Lanikai

An unexpected Hawaii running journal.

Journal: September 2, 2024

My next newsletter [the one you’re reading now] is causing some writer’s block. First Thursdays, I typically publish a Curated. I told Lisa, “I don’t have the material for one of those because I haven’t been surfing the web.”

She suggested simply sharing the experience of a run in Hawaii, where we’ve been housesitting for friends since mid-August. Lovely.

I jotted a few notes about what makes running here special. How people collectively move in the light and go still in the dark. Warm rainstorms, shakas from strangers, chickens literally crossing roads. I scribbled a title: “Lanikai” (the neighborhood I run in most often).

We turned in early, visions of a great photo essay settling in my mind. I was excited to finally be able to write about running on O‘ahu with all the romance and painterly pinks, blues, and golds it deserves.

I wanted desperately to share what I know and feel about this place.

Journal: September 3, 2024

I struggled mightily to find the motivation to run this morning. How could that be? This is paradise. Get it together, man. Cue the guilt and self-flagellation, lest the Universe catch me ungrateful for the gift of being here.

It’s just that I was… tired.

O‘ahu is insanely gorgeous and inspiring. Motivation should be in high supply. And, most days, the running does come easy. The writing, too. But, I reminded myself, I’m a human being and bring my human stuff with me everywhere.

Besides, all I had to do was get out the door. I knew this from a thousand runs before. Just move and let the run gods take it from there.

Grabbing my shoes, I looked out the window through layers of bright green palm, to the fog-shrouded Koʻolau Range, cutting sharp and black against hints of apricot in the morning sky. Birds began to stir and fill the air with song.

I stepped outside a few minutes before seven. No coffee before, which is odd for me. Phone in my pocket, also unusual. I dislike running with a phone, which is why I’ve been carrying a tiny waterproof notebook—to sketch little island vignettes while I drip sweat all over the pages.

My plan for an award-winning photo essay involved getting pics of those drawings, holding up the little notebook with the real scene in the background.

Starting to jog, everything hurt a little. It really should have been a rest day, but I was intent on shipping a newsletter on time. 10:30 pace felt stiff and labored. A man heading to the beach with his morning coffee smiled and waved, 10:00. The playlist got better, 9:30. Things were looking up.

First vignette, nice.

I knew there was another one close by. The mailbox embedded in a lava rock wall. Where was that? I ran a half-mile down the road, then a half-mile back. No mailbox. I figured, never mind, I would find it on the run home.

The air was cooler today, the dew point much lower. It was comfortable and I settled back into a rhythm. A few sprinkles of rain blew in on morning trade winds. I enjoyed this for a moment, then got distracted by thoughts of work.

I calculated, it was eleven o’clock in Montana. I had time to get this run in before the big meeting. I could also cut it short, and who would know? But, I needed the photos. Any photo essay with a shot at a Pulitzer needs, erm, photos. Onward.

Second vignette. Artsy focus stuff, nice.

I thought for a moment, maybe writing about running in a special place is too personal. But then, no. That’s what I’m doing. Sharing small slices of my experience, hoping people find something that helps in theirs.

I could not turn off my brain and stopped to check email and messenger. Everything was fine, but that’s why I don’t run with a phone. Distractions.

Things were not going well. Where was that mailbox in the wall? I hadn’t noticed a pink, blue, or gold in minutes.

Descending the small hill into Lanikai, I did notice it was trash day and resigned to the reality that every photo would be dotted with big gray rubbish bins. This was not the picture of Lanikai I’d wanted to paint. Should I fake it? I’m pretty handy with Photoshop.

Cotton candy skies, palm trees, dreamy beach entrances ending in postcard views of the Mokulua Islets—this is what the people want—I just needed to get the shots and get this run done and over with.

The skies turned gray. The light went flat. But I got the shots and eventually found the mailbox in the lava rock wall. I got the run done.

And then it hit me.

The entire morning, while I’d fretted about work and lamented what wasn’t, my feet had been here, on the ground in a place I love. While my mind carried me away to the future and a story that would surely fall short, my feet had been pushing and pulling my body along, over seven miles. A miracle.

Journal: September 4, 2024

The newsletter ended up coming together after all.

While I might not have been able to write that story, I got to write this one. And this one—a reminder to stay with the messy things and see what they reveal—will do just fine. We don’t get to decide the ending before we start.

Oh, the mailbox in the wall.

Turns out, I’d missed it because I was looking too far down the road.

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