I love to run on the beach in the early mornings as the sun rises. The sounds of the waves lashing against the shore as I play dodge the water never gets old, and it’s not a beach vacation without this practice. Running along the hardened sand, racing to beat the changing tide, watching the early risers like myself do their rituals, I feel a sort of kinship with them, strangers, wait, I’m the stranger interrupting their morning routine as I run by. They meet every morning to swim, to lay in the sand – still untouched by tourists and their beach chairs and fancy drinks. The crabs are also out, taking their morning walks, claws up and ready to rumble if needed.

I love to run on the beach in the early mornings as the sun rises. The sounds of the waves lashing against the shore as I play dodge the water never gets old, and it’s not a beach vacation without this practice. Running along the hardened sand, racing to beat the changing tide, watching the early risers like myself do their rituals, I feel a sort of kinship with them, strangers, wait, I’m the stranger interrupting their morning routine as I run by. They meet every morning to swim, to lay in the sand – still untouched by tourists and their beach chairs and fancy drinks. The crabs are also out, taking their morning walks, claws up, and ready to rumble.

Sometimes I’m barefoot, holding my shoes in my hand, and sometimes I wear an old pair of running shoes- If I’m training. I often stop to take the same pictures of the same boats and buoys – hoping each time that what I see with my eyes will be captured by my phone. Not yet. I return a nod and a friendly “good morning” as I run by. Curious glances and obvious stares at the interloper running and stopping to take pictures of waves they see daily. Sometimes I’m tempted to join them in the water, to share a laugh, to applaud a triumphant lap, and join the choir on the beach as the baptism takes place in the water. Instead, I look away, pretend I’m not here, don’t mind me-I’m just borrowing this piece of your morning for my ritual. My ritual is rooted partly in the belief that running on sand is almost double the energy of running on asphalt and that I’m working these tiny muscles that may help me improve my running time- perhaps.

Things happen that transcend reality for me when I run on the beach. Once I swore I saw my mom walking on the shore in the distance. It took me an unbelievable amount of time to realize that it wasn’t her, but I was comforted to know perhaps it was a sign from her that she was with me- in her favorite place as well. The last time I ran on the beach, I heard, “, Hey, look here!” startled, I snapped back to reality and turned around expecting reproach; an old man, his skin aglow from the rising sun shining in his face, said to me, “stop running and look at this handsome old man blessin’ your morning, hahaha!” Okay, I belong.