Lost

I didn't know a whole lot about Are Hjorungens. He was a Norwegian professor who went missing up on Peacock Flats last May. It took a large search party several days to finally find his body. I hadn't heard the full story, but I wondered how in the world someone could get lost up there. Peacock Flats had been my playground for the past couple of years- it was the perfect hill for running, biking, and camping- and nothing could compete with the stunning backdrop of the Pacific Ocean below. I always thought that if you lost your way up there, it couldn't be that hard to get to safety. All you had to do was look down over the ocean and head in that direction. Eventually you'd get where you needed to be.

I was proven wrong today when I decided to try an alternate route back home after reaching the top of the road on my mountain bike. It's a 3.5 mile climb to the top, and at that point I'm usually so spent that I turn around and zoom back down the way I came. Today I had some extra steam, so I decided to keep going down the path to the other side. At first it was awesome. I had found a 4x4 road that gave way to some incredible mountain biking. And more importantly, it was taking me back down to the ocean where I needed to be. But then the manageable downhill grade gave way to a heavily eroded trail, and suddenly I was walking my bike carefully along a steep and ruined road. And just like that, the trail cut back uphill, away from the sea and back into the mountains. I followed it for what seemed like hours, pushing my bike most of the way. I was lost.

The most frustrating part was that I knew exactly where I needed to be, and I could see it the whole way. But the ocean was hundreds of feet below me, and the trail kept leading me away from it. Was this the right path? Which fork should I take? At what point do I just turn around, and if I do, will I have enough energy and water to backtrack? Though I was frustrated, I didn't panic. I was still pretty sure that eventually a sign would pop up and I'd be reassured or redirected. But in the back of my mind, I wondered if this was exactly how Are Hjorungens felt. I shook it off. I just need to get down to the ocean, I thought.

I decided that I would get off my bike and rest around the next corner. To my horror, there was a small memorial in place.

It was just a small sign with a running man symbol and a Norwegian flag, but I knew exactly what it stood for. I figured this is where they had finally found him, where he had finally just called it quits and given in after being lost for several days. If that was the case, I may have severely underestimated my surroundings. I decided to keep moving, as I might have a ways to go. But just around the corner I found exactly what I had been searching for: a sign pointing to the Kealia Trail and the Dillingham Airfield down below.

I couldn't get over how tragic it was that he had been found less than 50 yards from safety. He was so close. Perhaps, I thought, when we're lost, we get so caught up in our own predicament that we lose track of the way out, even if it's right in front of us. Maybe he was lost more in his struggles than in his actual surroundings.

But when I finally got home, I did some research and found out that what actually happened was a much different story. Art Hjorungens was a pretty skilled orienteering trail runner, not just some tourist lost in the woods. He knew his way around the trails of Peacock Flats, and he didn't die from being lost. He had fallen off a ridge just one over from the Kealia Trail.

I'm guessing that like me, he briefly lost his way, but he could see where he needed to get to. So he headed in that direction, down a path that was a little too steep. Lucky for me, I was attached to a heavy blue bike, and I had already made a deal with myself that if the 4x4 trail ended, I would give up and turn around. After all, the only thing worse than being lost is being lost AND hurt. Side trails along steep ridges just weren't in the cards for me. But the experience made it strikingly clear to me how easily something like this could happen.

I still consider Peacock Flats my playground. But today, for a couple hours, it swallowed me up. As I pushed my bike in out and out of ravines that took me further and further from my destination, I was at its mercy.

Even on the days when the sky and ocean are the bluest, Mother Nature has the last say. It's our job to try and stay on her good side.

Unpredictable

Chapter One. Last November, I completed my first triathlon. On a mountain bike. The swim was a nightmare, but it was over before I knew it. The bike ride was frustration in slow motion, as everyone zoomed past me on their light frames and thin tires. The run was redemption, but still tough. My final result left a lot to be desired.

A year and a half later, I found myself on the edge of the ocean waiting for the horn to sound so that I could take another swing at the Haleiwa Triathlon. This time I was stronger, more experienced, and had way better equipment. It was payback time. It wouldn't take a genius to write the story for this race. Chapter Two: Power, Lightning, Perseverance, and Glory.

Only it wasn't. The air grew light just before the horn sounded, revealing that the water was thick and brown from the heavy rains. My shoulders and biceps were already aching from a week of overtraining. My stomach kind of hurt. They had set the buoys much farther out than last year.

Power turned to struggle. Lightning turned to pain. Perseverance became begging for it to end. And glory was a stumble to the finish.

Realistically, it wasn't a bad race. Still, it wasn't what I had expected. I had expected to destroy the course, but the course dealt most of the blows. That chapter had taken a drastic detour from what I expected to happen.

* * * * *

Just an hour later, I was at mid court coaching our team's last basketball game of the season. We were up huge and the outcome was all but decided. We went to the end of the bench and brought on Keon, our autistic player who had played in only one other game. We had added him to the squad because his mom said it would be good for him to improve his social and motor skills. The crowd cheered and he bounced around the court. With a minute left, we called a timeout. "Get Keon a shot," I told the players.

Anyone could write the story of what was coming next. Queue the "Chariots of Fire" theme. Keon would get the ball in the corner with the clock ticking down. In slow motion he would take the shot, and as the buzzer sounded, the ball would pass through the cylinder and tickle the net. The crowd would explode and the kids would carry him off the court. Chapter Three: The Hero's Shot.

Only it wasn't. The defense was in a 2-3 zone and it was impossible to get him an open shot without some sort of dribbling. The first time he got the ball, it was stolen a way. The second time, he traveled. The buzzer sounded and we celebrated our victory by shaking the other team's hands. Once again, the chapter would have to be rewritten.

Don't you hate it when the outcome takes a wrong turn like that? When the story gets turned upside down?

I don't. Unpredictability is what makes life so much more exciting. Now I can continue to train for the next race knowing that the redemption is still just beyond my reach and I have to work a little harder to get it. Keon may not have hit the shot, but just being out there when the buzzer sounded and celebrating a victory with his teammates still may have been the moment of his life.

Truth be told, life shouldn't read like a predictable novel. There would be no point. Everyone knows that the best books ever written were Choose Your Own Adventures.

ps: Is this cover racist?