Sunday, October 15, 2006
SUNDAY MORNING: EVERYTHING'S COMING DOWN
It's now 10:30 AM. At 7:06 by my watch, just after I'd finished
showering and getting all dressed to go to the Ironman Medical
conference next door at the Royal Kona, I heard/felt a big "BOOM", like
a distant fighter plane going thru Mach 1, or a particularly close and
isolated thunderclap. Hmm, clear sky, no planes ... then the rumbly
shaking starts.
This makes the third substantial earthquake I've been in: 6.9 in LA
1971, 6.0 Nisqually quake 2002, and now about 6.5 here in Kona. A
number of lesser quakes and aftershocks, of course, and I was in Tacoma
when Mt. St Helens blew up in 1980. So I think I know the drill. First,
you can't quite believe what's happening; then it registers, and you go
into headless chicken in circles mode. But I'm cool enough and old
enough that that lasts only a second or two now. I look for a door way
to get under. Basically, I had two options: sliding doors leading to
the deck over the ocean, or door frame leading to the open air hallway
next to the stairs. I figured being far away from the glass might be a
good thing, so I ran (three steps) towards the stairs, ripped open the
door, dropped to my knees, and pushed out on the framing. It was a
pretty good ride. All the lamps fell from the tables, books hit the
floor, cabinets opened up and spilled wine glasses, and the TV clunked
out of it's low slung cabinet, ending up face first on the floor. In
the middle of these things, there's always a crescendo, and you wonder
when it's going to reach it's peak. Until it does, you never know how
strong it will be, and there's always a fear that it will just keep
going and get REALLY big, bringing the whole structure down on top of
you. I am on the third floor; the first floor is a parking area
(designed for hurricane and tsunami waves to flow under the building?).
I was right next to the stairs leading down and away. I was just about
ready to bolt for them and race down to "solid" ground when the shaking
peaked and started to fade.
As the last shivers rocked the condos, this twenty-something blond in a
little pink terry cloth outfit goes screaming by me, clearly out of her
mind with panic.
"It's OK, it's all over now," I said in the dry calm voice I use when
talking to laboring women. No use - she was in full flight, and did not
stop until she was well clear what she assumed would soon be a
crumbling pile of kindling. I noticed she had brought her cell phone
with her.
I went down stairs, to wait for the first aftershock (almost always the
worst, which I knew would be pretty scary). On the second floor, I saw
the Kiwi Ironman standing in the doorway in his skivvies. He seemed not
frightened, but curious. I gave him a little reassuring rap about this
being "pretty strong, but over now", and headed to the earth below.
More to follow. For now, I'm OK, and the reports of damage here are
pretty minimal, except for the hospital, which may have some structural
damage. And some upcountry roads of "landslides", meaning big lava
boulders blocking them. I'll try to get more info, and include some
post-quake vignettes later today.
..........
8:30 PM. First of all, overall damage report from the Big Island.
Miraculously, there were no serious injuries, much less deaths, due to
this earthquake which was centered quite close to my current location.
It was a very deep one, 25 miles deep, and about 15 miles north of
here, right off shore from the Waikoloa resort area. Boulders were
kicked loose from hillsides and strewn across many roads. At least one
road suffered a crack perpendicular to the center line, causing about a
foot of separation. The Kona Community hospital had concerns about
structural damage, but is still open for emergencies. Elementary and
Middle schools are closed tomorrow, And, of much concern I should
think, the pier at Kawaihae - where all the goods come into this side
of the island - may have some damage and is closed until further notice.
Electricity has been restored here since 10 AM, and many stores are
back in operation. The only major disruption was the premature
departure of the daily cruise ship this morning (usually they stay
until sunset). They were asked to leave so the 1200 swarming passengers
would not overload the infrastructure at a time when it might be needed
for emergencies. Most people I've talked to report cabinets opening and
things falling out, like wine glasses. Books came down from shelves,
some TVs were dumped on the floor. That sort of thing. Basically, your
standard 6.5 quake - strong enough to scare the bejezzus out of you if
you've never been in one before, but not quite strong enough to cause
any real harm to people or property. You need to get up to about 6.9
for that to start happening.
With disaster averted, I can turn my attention to the obvious question
- OK, so what about the Ironman happening here in six days? (SIX
DAYS!!??? Omigod, I'm not ready - I've got to .... oh. Sorry; I'll save
that panic for 7 PM Friday evening.) Will the race be affected by this?
Ironman sent out an email and posted
info on its website
stating that while they of course have contingency plans in place, they
do not anticipate any change to the course or schedule. Well, that's
certainly reassuring. Besides, if Penticton, Canada can put on an
Ironman in the MIDDLE of fighting a wildfire, then West Hawaii can
certainly handle one six days after a big earthquake.
Here are my worries, what I HOPE the powers that be are assessing: what
are the roads like, particularly the one from Kawaihae to Hawi, where
the hillsides are steeper and certainly more prone to rock and
landslides? If it rains tonight (predicted), will that loosen things
even more, causing risk? What about the structural integrity of the
pier, which certainly got a good shaking around - can it handle all the
people and equipment (to say nothing of $6,000,000 worth of bikes)
required for the world's most intense transition area? The emergency
responders, specifically police and fire - are they going to be able to
provide the level of service expected? And what about the hospital?
Does it's closure present any risk?
Now, I really don't care personally about any of these things - for me,
I'm willing to take the risk. But this a multi-million dollar
undertaking, with insurance to match. The response of the insurers to
these questions is the key thing, and they tend to be, shall we say,
risk averse. If this were Xterra, I know they go ahead in a heartbeat -
it's obvious those folks have no fear, considering the bike course they
make us ride. But anything goes wrong here, well, the NBC cameras will
be there to capture it all. So I'm still a little apprehensive that we
won't get thrown a curve ball, like a two loop bike course with no hill
to Hawi. In a way, I'm glad for this sideshow, as it gives us all
something other than the race to fret about.
