A day at the beach

Discussion in 'General Fitness' started by Virginiaz, Sep 9, 2004.

  1. Virginiaz

    Virginiaz Guest

    very nice.

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  2. Dadathome

    Dadathome Guest

    In article <[email protected]>,
    "Surf McBrowse" <[email protected]> wrote:

    > Knowing
    > our bathroom would be occupied and crowded with the scent of lavender and
    > seven other secret herbs and spices, I continued up to the roof top pool.


    'Taint nice to pee in other peep's pools. Otherwise... kinda made me
    yearn for the Cancun vacation a couple years back.

    Anyone notice that their runs while away from home bump up a rung or two
    on the pleasure scale? A couple weeks ago the family spent a cabined
    week in the woods between Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams. 10" of rain (the
    remnants of a Pacific typhoon) fell during the stay but my two runs were
    the most relaxing and energizing of my short career. I find myself
    looking forward to the next 7 rainy months.
     
  3. "Ass*ole" he exclaimed as I sprinted past barefoot through the sand and
    surf. I pushed off the ball of my right foot, did a nifty half turn in
    midair, heels now tucked up beneath me, my right arm extended and swinging
    in a wide arc. Watching the frisbee descend through it's own arc, calculus
    coalesced in to instinct, my hand met the disc in space and time. Having
    caught the toy with all the enthusiasm of an Australian Sheppard seizing a
    tennis-ball, I fell to ground in a comfortable springy crouch and realized
    the insult had been directed at me. I turned to the man with the long metal
    pole, which ended in it's own foot wide disc, and frowned. He did the same.
    Mine was the second frown of the day, and the sun was going down behind a
    cruise ship and some very distant wispy clouds. His frown, it seemed to me,
    to be all too suitable on the face of what appeared to be a beach bum turned
    curmudgeon. Reaching down the shaft with what looked like a grotty
    handkerchief he cleaned the sand of his metal detector, looking up briefly
    to shoot me a "look what you did to my pride and joy" stare. I grinned,
    whirled around, lunged and hurled the frisbee, narrowly missing his head, as
    the disc sped down the beach to it's target. "Some people you just have to
    f*ck with", I thought. The altercation took about five seconds. I jogged
    down the beach towards my wife and partner in crime (whom I suspect had
    targeted the disheveled buried-treasure-enthusiast in the first place)
    feeling slightly happier. The mood of the man with the soiled handkerchief,
    I suspected, turned a darker shade of gray. "Serves the dirty old bastard
    right", I thought. He had appeared earlier in the evening, with his pole in
    hand probing for lost items, much too close and between the legs of several
    young ladies asleep face down on their towels, causing frowns as he went.

    I retrieved my hotel key and wallet from my shoe, collected my camera, towel
    and sunscreen, stepped in to my beach shoes, squashing the heel backs as
    usual and plodded back in the direction of Diamond Head to our room twelve
    floors above a Denny's. Alone (my lovely wife had retired from the beach
    half an hour earlier . you know, too much sand, bubble bath and all that) I
    observed what a perfect evening it was. A Don Ho look alike trundled past,
    resplendent in his paw flowered moo-moo. Korean tourists zoomed oversized
    lenses at the last vestiges of the setting sun. A young Hawaiian foisted a
    flyer in to my hand, "Best Dim-Sum in Waikiki"' it read. A transvestite clad
    in a horribly revealing a leopard-skin leotard muttered insults at some
    young bronzed teenagers playing beach volleyball. While causing and obvious
    scene, it insisted under it's breath, they were scaring it's Rottweiler. In
    a surreal mood I arrived at the lobby. Several policemen were scanning the
    lobby for someone other than me as I strode past to the elevators. Knowing
    our bathroom would be occupied and crowded with the scent of lavender and
    seven other secret herbs and spices, I continued up to the roof top pool.
    Having divested myself of a kilogram of sand between the shower, pool, hot
    tub and shower I toweled dry, retrieved a new pair of socks from the beach
    bag, and laced up my running shoes.

    Emerging from the elevator in the lobby I was surprised to find it quiet
    save for the Don Ho look alike and his Ukulele. I jogged a quick circuit
    around the nearby park and lit out down the beach. The surf was crashing as
    I ran along the steep section in front of the old colonial hotel. Pink
    streaks where strewn over the horizon. The air was humid but the temperature
    comfortable. Patio lanterns turned on in the distance. "Why do we come
    here?", I had thought earlier in the day. Because it is nothing like home.


    Surf
     
  4. >"Ass*ole" he exclaimed as I sprinted past barefoot through the sand and
    >surf. I pushed off the ball of my right foot, did a nifty half turn in
    >midair, heels now tucked up beneath me, my right arm extended and swinging


    If that was me, my foot would've *accidentaly* hit him in the mouth.

    9-11 forget it, it's over. Who cares? Nobody.
     
  5. gym gravity

    gym gravity Guest

    Dadathome wrote:

    > Anyone notice that their runs while away from home bump up a rung or two
    > on the pleasure scale?


    Yes, whenever I visit my parents I have great runs. Super quiet country
    roads, bald eagles, warmer temps (winter in MD compared to MA). Last
    time I was down there I was coming off a hard 3 weeks, followed by some
    rest and a few intense runs. I was forced not to run for a few days,
    when I finally did, I was having such a good run that a dog bite didn't
    seem all that important.
     
  6. > Super quiet country
    >roads, bald eagles,


    The bald eagles here do that "comb-over" thing to disguise themselves.

    9-11 forget it, it's over. Who cares? Nobody.
     
  7. "Surf McBrowse" <[email protected]> wrote in message news:<[email protected]>...

    > Alone (my lovely wife had retired from the beach
    > half an hour earlier . you know, too much sand, bubble bath and all that)


    There was too much bubble bath in the ocean?
     
  8. >There was too much bubble bath in the ocean?
    >
    >


    Don't ask, you'll regret it.

    9-11 forget it, it's over. Who cares? Nobody.
     
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