All of your running shoes end up "red dirt" color. Ditto for your socks.

You use a stick to carry your hash clothes to the washing machine.

While driving, your eyes are scouting the hills for possible trails.

Your heart rate no longer goes up when you jump over a brown tree snake.

You spend an excessive amount of time looking at maps of the island.

You have a nice collection of trail-related scars.

You wish shoe companies would make a really good trail shoe.

You have tried (or have been forced) to run trail in boots, hi-tops, cleats, flip-flops, etc.

You can't stand NOT knowing what's over the next hill.

The floor mats in your car don't look so good anymore.

You avoid level ground and pavement.

Friends seldom ask for your advice on matters requiring sound judgment.

Your dog or cat loves to roll on your dirty hash clothes.

You look forward to the rainy season.

When you get back to your car, you're grateful the windows aren't shot out.

When "flying" (to us state-side wankers that's clueless shortcutting), you make human sounds in the shiggy to scare away wild animals.

You know what "flying stealth" means.

While on trail, the roof of your mouth has often tasted like dirt, mud, and seawater, among other things.

Some of your favorite trails required the use of your hands.

You have limped long distances to your car.

You have said, "I'm pretty sure the on-home's on the other side of that mountain."

You have seriously underestimated the distance of a trail on a map, SEVERAL TIMES!

You have been late getting to the on-home by several hours.

You have been escorted from uninhabited parts of military bases.

You habitually return when you swore you'd never do it again.