By the time I reached the top, my shoulders were burning, my calves were screaming and I could no longer say exactly how many steps I’d climbed.
On the way down, I had counted 223. On the way back up, balancing a sack across my back, I arrived at 225. I chalked the discrepancy up to exhaustion.
The route at Thousand Steps Beach in South Laguna gains roughly 250 feet in elevation within a quarter mile from the sand to the highest point of the Ninth Avenue hill. And I was one of around 60 people making the climb again and again with sandbags weighing anywhere from 5 to 50-plus pounds.
This was Sandbag Saturday, a free training session founded by brothers Dante and Joey Finiguerra. There’s no registration required — attendees just show up and grab one of the heavy-duty, polypropylene sacks the brothers provide and fill it with as much beach sand as they want. A portable luggage scale allows the more serious athletes to keep track of their progress week after week.
My quads and I were intimidated. But it turned out to be one of the friendliest workouts I’ve ever done.
The workout got its start in December 2023, when Dante, a former Navy SEAL and fitness coach, posted an invitation on Instagram for what was originally supposed to be “Water Jug Saturday.” He encouraged his followers to fill 5-gallon jugs and join him and Joey, a triathlete, for military-style drills on the sand, in the water and up the stairs and adjacent hill.
When a friend pointed out some weighted bags lining the path at the bottom of the staircase one day, the siblings quickly abandoned the water jug idea. Sandbags were easier to sling over shoulders and balance on heads. And perhaps just as importantly, “Sandbag Saturday” rolled off the tongue a lot better.
Long before Dante joined the military and Joey started running marathons, Thousand Steps Beach was always where they got their best workouts. As teenagers growing up in the area, they climbed the staircase barefoot, sprinted the hill overlooking the Pacific and stretched their limbs on the shoreline. They spent nights camping on the sand after long days of surfing. Joey later proposed to his now-wife there.
“The beach really has meaning to us,” Dante told me when asked about the workout’s origins. “From 18 to 22, I trained for the Navy here almost every day. I always wanted to come back and give this to the community and to anyone who I felt would appreciate it.”
After serving for nine years, Dante’s military background is evident in the fitness sessions he designs for Sandbag Saturdays. Participants perform duck walks, suitcase carries, bear crawls and overhead holds reminiscent of the log and boat carries in Marine boot camps. But despite its inspiration, the atmosphere couldn’t be further from the “Full Metal Jacket”-esque training days that might come to mind.
“We don’t do the typical hardcore yelling at you,” Joey told me before leading the group on a recent Saturday. “Everyone can go as slow or fast as they want.”
Among the regular participants are active-duty firefighters, lifeguards, professional boxers, National Guard personnel, yoga teachers and locals just looking for a fun way to get their cardio in. For some, the gatherings are family affairs. When I was there, Dante and Joey’s mother and sister joined in, and a handful of young children carried tiny sacks too.
“I think people see us and it looks like there’s a barrier of entry with the sandbags and all,” said Anthony Gudenau, who joins Sandbag Saturdays regularly. “But I’m amazed at the different types of people that show up regardless.”
The group’s growth might be due to the sense of inclusiveness that becomes especially noticeable on the staircase. While doing the steps myself, I noticed participants regularly inviting curious, inquiring beachgoers to join in the following weekend.
“I love how we all pump each other up when we pass one another going up and down,” said Carmen Benedick, a local who has attended every Saturday for the past six weeks. “It’s not unusual for strangers who aren’t even part of it to also encourage you. The sense of community is amazing.”
Perhaps that’s why so many people keep coming back. Sandbag Saturday has evolved into a kind of outdoor third place, where the endorphin-releasing workout is only part of the draw. For all the sore glutes and calves, what lingers most is the appeal of turning this into a weekend ritual.
“I just want to keep doing it for free every Saturday,” Dante told me. “As long as it’s bringing a positive force to people’s lives and making them feel proud for doing something extremely hard.”
When the morning finally wrapped up and the temperature started to climb, participants stacked their sandbags into a towering formation. A few climbed onto the pile to practice gymnastics-style balances while others headed into the water.
Then, one by one, the bags were sliced open, and the sand spilled back onto the beach where it had come from. I grabbed my belongings and headed up those 223 — or maybe 225 — stairs one last time.
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