It's the Little Things

This morning I ran with Barry. We decided to run about 90 minutes, so we headed north for a change, weaving in and out of costal homes with their perfectly manicured lawns. When we got back to South Beach where we began, we walked to the ocean to take a dip. I was cold and the ocean looked angry, so I voiced my apprehension. The wind was blowing a fierce current and the chop was out of control. The sand, however, was soft and peaceful under my bare toes, and there were seagulls as far as the eye could see lined up to absorb the sun’s goodness in the cool morning air.

It truly was picturesque. My running partner even commented on the light’s perfection on the horizon with the backdrop of the first of the day’s fishermen casting offshore. I told him I might skip the swim. After calling me some names, he ran ahead and jumped in. Knowing I would regret not going, I reluctantly walked to the water’s edge, anticipating the bite that would greet my body upon first getting wet. He shamed me with more of his stupid sarcasm for not getting in with more enthusiasm. Almost without thinking, I sprinted into the water and dove under the first big set that came our way. It took my breath away, but it was exhilarating to be tossed around, tumbled in the greenest water I have seen yet this season, because I knew I was alive. If you told me I was a mermaid, I would have believed you.

“It’s really not that bad,” I said, now grinning ear to ear.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

We bobbed around for a few minutes until thoughts of the day's responsibilities interrupted our ocean reprieve and nagged until they could no longer be ignored. I felt my tired quads, heavy, as I climbed out of the sea trench the shore break had worn into the sand. All of my senses were heightened. The sharp shells under my feet reminded me of how fortunate we are to live on the beach. I delighted in the smell of saltwater on my skin. The seagulls were still standing next to the lifeguard tower, an enormous flock of them in perfect stoic formation, as if little soldiers waiting for their orders.  I couldn’t help myself. I ran in full sprint and charged through the center of their battalion, scattering them to the sky. They scolded me with angry screams.

I ran in dizzy circles, as if to discourage them from coming back immediately, the most persistent ones still hovering in circles above me, contemplating their next move. Soaking wet with matted, sandy hair and looking like the madman I was, I could not have been more pleased with myself. Then I remembered Barry and turned around to find him standing at the water’s edge, staring at me and smiling, but shaking his head in what I am still not sure was wonder or dismay at this display of childish behavior.

One way in which Barry is very good is his ability to relate to others. He recognizes and speaks the language of what is most important to his friends and associates. I have always admired him for this, in addition to his self-deprecating humor.

“You know,” he began, pausing as though he were choosing his words carefully, “that act really was of photo quality, but the only thing that would have made it better for you, I’m sure, is if those birds had laid waste on me as they flew overhead.”

"It's the little things," I said in agreement.