While running on the beach this weekend, I saw a fleet of wetsuit clad ladies and gents jogging barefoot at the water’s edge. They were of varying ages, and of varying body types. At first, I thought they might be Team and Training folks, or perhaps an open water lifeguarding class. Then I saw the logo on one of the wetsuits that made me try to run a little less sloggingly: Ironman. These people were training for an Ironman Triathlon. A 2.4 mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run. All in one day. All in a row.
That’s the kind of hard core I would like to be.
Also while running, I saw a strange group of people bundled in jeans and scarves standing in a circle, holding each other. It almost looked like a prayer circle. Then I pulled out my iPod headphones to hear them, and they were busy memorializing someone they had lost. Tearing up, and feeling intrusive, I tried to run past quickly, replacing my earbud with finesse I save for my least clumsy of moments. It is strange how the beach seems to make me remember those who have come and gone — I guess it does that for other people, too.