Saturday, October 14, 2006
SATURDAY: THE ROAD TO HAWI
When Ironman first moved to October, over 20 years ago, the event was
held on the Saturday of that month closest to the full moon. Thinking
was, it's DARK out there on the Queen K, and the later runners need all
the help they can get. Over the years, Kona became more of a standard
way station on the tourist routes, what with an airport that could
handle jumbo jets and a booming inter-island cruise ship industry
needing to unload passengers on the pier, the very location where
Ironman stages its transition zone (where all the bikes are kept). So
in 2002, the World Triathlon Corporation (WTC), in order to keep the
race in Kona, bowed to modern economic reality, and opted for a set
date for the race - the third Saturday in October.
When I qualified, way back on September 11, 2005, the race had already
been announced for the SECOND Saturday, the 14th. This seemed a little
strange, but no matter; I started researching lodgings and plane
reservations. On Nov 1, the first day I could make the condo
reservation, I secured this absolutely ideal seaside location. You can
not get any closer to the water without being in it. My lanai sits out
over the lava rocks on which waves crash incessantly, sending spray
against the sea wall protecting the building from the breakers, and
getting my screen and deck all wet at high tide. The noise was fun at
first, but now, it's starting to drive me batty. Like a gusting
rainstorm in the winter at home in the Pacific Northwest, or living by
the Santa Monica Freeway in LA - always rush hour. Life should be
filled with such trials!
Luckily, I couldn't cash in my frequent flier miles until nine months
in advance of flying, because in early 2006, the WTC sent out a cryptic
announcement saying the race was moved to October 21st (the third
Saturday). They included some PR prose about wanting to be a good
community citizen in Kailua-Kona, and alluded to previously scheduled
tourist activities here. I think somebody at WTC just read the calendar
wrong, and they were too embarrassed to admit it.
So, today outside my window is this cruise ship
which is taking up the pier space on our original date. So what would
the weather have been like on the original race date? Pretty mundane -
temp in town 86, out in the lava a bit higher, west winds about 7-10
mph, and clouds with maybe a spot of rain in the evening at the Energy
Lab for the run. Just what I've been training for. Instead of a race,
though, I got to do one more serious training ride - 2-3 hours, with
the route to be Kawaihae to Hawi and back. This part of the course lies
in the rain shadow of the Kohala mountains, and contains the only real
climbing of any note. Kawaihae, being a port city, is naturally at sea
level. The small town of Hawi is around 650' elevation, 18 miles away.
Most of the climbing, from 250 to 650', takes place after mile 11;
prior to that, there are 8 miles of "rollers" preceded by a 3 mile rise
up from Kawaihae.
My goal today was to make the round trip in as close to 2 hours as I
could. I squeaked in at 2:02. The best part of the ride was being
chased downhill by the Eagle Lady, Natascha Badmann. I left Hawi about
5 minutes ahead of her, and she never caught me. She must have been on
cruise control; she's won here 6 times, and should gain around 10
minutes on me for every hour I travel. Her coach/life partner kept her
as closely wrapped as a cocoon; she was riding in the middle of the 3-4
foot wide shoulder, while he was riding just behind her, right on the
fog line, forcing any cars coming up from behind to move wide right -
no reason to put his $100,000 baby in any kind of jeopardy. At 39, she
still is one of the favorites to win again this year.
This section of the route is definitely the most scenic. The turnaround
is at the far northern tip of the island; down at sea level there is a
small airstrip called Upolu. Think it's windy
there? These cows have a great view of
Haleakala on Maui. In both of these pictures, Maui is the dark
crescent, draped with clouds just above the horizon. A little further
down the road is Kapa'a park, where I found what appeared to be an old road made of hand-stacked lava stones. This
road had a level grade, just like a railroad bed, with stones filling
the depressions and a primitive cut in the
hillocks. I wonder if Kamemeha, the great Hawaiian King who united the
islands just before the haoles came, had this road built to carry
stones for the giant altar he had built around the bend, built at the
direction of the gods, he said, so they would grant his conquering army
victory.
The lower reaches of this section of the course have an almost Serengeti feel to them, with
sparse, dying trees widely interspersed in great tilted fields of tawny
dead grass. Here's a look at one of the "rollers"
coursing through this sere landscape. The contrast with the lava fields is subtle, but real.
Once back in Kawaihae, I pumped up hill to Kamemeha's stunted pyramid,
where I'd parked, stowed my bike in the trunk, and drove 6 miles to
Waikoloa Road, where I wanted one more effort into the wind, across the
lava flats. It was blowing meekly today, at about 7-10 mph I judged;
when I did my transition run over the same route, I felt still air with
the wind at my back, meaning I was going the same speed as the wind - 7
mph. Which, by the way, is a very uncomfortable way to run when it's 91
F in the tropical noonday sun - no apparent breeze to cool you off.
The bottom line today: 47 miles in 2 hours and 40 minutes, at slightly
less than race pace, with who knows what similarity to race day
conditions. I reflected back on my conversation with the paper man
yesterday, when we touched on why people are drawn to THIS Ironman.
Ironman racing, of course, got its start in Hawaii, and for its first
decade of existence was pretty much synonymous with the race on the Big
Island. Whenever one of us triathletes reveals our avocation to a
non-participant, there are usually two responses: "Oh, I don't think I
could do the swimming", and "Have you done the one in Hawaii?" There's
no question THIS race means Ironman and triathlon to the world at
large, and it certainly means everything to the best triathletes in the
world. They are all here, competing for first place money of over
$100,000.
Between all the qualifying races and the lottery, there must be close
to 70,000 people trying to get here every year. Only 2% make it, and
that's 2% of the people who are able to swim 2.4 miles, bike 112, and
then run a marathon. If all these people, the pros, the public at
large, and the triathletes themselves are anointing THIS race as the
ne-plus-ultra of our sport, who am I to argue with them? Like many
triathletes over the age of 45, I was led in 1979 to this quest, when
golf writer Barry McDermott, covering a tournament in the islands, got
wind of this crazy race, on Oahu then, and decided to see what it was
about. Ever since I read his article in Sports Illustrated, I had no
doubt that this was some kind of pinnacle of effort, one worth making a
stab at, to find out one's limits and capabilities.
The distances, the environmental conditions, and the level of
competition, combined with the location in the middle of nowhere, make
this event, for those of us who pursue this sport, worthy of a supreme
effort in preparation, mental focus and emotional engagement. Starting
tomorrow, I suspect the building buzz in this town, as we all come down
from our training induced stupors into the white heat of our rested
race ready peak, will be enough to light the moonless night one week
from now.