Combing the Shore

Running on the beach is a sluggish, squishy affair. Each step is different. The ground gives or holds to a different degree. It’s never consistent, but variety is the spice of life and I’m a devout believer in that popular adage. 

I spent last week logging miles along the coast of Delaware. Freezing temps, gale winds and seabirds gave chase as I explored the shoreline from Rehoboth Beach to Cape Henlopen, which is situated on the south side of Delaware Bay.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I love the exploratory nature of running. On Christmas Eve eve, I decided to run a half marathon along the shore. 

I started my journey on the boardwalk just off of Rehoboth Avenue, a staple street in the Rehoboth Beach community. Eateries and souvenir shops line the streets here. Life seems to move at a glacial pace that conveys a relaxed vibe. 

The Atlantic Ocean was flat while I hustled. The waves were small, breaking momentarily just a few feet from the shore. It was nice to lose myself in the white noise of the surf as I passed dawdlers searching for seashells.  

About 2.5 miles down the beach from Rehoboth Avenue, I stumbled upon two concrete watchtowers, derelict echoes of a war past. Though now abandoned and slowly crumbling with time, the towers were built between 1939 and 1942 and “housed military spotters who scanned the sea for enemy vessels that might threaten industry up the Delaware River – the Philadelphia shipyard, chemical plants at Wilmington, and oil refineries critical to the Allied effort,” according to the American Legion. In total, 11 watchtowers were erected during WWII. 

I stopped for a spell to inspect the 80-foot tall structures, but soon, I was back on my feet, inching my way slowly towards Cape Henlopen State Park. I wanted to hit the cape before turning around. I'd set out with the intent of running a half marathon on the beach, and dammit, I was gonna do it. 

Despite my determination, my legs and feet groaned with discomfort. I’m conditioned to the paved streets, the gravel paths and the dirt tracks. Like I said earlier, sand is a different beast. I plodded on, shuffling slowly, carried by the idea that exposure to a variety of terrains will lead to overall gains.

I hit the edge of the cape right around 6.5 miles. I slowed to a stop and unzipped my hoodie, allowing the frozen breeze to slip against my skin.  

Pebbles pocked the shoreline here. A lighthouse lingered in the distance. 

After taking a few moments to catch my breath, I readied for the 6.5 miles back to Rehoboth Avenue. I turned around and was off.