterness I hold such conflicting emotions towards on mornings as these. My cheeks flush blood-red at the pinch of the Atlantic. My lips deaden with each duckdive.
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