I knew there was a good reason

The beach. The last real time I remember going to the beach was early high school. I mean, i've been to the beach numerous times between then and now, but that was just to go to the boardwalk, or run through the sand at night away from the crowded boardwalk. I haven't really layed out in the sun, attempted to play frisbee in the late afternoon breeze and dip my feet in the water since that last time, so many years ago.

But as I stood there, watching the waves rush back toward the ocean and pull the sand from between my toes, I asked myself why? Why haven't I gone to the beach in that long? What was the reason that kept me from attempting to set something up amongst friends and stroll down to the beach like we did today?

The water temperature was great. It was a little on the cold side, but if I had decided to go for a swim, I know I would have quickly adjusted. After coming out, the sun's warmth would have been extremely welcoming.

The day was perfect too, the sand was warm, the sun baked my skin, but the gentle breeze kept things comfortable. My friends and I just lied there too, no one really talking, just enjoying the sounds of the ocean and the sun gently basking us.

So why? Why didn't I come more often? I felt like I had to make up for the years I wasn't on the beach. I felt like I owed myself that much for how much enjoyment I was having. I could have been doing it for years.

Then we played frisbee, and the wind threw the frisbee off course more times than I can count. But after we adjusted for wind factor, there were some sweet throws. The frisbee would float midair in front of you, and you could just let it land gently on top of your palm.

We started getting aggressive and throwing harder, forcing ourselves to run to catch the frisbee. That's when I realized that running fast on shell filled sand wasn't such a great idea. I cut my foot. It hurt. The game was over for me.

After that, we packed up and headed for the boardwalk. I had sand in my pockets. I had sand in places that should never feel sand. Sand festered in the open wound of my foot. A general film of salted ocean humidity clunge to my body. My foot cried for some fresh water. But where?

I remembered why I haven't gone to the beach in so long. It's great when you're there, but it really sucks when you're done. That's a reason. A damn good one too.

Fuck the beach and fuck broken shells.