I can't think about anything interesting to write about this week, so I'll give a short follow-up on last week's post:
After posting this and sharing the link on Facebook, a few of my friends shared the post, and that might be part of why it's currently the most viewed post on this blog. It was suggested that I share the post with the superintendent of LPUSD, or even print it and mail it to the school, but... I spaced that. I wasn't sure anyone from the school would read it, nor did I really think anyone would actually care about the post, so I pitched it to the world and waited to see if any surprises would come up.
Then, a couple nights ago, I was walking home and noticed the sprinklers of the Lone Pine High School lawn weren't soaking the streets and were barely hitting the sidewalks. Last night was the same thing; all the sprinklers started at 11:05 PM, all watering the grass, no jets of water shooting up 20 feet in the air and into the street like they used to.
Was it just coincidental that they dealt with the sprinkler system less than a week after I called them out on wasting water? Did I make a difference in my community with the open letter? Did my writing actually influence someone or something?
I don't know. It's probably just a coincidence.
Still, it's nice they dealt with the water park in front of the high school.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
An Open Letter to Lone Pine Unified School District
To whom it may concern:
Happy Earth Day! As you may know, today is a day to recognize conservation and reduction of waste and pollution, and our current day and age is a prime example of the importance of protecting our environment and natural resources. Being where we are-- in the beautiful Owens Valley of California-- means we have a pretty strong sense of human impact on the environment; the Los Angeles DWP water projects that dried up the Owens Lake over a century ago, the alkali dust from the lake bed that hangs in the air during the all-too-common windy days, and the aquifers that have yet to be repaired from groundwater pumping are things we see all around us pretty regularly. Along with the entire state in a drought crisis--all while the City of Los Angeles still diverts water from here to the LA Basin-- it's up to all of us to be conscious of what we do with such a precious and finite resource.
Which brings me to why I am writing this letter: Please fix the damn sprinklers in front of Lone Pine High.
I live near the school, and pass it every day on my way to work. Every night when I come home, huge torrents of water gush out of the sprinkler heads and water the sidewalks and streets. Awhile back I assumed it was simply sprinklers that had been damaged by a lawn mower or a bored student, but after a few years it seems to me it's just negligence with the system. Sure, the grass in front of the high school looks nice most of the time, but to dump water into the street during a statewide crisis-- and in a place with its own history of water and riparian issues-- is pretty dumb. It makes you look bad to people driving by on Highway 395, and it's probably costing you a lot of money that you should probably hold on to (state funding for education is never great, y'know).
I don't feel my request is a big one, nor do I believe it to be impossible or too costly to make minor repairs and adjustments to your sprinkler system. The school is a fixture in town, and it's one of the first things you see driving in from the south, so I believe it'd be worthwhile for the image of our community, and in the benefit of our local environment, to stop watering the sidewalks so much. They don't need the water. We do.
Thank you for your consideration,
A.J. Hampton
Happy Earth Day! As you may know, today is a day to recognize conservation and reduction of waste and pollution, and our current day and age is a prime example of the importance of protecting our environment and natural resources. Being where we are-- in the beautiful Owens Valley of California-- means we have a pretty strong sense of human impact on the environment; the Los Angeles DWP water projects that dried up the Owens Lake over a century ago, the alkali dust from the lake bed that hangs in the air during the all-too-common windy days, and the aquifers that have yet to be repaired from groundwater pumping are things we see all around us pretty regularly. Along with the entire state in a drought crisis--all while the City of Los Angeles still diverts water from here to the LA Basin-- it's up to all of us to be conscious of what we do with such a precious and finite resource.
Which brings me to why I am writing this letter: Please fix the damn sprinklers in front of Lone Pine High.
I live near the school, and pass it every day on my way to work. Every night when I come home, huge torrents of water gush out of the sprinkler heads and water the sidewalks and streets. Awhile back I assumed it was simply sprinklers that had been damaged by a lawn mower or a bored student, but after a few years it seems to me it's just negligence with the system. Sure, the grass in front of the high school looks nice most of the time, but to dump water into the street during a statewide crisis-- and in a place with its own history of water and riparian issues-- is pretty dumb. It makes you look bad to people driving by on Highway 395, and it's probably costing you a lot of money that you should probably hold on to (state funding for education is never great, y'know).
I don't feel my request is a big one, nor do I believe it to be impossible or too costly to make minor repairs and adjustments to your sprinkler system. The school is a fixture in town, and it's one of the first things you see driving in from the south, so I believe it'd be worthwhile for the image of our community, and in the benefit of our local environment, to stop watering the sidewalks so much. They don't need the water. We do.
