Saturday Mornings w/ Naomi

I've decided to take a little break from my Grand Canyon story to give you a little insight into how my days begin here on the little island of Maui.

My day usually begins with a wake-up call.  If I'm running downtown (where it's hotter and not as breezy), I'll wake up before the roosters.

I'll drive down the mountain, listening as my iPod sings songs like "Bus Driver" by Caedmon's Call or "Rock & Roll" by Eric Hutchinson.  If I'm scheduled for a speed workout, I'll park near the stadium, grab my gear from Betsy the Truck, then walk to the track.

Sometimes I'll even waste time taking pictures like this:But you guys are used to that.  And today is Saturday.  Which means that my workouts in town will have to wait to be chronicled at a later time.  TODAY, we're going to talk about my short maintenance runs:
Today I didn't want to do this short run... which is weird because short runs are fun.  Short runs are easy, quick, and (mostly) painless.  Why don't I wanna do a short run?  Because I'm a lazy okole, that's why  (okole = bum/posterior/tush/derriere).When I finally make it outside, I usually mess with my Nike+ iPod a little before turning right and beginning my workout.  Here's a shot of my house.. Hey--there's Betsy the truck on the left side!!

This is the big hill near my house.  It doesn't look like a big hill when you're standing @ the top and looking through the lens of my cell phone's little bitty camera:

My neighbor has two very aggressive dogs who like to bark at me.  They're chained up, but I like to pretend like they're loose and chasing me so that I run faster :)

The way to the park is mostly uphill.  Here's the first uphill stretch before I get to the Secret Passageway:

And here's the entrance to the Secret Passageway... It's so small and obscure that most people miss it.  My brothers and sisters and I used to walk this way to school (our elementary school is right next to the park I run at):

Secret Passageway.... it actually looks pretty cool.  The only problem is that sometimes hoodlums hang out in here and smoke pot and drink too much and attack women at night.  Just gotta be careful and carry pepper spray ... http://www.mauinews.com/page/content.detail/id/508696.html (in the article, she calls it "Graffiti Path," but I think she just made that up.  "Secret Passageway" sounds better, right?).

And yes, I said hoodlums.


Here's a not-so-funny little anecdote about Secret Passageway.  This little fun shortcut is like a path that travels between people's houses and yards.  You can't really see it, but the house on the far right in this next picture borders the East end of Secret Passageway.  One day, I was running by, and I saw the car that was normally parked there.  Someone was in the driver's seat, so I slowed down and looked again.

Suddenly, I realized what was happening; a woman was slumped over and to the side of her steering wheel.  I sprinted around the fence to get to her car.  When I got there, I looked in and I saw that this unconscious woman held a cigarette between two of her fingers.

Let me tell ya, the adrenaline was pumping as I rapped on the window and yelled at her, "Are you okay?!"  She nearly scared me half to death as she jerked up and looked at me, opening the car door in confusion.

Oops.

I apologized profusely, saying, "I'm so sorry!  I thought you were in trouble."

She  shook her head, and gulped, "Don't apologize!  You did the right thing.  I know I didn't look okay, but I am.  I just got done with a night shift, and I was so tired.  I just passed out with my cigarette... it's okay!"

Mmmm... Embarrassing.  After that, I used to see her passed out in her car a lot.  Poor thing.

Let's move on from that slightly scary story, shall we?

Okay.  So once I exit the Secret Passageway, I run through a super-nice neighborhood in which a few dogs have chased me.  More excitement to run faster!

My next uphill run is up this street, where I get my first good look at the mountain.  It's actually a volcano.  It's actually the largest dormant volcano in the world.  I'm slightly obnoxious when relating to my island.  I apologize.

By this time, I usually get a good rhythm going for the run... my left knee has given me problems in the past, so I try to wear a knee brace so that my uphill runs are less stressful on my leg.

One last not-so-secret passageway to run through:

Followed by a field:And I'm there!  This park has a half-mile loop that I'll run when doing hill workouts (it's very hilly).  This is the bottom part of the running path:

And how cool is it that we have a recycling program?  Go recycle your stuff, everyone :)

The park has basketball courts and an awesome little kids' playground (when I went to school there, we called it "The Pit" because it was a gated area filled with sand... I don't understand the logic, but that's what we called it)... Sorry, I forgot to take a picture of that area!  But here's what I see when I look down at the western side of the island:

Turn left, run uphill... (you can see the road on the right side of the photo... that big hill is one of the hills I tackle for my hill workouts):

A little more uphill running:

This is my iPod nano w/ the Nike+ receiver/thingy in it... I love this thing:

This smaller section passes the tennis courts and swimming pool... I circle a smaller .25-ish loop if it's just a maintenance run so I don't put too much stress on my knee.  This smaller loop is flat and even... and it gets a good breeze most days:


Passing by the baseball field... It feels good when it's overcast like that... I even felt a few raindrops here and there.



