150 Days of Rollerblading

In May 2021, I purchased a pair of green and pink rollerblades a few weeks after moving to the North Shore of Oahu. These are the rollerblades my fourth-grade self only could have dreamed of. My friends, Mallory and Shannon, had rollerblades already, so we formed our own "blade gang" along with a few other neighborhood friends in Waialua. We'd go rollerblading on sunny summer evenings when we all lived within a block of each other.

Unfortunately, these rollerblades were anything but cheap. I'll acknowledge I paid almost entirely for aesthetics, and when the blade gang was together, we all had the same style just in different colors. Still, the total was just over $150, which is outrageous. As summer 2021 came to a close, Mallory and Shannon were preparing to move, and I was worried I wouldn't continue to use my rollerblades. At one point, I had gone a couple of weeks without using them at all. I always wanted to use them, but it was so easy to let them sit in my closet.

So, in late July, I decided to create a challenge: "150 Days of Rollerblading." If I was successful, I figured I would lower my rollerblades' "cost per use" significantly. I did what I do best — I made a chart to illustrate my goal and got going.

In mid-October, I hit 50 days of rollerblading.

Right before I left for the mainland for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I hit 75 days of rollerblading.

Around Valentine's Day, I hit 100 days of rollerblading.

Just 5 days before moving off the island (on April 22), I hit 150 days of rollerblading. To commemorate this experience, I wrote the following poem.

the girl who rollerblades

every day she passes by

wheels hitting the pavement in sync with the notes in her ears

the Waianae mountains a perfect backdrop to a quiet island life

she breathes in the salt air of this place she loves

every day she passes by

her path consistent and predictable

she signals the fast approach of sunset

every day she passes by

the senior dog no longer raises his head

the local cat on patrol stares lazily

she is a regular around here

every day she passes by

tenants hold open the back gate

neighbors call from their porches

grandmas smile at a foregone hobby

she reminds them of youth, innocence, simplicity, and endless summer fun

every day she passes by

for her and others around her, this has become an identity

who you are when people see you on the street

the descriptor they’d use to tell their friend about you

the mom with the stroller, the old mailman, the tan surfer, the boy who plays basketball

every day she passes by

and for that ten-minute window each day

she is the girl who rollerblades