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This morning a walk.A stroll, actually, down the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk.
An instructor walks around telling the dozen women lying on their backs which muscle to flex next. All obeying, wanting to get more fit, chasing endorphin highs, with the 8 am morning sun starting to heat things just a bit.
Up ahead, over in the ocean, a flock of swimmers race. It’s a biathlon. Swim a half mile, run a 5K.
Here comes the leader blazing past me on the boardwalk, running with such power. It’s awesome.
I wonder how he feels. Glad to be in first? Worried he won’t hit his best time? Concerned that while he finished first, he knows others behind him run faster? Does he feel pain? Is it in his chest?
What a thing to witness, super fit athletes sprinting past you on a boardwalk, soon after sunrise over the ocean horizon, on a beach boardwalk, where everyone looks happy, where life couldn’t be more perfect. I think about all the hours those leaders have spent swimming and running by themselves endlessly to condition themselves to tolerate the burning pain of running so fast. This event is the brief time when people get to see and appreciate how fast they’re going. It’s just a few seconds of hearing strangers cheer them on compared with the countless hours enduring physical pain all alone and wanting to, at times, just stop training because it’s too hard and the benefits seem not fulfilling enough.
Mentally tortured I bet all of them have felt getting ready for this event. They wanted to stop training at times or hurt so much that sometimes they got sick, maybe, or felt like they might.
One time I ran a 5K and at the end started dry heaving. I was out of shape. Paramedics surrounded me. It taught me how much pain you experience doing strenuous physical activity. I remember how scary that was heaving and heaving uncontrollably.
I think about trying to become an elite bi-athlete, dazzling with some sort of life-reversing miracle, an elite 62-year-old reinventing himself into a top athlete who is a threat to win the race, not just finish. Then these thoughts: If I tried that, my knees would probably give out. I may have a heart attack. I’m just too old. My time has passed.
Those are negative thoughts that need to be erased from my mind forever. How we think and what we tell ourselves are so incredibly important. It can ruin or elevate our lives. I believe that. Think upbeat thoughts and your life and mood will become more upbeat.
Maybe I could become a world-class triathlete. Age is just a number. Here at the beach, anything seems possible. It’s the land and air of free-thinking, pleasant visuals, waves breaking, the warm sand, beach chairs, and cocktail hour with crackers and cheese.
Last night went to an outdoor barbecue over at Peach and Squee’s house, which is about two frisbee throws from delicious and delightful and delectable Deauville Beach.
Always dependable, my fellas had the burgers cooked. Every July 4th they grill. Poured a pile of Heinz Ketchup on top and chomped. The fellas know how to grill a burger.
They excel at hot dogs, too. Wolfed down one of those draped in ketchup. While eating leaned back in an Adirondack Chair and thought about the smart person who designed the chair to be comfortable. You sink back and it feels good. From there, you can observe and think and talk, say random things, and talk about the chairs.
My cuz Peach was back from Australia which made the barbecue extra juicy. He wore some stupid-looking hat, no doubt, so I would write about it in this blog.
Then it was time for me to crank up a song Peach had introduced me to some 17 years ago at this same beach house. The song is called “How Bizarre” by OMC, a one-hit wonder band from New Zealand.
I put it on my smartphone to top volume to drown out the other music playing during the party. This was probably uncouth but I didn’t care because I wanted Peach to listen to “How Bizarre” and watch me dance around the yard. Besides, beach rules are different. More things slide. Rules don’t apply. There is more freedom.
This went on for a while.
No one stopped me but no one encouraged me.
At the beach among lifelong friends and lifelong cousins, you can do such things, however bizarre they may be.
I remember a scene from the movie “Field of Dreams” in which one character asked: “Is this Heaven?”
“It’s Iowa,” the other character said.
I am thinking now about whether I am in Heaven right now, here at the beach, among friends and family, soaking in sun and soft breezes.
“Is this Heaven?” I ask myself.
“It’s Rehoboth Beach,” I answer.
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Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:
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