Making the Most of It
May 18, 2011
After a long day spent at the computer writing, editing, researching and yes, who doesn’t benefit from mini facebook breaks to tickle the muse, I still haven’t made it to the garden for a weed whacking workout of weightlifting proportion. I decide to hit the gym. Clothes, shoes, check. Water, towel, iPod, check. Extricate myself from my daughter’s cat. Close the door. I forgot, no car, no truck. Nothing with four wheels.
What do the resourceful do? Trot on down to the beach for a Riverdance power walk. High tide. Is anyone seeing a trend? Having advised flexibility earlier, I heed my own advice. There is a beach if one wishes to power walk the mile and a half.
I find myself once again on New Brighton Beach, the home of my rehab and recovery on a beauteous spring day. Almost three months to the day since my accident. But unlike those painful walks of the past, wearing that figure 8, I am pain free. I run. In the sand and the sun. Running. My triumph and exaltation are contagious as people smile and wave at me. Chariots of Fire playing in my head. Rocky at the top of the steps.
Where my fantasy ends, someone else’s begins. Approaching the landing, three adorable, perky pep girls, in matching royal blue one pieces with tiny black shorts jog onto the beach. Youthful, unblemished, polite, probably valedictorians majoring in some third world language to better the world; minoring in hot waxing for spending money. They kick off their flip flops, squealing with maidenly glee as they run into the frigid waves of Monterey Bay.
You cannot deny it, they are cute. And I’m deflated.
My husband says I still look that way to him, seventeen, like the day we met, a million years ago. He’ll get lucky tonight. Gullible grandma. Running free on the beach.