Recently, I decided to get my act together and lose weight. Over the past year and a half, through a combination of a few things, I managed to shed a little over 20 pounds, then I hit a plateau. Nay, a WALL. I just couldn't lose any more. And I hadn't reached my goal. True, I was closer to it and feeling and looking good, but I just wasn't where I wanted to be yet. This is the preface to why I started running on the beach, which has become not only where I broke through my own self-imposed physical limitations, but also the inspiration for a lot of self-reflection as well as the backdrop for some metaphors to other things going on in my life, like the one you're about to read.
After a particularly intense evening, I needed to clear my head and decided to talk a long walk on the beach by myself as the sun came up. I rode my motorcycle down there, and walked up and down the beach in my boots and jeans, listening to Blue Six's Beautiful Tomorrow. I was amazed at how beautiful and serene it was. I felt like I had missed out on what Florida had to offer me for the past 7 years or so. I also noticed that a lot of people were running, and thought that the lower-impact force of running on sand might be better tolerated by my finicky shins. I decided to give it a try, so the next day I came back with running shoes and did my best. I now do a 5.5 mile route, and I do run/walk intervals. I don't time myself. I don't care about that. But through the process of using more and different muscles to run in the sand than on hard pavement, in just 3 weeks, I believe I have healed my shinsplints. I was able to run 3 straight miles on a treadmill a few weeks ago - anybody who knows me is aware that this is like a marathon for me, and a minor miracle. So I have found much healing at the beach.
But on to the story.
Doing my usual beach walk/run today, I noticed that there were many more shells on the beach due storm surge last week. I always keep one eye on the ground when running, especially on the beach, since you never know what you'll step on or in, and running with wet shoes is no fun. Occasionally, I'll see a beautiful or interesting shell or remnant from the sea. Typically, unless it is absolutely stunning, I'll just admire it as I pass and maybe make a mental note to pick it up on my way back, should I happen to remember where it was and if the tide hadn't taken it out to sea again. This almost never happens, the beach is constantly depositing new treasures and reclaiming old ones. So I'm sure I missed out on many unique shells because I figured there would be a never-ending supply of them wherever and whenever I ended my run.
The shells were so numerous they were actually making my running path a little difficult. I saw a sandbar that had been created by the same storm surge - a huge deposit of sand, hardpacked from the recent tides, that looked so much easier to run on. Less shells in the way, a harder surface to help me move further with each step. Sandbars are tempting - a pristine surface, surrounded by water, that calls to you to be the first to put your footprints in it, and see what it has to offer that nobody else has seen. But we also know that it's easy to get stranded if the tide comes in. It's risky. But having had enough of crunching and slipping on shells in softly packed sand, I took the chance and jumped the small stream of water separating me from that glorious sandbar. I ran and ran, and when I couldn't run anymore, I walked. A few times I had to jump another stream, and got my shoes wet. I finally came to the end of that sandbar, and sure enough, my fear had come true - I had been stranded. The tide had started to come in, and the amount of water separating me from the beach was not something I was willing to wade through with my shoes on. So for the first time in almost 3 months of running on the beach, I actually ended my workout a little shy of 5 miles, and took my shoes and socks off, and waded in.
No, it wasn't my plan, to get my feet wet and sandy, but since when has the universe ever let us successfully plan anything to start exactly when we are ready for it? That's right, never. The water was deliciously cold but not uncomfortably so, since the sun was already up and keeping everything above the water line warm. I waded through the deepest part of the stream and got back to the beach, and continued down the beach with my feet in the water. I know from previous experience that there are many sharp-edged shells embedded in the sand that would love to slice me open. Not because they are malicious, evil shells out for blood, but because that is just what they are good at and used to doing. But these feet have seen 40+ years of rough terrain, and have developed their own protection. It doesn't always work, sometimes I still get cut, but for the most part I know my limitations and will walk on a shell-lined beach but not a city street lined in broken glass. Some risks are worth taking.
As I looked at the shells I was so accustomed to running past, even though I had at least another mile in my route, I decided to stop and pick up the ones that stood out for their beauty and individuality. I wear a small running belt to keep my phone and keys in, and there's one extra pocket for findings, but it's very small. I have to be selective with what goes in there. Sometimes, I'll have to take out a shell I previously thought was the most beautiful one on the beach to replace it with one that is even more spectacular. Sometimes although they are beautiful, they are weatherworn and cracked or chipped, and a newer, more perfect one will take their place in my belt. That's never an easy choice, but always felt like a necessary one. But not today. Today I decided that not only would I pick up whatever caught my eye, but I would make room for them all. Cracked, weatherworn, imperfect, and chipped. Since I was no longer wearing my shoes, I used them as impromptu storage and was able to bring everything I wanted with me. I took my time and really looked around slowly and appreciated exactly where I was and what I had to choose from. I took only what I needed to make my collection complete, and was grateful.
When I returned to the part of the beach I had parked near, I realized how fortunate it was that I had taken advantage of all the beautiful shells a mile or so back, for on this part of the beach, there were none. Had I waited for the perfect shell, at the perfect time and perfect place, I would have gone home empty-handed. Instead, I had to change my planned route and take a risk, shorten my workout a little, and really just be in the here and now to find those treasures. And I'm glad I did.
Meanwhile, in a related metaphor, Icarus knew that by flying too close to the sun, there was a very good chance his feather and wax wings would melt and send him plummeting into the sea below. But he decided that the reward, even short-term, was worth the risk, and he soared into the sky and enjoyed the intimacy of being enveloped in the rays of the sun while he could. It ultimately led to his demise, but it was a consequence he had looked square in the eye and decided to face anyway.
One would hope that the sun was only doing his best to give Icarus what he was seeking, and was not just testing his power to melt wax, since it meant the demise of one who was only seeking to get closer and experience more of what was being offered.
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