Sunday,
October 10 2004
The
conference starts at 7:30 Am, but thereıs no reason to sleep that late
- Iım on
West Coast time, which is three hours ahead, meaning, 7:30 = 10:30 AM.
So I
awake at about 4:15, at whatıs euphemistically known as ³0 - dark -
thirty². I
had gone to Costco on my arrival the evening before, and got $80 worth
of
Costco food: Quaker Oatmeal Squares, ½ & ½ , OJ, Zone bars,
apples, bagels, peanuts, etc. I stuff some squares , and ponder running
wear
for the dark, warm, humid morning. Sleeveless top, short bike shorts
seem to
get the nod. Out I go at 5:30, running up AliıI Drive to the pier, back
down to
the end, and home again 13.5 miles in under two hours. I donıt die
from
heat exhaustion, although that is one of the lectures at the morningıs
conference.
I do seem quite wet from sweat, and pour down endless cups of
passion/mango
juice at the morning conference. My first foray at Kona craziness seems
to have
gone just fine.
Actually,
the night before, I had a little intro to the Kona night life. I walked
down
AliıI to the pier and back (less than a mile, really), and got accosted
by some
youths on the sea wall each time, The first stroll through, some guy
wanted to
tell me that heıd been in town since May. I gave him my best Bill
Clinton
smile, a clap on the arm as we shook hands, and told him that was a
long time
for here, and went on down the street. On the way back, he and his
friends were
long gone, replaced by a duo all of 18 trying to sell ³bud² to everyone
who
passed by. I told him to be patient, when he was three times as old
(54), heıd
be into other things. I donıt think he got it. But I wondered what it
was about
me that got them going? Maybe they hassle ALL the tourists who walk by?
Or just
the older single males; quien sabe.
This
town is
FILLED with Ironman action. People running, biking, swimming all up and
down
the coast. Today, people donıt look quite so intense, but I did see Tim
DeBoom
soaking his shirt while he ran FAST along the Queen K near the Energy
Lab. And
Cameron Browne, do rag on his head, biking along AliıI drive. At last,
after
five years of reading and hearing about the hallowed places (³Kona²,
³AliıI²,
³Palini², ³Queen K², ³Hawi²), I get to see them. Iım realizing that
this trip
may purge Kona from my dreams by showing me the reality. The deeper I
get into
my athletic career as a triathlete, the more I realize that perfecting
the
training process is actually the task. Time and place donıt matter;
they flow
from the plan and effort and execution of the training.
Even
though
my bike splits are usually my best relative to the field, Iıve learned
how to
plan for and execute ³quality time² only in the run and swim. I can
easily see
the direct correlation between how much time and what combination of
effort of
each will result in what specific result come race day. Iım not so sure
about
the correlation between my bike work and my outcome. I tried to make
that a
focus for this year, but I donıt think I was able to do anything other
than
³put in the miles². The effort and the planned progress didnıt happen.
Next
year, that must change, or I might never reach whatever meager
potential I have remaining
in me.
In
the
afternoon, I loaded the mountain bike, computer, and snorkel gear into
the van,
and took off up the Queen K to find a government road advertised as
³Mountain Biking².
My bike computer read ³91F² when I took off, from elevation 435ı. The
road rose
steadily, but fairly gradually going through a series of progressive
degradations. Apparently, it is a road which accesses first some ranch
homes
close by the Kohala highway, and then cattle range farther up. About ½
way
to the top, the gravel/dirt mix gives way to a close cropped thick
grass cover
over the double track. Later, what seems like genetically enhanced
grass crowds
the road; each blade is about two inches wide and maybe 4-6ı high.
Impossible
to ride without getting swashed by the overhanging forage. After this
jungle
comes a patch of eucalyptus, and finally a higher pasture, closed off
by the
chained locked gate, leading to the final house up on the Waimea road.
After 5
miles out and 1200 feet up, time to turnaround. The trip down is
smooooth
the grass slows my progress just like powder snow on the Big Burn. A
cushy
feeling, not very helpful to prepare me for the Maui hell of Haleakula
come
Xterra race day. Just as I hit the Venture Van, the gentle rain which
started
up half way down turns into a brief but drenching downpour.
I
make my
way back down the Queen K, and head for Hopuna beach near Puako,
between
Kawaihae and Waikoloa. (I love trying to type all these names. A
Hawaiian
typewriter, of course, would have only 12 letters.) The rain hasnıt
made it
this far out to the shore, and I walk with my fins, mask and snorkel
down to
the shade side of the beach, where the guide book says the snorkeling
is best.
Of course, for me, the snorkeling is really just an excuse to swim a
bit, and
maybe see a few fish. Iım in a hurry to get back to the hotel, though,
as my
first floor room has its own private beachside deck. From there, the
surf
clumps up against a lava ledge no more than 15 meters from my door my
own
private white noise haven. And, of course, this is the Kona Coast, so
the sun
sets right in front of me. Tonight, it drops right into the ocean just
as
programmed no clouds far on the horizon hiding its final descent, a
few
stray cumuli from Mauna Loa drifting over the drop zone, and the crowds
at
Huggoıs next door applauding the quality of this eveningıs light show.
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