Hula Hoop Girl video

This is circus style hula hooping. I'm not an expert, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this girl is pretty good at it.
SHE'S THE HULA HOOP Lady of Granby Street, an oasis of familiarity in a city of strangers.

Hang out with her for a while, and you get an idea what her day-in, day-out routine means to people, there in the grassy median near Norfolk's bustling Wards Corner.

"Hey, Hula Hoop Lady!" waving passengers yell. More waves come from passing fire trucks; horns toot from delivery trucks.

A reader wrote The Warrior, asking for the Hula Hoop Lady's "back story," and readers have weighed in since.

"I miss her when I don't see her out there, and I wonder about her welfare," wrote Bev Allen. "It is a relief to me when she shows up again to Hula Hoop."

"I've met a lot of friends through this insanity I'm exhibiting," the Hula Hoop Lady says.

The Hula Hoop Lady is Pamela Brown - Pamela, not Pam - and she speaks with a machine-gun delivery, no pauses.

She rises at 3 a.m. What does she eat for breakfast?

"Ocean perch, baby butter beans cooked halfway in the microwave, potato salad, all-natural grapefruit juice, oatmeal, chewy Chips Ahoy cookies, nutty bar with all-natural no-sugar salt, peanut butter, hazelnut spread, low-fat milk."

For questions she's used to answering, she has prepared responses.

Why does she work out so much?

"You've got to work it all to keep it small."

Is there any weather that keeps her inside?

"I prefer to shiver instead of simmer."

Ask her about the walking route she takes every day, after she sets down her hula hoop.

"From ODU to Lynnhaven Mall, the amphib base to NOB, my feet are faster than HRT."

It's true. Try following her; you'll be jogging.

Yes, she's a character. But it's a crafted identify, something that evolved from surviving severe physical trauma.

In her 1977 Deep Creek High School yearbook, Pamela Brown is a fresh-faced senior, an "A" student with her sights on medical school.

The day of her prom, her Dodge Dart was struck by a tractor-trailer. She spent weeks in a coma.

When she emerged, she had to relearn everything - walking, speaking.

She was left with permanent brain damage, which manifests itself in short-term memory loss and seizures.

The medical school dream was gone.

Says Pamela: "To treat a patient, you've got to remember which one's yours."

In her rapid-fire delivery, she'll tell you the dates and

addresses of all the apartments where she has been placed.

For the past few years, she's lived in a small apartment off Cromwell Parkway, modestly furnished, notable for the plethora of worn sneakers and empty shoe boxes. She feels lucky to have the place - though the solitude she feels when she's there is part of what drives her to the median.

But don't feel bad for the Hula Hoop Lady.

Feel inspired.

She couldn't control what happened to her mind, so she funnels her energy into her body, which she can control.

"This is intelligent, common-sense aerobics," said Pamela, who's 48. "I refuse to be an upside-down ice-cream cone."

She has five hula hoops. The smaller they are, the harder you have to work, she said.

The largest one, made of PVC pipe, was given to her by a passer-by. Pamela remembers the woman's name: Chelsea

Terlesky.

"One of the quality people I've met out here," she says.

What would she like people to do when they pass by?

Wave? Please.

Honk their horns?

"It's cool when they beep, but I don't want to disturb the neighbors, so I won't promote beeping."

Stop and talk?

"I'd love that."
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