I looked out upon the Honolulu morning skyline. The sun rose to my left, sending shades of pink and orange shooting through the clouds. It was unusually cold for a mid-june day.
A slight wind came from the west, hitting the sweat on my skin, cooling my body almost instantly. A slight shiver was conjured up from the base of my spine. I closed my eyes.
My morning ritual of running to the top of Wa'ahila ridge and surveying the damage that humanity had done to this beautiful island still hadn't gotten old. I breathed deeply. My chest rose and fell as naturally as the sun did the same.
Opening my eyes, the light was now over Koko Head mountain, the very tips of its rays hitting my already sun-worn face. I took a seat on a comfortable looking rock nearby. My heart rate began to slow.
Every morning for the last three years I've run up this ridge. I've sat here as the Earth performed its daily ritual more than a thousand times. And I still can't stand the view.
This concrete, this interstate, these ambulances and police cars, the 30 story high rises. Why are they here? Surely someone else must realize how unnatural and synthetic this whole panorama appears. Behind me the clouds and fog of Manoa valley envelop the tops of the untouched, fertile mountains. That is what its supposed to look like.
I sigh, stand up, stretch to my toes for a second, and prepare for my descent. There is nothing I can do about the sad state of humanity here, the raping of an island once so untouched and pristine. I begin jogging down the mountain.
It's difficult to think of anything else as I focus on the twists and turns and rocks of the trail. My heart pumps wildly the oxygen thick blood that nourishes my cells, giving me more seconds more of life each time. Sweat of salt and stored water seeps through my pores to prevent my body's internal temperature from rising so much that I cause it damage. Millions of years of evolutionary fine tuning and selection have allowed me to be here, doing this ridiculously unnatural exercise.
A slight wind came from the west, hitting the sweat on my skin, cooling my body almost instantly. A slight shiver was conjured up from the base of my spine. I closed my eyes.
My morning ritual of running to the top of Wa'ahila ridge and surveying the damage that humanity had done to this beautiful island still hadn't gotten old. I breathed deeply. My chest rose and fell as naturally as the sun did the same.
Opening my eyes, the light was now over Koko Head mountain, the very tips of its rays hitting my already sun-worn face. I took a seat on a comfortable looking rock nearby. My heart rate began to slow.
Every morning for the last three years I've run up this ridge. I've sat here as the Earth performed its daily ritual more than a thousand times. And I still can't stand the view.
This concrete, this interstate, these ambulances and police cars, the 30 story high rises. Why are they here? Surely someone else must realize how unnatural and synthetic this whole panorama appears. Behind me the clouds and fog of Manoa valley envelop the tops of the untouched, fertile mountains. That is what its supposed to look like.
I sigh, stand up, stretch to my toes for a second, and prepare for my descent. There is nothing I can do about the sad state of humanity here, the raping of an island once so untouched and pristine. I begin jogging down the mountain.
It's difficult to think of anything else as I focus on the twists and turns and rocks of the trail. My heart pumps wildly the oxygen thick blood that nourishes my cells, giving me more seconds more of life each time. Sweat of salt and stored water seeps through my pores to prevent my body's internal temperature from rising so much that I cause it damage. Millions of years of evolutionary fine tuning and selection have allowed me to be here, doing this ridiculously unnatural exercise.
