After the past two days’ training, I was beginning to doubt myself. Melting and dehydrating on the road to Hawi, getting buffeted by the winds grabbing the tail of my geeky aero helmet, being reduced to walking by the sun at Waikoloa, and frightened by turtles in A Bay; by the time I woke up this morning, I was tired, hungary, and feeling morose. So I went shopping.
Nothing frivolous this time; I needed laundry detergent, quarters for the laundry machines, and a new book to read. While I was eating breakfast, I had noticed half a dozen swimmers churning up the water right outside my condo, guarded by a kayaker. They were headed out to the turn around buoy, which appeared yesterday about 200 meters beyond my deck. These guys looked strong, swift, ready to fight. Made me feel helpless, so unready to race.
About 45 minutes later, on my way to get that laundry detergent, I pulled out of the alley onto Ali’i, and had to wait for a cyclist on her time trial bike to go by. She’s got a back pack on, like she’s coming back from a swim, a shock of wiry dark blonde hair, and no sunglasses to cover her wrinkled beady little eyes. It’s Chrissie Wellington! (For those of you who are not triathlon nerds, this would be the equivalent of having Tiger Woods walk by carrying his clubs.) Except I’m thinking maybe it’s not, because I thought she rides a Cervelo, and she’s on a Cannondale. Subsequent research shows she has indeed signed up with Cannondale, and thus qualifies as my first official pro sighting of this year at Kona.
A short history of her triathlon career can be found here. Remember, she’s English, so her auto-biography is a bit understated. Basically, she was an age-group triathlete for a year, qualifies to go to the short course world championships in 2006, and WINS not only her AG, but overall female. Turns pro six months later, and in less than half a year, wins the first Ironman she enters. Comes to Kona completely unknown, and bikes/runs everyone into the ground. Following year, she returns, sits by the side of the road with a flat tire for ten minutes, and still wins by over five minutes. This year, breaks the female Ironman world record by 15 minutes, and still hasn’t lost an Ironman race ever; she’s only lost two races of any distance in the last three years. She’s not like the rest of us.
Anyway, I consider that a good omen, so I gear up to drive out and bike the lava section of the route. I pass Chrissie again on her bike, now three hours after her swim, as she is riding about 4 miles out of town, all by herself, looking smooth and cool. I forget to check whether she is wearing an aero or regular helmet; she has not used an aero helmet yet in her races, and I’m hoping to get some justification for my decision to go non-aero out here, too.
Then I remember I haven’t brought my helmet! So back I go, and rearrange plans to ride instead from my condo, out to mile post 86 or so (“Donkey Crossing” – there’s a sign there that says this, although I’ve never seen a donkey.) Hop on my bike, and ride the tail wind out of town.
I’m hitting speeds up to 28-30 mph, which is about as fast as I can go given the gearing I have on my bike, when an orange train whooshes by me. Norman Stadler, winner in 04 and 06, the other two years I was here, is pulling along another biker in his wake – both dressed in blazing orange logo’d outfits. He is focused, and goes by so quick I can’t even say hi. The guy behind, who’s clearly enjoying the ride in his draft, does give me a German accented, “Hello” and nod, to which I reply in kind. And off they go UP the hill at 30+ mph while I slow to 22 or so (remember, there’s a 10-20 mph tail wind I’m riding.)
At some point, I’m going to have to turn around and face that wind. I make sure to chug the fluids this time out, and it makes all the difference in keeping my spirits up, The light cloud cover, hiding the sun but not the heat, helps as well.
So back into the mind-sapping headwinds; actually more like a right shoulder cross wind. My helmet does not get torqued like the aero one did, and I’m beginning to think I’ll go with it in the race. I pass a couple of guys on the way back, one of them a Euro-stork. Apparently he got miffed when he saw me pass him with my white beard and wrinkly neck, so he returned the favor about a half mile later.
A minute later, another big machine comes whizzing by – Miss Chrissie once again. She, like Normann, is FOCUSED – no sounds of breathing, or sign of effort, but she gives every indication that following her would be futile. I try anyway. I suspect she was starting to slow down into cool down mode, as we were only about 3 miles out of town, but somehow I’m able to stick with her in an Ironman draft, about 7 meters behind. It’s not really hard work, just about the pace I’d go in the race, so I KNOW she’s going slow. I mean, my best pace in an Ironman has been 20.75 mph; her’s is nearly 24 mph, and on this course she will average a shade under 23, while I’ll be lucky to do 19. Even so, I stay with her all the way to the turn down into town, where she sits up. I don’t want to pass her , because then she’d just roar by me once again, I know, so I noodle along behind. She knows I’m there, as I have this really noisy rear hub that clicks very loudly when I coast. It’s not a flaw – it’s designed this way, I use it as a “bell” on bike paths when I’m coming up behind someone. She scoots thru a yellow light, then slows only slightly for the two stops signs (giving me a sign its OK to turn at one of them). At the corner of Palani and Kuikini, the light turns yellow again, and she chooses Ali’i (either way would take us back to where we’re headed.)
Ali’i Drive is not the easiest road to bike on. Most people go very gingerly, as the speed limit is 15 mph, the drivers are either confused tourists or belligerent locals, and the cruise ship gawkers are constantly jaywalking. She darts in and out of the traffic flow, violating all sorts of safe cycling practices. She rides like someone who spends HOURS each day in the saddle, fully confident in her handling skills and speed control, both acceleration and stopping. I stay on the right side, using the “bike lane” which sometimes is laughably narrow, to keep up with her. I know she’s heading beyond my condo (remember, I saw her ride by it this morning), so I bear right at the Royal Kona, and silently say good-bye.
Funny thing, I’m not tired, but I am a little jazzed. I almost forget I’ve got a bit of running still to do. But reality returns as the sweat starts to pool on my skin (at 17 mph, in a 20 mph head wind, it evaporates instantly, even in this climate), and my shoes on the floor remind me to get out and stretch my legs on Ali’i one more time.
I’m thinking, “Chrissie’s swum, probably the full 2.4 miles this morning, now biked to Kawaihae and back, about 68 miles, and will probably go out for a little run. If she’s staying anywhere near here, I might see her out on the road.” If I do, no way will I be able to keep up with her; she runs 6:30 miles in the race, while I’m lucky to do 9 min miles.
I head south for ten minutes, then turn around and go back home. About half way, there she is again, flying along. She’s got very long legs, and a very long stride, matched by her very long, very sun-bleached wiry hair. And still no sunglasses, with those beady little eyes and bright wrinkly smile, looking a thousand yards down the road.
She looks so READY for this race; she is a woman on a mission. I’m sure she wants to blast through the course record for women, held by Paula Newby-Fraser, who won this race 8 times, and is justly called the “Queen of Kona”. I have no doubt she will: 54 minute swim, 4:50 bike, 2:57 run. That adds up to 8:41, plus maybe 4-5 minutes for transitions. Would break the record by 10 minutes. And probably beat all but ten of the men.
So if she’s ready, I’M ready. Thank you, Chrissie, for reminding me the whole point of this exercise is human perfection, in finding out what one’s capable of. Trust your training; trust your training.
Tonight’s pictures: above, a cruise ship (which looks like a castle or an oil rig) leaves every night at sunset; a new one returns at dawn. Below, the surfers below my deck, where I saw the kid with the dog on the boogie board.