Today's star sighting happened at the luau grounds of the Royal Kona,
next door to my condo, where I'd gone to check on the status of the
Ironman Medical Conference, supposed to start there at 7:30 this AM.
The management was keeping guests out of their rooms, until they could
assess damage and check for structural integrity. While they waited,
the guests were served plates of fruit, which the hotel was handing out
for free on the assumption that it would all go bad soon enough without
any refrigeration. Given that ALL the power was out on ALL the islands
at that time, that was a good bet; I was assuming we were in for a
24-48 hour siege of scrounging for food and information, cut off from
the outside world with no electricity or airport service. So I sat down
on a lounge chair next to the "Hawaiian Earth Oven" - basically a
circular lava rock wall surrounding a pit of red dirt, where the pig
gets roasted for the luau. Soon, I noticed a non-descript blond lady
sitting on the wall next to me. Next to her was the ubiquitous Normann
Stadler. That guy is everywhere! I really don't mean to name drop, but
it's like you can't avoid these pros. That's one of the charms of
Ironman; imagine going to a local amateur tennis or golf
tournament and continuously bumping into Roger Federer or Tiger Woods,
there to play along with the rest of the mortals.
He was signing an autograph (on a woman's medical conference syllabus)
and trying to eat a slice of melon at the same time.
I tried a simple conversation with him, seeing as how he was two feet
away from me. "Ever been in an earthquake before?"
"No; first time."
"Scary, huh?"
"Yes"
And that was as far as we got, as the blond grabbed him and said
something in German. He smiled at me and the autograph lady, got up,
and I left him with "Good Luck!" That made him smile a bit wanly,
perhaps remembering his lack of it last year.
Whenever people wish me good luck before a race, I've always muttered
under my breath "Luck has nothing to do with it." But since I've been
here, and have been trying to assess my probable race time, I'm
realizing that, after I've done everything I can to get a good result,
luck will indeed play a part in the outcome. Since I can't provide
someone with any more or better training, a different body type, or
tell them during the race when to eat or drink, or how hard to stroke,
pedal or run, luck is the only thing left that will make a difference.
So if I'm hoping someone will have some luck, it might as well be good.
Which way, and how strong will the wind blow? Will there be an
invisible wire or small shard of glass to cut tires on the course? Will
it be sunny, cloudy, or rainy on the run? Will the waves be calm or big
in the bay? None of these things are under our control, and they will
all affect our results. I now take that "Good Luck!" as the most
heartfelt, helpful offering someone can provide me, and will try to
pass it along to all those racing with me.
Today's training outing was listed as a 50-60 minute run, at race pace;
my coaches suggested including the Natural Energy Lab as part of this.
The Energy Lab was an outgrowth of the energy crises of the 70's (in
'73, when oil shot from $2 to $10 a barrel, and then again in '79, when
it again quadrupled up to $40). The Federal Government started funding
all sorts of alternative energy schemes. This one was to test if
temperature differentials between deep and surface sea water could be
used to generate power. Needless to say the idea never took off. But
like most government programs, it developed its own constituency and
bureaucracy, and has never been mothballed.
Once the run course leaves town, it travels 5.5 miles along the Queen K
to the NELH (National Energy Lab Hawaii). The entrance is heralded by a
huge solar panel array, which emits a strange humming not unlike high
tension high voltage power lines. The route is about at its high point
here as it turns left into the lab. This service road goes straight
downhill, almost to the shore, where it turns right. A turnaround at
sea level, and we go back up again. It's about 2.5 miles down and up;
when you get back onto the Queen K, you've got about 12K (7.6 miles,
the distance of the Sound-to-Narrows race in Tacoma) to go.
One of my goals in this race is to NOT see the sun set as I'm going
down hill towards the sea in the Energy Lab. Every Ironman I've ever
done, I've finished between 6:40 and 7:33 PM. I hope I can keep this
race in that zone. If I can still see the sun when I leave the Lab, and
maybe for a mile farther, I should meet that goal. Mile marker 96 on
the Queen K would be mile 21 of the marathon; 5.2 miles to go, and I
hope to be going between 10 and 11 minutes a mile at that point. That
would give me a 6:50 PM finish; sunset at mile marker 95, 7:00 PM
finish; the top of the Energy Lab, 7:10 PM, etc. To get back to the
goal: the bottom of the hill is about mile 17.5 of the race; 8.7 miles
to go, or about an hour and a half. If the sun sets on me at that
point, I'll be doing well to finish by 7:30 PM. So it's become a key
marker for me as I obsess about the quality of my effort as measured by
time.
This is all a VERY long winded way of saying that I was out on the
Queen K, parking my car, at 4:30 PM today, set to run up the hill two
miles, turn into the Lab, go to the turnaround, and back to the car. I
was trying, as usual, to simulate the same conditions I might
experience in the race. The road on this day of disaster was almost
deserted. Looking up towards the NELH,
the lava seemed almost cool in the ocean breezes. Looking the other
way, back towards town, I could see
the effect of the recent rains are starting to affect the sparse grass
tufts along the road, turning them green around Kona at least. I made
it in exactly one hour. The sun, unlike every day for the past week
(when the clouds have come in sometimes before noon to Kona), was
shining brightly at this time of day. The air, at 86F, was nonetheless
very breezy, from the south. And the sky promised my first actual
sunset since I got here, 8 days ago.
So after the run, I headed off to Old Airport beach to catch the sunset, gathering a look at a transient
rainbow up mountain. The storm passing through is clearing the air of
volcano smoke ("vog"), and leaving us with a
little better view of paradise. A hopeful end to a day which
started so ominously.