It’s Monday morning. My mind registers that my phone is playing its familiar yet hostile jingle a little after 5:45. Through bleary eyes, I look across the small bedroom to the light breaking through the flimsy blinds. Between them I see clouds of violet, magenta, and gold, and menacing houses that guard the horizon from my view. But if I look in the right spot, I can make out the hazy, indistinct line that separates the ocean from the morning sky. In exactly 19 minutes, the sun will rise over that line and it will glow with golden radiance, bringing clarity to the fogged horizon.
To say that it is a humid dawn is an understatement: the haze of a late-July Outer Banks morning is one of intense warmth and dampness. Beads of sweat already form in my hat-covered hair during my walk to the beach. The air is silent save the waves breaking in the distance --- I am the only soul awake at this early hour. I cross the quiet street over to the boardwalk that creaks with each fragile step. Hedges surround me as I climb it to the beach. Once I reach the peak of the boardwalk, I look out to the weathered sand saturated by mist. The cool, salty breeze kisses my skin and flows through the shirt that begs to be stripped by the heat and the wind. I throw off my shoes and shirt and toss headphones blaring Glass Animals into my ears as I descend to the crunchy yet soothing sand.
The waves coax my body to the ocean. With the bass pounding against my eardrums, I begin my strenuous journey north by taking my first step into the water and landing firmly on the compact sand. While the sand is relatively stiff to my feet, it gives under a heavy heel, forcing me to propel myself using the balls of my feet alone. The frigid, crystal waters flow around each of my toes. I take step after step, feeling the humidity weave its way through my limbs and push forward, fording through the icy Atlantic. I feel in my element. Picking my head up, I see only a few stray souls wandering on the beach outstretched ahead of me. To my left are the monstrous houses that previously hid the horizon from my eyes, but now I look to my right and I am speechless.
The sun is in view; I stop my pursuit for a moment to admire it. I first see it as an orb radiating bright pink rays, outshining all of the other purples, golds and even indigos that blanket the sky. I stand alone, spellbound, with the waves electrifying my ankles, gusts of sea salt coursing through my nostrils and stroking my tongue with bitterness. Daybreak arrests me, my body frozen in idleness, my eyes stuck staring at the tranquil panorama of white caps and a spectrum of colored clouds arranged ahead of me.
I am awestruck by the sheer beauty of dawn. I stand for minutes before continuing my journey north, reaching my peak distance, and turning back south, accompanied by a beacon that now charges the sky with amber electricity. The sun protects me the whole way home, beaming down to give me focus as I drift and strength as I weaken. Gasping and sweaty, I reach the stairs of the boardwalk once again, and turn back once more to absorb the scene: the placid sand, the rough water, the mirrored shoreline where the two combat, and the great golden light watching over their battle.
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I hate running so much that it comes as a shock to many that I went out for cross country for all four years of high school. Sure, it kept me in relatively good shape (even though it really isn’t necessary, given my twig-like structure). But I really found the friends I made to be the only redeeming aspect of that dreaded sport. Let me also clarify that I am not a morning person: most days I wake up resentful of the world because it drags me out of my bed. So whatever inner lunacy possessed me to get up and run on the beach every morning this week I will never know, but I am ecstatic that it did.
Awakening to that vast array of sensory elements energized me more than any shower could. The collapsing sand forced me to push forward solely with my toes and fire with my calves, giving them a killer workout. But this only accounts for the physical benefits. By getting up before anyone else, by willing myself to awaken for the sunrise, I was already mentally ahead of most people on a weekday morning, let alone during vacation. That being said, I had no expectations to fulfill other than those I set for myself. No matter how far I ran, I could be productive because I was free of judgement and assumptions. Yet, even the distance was arbitrary to my workout, because nothing readied my mind for the day quite like the mere experience of being on the beach at sunrise. When I felt the water racing around my legs, the sand cushioning below my feet, the beat of the music punching at my brain, and the sunrise pining for my gaze, each step I took was more serene and invigorating than the last. It filled me with an irrepressible enthusiasm to start the day by putting my best foot forward, and the vitality to set out and create, explore, and work with a glass-half-full mindset, regardless of what was on my plate.
Running on vacation enhanced my will to seize the day from the very minute I wake up. It gave me an example of what it means to appreciate life around me and hold the beauty that it throws in my direction in my palm. All I had to do was reach out to catch it.
