Running to IHOP

It's been a week, but I can finally talk about it now. So I did the Great Aloha Run again, which is a traditional yearly torture of an advertised 8.15 miles, which turns out to be close to 10. I never sign up early because I always say I'm not going to do it next year, as just as the final deadline comes down the pipeline, I cave and sign up.

I've done it all three years here and the issues are always the same. You have to walk to catch a bus at least an hour before the race starts, wait forever to get on a bus because they never have the buses timed right, walk the entire width of downtown to stand and wait forever to begin. Then the dreaded curse of any race, the people who push to the front but can't run past or even up to a mile, causing traffic jams for all the runners behind them. Run, run, run. Burn your last dregs of energy because the end is in sight! Aloha Stadium straight ahead, but no! First you have to run halfway (seriously) around the stadium before crossing the finish line. Then walk back across the field, exit the stadium, loop back again to get the water and bananas, and then one final lap around the stadium to catch the bus back to Waikiki and walk home.

So far, each year, I've gotten one minute slower; 1:25, 1:26 and 1:27 this year. I blame this on age ... not a personal lack in training or initiative.

The real reason why I do the GAR every year is the huge breakfast I treat myself to afterwards. This year was no exception. I ran to IHOP and devoured a plate of crepes and bacon. This bacon was the bacon that bacon dreams about being. So delicious! It reached its full bacon potential, in fact other people were jealous of my bacon plate.

I then spent a few hours planted on the beach. So all in all, an annoying run in the morning rewards me with a T-shirt, a day of laziness and special treats ... maybe I should do it again next year.

The "S" hobbies

Most people come to Hawaii and to surf, snorkel and scuba; I have lived here for 2.5 years, and I don’t do any of those things. How cliché. So instead, I go ice-skating … for the first time.

I can hear the wheels churning. Question: How has a native Midwesterner not know how to ice skate? Answer: I learned to avoid ice. It is slippery and causes accidents.

So picture this:

Me, climbing out of my roof-challenged Jeep and pulling on knee-high wool socks, a sweater over my long-sleeve T-shirt, my pink-skull hat made especially for me by a friend, a scarf and gloves, while in the parking lot in Hawaii. 

Me, walking inside where I was instantly teleported to my old life across the ocean and country, as I could see my breath.

Me, strapping on these torture devices disguised as boots, which are harder to walk in than any pair of heels I’ve experienced, and venturing onto the ice.

Me, using to metal cane to maneuver around the rink, which is too short for an adult to use properly, while being outpaced by children who can’t even spell yet.

Me, eventually making it to the adult section, crutch free. Although I may have been one of the slowest skaters, I never fell once! There were many close calls, with me emitting – breathless yet somehow so high-pitched that only dogs can hear – shrieks of terror.

Me, ready to use my skates as weapons as patronizing comments were made like, “you’re catching on; good job; you’re doing it; you’re getting better.” These may sound encouraging to the innocent bystander, but when the person voicing these comments is skating just as “good” as myself, even though this was my first time and not the speaker’s, I tend to get a little snappish. Plus, “helpfully” pushing someone, who is trying to maintain balance, just so they move faster is never a welcome addition to the learning process.

Me, arguing with some other skater about wings of an airplane. This skater, who could actually skate fantastically well, was trying to give me pointers. One of which was to skate with my arms straight out to slides like an airplane, when I was tilting my arms to bank turns. “Have you ever seen a plane do that?” Umm, duh, yes. Has he ever been in a plane? Lets see, while circling the airport, one side of the plane goes higher. Then, we level out to go straight again. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to apply real-world logic to these tips.

Me, feeling like I permanently injured my ankles after about an hour of having them fold out to both sides at 90-degree angles like a cardboard box, but still laughing all the way through.

Me, feeling like I can finally look my 5-year-old nephew, who already plays ice hockey, in the eyes with dignity and respect as equals. 

P.S. Don’t ever touch my hat without my permission while I’m wearing it.

The case of the missing accent

Four times within the last week, I have been asked where my accent is when people find out I am from Wisconsin originally.

I wasn't aware it was missing.

Should I call Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys? Or maybe Sherlock Holmes? Why, I do believe it was the butler in the conservatory with the candlestick.

Seriously people, "Fargo" and "New in Town" don't represent the entire midwest. Just Minnesota and the Dakotas.

Oh fer cryin out loud, would ya look at the time. Ya betcha I got better tings ta do den be typin ya know. Eh.