Swoosh, I am swept along, atop the white water. The bubble and foam bounce me side to side; up and down. Then I glide like a bird, rushing inshore fast on the power of the wave, I grip the nose of my blue board. The cream sand rushes faster towards me, the wind flows over my wet body, spots of seawater splash my face stinging my eyes. My heart beats, I feel light, flowing, moving effortlessly. The rush of excitement is replaced by the comfort of contentment washing over me.

Beached on the sand, there is a raucous laugh. I look around. It is from me. I have rediscovered the simple thrill of surfing the waves on a boogie or body board. I prefer calling my board coloured with blue and golden a boogie board, it’s how it makes me feel.

I snatch a glance out to sea over the tumbling waves and white water. From the back, the deep green blue is building into light blue curls. Inadequately formed curls for board riders but they are perfect for me. Tucked under my arm I push out through the foam powering into the breaking waves, till finally I’m in position for another ride.

A wave forms, its jaw curls high, the gaping blue mouth is ready to devour me. A thrust with my legs sends me into the top of the wave; with a hard kick and a strong paddle I drag myself along the wave into position to ride its power. The rush of excitement flows over me as I thrust and glide towards the shore.

After several deep breathes, I am ready to go again but I look across the bubbling water. People with grey hair have frowns of concentration and smiles, with their boogie boards pressed against their bodies. Like me they have found the joy of being content with the simple things.

I have been encouraged to progress to surfing. Try the standup paddle board. Why is there always something more?

How often that has arisen. My rediscovered joy of running, includes a speed session, of pace and endurance, with my new found running group.

I am the only one with grey hair. During recovery, with my muscles aching and blue top drenched in sweat my body is acknowledging a brutal session of sustained effort. The discussion turns towards individual goals.

Ultra distance runs, mountain trail runs, marathons and half marathons, multi-distance events. The regular community five-kilometre park run is enough for me. But even I have pushed myself to complete our group’s ten kilometre run.

Why was I not content with the five but instead I had to push on to the ten – to prove to myself I could do once, what I used to do, every week, thirty years ago.

I let myself be convinced to progress to the twelve kilometre bay run, I have three months to prepare. This will be painful, I know I will be sore, and my body will not thank me for the extension.

As I make the ten kilometre course a regular training run, I wrestle with the thought that I should have been content with the shorter distances. If I get through unscathed, I will be satisfied but will I then be content?

I admire people, who want to push themselves, I used to be one of them. I may once again be one of those people. Why else would I meet in the early morning darkness on a deserted oval, like the member of a secret society, for speed sessions with my group if I did not want to feel the satisfaction of pushing myself.

Striving for more, striving for satsifaction but it may not bring happiness. An industry of well-being to help people pursue happiness, whatever that means. There can be a thrill in the simple pleasures and be content with what we have; what we are.

With another speed session complete, I need to cool off. I grab my boogie board, content to lay down in the surf and be carried into shore.