Coincidences

I love writing about my life, but when I'm in the dead of summer, relaxing and enjoying every minute of my day doing positively nothing, I don't have much to write about. So in the interest of my readers, I've decided to write about some memories that I frequently recall and stories I tell over and over. I'll start with "This happened in the fall of 19--".

This happened between January, 2001 and September, 2002. I graduated from college without direction or interest outside the world of flipping, trampolines and flying trapeze. I wanted to perform on trapeze and in January called a contact I'd made the previous summer working at a circus school, Bob Christians. I'd never met Bob but knew he was a legend in the flying trapeze circuit. I told him I wanted to increase my skill repertiore and perform in shows and that I had coached diving for several years. He said he'd 'take me' at which point I asked, "You'll take me for what?" It turns out Bob Christians is the man who created the Club Med Circus. After several rounds of meetings and interviews (just a formality, I was told) I received my assignment in March to train for several weeks at Sandpiper, the Club Med in Florida where the training 'stage' is conducted. The only issue not set in stone was my departure date, which I was told would be announced within a couple of months. In the meantime I worked at my favorite restaurant in the world, Yin Yankee Cafe, in Annapolis. In July I was told I'd depart on September 13, and two days before while I sat in awe watching TV reports for hours I realized no one would be flying for a while, and I started to think about what else I could do with my life.

Since I had my bags packed for a year I decided to move close to water in a warm climate and work with people. I narrowed my destinations to Hawaii, California, Florida and Colorado (as a wild card). With a nation champion title in trampoline and my coaching background I could land a job at most gymnastics facilities, so I wasn't concerned about finding a job. I took off to California to stay with my great uncle Merle, who made malted milkshakes for both of us after every meal in attempts to gain weight. Not necessary for me but they were yummy nonetheless. I drove from San Diego north on the Pacific Coast Highway, expecting to stop when the feeling hit. Driving through several towns I'd heard of I started to wonder what I was doing 3,000 miles from home, aimless and purposeless. I stopped at a farmer's market in Huntington Beach and walked around, tasting strange fruit and browsing the eclectic surf shops. Drawn toward the 24-Hour Fitness I walked in and asked if they were hiring female trainers and viola! I had a job and a new town. After some 'formality' paperwork my new manager Luke asked where I was staying, and after hanging out with him all afternoon I trusted him enough to crash on his couch. I had another week before my flight left San Diego, so I decided on one night in HB, then I'd head up the coast to explore and visit my cousin in Santa Barbara. Luke warned me that his roommate would come in late and not to worry about him when he tried to make conversation. His roommate, Chad, did come in very late and made polite conversation right before he asked me if I'd like to keep him company on a drive to Las Vegas, the next morning. Carpe Diem! Four hours later we were flinging across the desert at 100 mph listening to Sting's Desert Rose on repeat. We stayed at his friend's house, ate cheap and got to know each other. When we returned two days later I got an official tour of the apartment and was curious about the poster of national team diver, Tracey Bonner, with whom I'd dove in U.S. meets. Chad wasn't a diver but the Speedo poster of the girl I dove with was his sister! This, my friends, is coincidence number one.