While attending a tennis tournament this weekend, we had a few hours to spare before my daughter had to compete. Instead of sitting around the tennis courts, we decided to find a nearby beach. As luck would have it, Thousand Steps Beach was only about five minutes away.
The name immediately sparked our curiosity.
Was there really a thousand steps?
Was it just a clever name to scare away lazy tourists?
Was it California’s version of a stress test for people with bad knees and questionable life choices?
There was only one way to find out.
Arriving on a Saturday morning wasn’t exactly a master plan. Parking was about as easy as finding a tennis ball in the ocean, but after circling around, we found a street spot a few blocks away on Pacific Coast Highway.
As we walked toward the beach, we noticed the beautiful oceanfront homes. Almost every one had a sign warning people not to trespass through their property. Apparently, the homeowners preferred us to admire their houses from a distance instead of becoming unexpected guests.
Since my daughter had a tennis tournament in a few hours, spending the morning in Laguna Beach Jail wasn’t on our itinerary, so we continued to the public entrance.
On the way, we noticed something strange.
People were carrying sandbags.
To the beach.
We scratched our heads.
“Did the beach run out of sand?”
Were they delivering emergency sand?
Was this some weird California tradition?
The mystery would soon be solved.
Then we reached the entrance…
There they were.
The famous steps.
Reality hit us.
There was no turning back now.
Naturally, we started counting the steps. My wife immediately told us not to count out loud because we’d drive everyone crazy.
So…we simply walked a few steps ahead of her and counted anyway.
The staircase is steep, concrete, and seems to go straight down forever. Every few minutes we’d hear someone say,
“Please don’t wait for us…go ahead!”
It quickly became obvious that this wasn’t just a staircase—it was a fitness test disguised as a beach entrance.
People passed us carrying heavy sandbags on their shoulders.
Others sprinted down the stairs like they were late for the Olympics.
Meanwhile, we were carefully hanging onto the handrail, trying not to become tomorrow’s local news headline.
After what felt like climbing down the Grand Canyon, we finally reached the bottom.
Our final count?
About 225 steps.
So much for a thousand!
I guess “Two Hundred Twenty-Five Steps Beach” didn’t sound nearly as impressive.
The beach itself was absolutely beautiful.
Families were relaxing, kids were playing in the waves, fishermen were casting lines, couples were taking selfies, and, of course, influencers were doing their best to convince Instagram they had accidentally wandered into a swimsuit catalog.
Let’s just say…some swimsuits left very little to the imagination.
My family suddenly became experts at looking anywhere but straight ahead.
As we explored farther down the beach, we noticed nearly every oceanfront home had its own private staircase leading directly to the sand. Some of these homes sat dramatically on the cliffs, enjoying spectacular panoramic ocean views. Not a bad backyard if your wallet weighs a few hundred pounds.
During the hour we relaxed on the beach, the lifeguards earned every penny. One minute they were helping a fisherman who had climbed too far onto the rocks. The next minute they were directing a kayaker away from the cliffs. Then they were blowing whistles at swimmers drifting too far offshore.
No wonder those whistles never stopped.
The Pacific water was refreshingly cold—which is a polite way of saying it woke every nerve ending in our bodies.
One thing we liked was that tents aren’t allowed, only umbrellas. That means everyone gets to enjoy the ocean view instead of staring at someone’s giant camping tent all day.
Eventually it was time to face the real challenge.
Going back up.
As we climbed, we finally understood the mystery of the sandbags.
People weren’t bringing sand to the beach…
They were taking the beach to the workout!
Locals were charging up and down the stairs carrying heavy sandbags like human mountain goats.
Some made it look effortless.
Others looked like they were negotiating with their lungs.
A few probably questioned every decision they’d made that morning.
We took the smarter approach—slow and steady.
About fifteen minutes later, we reached the top with our knees, calves, and lower backs politely reminding us that we aren’t twenty anymore.
Was it worth it?
Absolutely.
Beautiful beach.
Great workout.
Fantastic views.
And next time…
Who knows?
Maybe we’ll be the crazy people carrying sandbags.
Or maybe we’ll just watch them while eating ice cream.
