Thursday, October 26, 2006
HERE TODAY, GONE TO MAUI
TUESDAY
Cheryl is still doing her "low light interiors", working with film and
ambient light indoors, for her current class. She's in the certificate
program at the Seattle School of Photography. Personally, I think she
should be teaching some of the classes. An example of her work can be
found here, the website
showcasing her work at the Purdy women's prison. She's grown enamored
of the little Hawaiian churches from the 19th century, and wants to try
her camera out in the "little blue church", which lives up to its name.
It is VERY little, and quite blue. Right on the water's edge at one of
Kailua's best snorkeling spots, it also serves as the first turnaround
for the Ironman marathon.
On our way from the parking lot to the church, I see a rugged guy in a
Speedo, getting out of the water with two blonds in tow. It's Mitch
Hungate, with his wife and sister. Mitch is a dentist from Lake
Tapps/Sumner, WA. He has been into triathlons for far longer than I,
doing shorter races until last year. He's 2.5 years younger than I, so
we compete against each other half the time. He's probably a little
faster than I am, when he decides to train. I feel kind of responsible
for him being here. Two years ago, we were talking about our results,
and he noted he had won his age group in a recent half ironman. His
time showed that, unlike most people, he did not go too much slower
when he went longer, especially on the bike. I convinced him to enter
Couer d'Alene, where he just missed the Kona cut-off, and signed for
this year. He finished fifth in the 50-54 age group, and got the first
roll down slot. His sister was so convinced he would qualify, that she
had reserved a condo on the beach months earlier.
I have a knack for finding the people I'm closest to in the race just
before the start of the swim, and this time was no exception. After the
pros took off, I meandered down the steps from the pier into the water,
and aimlessly drifted left and out into the water, adjusting my goggles
and cap in preparation for hitting a few strokes to make my way up to
the deep water start. Just as I find my spot to get horizontal, there's
Mitch!
We shake hands, and then, because this is THE Ironman, and everyone is
lonely and absurdly nervous, we hug, to support each other and
recognize the fear. Then Mitch goes into his rap.
"How're you feeling? I'm just looking to go easy, take the swim wide
like I always do wide on the far side, then treat it like a training
day, and just see how I feel. I'm not gonna push it to hard."
I know this is a bunch of crap, because he says this before EVERY race,
and he RACES HARD every race. Sounds like HE's ready to go.
"Right. Just stick to your plan. Good Luck!," I say, with all sincerity.
Anyway, here was Mitch on Tuesday morning, at the beach next to the
Blue Church, with his entourage, getting ready to extend their vacation
later this day on Maui.
"So how'd you do, Al?"
"I feel real good with how I did; I got a personal best on the marathon
for an Ironman. My biggest fear was that I would blow up, and not
finish strong, and I didn't do that, so I'm OK. You looked strong each
time I saw you." I'd seen him in the out and backs along Ali'i and The
Queen K.
"Right, you know, I felt good there at the end. I just seemed to roll
along even though I was struggling on the run." "Struggling" means he
had the same time I did.
"I've still got the Xterra coming up. I checked, and I think I'm the
oldest person who has a chance to finish both."
"Oh, yeah, that's right. When is that; where is it?"
"Sunday, at the Maui Prince, in Makena. It's easy to watch; it's a lot
smaller than Ironman, and everything is all in one spot, and open to
everyone. It starts at 9 AM; the pros'll finish at 11:30, and I'll get
in at 1 o'clock, plus or minus."
"Well, we might try to watch that - we'll be on Maui then."
We say good bye, until the next triathlon, when we'll be competitors
again. I bounce into the bay for a little more snorkeling, until Cheryl
finishes up her pictures.
We spend the rest of the day on an auto tour of northwest Hawaii,
through Waimea onto Hawi and Kapa'a. Each time we stop for food, at
lunch and again for ice cream, I get gushes from the server for doing
the race. My finisher's polo brings me good vibes all day. No post
ironman depression (PID) for me.
WEDNESDAY
Today, I've got to get back into a minimal "training" mode, as I do
have a race coming up in 96 hours - the Xterra Off-Road Triathlon World
Championship on Maui. I'm one of less than 50 people (out of 500 in
Xterra and 1780 in Ironman) who are doing the "Double" - both big races
in Hawaii, a week apart. When I packed my mountain bike for the trip, I
noticed that I hadn't even put it back together from the LAST time I
came back from the Xterra on Maui, a year ago. I reflected that I've
done ONE mountain bike ride all year since then, in August in Colorado.
I wonder if I'll still be able to function on my dual suspension
Specialized Epic. Mountain bike racing and cycling 112 miles in an
Ironman are as different as cross country and downhill skiing. They use
similar appearing tools with similar sounding names, but one is all
about endurance and repetitive, consistent action, and the other is all
about fighting gravity with repeated burst of anaerobic strength and
skill based maneuvers. I'm hoping I won't forget how, hoping that it'll
be "just like riding a bike".
I try a twenty minute swim off the pier, and that goes well - I feel
strong, and certainly confident that I can manfully swim 1500 meters
without too much strain (Ironman is 3800 m). Next, I take my Epic up
the Queen K, and start down the lava road to the shore. It's an hour
plus, in 96-100F cloudless noon time heat, along the unforgiving black
rock lava route along the ocean's edge. I don't fall down, and shift
gears without thinking, so I guess it IS just like riding a bike. We'll
see on Sunday.
In the afternoon, my last here in Kona, I go down to the splashing
seawall. Hawaii tourism officials have placed on of those little
Kamehameha statues signifying a point of interest right on the finish line. I try to capture it in the
fading afternoon light, with the Royal Kona, looking
like a giant Hawaiian war canoe, looming in the background. My
condo is that little patch of light right on water's edge to the right
of the hotel.
THURSDAY
Travel day. The flight from Kona to Kahului, Maui's airport, takes 30
minutes, but it takes me 4.5 hours, condo to condo. First, wait in
Kona's cute little "green" airport (being all outside, it uses no
electricity for heating or cooling) for 45 minutes after surprisingly
quick security line. Next, wait 20 minutes for luggage, then another 30
minutes in line at Dollar to see rental car agent. Spend 10 minutes
preparing car to accept giant double bike box, and another 15 minutes
basically waiting at stop lights along the way to Kihei/Wailea/Makena
on Maui's west coast. And that doesn't count all the usual lines and
waits and drives to and from airport. But who's complaining. After all,
I'm doing all this waiting in beautiful HAWAII. I've been here almost
three weeks. I'm starting to feel like a local.
Once I get settled, I amble across the street for the sunset. These
alone are worth the price of admission here on Maui. The whole vacation
side of the island faces west, into often cloudless skies. Small
islands (Lanai, Molokai, Kahoolawe, Molikini) dot the seascape. Gentle
sand beaches abound, often defined by coconut palms and lava outcrops.
There is much less vog (volcanic smoke) clouding the atmosphere here
than in Kona. There are no cruise ships or working fishing boats in the
way. Just pure reliable sunsets.
This is my sixth year here now, coming back to Maui for the Xterra
World's. I don't want to feel jaded by the view, so I try to frame a
new image of the sun and sea merging together.