Thank you for your consideration,
A.J. Hampton
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Hikin' (pt. 2)
I decided to go hiking last Sunday. The weather was great, my day was free, and I was curious if the roads to the trailheads in the Sierras were open, so I threw some stuff in my CamelBak and headed toward Onion Valley, outside of my old home town of Independence. Sure enough, the "ROAD CLOSED" sign was flipped around and the road was mostly clear, so I drove up a ways to an old dirt road. I walked along the old road-turned-foot-trail, not really sure if I'd bother getting to the end of it or not, and took in the sights and sounds of the day.
I forget where that road goes, but I'm pretty sure there was a mine at the end of it that was destroyed by an avalanche over a century ago. One point along the road is a wash with a few twisted and rusted remnants of mining equipment, so I think the avalanche thing might be right. Either that, or a flash flood took everything out. Maybe they just got fed up with mining and threw their mine carts off a cliff.
I should brush up on my local history.
Anyway, as I was walking along I got the sense that something was watching me. Thoughts of mountain lions popped into my head and every boulder, hill, and bush seemed to hide a big cat waiting for me to be dinner. It was most likely just paranoid thinking; there weren't any signs there was one in the area, no paw prints, no poop, nothing. Still, that paranoia hung around, and I'd started to wish I had invited someone to come along with me.
I heard a rustling in the bushes. Grabbing a rock, I stood in the middle of the trail and stared at the brush, waiting to see what critter was hanging out.
Deer began piling out from behind the brush like it was a clown car. At least a dozen does sprinted up the hillside, probably thinking I was the mountain lion I was so paranoid about. I laughed to myself and watched the deer, a mere stones throw away (I had a stone but I didn't actually test the distance with it), dart up higher and blend in to the scrub foliage above. I felt a little bad for spooking them; they were probably just hanging out, doing deer stuff, but I had to come along and rain on their parade. Sure, they scared me too, but I was kind of barging around their home and all.
I moseyed around that area awhile, then headed up to Onion Valley to run around (and slip in patches of snow, and nearly twist my ankle). On my way back down into the valley, driving down the winding road, a bunch of deer ran across the road. I moved at a snails pace as a dozen or more deer scampered further up the hillside. I thought to myself, Are they the same deer from earlier? Are they following me? but remembered there are a lot of deer, and even if they were the same deer I was, like I said, in their home, so I just smiled and watched them trot out of eyesight.
Wildlife is pretty neat.
I forget where that road goes, but I'm pretty sure there was a mine at the end of it that was destroyed by an avalanche over a century ago. One point along the road is a wash with a few twisted and rusted remnants of mining equipment, so I think the avalanche thing might be right. Either that, or a flash flood took everything out. Maybe they just got fed up with mining and threw their mine carts off a cliff.
I should brush up on my local history.
Anyway, as I was walking along I got the sense that something was watching me. Thoughts of mountain lions popped into my head and every boulder, hill, and bush seemed to hide a big cat waiting for me to be dinner. It was most likely just paranoid thinking; there weren't any signs there was one in the area, no paw prints, no poop, nothing. Still, that paranoia hung around, and I'd started to wish I had invited someone to come along with me.
I heard a rustling in the bushes. Grabbing a rock, I stood in the middle of the trail and stared at the brush, waiting to see what critter was hanging out.
Deer began piling out from behind the brush like it was a clown car. At least a dozen does sprinted up the hillside, probably thinking I was the mountain lion I was so paranoid about. I laughed to myself and watched the deer, a mere stones throw away (I had a stone but I didn't actually test the distance with it), dart up higher and blend in to the scrub foliage above. I felt a little bad for spooking them; they were probably just hanging out, doing deer stuff, but I had to come along and rain on their parade. Sure, they scared me too, but I was kind of barging around their home and all.
I moseyed around that area awhile, then headed up to Onion Valley to run around (and slip in patches of snow, and nearly twist my ankle). On my way back down into the valley, driving down the winding road, a bunch of deer ran across the road. I moved at a snails pace as a dozen or more deer scampered further up the hillside. I thought to myself, Are they the same deer from earlier? Are they following me? but remembered there are a lot of deer, and even if they were the same deer I was, like I said, in their home, so I just smiled and watched them trot out of eyesight.
Wildlife is pretty neat.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Runnin' (pt. 3)
The silence from a sleepless night of laying in bed was broken by the alarm on my phone. It was early in the morning-- well before sunrise-- and I lazily pulled on shorts and a pair of running shoes while Stephanie woke up. After getting ready, we walked to her car, drove through the Jack In The Box drive-thru for coffee, and headed down the freeway to Agoura Hills for our very first half marathon.
