Atlantic Beach

Pursuant to the stern sign posted on the second floor of the condo where we are staying in Atlantic Beach, we have not been tempted to feed the gulls (they seem to do very well on their own, standing silently facing the ocean, then suddenly in one accord taking flight, diving into the surf when they know some small marine creatures have arrived on the incoming tide), to retain the luggage carts that we used upon arrival, nor to store mysterious "items" in the hallways. 

But we have been running, and running often.  Not in these hallways, but on these flat roads, east to Fort Macon and south to the causeway from Morehead City.  Five miles last Monday, four on Wednesday, and a solid six on Saturday.  And this morning we ran the last mile of our three-mile run back on this beach, this big, wide, flat beach.  I seldom run on beaches, but this beach is so wide that 4 X 4s drive down it to watch the sunset. 

Although I understand that most of the snow has melted in Highlands, I do not think we would be enjoying this kind of mileage, these long, flat miles that do an injured runner like myself so much good.  I actually found myself running fast this week, and we are contemplating running a local 5-K on Saturday.  Now that would be a big step forward!

But whether we decide to race or not, there is something so very special about running out here on the sand, with the surf on one side, mostly-vacant houses behind the sand dunes on the other, and the long expanse of beach ahead and behind, a gull winging its way overhead, a sandpiper hustling of the way.  Surely this restorative little trip to Atlantic Beach will help to heal the strained ligaments and calm the restless mind.