A Run On the Beach

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          Why we were arguing is no longer relevant.  That is another way of saying that I can’t remember what we were fighting about which must mean that it was terribly important.  Whatever the case, our tempers were flared, we were upset enough where we were standing up in order to make our points, and we were both on the verge of saying things that were not uplifting.

            “I’m going out.  I’m going for a run,” was Myra’s solution.

            I let her go without saying anything.  She put on her shoes, opened the front door, closed it firmly and began off down the hill at a rather brisk pace.

            My temper was set to boil and the little voice in my head that did not have as much common-sense pre-frontal lobe spoke up, “You just going to let her walk out like that?”

            “No, she can’t just walk away during an argument,” who I was speaking to in that empty trailer house is also irrelevant as we didn’t even have a dog at this point in our life.

            I quickly laced up my shoes and headed out in pursuit.

            Koyuk is a small village built on the side of a pretty decent hill, with a good slope to the gravel road leading away from where we lived.  Myra had taken off down this hill toward the beach along the river at a clip aided by her elevated temper.  Also, at this point of life, she was only three years out of being a starter on her college basketball team… she was in shape and coordinated on land.

            Me on the other hand, though I was in shape, the only coordination I have ever had on land was if I was strapped to a pair of cross-country skis.  It was early fall, we still had leaves on the trees, and it was warm enough for shorts… skis were not a good idea.

            By the time my shoes hit gravel, Myra’s shoes were nearly hitting the sand of the beach three-hundred yards away.  I have no memory of my feet ever touching the ground for those first three-hundred yards.  I remember leaving the porch and then remember seeing Myra’s back when she was still two-hundred yards out from me running up the beach.

 My lungs were burning, but that little voice in my head kept egging me on, “Don’t let her outrun you.”

Myra looked over her shoulder, and then looked over her shoulder again.  I was now close enough to see the expression on her face… unfortunately it was not delight at seeing her young husband pursuing her.  She sped up.

Somehow, I still managed to close the gap, came up behind and wrapped my arms around her.  My lungs had stopped burning, my legs did not feel tired, and unfortunately, my temper had not yet calmed.  I began a slow deliberate walk toward the water with my young wife suspended above the ground.

“What are you doing?” Myra’s anger still evident in her voice.

I replied very calmly, “I’m going to throw you in the river.”

“What?”

“I’m going to throw you in the river,” I repeated.

Myra laughed and the absurdity of the situation simultaneously became evident to me.  Ten yards from the water, I put Myra down and we laughed together.

Neither of us know much about the idea of a honeymoon period during that first year of marriage, but agree that if a couple can survive the first twelve months, the chances of making the next twenty years looks a lot more possible.