I’m pretty sure that running to the beach is one of the best ideas we’ve ever had. I want to do it every weekend until it snows. And I want to bring people along every time. This week it was our little family and two friends, one whom I run with every now and then in Prospect Park and one whom is training for her first half-marathon. Saturday’s run was her longest run yet and she was awesome. The three of us ran and talked (Micah waited at the meeting place for a little while to see if anybody else turned up, then ran speedy-fast and caught up with us for the last mile or so) and didn’t even notice how far we’d gone until we realized we were almost there.

We chatted about the match-making abilities of BYU’s foreign language housing, the benefits of living near various train lines, alternatives to the current criminal justice system, and how you can (almost) always go back — if you don’t like something, you can always try something different. Manchild 1 wowed with his ability to see and read the street signs from his seat in the SUV, and Manchild 2 only got a little bit cranky near the end.

We had some more friends join us at the beach, and we all laid out, played in the sand, and gorged ourselves on homemade granola bars and homemade bagels. The highlight of the beach was undoubtedly the moment in which a wave somehow shot 15 feet farther up the beach than before and soaked us and all of our stuff. Soaked ONLY us and all of our stuff. Seriously. The people 10 feet on either side of us were unaffected by it while we ended up with a pile of wet, sandy towels.

Good times, good memories, good run.

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