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.

On to the next Journal entry
Back to Kona 2006