Yesterday I knew I needed to run. Get out of the house for an hour. Be free. Despite this lingering sinus complaint, I could not go another weekend without using my legs, working the muscles, feeling the sand beneath my feet. I'm so glad I did. The beach was a picture. The sand freshly manicured. It always feels like I'm cheating when the sand tractor has just been through. It is still dry and soft and extremely difficult to run in. Though it's smoother and lighter, than when a thousand feet have trampled across and churned it up.
I ran as fast and strong as I possibly could. When I could push no more, I stopped. Breathed. Took in the wonderful sights around me. Boats we had our wedding photos taken sitting in. Keen volleyballers starting up an early morning contest. Rays of sunlight shining down across a bed of coastal flowers. The ocean. The sand. I was happy with my 6 laps. It's only 3km, a mere fraction of what I should be achieving. But it is something. I love this beach of mine. Well, the beach I share with numerous others too. But there is a part of me that belongs to these golden sands. And at least a few of these grains belong to me.