My running shoes sink slightly into the sand with each step. My steps fall into a rhythm that matches the song playing through my headphones. The sun slowly slips beneath the horizon to my left, scattering pink and orange and purple across the sky. Small waves lap the shore. I run up the coast, alongside the giant crumbling bluffs every day.
There is no one else on the beach, except for another runner in gray shorts and a white shirt. He’s far away, but catches my attention by waving his hands over his head like a frantic aircraft marshaller.
Something is wrong, I think. I pick up my pace, and we continue running toward each other, meeting halfway. I yank down on my headphones.
He’s out of breath, panting. “Look!” he yells, pointing toward the darkening water. “Look!” I turn and squint at the waves, but the sun’s dancing reflection makes it difficult to see.
“Dolphins!” he exclaims, and his face splits into a wide grin. I almost laugh with relief. I look back to the water and can make out the pod I had not seen before. Fins slice above cresting waves. One dolphin leaps above the water, a shiny arc, backlit by the fading light. The playing pod splashes water and sends sea spraying. We stand in silence, shoulder to shoulder, this grinning man and myself. Two sweaty runners on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday evening. We watch until the fins stop appearing, and the water settles back into rhythmic waves.
The runner on the beach turns to me and smiles. “I love dolphins,” he says. “I thought you might like to see them too.”
“Thanks for pointing them out,” I return his smile. He waves and takes off running south along the coast. I put my earbuds back in and continue running north.
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You can find Kelly on Twitter at @Kelly_Trumbull