Tuesday night at 6 I met my running friends at Muir Beach. It was pitch black, windy, spiting bits of rain. I knew where I wanted to go, so slipped away from the boyz and headed out to the beach. I ran down the creekside road and it was totally flooded in spots. I jumped right in. (Once you get your feet and legs wet, you’re relaxed and not struggling to keep dry.) I splashed through the puddles with a kind of glee — away from the grown-ups. I ran to the beach/pounding waves/not a soul/then up along cliffs on trails and road to my destination, a finger of land 2 miles down the coast that juts out into the ocean, maybe 500′ above the water. I walked down the narrow trail to the farthest-out point, turned my light off and faced the ocean. El Pacífico!
It must have been 50-60 mph. When there was a gust I’d lean into it and it would hold me up for a minute. It would have ripped an umbrella out of yr. hands. We’re talkin power! Every cell in my body felt alive.
On the way back to the pub I jumped in the creek, tights, shoes and all, with my headlight hanging from a bush, illuminating the water. O what a night! Charged up for days…