Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-a-pu-wa-ah

I remember as a kid, reading "The Diary of Anne Frank", and fantasizing about the glories of one day having my diary discovered by the world. Certain my praises would be sung upon the cracking of my inner most thoughts and secrets, exposing the genius I'm certain someone, somewhere, has gotta think I am. Anyway, at some point, that evolved into just thinking it might be cool for my grandkids to stumble on my private emo-purge. Then I think about the one time I read a page of an old journal of my mom's...it was reading the inside of my own head. Not that cool really. Kind of disturbing.

Now, I'm a little older. Little more "grown up" in the world... I've read a couple of bios. Generally they talk about the incredible accomplishments and pursuits of the author, addressing the amazing ways they have changed the world they operate in, or the world in general. You know, deep, meaningful, enlightened lives lived and affected, blah, blah, blah. However, I ponder these things at the moments when I feel inspired to share the stories of my life...when I am lodged in a red, fish, helmet cover and matching cape, streaking across Snowmass Mountain, scream "SHARK BAIT!", at the top of my lungs. Or when I cannot understand why I feel amazing in a swim workout at 7,000ft, only to reminisce about my day which was spent hauling small children, in a reverse power-wedge, up snowy head walls, at 10,000ft. Or when I when I wake up angry, because the large bunch of bananas that I purchases LAST NIGHT, has been devoured by the small herd of pyranas that I live with, before my breakfast menu even had a chance...these are the moments of my life that would make their way into my bio. Life altering, perhaps, on some level, but not exactly Barrack Obamma. Though I can only imagine how he might look in my fancy helmet cover.

I DID pass my level 2 instructor certification...amid the fine comraderie of 36(ish) other phenominal candidates, a mess of rainbow slinkys, and 2 amazing, rhinestone-iced, spinner watches. I had my good humored but portly, tobacco chewing examiner, skiing around on one ski and an arm in the air, screaming "SECRET INGREDIENT!", for my teaching section. Ah yes, the true path to success.