If you are hoping that this is going to be a travelogue extolling tropical sun, island rhythms, best places to see and where to eat great food and drink exotic beverages, then walk on by. You best give this a pass, because while I did indulge in all of those things during my time on Maui, they serve only as the backdrop to this story.

My wife and I have been to Wailea, Maui five times now. We became engaged there and we were married there, just the two of us and a conch blower with a minister, on Maleaka beach at sunset. We have sentimental connections to the place. The first time we were there, in 2004, I was in a health food store my first night and, while browsing the aisles for a few organic fruits, I noticed a man who would have forever escaped my notice except for one thing. Wearing nothing more than a pair of small, faded red shorts, this man had the body of a tanned, youthful, lean and fit 18 year old topped with the head of a 75 year old maharishi. His white, scraggly beard flowed to his chest and his gray hair burst from his head like a windblown birds nest. The combination of the two disparate elements fascinated me. How could a man apparently that old be so remarkably fit? I was intrigued, and envious as hell.

Off and on, for the next few days, I happened to see this fellow, mostly when I was going for my runs along the beach in the mornings. He was always alone, appearing reflective, contemplative, serene. Occasionally, he would wander waist-deep into the ocean with bright yellow, over-sized shin guards on his legs, and just walk up and down the shoreline. I could see that this was a method of exercise, as the shin guards created drag against the water and required effort to walk. But it did not seem to me that, unless he did this 24-7, this would account for his remarkable build.

Over the next few years, sure enough, each time we were in Maui I saw this same fellow. He always looked the same. I decided I had to talk to him. One morning, when I finished my beach run, I approached him and introduced myself. I told him my story, and asked him to reveal his secret to youthful fitness. He looked into my eyes, soulfully, for a great, long while and then said

“You are a smart man. I will tell you the answer.”

Now, that might grab your attention as you read this, but if you actually HEARD it, as I did on the beach that day, you would have thought you were a victim on Candid Camera, because the words were right out of Gibran but the accent was unmistakably Brooklynese. The words with the accent were equivalent to the bearded face with the fit body. I didn’t know whether to laugh, genuflect or run like a turkey. At any rate, being a courteous fellow, for the next 30 minutes I politely listened to his tale as he described his pathway to enlightenment with all the delicacy and nuance of a New York butcher detailing the attributes of a pork loin. In essence, his dietary secrets revolved around a special type of canned sardines (“You can get it for undah a dollah at the health food stoah”) and making certain that his bodily PH factor remained a consistent 62 %.

And yes, he alluded to the end of the world and who will be chosen to follow him when that happens.

At the appropriate moment, I made my excuses, thanked him for his advice and expertise and made my way back down the shore. I never did go back that way again for the rest of my vacation.

Still, he was remarkably fit.