When Stephanie pitched the idea of running a half marathon to me, I was a bit unsure if it was a good idea. When she told me she'd signed the both of us up I was a little bit terrified. She and I have ran a few 5k fun runs, and we both run pretty regularly, but 13.1 miles of running was really, really, really daunting. Running is something I do casually; I generally don't really care about what time I get per mile, how far I go, or if I place any higher than second-to-last in a race, but knowing I would be up against a longer course than I've ever tried to run before freaked me out. All I wanted to do was finish the race in once piece.
And, surprisingly enough, I did finish in one piece!
But it still felt like I was falling apart by the end.
We got registered, pinned our bibs to our shirts, stretched out a little, and made our way to the starting line. With the countdown, the race began and the mob of people began to run. The sun was just getting over the hills, my breath still fogging, so I was happy to get moving to warm up. It didn't take too long for me to start to zone out on my breathing and the sound and feeling of my feet hitting the pavement, so aside from a couple water stops the first few miles blurred out of my memory. The sun got higher in the sky and the green hillsides lit up as the morning unfolded. I was so happy to be in such a lovely new place with my girlfriend, and I was so happy to share that moment with her.
That is, except I wasn't sure where she was. I stopped for a little while and looked back, wondering if she'd passed me or if I'd passed her. I waited for a little bit in hopes of getting to her again, but realized I'd lost ten minutes of my run time by standing around. I didn't realize it at that moment, but that was the one time I honestly gave a shit about my final time. I'd been following the two-hour-forty-five-minute pacer from the get-go, occasionally passing her and watching her pass me, because that's who Stephanie and I opted to follow at first, so I got the lead out and caught up to that pacer while looking around for my missing girlfriend.
It was getting hotter, and I was trying to get as much water from my CamelBak as I could. After charging up a hill for what seemed like forever and getting to a narrower, winding downhill stretch, it seemed like my water was leaking. I was concerned; I wasn't sure if I could keep going if I only got a tiny cup of water every few miles. I kept going, drinking what I could, and realized water was getting all over my face. Was there something wrong with the nozzle? Was that why it seemed like it was leaking?
No. It was sweat. I was just really, really sweaty. My beard and mustache held in the sweat like a sponge, and my back was drenched with it too. After inspecting my CamelBak and realizing my gear was fine (and I was just an idiot) I slung it back on my back, and the shock of cold sweat on a pack hitting the cold sweat on my back propelled me further down the road.
By mile nine or ten-- I stopped paying much attention well before that point-- the cramping began. My right leg, sides, arms (for some reason), muscles I didn't even know I had, and muscles I'm not even sure I had were screaming at me to stop. Every hill seemed more and more vertical. Every GU pouch and tiny paper cup of Gatorade tasted like manna from heaven. The bonked out limping-then-running-then-walking world I found myself in was... well, actually kind of pretty with the rolling green hills and the sun hanging in the sky, but my brain screaming for my body to quit distracted me a little bit from the gorgeous day.
I continued on, bonked, sore, sweating, and beautifully miserable, thinking about how great passing out in a comfy bed would be and how long it'd been since I'd eaten Burger King, when one of the many high school kids that had been serving as a sort of cheer squad yelled, "You're almost there! It's, like, less than a mile!"
A dirt path leading up a hill and toward the final stretch greeted me. I thanked the kid and pushed myself to run a little harder, my muscles caught fire, my soul started to consider ditching the earthly vessel that kept running despite all protest. I wasn't going fast, but I was moving quicker than I thought I could considering how bad I ached, and once the finish line came into view I ran like I'd just gotten out of the gate. I walked as normally as I could to a booth where they gave me a medal. I stared at it, then got my true reward; a bottle of water and a shady spot to sit for a couple minutes. Once I met up with Stephanie, we hobbled to the shuttle back to her car, got Burger King, went home, showered, and died for the rest of the weekend.
My time wasn't great, but I'm glad to have even finished (plus, I met the goal I'd originally set on Twitter! I win!). Thirteen miles in almost three hours isn't lightning fast, but I'll roll with it because I ran it for the sake of running it. The experience was enlightening, humbling, and kind of fun in a sadistic sort of way. I learned I can push myself beyond what I thought I could do, that sometimes it's okay to take a quick breather, and that it probably is a lot better to run, sleep, eat, and stretch before running that much. I'm very much okay with sticking to races under 10K from here on out, but maybe one day I'll get a half marathon in under two-and-a-half hours or better.
Until then, though, I'll keep my running casual.
