My encounter with a deadly Hawaiian ghost

Prepare for my chicken skin…Hawaiian lingo for our “goose bumps.”

Let’s go back to January 19, 2019. I was running the HURT 100 mile race on the Honolulu Mauka trails in Oahu.

BUT FIRST: a little background. I’m an avid runner. I started running at the age of 14 and have competed in hundreds of races since, including ultramarathons (a distance more than 26.2 miles). At that point, I had successfully completed two hundred mile races and dozens of ultras. And at that point, I had never DNFed (DID NOT FINISH) in any race I had ever run.

Back to HURT 100-miler. The course is known to be one of the most challenging courses…in the world. It is a 20-mile loop through the Hawaiian rain forests that runners have to run five times. The ground is littered with thick roots caked in thick mud, numerous water crossings, cliffs, and steep, rocky inclines. It is absolutely brutal.

I had traveled to the island with my good friend, Cassie. She came to help support my endeavor and pace me. Runners are allowed pacers on lap 4 and 5. After running alone through the majority of the night, I needed Cassie to run with me on lap 4. We started our lap around 3 or 4am. We walked most way of the way. I was pretty beaten up by the course by then. The sun started to rise and it felt as though I came back to life. I was determined to finish this race.

Sometime around sunrise (still on our 4th lap together), Cassie started to take photographs with her iPhone of me running through our breathtaking surroundings. I was groovin’ along and was almost to the end of our lap together with one lap remaining. I had to finish this race! About two miles away from the race hub and at the end of our 20-mile loop, I got a sharp pain in my right foot. Up to that point, I had rolled both of my ankles twice each, but the pain dulled after running on them and they didn’t hurt anymore. This pain was on the top of my foot. I readjusted my shoe and kept running with my pain dissipating. Then, BAM, I started to cry. And not like whimper, but I was wailing! I’m not a crier, so this struck me. I immediately told Cassie I wanted to drop out. This is a very rare occurrence as well. Again, I had never dropped from a race. She kept trying to convince me to stay in it and finish. But I kept wailing and pleading for her to let me drop. We got to the race hub and I sat down while a race official got my verbal consent to drop me from the race.

After the race, we went back to my AirBNB to shower, nap, and regroup. Cassie sent a bunch of photos from the race to her mom and our friends. As we were driving to dinner, I look out the window to notice how orange and red the moon looked. I Googled, “moon in Hawaii,” and it revealed that January 20th there was a Total Lunar Eclipse (aka. Blood Moon). I took notice, told Cass, and we proceeded on with our evening.

Okay, now here comes the creepy shit: after dinner, we drive back to our AirBNB and Cassie receives a text from her mom. It was about one of the photos Cassie had sent. It was a “live” (moving photo) that showed a dark figure dressed in a cloak moving past me while I was running. Now, I know my memory is quite shotty after the race and even while racing, but I did not remember passing a person on that strip of trail. Cassie didn’t either and she had her wits to her. The reason why no one was on that part of trail is because all runners had to run in a clockwise direction. And tourists weren’t out that early. We didn’t see anyone for hours while running together. So, we were—and still are—positive there was no one there.

Confused, we send the live photo to our group chat with our friends back home. One of them found something interesting. According to legend, there are ghosts of Hawaiian warriors that roam the island and they’re called, Nightmarchers. They are, “murderous shades, demons, revenants that haunt the island. They are the rabid galvanized specters of ancient Hawaiian fighters, heroes, and warriors.” Upon further research, we found out that, “ancient Hawaiian tenets assert that any mortal gazing upon or being viewed in defiance to the marchers will die horribly and violently. Some people declare that if the mortal lies still, down on the ground, prostrated to the marchers they are giving proper respect, fear, and reverence to the Nightmarchers; and they will be forgiven and spared.” Luckily, we did not see the supposed Nightmarcher.

As millennials, the next step was social media. We posted our photos and immediately received comments and messages. Mostly, people were creeped out. But then the Hawaiian people started to react and it was not good. Our simple and harmless request to figure out what was in our photo turned a little violent. We received messages calling us, “Haoles,” and that we were disrespecting Hawaiian culture. We even got threatening messages where people wanted us to meet a Nightmarcher so we would die a violent death. Less than 72 hours after posting our photos, we took them down. We were being accused of Photoshopping the image in or people were adamant that it was a druggie wondering up the trail.

To this day, we still don’t know what it was. We have the photos and the live photo as evidence to…something. One day I plan to go back to Oahu to complete the HURT 100 Miler. And to maybe bump into my old friend.

Prepare for landing

Summer 1996 (?)

For Christmas, my parents gave me a pair of interchangeable rollerblades. Totally cool. The bottoms of the rollerblades could be changed from ice skates, to trick skis, or to the traditional wheels for rollerblading.

My childhood best friend, Kari, and I decided to go to the top of my neighborhood’s hill so that I could rollerblade down. Kari was rollerblade-less and held my dog, Daisy, by the leash as I attempted to ascend and descend the hill. As a kid, everything appears to be bigger than it actually is, so I imagined the hill to be a mountain.

I was ready to rocket down that hill. Kari and Daisy watched as I began my descent. Halfway down the hill, I felt something funny under one of my feet. I looked down. The wheels were gone on one of my skates.