That plume of smoke means that they're burning a field of sugar cane.  Sometimes we get what we like to call "Hawaiian Snow" -- ashes of a burnt sugar cane field that rain down on nearby neighborhoods.

A couple more turns at the park...

Another nice turn on a different street through the neighborhood:

I'm a waver.  I like to wave, smile, nod, and "good morning" all the other walkers and runners at the park.  But I felt weird about taking their pictures.  I'm sure it would weird them out, too.  So instead, here is my inanimate representation of all of those other people I saw today.  "Go, dude!" 

Turn right at pedestrian sign.  Run back through the Secret Passageway (snapped a pretty picture of some flowers):

Stop?  No way.  I slow down, look for cars, then get back on my home street.


This next picture is of the big hill in front of my house.  I usually sprint this... You can't really tell, but there are a couple speed bumps up this hill.

Do you guys remember the Mario Kart racing games?  When the little dude in the car would go over those >>> arrows and speed up?  Well, I like to think that when I run over the speed bumps, I "power up" the hill.  In case you didn't know, I'm a little dorky.

Just a little.

Excuse me--I need to sprint this.

Here's my post-sprint fake smile... I walk around, stretch, grab the mail/newspaper, then head into the house.


It feels great to finish a workout... even if at the beginning I hated getting out on that road.  I think everyone should run.  Seriously--go run!

"Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize." 1 Cor. 9:26-27

The Grand: South Carolina to Arizona (Part 1 of 4)

You've had those mornings.  When the alarm hits you like a sledgehammer out of The Happy Black, and you wonder why that stupid alarm is malfunctioning--I mean, you fell asleep only five minutes ago!--Oh, wait, you realize as you squint at your clock.  It was actually three hours ago.

This particular morning was like that.  Except that in this story, that alarm marked the beginning of an adventure that I fondly refer to as "The Grand."  As I rolled out of bed, I remember telling myself, "Don't get too excited.  You need to get some sleep before it's your turn to drive."

I've been thinking a lot about my hiking and backpacking memories, and in nearly all of these memories is my chum Torrye.  She and I have very... "throw caution to the wind"-type personalities.  Especially when it comes to adventuring.  Whether it was traveling across the country to hike the Grand Canyon or taking a weekend backpacking trip into the foothill mountains that were nearly in our backyard, we always had a story to tell.  And I love telling stories.

Getting back to this story, I want to give you warning ... at five o'clock in the a.m.?  Yeah, I looked like this:

And Torrye looked like this:

I don't have to explain why she's driving first.

And thus began our 30+ hour driving trip to... Arizona.

...from Travelers Rest, South Carolina.  We only stopped for the food, gas, and the bathroom (all three things usually went together--convenience store meals--*gasp!*)... and Torrye's little Honda did all the work.  When we did stop, however, we tried to take advantage of any opportunity to stretch our legs... literally:

Torrye calls me the monkey girl.  This photo was taken in Oklahoma... we had stopped to use the bathroom at the visitors' welcome center, and as we drove in, we stared in awe at these huge picnic/teepee structures. We both said out loud, "What are those things?!"  Let me tell you something about the two of us.  We are both small children cleverly disguised as responsible adults.

After maturely perusing through the visitor information, glancing at a few displays, and kindly chatting with the nice old ladies behind the desk, we stealthily drove around to the rear of the building ... those teepees were begging to be climbed.  I looked like an idiot, but I reached the top:

Torrye isn't a monkey ... so she walked off toward the woods, grabbed a log, and dragged it up next to a giant teepee.  And guess what?  No go.  Hehehe...

Here's a lesson for the kids about being a monkey: Monkeys have dirty feet. 

After that refreshing frolic, we got back on the road to Arizona.  There are so many road stories I could tell ... for example, accidentally finding Bridgestone's headquarters (that's a good story... I begged to be let in, then I had to go through security sign-in just to pee!) ... allowing our road buddy Harley the SUV to "push" the slow cars out of the fast lane... having all the truckers from South Carolina to Arizona honk at us... et cetera...

And oh, the things we saw in the rear view mirror.... 

Scary, right?

Hehe... Just kidding.

Here's one that's a little more scary:

The police. Actually, that happened on the way back from the canyon.  Torrye had been driving... we didn't have the papers he asked for... but he saw our backpacking gear in back seat of the car... and ... he let us go!!!  YEEHAW :)

Well, actually, he gave us a warning.  But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

(Ahem!) After the long drive to the canyon, we eventually saw this sign:

Our hearts broke.  We wept tears of great sadness, for our beautiful road trip was almost over, and we would soon be forced to leave our beloved i40.

