The only time I spent on the beach in LA last week was guarded. I walked, hands around my eyes like horse-blinders, down Manhattan Beach Boulevard, strait passed the pier, and to the first spot I came across. I spent the next six hours on my towel working on crossword puzzles and looking at nothing and no one.
I love surprises. I can’t resist a grand gesture or a big reveal. Some people call me dramatic, but I think that there is a difference. Last week my roommate, Becky, mentioned that an episode of TV I haven’t seen yet was a great one.
“I didn’t give anything away,” she said.
“I can’t even look at you right now,” I said.
I find my actions were justified, she feels differently.
So when I spent a week in LA with my sister, I told her that I couldn’t go to Manhattan Beach.
“Good luck with that,” she said. When planning the bike trip, I asked her to give us an ending destination. That, not coincidently, is the beach most convenient to her house.
I was torn, emotionally and physically. I felt horribly ruining the big reveal of Manhattan Beach, the place that culminates our month long bike ride through desert and mountains and more… but I really wanted to tan and it is the easiest beach to get to from my sister’s house.
In the end I went to the beach, and compromised by not allowing myself to embrace it all the way. I still feel like I win, because I have a feeling that 1500 miles of biking will make me enjoy it even if I have put my feet in already.