In less than a second, I thought to myself, “Just put your foot down and prepare for landing.”

Crash. Topple. Skip. Scrape. I had survived! I stood up. Kari and Daisy darted toward me. Not one tear dropped out of my eyes.

I hobbled up my driveway. My mom came rushing out. She took those skates and immediately threw them in the trash.

Totally cool? No. Totally killer.

Egyptians created the Pyramids. Americans created the Pyramid Scheme.

October 8, 2010

I woke up at 4:00am to get ready, left my place by 5:00am, caught one of three buses I had to take by 5:24am, and arrived in Englewood by 7:45am. I had to be there by 9:00am, so I figured earlier was better. Around 8:30am, I waited in the office for my second interview along with two other candidates. Both were female and around my age. One had a sort of mohawk. First bad sign.

At 9:30am, I met the person that I was shadowing for the day, “Bob” (name removed for confidentiality). My first impression of Bob was “frat boy” because of his long scruffy hair and beer belly dressed in a cheap suit. We left the building and headed to our transportation for the day…his Jeep. Usually, the business or company wants to impress their prospective employees. At least that is what I thought until I took a seat in Bob’s jeep. It reeked of cigarette smoke and looked like it was his personal dumpster on wheels.

Bob told me we were going to Arvada, which is his territory for selling. We stopped by a convenience store for snacks. I purchased a diet coke, while Bob purchased a pack of cigarettes and two fried “somethings”. As I walked toward the car, Bob started to light a cigarette and told me he had to smoke it before we left. I said, “Ok”.

As we drove to Arvada, Bob proceeded to blast blue grass music, wore a baseball cap slanted, and texted on his cell phone while driving. My take on professionalism at this point was basically close to none. Once we arrived in Arvada, Bob told me he was going to meet with clients that he had closed the deal on. The deal was that the business accepted to purchase office supplies from Q***, the company Bob was assigned to sell in Arvada.

Suddenly I realized I was working at Dunder Mifflin (the Office). So we proceeded to meet with these clients. Well, the first five clients were not in the office. To sum up the morning: we drove in loops around Arvada, listening to blue grass, me inhaling secondhand cigarette smoke, me gagging every time Bob hocked and spit a loogie, and walked into businesses where the clients were unavailable. Blisters started to form on my heels.

Lunch time. Bob took me to Smiling Moose and treated me to lunch. Oh, how thoughtful. We then discussed how I would be paid if I decided to join the company. My choice was between salary or commission. Bob recommended commission because salary did not meet his satisfaction. He showed me the structure of the company. It was separated into four categories formed into a pyramid structure. You gradually work your way up the ladder earning more money as you go. Once you are at the top, you are able to relocate to a different city, choose your clients to sell to other businesses, and hire people to work for you. May sound a tad confusing, but it screamed scam. I asked Bob who created this business structure. He didn’t know and didn’t care.

Once lunch was finished, Bob told me we were going to try to find new businesses to sell office supplies to. Yippee. We parked at one end of town and walked. We stopped by every building that appeared to be a business that seemed to use a decent amount of office supplies (i.e., law firms, insurance agencies). Every door we opened had a giant label reading, “NO SOLICITORS”. I think Bob truely believed he was not a solicitor. Oh geez. Almost every business we entered turned Bob down. The kicker: Bob would try to use ice breakers such as, “Hey guys, I heard it was happy hour here. What are your drink specials?” or, “Hey, I’m here with the IRS and I need to collect. Where is your accountant?” It was like listening to nails on a chalkboard. He said those lines with no enthusiasm and he thought that he was being clever or funny. AHHHH!!!! People do not want to hear that kind of stuff. He maybe was able to get two businesses interested in buying office supplies from Q***.

Oh yea, the marketing company (not Q***) does not give out business cards. Their theory, one of many idiotic theories, was to keep people in a state of fear. If you don’t leave a business card, then the prospective business will think that they missed out. No. The business will completely forget about the offer and continue to buy their office supplies from Office Max or Office Depot.

Finally, I thought to myself, “I want to get the f*** out of here.” I had enough and I was wasting my time. It was about 3:00pm when I told Bob that I was not interested in this job. I asked if I could leave. He told me that his boss, “Sheila” (named removed for confidentiality), would like to talk to me at the end of the work day and there is some liability involved. In my mind I was thinking, “Liability? What liability? I didn’t give them any of my information except my name and resume.” I also didn’t want to burn any bridges, so I sucked it up and continued to follow Bob around as he continuously got rejected. I kind of started to find amusement out of the whole experience. This is what door to door salesman go through on a day to day basis. How do they enjoy it???

We arrived back at the office by 5:00pm. I took a seat and waited to speak with Sheila. Two minutes later Bob comes out and tells me that I can leave. What?! I didn’t actually have to talk with Sheila. Figures. I darted out of the office and immediately called my Dad to vent. Bless his heart. He chuckled at my story, but reassured me that I did the right thing by going to check it out. I guess he is right.

Icing on the cake: I was locked inside a fenced in area that I had mistakingly got myself trapped in while searching for the bus home. There was no way out. I had to climb the fence. In flats.

So, here I am still on the hunt for a job.