NOT!  We were soo happy to be getting off the interstate and heading for a real state highway that would take us to the South Rim entrance of the Grand Canyon National Park.  After all, we were a little tired of seeing this for thirty hours straight:

Next time:

The Grand: Being Outdoorsy (Part 2 of 4)

find the space for memories

Today is story day. AND it's memory day. There's one particular season of my life that I love to remember... backpacking in the Blue Ridge Mountains with my pal Torrye. She and I were hiking buddies, and I grew exponentially in emotional and spiritual maturity because of the wilderness.

Just to warn you, I like to tell stories with pictures.

Backpacking saved me from a sedentary lifestyle. I would be fat and lazy and boring if it hadn't been for the wilderness of the Carolinas. Our friends would call us crazy because we'd be two girls in the middle of nowhere (some southern women would tell us, "God only knows what can happen to two girls in the woods!")... and sometimes I would seriously consider the dangers that could be lurking out there... but when I woke up every morning, I would see this:

Or this:

And all doubts left my mind.  The wilderness was where I wanted to be. That's the beauty of the woods... the sun shines through, the birds are singing, Torrye is snoring away, and I fear crawling out my sleeping bag to go pee outside.

I fondly called this sleeping bag configuration "the yeti."

We had our whole morning routine down to a science:  Roll up our sleeping bags (so we wouldn't be tempted to get back in them). Cook and eat breakfast (usually oatmeal). Go to the river to fill up our Nalgenes. Brush our teeth...

We were dirty, tired, and ugly in the woods.  But the best part was that nobody cared!

We'd stuff our sleeping bags into our packs, run down our bear bag, pack it, then break down our (wet/dirty/difficult) tent and pack the poles and canvas separately to divvy out the weight.  Then, we'd be on the trail, only remembering yesterday because of the aches in our legs.  We'd walk that way for nine hours, stopping only to eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch, until we reached another campsite.

Most of the times we were backpacking, it would be cold.  Sometimes it got below freezing at night, and you think I'm kidding?  Check this out:

I think that it was during those cold nights that Torrye fell in love with the sun.  Simply said, she's only happy in the sun.  (On a side note and for example, we took a day hike to Shining Rock.  Moments after I took this next picture, Torrye curled up on this sunny rock and fell asleep.)

The cold actually helped us become stronger hikers because it was only in moving that we were able to stay warm--which meant that our clothes would not only be wet from precipitation, but they would also be wet from perspiration. (Ew, gross!)  I used to hang my clothes up to dry like this:

That would never work.  They'd be even more disgusting come morning.  So, after a while of freezing our butts off, we decided campfires were the way to go.  We would sit for hours near a fire, just soaking up the heat.  Then we would rig a sort of fishing pole setup, hanging our clothes dangerously close to the fire.  The fire would dry and heat our clothes.  It would also make them smell like smoke forever.

Another thing we learned about campfires and photography?  That after being trail-crazed for a couple days, we probably would look like pot heads to the average onlooker:

Okay but before I get ahead of myself, let me tell the rest of the routine.  We'd set up our tent together, and after that, we had separate duties.  Torrye would cook dinner...

And I would build the fires.

I was happy on the trail.

So was Torrye.
Hehehehe... She's going to kill me for that picture.  To be fair, I'll put an equally embarrassing photo of me on this post:

But the story behind that picture will have to wait for another time.

But back to this story... We would end the day by journaling our little hearts away.  I mostly wrote boring things ("Today we hiked 12 miles and I wanna go to bed... why is my pen running out of ink? ... I wonder when our next meal is...") while Torrye wrote profound thoughts ("God is like sunlight... the world is a mysterious and grand place... I am a philosopher..."):

[Serious thought warning!]

Truth is, though, that the Psalms truly ministered to my heart.  In some ways, David was a kindred spirit (I've been watching Anne of Green Gables lately).  He wrote, "Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest; yes, I would wander far away; I would lodge in the wilderness" (Psa. 55:6-7).

I would often explain to my roommates at college that although backpacking drained us of energy, it was refreshing not to worry about gossip, exams, self-esteem, or fashionable clothes.  When you're in the wilderness hiking with 30+ pounds of home and food and toilet paper in your backpack, the only thing you worry about is the next step, the next campsite, and the next meal. [End of serious thought.]

After journaling, we would get in our sleeping bags and look through the day's pictures.  We would sometimes make video journals (they're fun... check out the YouTube reel on this page... there are tons of video journals):

And by the end of the trip, our feet usually looked like this:

I would have three blisters.  Torrye would often have twelve.

Anyway, I said all of that to say this:  Sometimes it's easy to forget the hardships and struggles and rewards and joys of our past... but it's important to recall the pits from which God has rescued us.  I've been trying to remember every morning the significance of Christ's work on the cross.  As I've said before, I have been praying for true humility.  This works.

"Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I have preached to you--unless you believed in vain." 1 Corinthians 15:1-2

Paul is telling them to remember the gospel so that they don't forsake it.  What a serious and terrific challenge in my life!