Friday’s date was the thirteenth but this worried me not a whit as I headed east the hundred yards from Peg and Phil’s pi in the sky number 314 address to where the Atlantic comes sloshing up on Brigantine’s sandy shores. No touch of triskaidekaphobia tarnished my intellect or threatened my tranquility but the 23 knot gale thundering from the north had me a bit concerned.
It was run time and a corollary to the gravity adage about things going up coming down is that running with the wind on the way out means running against her on the return trip. Even though I’m way more of a Segerite than I am a Skynardian it was Lynard’s classic “The Breeze” that floated through my head as my lovely and I ran southward at as close to lickety-split as my old man legs can muster. We had a destination, the low rock barricade that demarcates the intracoastal from the beach, and we had a goal, run like hell, and before you can say, “I got that green light, baby!” I was running fast! (For me.)
Durga wasn’t feeling her best on Friday and I managed to run neck and neck with her for the 22:40 that it took us to reach the wall, a record pace for me that I in no way misconstrued as being the result of some new found power. Running a full four minutes faster to turn around portended a difficult return trip and the tea leaves did not lie as every step of our return run was slog, slog, slog.
It was huff and puff heading south with the wind and slog and jog on the return north fighting her, but when our run was done we’d managed to complete our out and back in under 55 minutes, a time two minutes faster than our previous 2019, Brigantine Beach record. May have been the green lights baby but without a doubt it was The Breeze!