When Stephanie pitched the idea of running a half marathon to me, I was a bit unsure if it was a good idea. When she told me she'd signed the both of us up I was a little bit terrified. She and I have ran a few 5k fun runs, and we both run pretty regularly, but 13.1 miles of running was really, really, really daunting. Running is something I do casually; I generally don't really care about what time I get per mile, how far I go, or if I place any higher than second-to-last in a race, but knowing I would be up against a longer course than I've ever tried to run before freaked me out. All I wanted to do was finish the race in once piece.
And, surprisingly enough, I did finish in one piece!
But it still felt like I was falling apart by the end.
We got registered, pinned our bibs to our shirts, stretched out a little, and made our way to the starting line. With the countdown, the race began and the mob of people began to run. The sun was just getting over the hills, my breath still fogging, so I was happy to get moving to warm up. It didn't take too long for me to start to zone out on my breathing and the sound and feeling of my feet hitting the pavement, so aside from a couple water stops the first few miles blurred out of my memory. The sun got higher in the sky and the green hillsides lit up as the morning unfolded. I was so happy to be in such a lovely new place with my girlfriend, and I was so happy to share that moment with her.
That is, except I wasn't sure where she was. I stopped for a little while and looked back, wondering if she'd passed me or if I'd passed her. I waited for a little bit in hopes of getting to her again, but realized I'd lost ten minutes of my run time by standing around. I didn't realize it at that moment, but that was the one time I honestly gave a shit about my final time. I'd been following the two-hour-forty-five-minute pacer from the get-go, occasionally passing her and watching her pass me, because that's who Stephanie and I opted to follow at first, so I got the lead out and caught up to that pacer while looking around for my missing girlfriend.
It was getting hotter, and I was trying to get as much water from my CamelBak as I could. After charging up a hill for what seemed like forever and getting to a narrower, winding downhill stretch, it seemed like my water was leaking. I was concerned; I wasn't sure if I could keep going if I only got a tiny cup of water every few miles. I kept going, drinking what I could, and realized water was getting all over my face. Was there something wrong with the nozzle? Was that why it seemed like it was leaking?
No. It was sweat. I was just really, really sweaty. My beard and mustache held in the sweat like a sponge, and my back was drenched with it too. After inspecting my CamelBak and realizing my gear was fine (and I was just an idiot) I slung it back on my back, and the shock of cold sweat on a pack hitting the cold sweat on my back propelled me further down the road.
By mile nine or ten-- I stopped paying much attention well before that point-- the cramping began. My right leg, sides, arms (for some reason), muscles I didn't even know I had, and muscles I'm not even sure I had were screaming at me to stop. Every hill seemed more and more vertical. Every GU pouch and tiny paper cup of Gatorade tasted like manna from heaven. The bonked out limping-then-running-then-walking world I found myself in was... well, actually kind of pretty with the rolling green hills and the sun hanging in the sky, but my brain screaming for my body to quit distracted me a little bit from the gorgeous day.
I continued on, bonked, sore, sweating, and beautifully miserable, thinking about how great passing out in a comfy bed would be and how long it'd been since I'd eaten Burger King, when one of the many high school kids that had been serving as a sort of cheer squad yelled, "You're almost there! It's, like, less than a mile!"
A dirt path leading up a hill and toward the final stretch greeted me. I thanked the kid and pushed myself to run a little harder, my muscles caught fire, my soul started to consider ditching the earthly vessel that kept running despite all protest. I wasn't going fast, but I was moving quicker than I thought I could considering how bad I ached, and once the finish line came into view I ran like I'd just gotten out of the gate. I walked as normally as I could to a booth where they gave me a medal. I stared at it, then got my true reward; a bottle of water and a shady spot to sit for a couple minutes. Once I met up with Stephanie, we hobbled to the shuttle back to her car, got Burger King, went home, showered, and died for the rest of the weekend.
 |
Somehow, even after
the race, my legs never
got any more tan.
|
My time wasn't great, but I'm glad to have even finished (plus, I met the goal I'd originally set on Twitter! I win!). Thirteen miles in almost three hours isn't lightning fast, but I'll roll with it because I ran it for the sake of running it. The experience was enlightening, humbling, and kind of fun in a sadistic sort of way. I learned I can push myself beyond what I thought I could do, that sometimes it's okay to take a quick breather, and that it probably is a lot better to run, sleep, eat, and stretch before running that much. I'm very much okay with sticking to races under 10K from here on out, but maybe one day I'll get a half marathon in under two-and-a-half hours or better.
Until then, though, I'll keep my running casual.
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