Happy Hour Special

No shirt, no shoes, no problem

Chronic, crunk juice, purple drink-just a few of the popular elixirs to start off weekends or recoup losses from a long day. For my fellow job seekers short on cash, living at home (roughly 50 miles from friends), and potentially avoiding risky behavior while transitioning to their parents’ health care plan, I offer a healthier alternative: barefoot beach running. One part endorphin rush, two parts ocean view, and a splash of salt air, and suddenly you’re awash in euphoria. What’s more? It’s free.

Side effects may include but are not limited to shortness of breath, nausea, tiredness, chaffing, soreness, strained social encounters, and dehydration. Daily practice may also result in stronger legs, a sweet tan, and best of all, temporary relief from the functional depression induced by joblessness. For the happy hour of beach running, I’m not tortured by my lack of career, direction, or purpose. Instead, I’m preoccupied by the Atlantic, dwarfing my inner turmoil.

Dodging sand castles

Wait until the boogey board and diaper bag toting crew have dispersed and the waterfront is scattered with toppled castles and awkward adolescents stumbling along holding hands. No one is watching your plodding, tumbles into sandy sinkholes and labored breathing. Tune deaf howling along to an iPod is obliterated by the ocean breeze. The slope of the shore negates any regard for form.

In fact, beach running may be the least self-conscious act of physical expression you can enjoy in public. These runs are music-optional and always watch free, and they pass much more quickly than plodding on the local track. You lose yourself treading between tide lines and as toes sink into the forgiving shore you are absorbed into a dreamlike state.

Endorphin rush

In the midst of this reverie today I heard a boy grumble that this beach can’t compare to Cabo. Well duh, they’re not even bordering the same ocean. He was also dismayed by the sand collecting on his hands. Sand is endemic to a beach, perhaps he should pioneer a movement to get warning signs erected. But while I’d typically feel the urge to slap the ungrateful boy senseless and send him into the riptide of his inadequate beach for ruining my vibe, the calm of my run saved me from criminal assault charges.

Beach running is practically a religious experience, which I’m sure also explains Lil Wayne’s devotion to his infamous purple drink. If I don’t score legitimate employment by the fall, I’m at serious risk for seasonal depression. At this rate, I may have to start rooting for global warming to maintain the endorphin rush.

Happy running…