It is drizzling slightly as I step off the wooden stairs of the stoep. Should I go back through the big sliding doors and forget the early morning run? I’m already headed towards the road. Might as well do it.
Thup – thup – thup. My tackies hit the tar. It doesn’t take long before I reach the beach. Shh- shh- shh … I shuffle through the soft sand. Only a few steps. Then I’m thankfully on the harder sand left damp by the receding tide. I planned it this way … to run at low tide … easier on older knees. The ocean stretches out into the yonder on my right, an expansive mass of murky shades of blue, olive-green and grey in the early-morning mist. The incessant roar of the waves muffles the thup-thup-thup of my tackies. Where sand and ocean meet, foamy waters come and go, come and go relentlessly. The beach is deserted except for a few.
I realize that it’s stopped drizzling and I can make out vague shapes of rocks at the far end of the beach. I’ll turn there. To the right of the rocks, just offshore, is the shipwreck. It ran aground on a submerged rock only two days ago. The wreck is shrouded in thick mist so I can’t see if its tilt is more exaggerated than yesterday or the vessel more deeply drawn into the dark waters. Today the waters are wild. Perhaps tomorrow they will be calm. The ocean … fraught with danger and splendid in grandeur.
Thup-thup-thup. Misted dunes rise hugely to my left, half clothed with tufts of grass and wind-weathered dune plants. Gradually the misty veil lifts. Here and there shards of light pierce the low-hanging clouds and leave glints of silver spangles on the dark marine surface. White foam rides the crests that endlessly approach the shore. Little sandpipers call with a high-pitched pip as they race on slender legs, up the beach slope and away from the waves. I smell salt and seaweed. I gulp in the taste of the sea air. Of freedom.
I read a scripture earlier this morning, the essence of it being that we, through God’s divine power, have access to ALL that pertains to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who calls us by virtue and glory, (2 Peter 1:3). I experience a profound sense of gratitude as I run freely. I have access to life.
Every now and again I cross paths with a solitary runner headed in the opposite direction. Most greet. Some are smiling before I get to them, bounding along with head uplifted and energy oozing from their whole being. “Morning!” Their greeting touches and warms me like the sun would. Then there are those who have their heads bent. Leaning forwards as if into a head-wind, their shoulders are set and their faces determined. They barely turn their heads to greet, although they usually do mutter, “Hi,” or “Morning” while gritting their teeth. These ones look like they can’t wait to finish. Like they are not really enjoying the journey. Thup-thup-thup.
I have a way to go and lots of time to think. Sometimes, by a mere glance, we may assume that someone is not enjoying his or her journey. There are times when our head has to be down, our face set, pushing on. But there are also calmer times when we have a chance to pause and look back, realising that, in spite of the challenges and the effort, this journey is good … this call to life. And when we continue from there, it is with our head lifted a little higher and a carefree bounce to our stride. Thup-thup-thup.
I turn at the rocks, which are no longer mysterious shapes in the distance. Retracing my steps, I can see where my earlier footprints lie. I notice that there are places where my set of footprints has been erased by an errant wave’s rebellion against the receding tide. There are places where there is no evidence that I ran – except that I know. I think to myself, Sometimes, only WE need to know where our feet have trodden. God sees and knows. That’s just how it is. Thup-thup-thup.
I’m running thinking about the people I’ve jogged past this morning. Only they and God know about some of the places where they have had to tread in life. I’m thinking about shipwrecks and treacherous waters and how little sandpipers run away from angry waves leaving a delicate track in the sand. The sun is warm on my shoulders now. By the time I reach the soft sand again … shh- shh- shh … before I hit the tar road back to the sea-house, Thup-thup-thup, I’m thinking that I don’t ever want to judge a runner by appearances. I respect the footprints that I see dotted across the sand. And I respect where I can’t see the footprints. Like I respect the sea. Fraught with danger and splendid in grandeur. Like life unbridled.
(Written after an early morning run in Cape St Francis January 2024)
Sandy