From twenty minutes non-stop to a micro towel MVP moment, this week was all about sweat, sand, and stubborn joy. The pace may be snail-adjacent, but the glow? Practically solar.
The runs are stretching now—longer, steadier, stitched with strength that didn’t exist a month ago. It’s not just the legs that are building; it’s the rhythm, the refusal to stall, the quiet flex of a body that’s done negotiating. The weather’s playing nice too. Warmer mornings, softer light, and that cheeky breeze whispering, “You earned a swim, babe.”
And yes, the final run of the week? Twenty minutes non-stop.
Not five kilometres, not even close—but twenty minutes without a break? In my books that deserves a medal. Or better yet, a swim.
So we gear up.
Bike shorts: Yes, those lily-white legs are out again. Still plenty of pale limbs on the beach, but mine might be the only ones with a built-in glow feature.
Crop top bra: Not quite flashing belly territory yet. Maybe if the tide wasn’t halfway to Fiji and I didn’t have to walk a kilometre to get under it.
Lightest tee I own: Practically see-through, but just enough coverage to keep the comfort dial steady & its coming in for a swim with me.
Running belt upgrade: This time, it’s packing a microfibre towel gifted years ago—finally earning its moment. Sand, be gone.
It’s happening. The swim.
A quieter beach, a little trust in the universe (and the tide), and yes—I leave a few non-waterproof items on the sand. I take the plunge. Not a dramatic dive, just a slow wade in. Realising mid-entry that this might trigger a cramp. But I’ve done my cool-down walk, taken a breather, and hydrated with a glass of water 30 minutes before the run. No bottle on me, but the body’s prepped.
The water? Glorious.
A reward. A recalibration. A salty, splashy exhale at the end of a week that asked more of me—and got it. The pace might still be snail-adjacent, but the refusal to quit? That’s elephant-grade.
And then comes the walk back.
No, I didn’t drive. The beach is within walking distance—one of life’s quiet luxuries. So after a barefoot wander along the sand, it’s time to face the bridge and track. Which means the shoes and socks have to go back on. Not ideal when you’re semi-dried by the sun—no longer dripping, but definitely damp. And no, you can’t run in slides (not that I’d carry them anyway). But that micro towel? Probably the smallest towel in the world, and worth its weight in gold. Brushing off sand that would otherwise act like industrial-grade sandpaper.
A final act of defiance before the walk home: damp, sand-free, and quietly triumphant. The pace may still be snail-adjacent, but the commitment? Unshakable. The run, the swim, the recalibration—it’s all part of the arc.
No committee choreography. No borrowed milestones. Just showing up, glow-in-the-dark legs and all.
Be the star of your own story. Glow unapologetically—even if it’s just your legs.
