It's a beautiful Sunday morning in Maine and the runners are out on the beach. They vary in size, shape and age and most are barefoot. Their legs are long, lean, muscular and shapely. Some prefer running at the edge of the surf while others stay on the hard packed sand showing where they mark their running trail until the next wave comes in and washes it away, like an eraser washes away chalk on a chalkboard. The runners are jubilant, stopping every now and then when they see a group of sandpipers or seagulls ingesting their morning breakfast. Then, with great excitement, their run begins again sprinting as fast as they can, breaking up the flocks only to relocate them to a different part of the beach. These runners can go for miles and I consider them the great runners of all generations. They can run for miles with no side aches, no complaining and they never seem to get shin splints. I'm sure, once their beach run ends, they collapse on a comfy sofa or flop down on their favorite bed only to wait for that big bowl of chow from their best friend.