“Dangit, I packed all my gear and forgot my running shoes. I was really looking forward to running by the lake.”

“Run on the beach.”

“Yeah right, I’ll die.”

“C’mon now, woman, it’ll be like a pedicure.”

Sarge cuts me no slack. Ever. I know he is much easier on me than the troops, but still, he mimics the never ending voice in my head that repeats in a whisper “you could do more, you could do more…” Most of me firmly believes he thinks I am capable of much more than I really am, and when he pushes me he has no idea how true my statements are when I tell him I have nothing left. But he loves me, and I adore him for helping me do what I let myself out of, and would later regret.

So my long suffering body slept in way too late, but I still squirm into my running shorts and jog bra and head for the beach. I am alone for the first time in a few days and I like it. I am a little too accustomed to being by myself, and having exclusive decision making over my time. It is the most amazing Michigan day. This is why we live here and people vacation here. Warm, sunny, and just a tad bit hazy, but bright. The lake makes everything prettier, and it and the sun enhance each other in a way that defies words. I park the car, take off my flip flops and walk toward the shore.

I have no idea how far I will go, I am acutely aware I haven’t run much lately, and this is tough running. I also know that however far I go – I have to come back. Walking through the deep dry white beach sand is a good warm up, every muscle in my legs and back are stretching as I keep my walking pace normal, instead of slowing. The first few strides on the shore I figure out where the firmest sand is, and stick to it. I quickly realize I will be running on an angle, one leg longer than the other, something that had simply not occurred to me, but I suppose running back will even everything out, right? Sure.

The beach has very few patrons before noon, but some families, diehards and stragglers have already arrived. I quickly come upon a young couple, they are not in swimwear, likely here on a whim. As I approach they roll into each other, I am charmed and jealous. I would love to be rolling around on the beach with Sarge, but he is the one who got me here on this beautiful day, and for that I am grateful. I run further for a while by myself, skirting seagulls and small pockets of shells washed up by the waves. Occasionally my efforts to remain on the firm sand have me stepping through an incoming wave, it’s nice. The cool water feels good on my bare feet, and just a little sand and water splashes up my calves. Anything that distracts me from the task at hand is a good thing. I run past young women, families at play, manage to avoid a cameo in a family video and smile at a grandmother with a charming toddler. I am in the groove.

Soon in the groove turns into time to make a decision about how far is pushing myself, without going too far to make it back. This is a legitimate concern, if I run out of wind, I won’t be able to run the distance back, and I HATE having to walk anything that should have been a run, no matter the distance. I spot a portion of an old pier ahead. I decide I will run to it and back to my starting point. I then realize it is at least a quarter mile further, yowsers, but it will be good for me.

I wish Sarge could be here. He would completely love this. The sound of the water, the stunning seemingly endless beach, and yes, the running. He has no idea what he’s missing; I can’t wait to show him someday.

I turn around, winking at the old man reading his newspaper on the pier, take one look at how far I have to go and decide to not do that again. Back past the family video, can’t avoid the cameo this time but I apologize and Mom laughs. I tell grandma her grandson is having a much better time than I am and she too laughs. My breath is getting harder and harder to control as I go past the young women gossiping about someone or other, and I struggle to keep my form as I head past more families setting up camp for the day.

My feet and legs feel good, but I my calves are starting to fatigue, I intentionally hit the water more often in an effort to remain cool and distract myself. Just have to pass 3 lifeguard chairs and then to the end. But as I pass the first, a cruel twist of fate, there are 4! One was hidden from view. By the time I finish griping to myself I have passed the second and I am halfway through the lifeguard chair gauntlet.

I am stared at by a goth couple walking the other direction on the beach, ironic. I don’t allow my mind to comment, I simply smile at them and refuse to count their piercings. One more lifeguard chair, the young couple and I’m finished. I have been periodically spotting my own footprints from the first direction; sometimes they have been washed away, sometimes obliterated by the small children building castles. Here they are dominant, this end is quiet, and as I pass the young lovers (still jealous, missing Sarge), I check to see how far the foot prints run. I decide to run past them, farther only because my lungs are burning and my calves hurt, but I know I can do it.

Twenty feet past the end of the first set of prints I stop, hunched over trying to catch my breath. A cool down of deep dry beach walking awaits me, neat. But I smile, I will call Sarge and tell him I did it, he will ask why I didn’t go farther, and I will stick my tongue out at him.