I’d forgotten how noisy it is here.
I’m back in the Hale Kona Kai, #301. The EXACT SAME ROOM I was in when I raced here in 2006. On the southwest corner of the complex, which rests on the lava’s edge at the surf line. Directly below my windows, the waves break constantly on the immobile black volcanic rock. Not the susurations of water slipping back on rippling sand, or gently curling around river boulders. No, this surf is serious and unrelenting. There is no high tide or low tide, only times when the waves break right under my deck, and times when the waves spray up into my windows.
I love it.
After landing, and renting my PT Cruiser for the duration, I attended to immediate administrative details. Buy CO2 cartridges for the race. Stop at Jamba Juice on Palani. Haul my luggage up to the room, unpack, and put together my bike (someday I should take pictures of that process, and write a blog about it.) Buy groceries, put them away.
Finally, I could get out and encounter the environment. It’s important on arrival in Hawaii for a race (I’ve done this 10 times now) to acknowledge the critical aspects of each leg. The swim is in a real ocean – swells, current, fish, tides. The bike fights wind and heat and boredom. The run encounters humidity and darkness. None of these elements are replicable in any other environment, at least not to the degree on display here.
So I ran for 40 minutes down Ali’i Drive. I used to get angry at heat and humidity. I even refused to run once when the temperature in Coeur d’Alene was in the mid nineties (a thundershower came 30 minutes after I quit – had I only known!) I have walked many times along the beach in Maui, giving up at Xterra, just wilting and not willing to persist and endure.
But ever since Sept 11, 2005, I have had a different attitude towards heat. That day, in Madison, Wisconsin, I had my slowest Ironman ever, but earned my first trip to Kona – because I just kept going, Slowly, like nearly 11 minutes a mile slowly, but I kept running. I didn’t melt, I didn’t wilt, and I got a great surprise at the end.
So now, I just … observe the heat. I marvel at the sweat which flies down my forearms and gets flicked ahead with each arm swing (only from the left arm; the right wears a wrist band.) I enjoy the breezes which seem almost cold, and the shade which hides the searing sun. (Speaking of which, the sun has just now set, at 6:15 PM.) I look forward to cooling off in water – a pool or at the beach. And I just don’t CARE about the heat. I mean, it’s not Death Valley or anything. 87F is now within my comfort zone, and is not going to defeat me ever again.
But the ocean seemed ready to defeat me. Next door to my condo, there is a little pocket beach, a couple of small squares of sand set amongst treacherous coral and lava rocks. After my 40 minute run, I walked over there wearing just my swim suit/running shorts, carrying my goggles. I gingerly stepped into the foam, watching the surfers out past the breakers. As each wave pounded the shallow bottom, I searched for soft sand footing, tracking an erratic path through the brine.
On my right, a body boarder walked briskly by. He pushed his board, on which sat a tiny Dachshund, tethered to the board by an ankle strap. (I wish I were making this up – my imagination is not that fertile, however.) He (the human) advised me to be cautious with my footing.
“Like a cat, be light on your feet. That rock can really cut you.” Then he leaned forward on the board, and kicked lightly past the surf. The dog stoically held his ground, hanging ten with his front paws.
I figured, if a dog can do, so can I. I lay out horizontal, barely clearing the spines below, and breast-stroked my way through the maze.
I usually love ocean swimming. The salt water is buoyant, and the vastness of the playground emboldens, not frightens, me. But today, I felt like I was made of molasses. My arms moved with glacial slowness, and forward progress seemed a dim hope. I managed to get about 200 meters out, turned around, and came back in, repeating my cautionary breaststroke in the last 15 meters.
As I walked back home, I felt tired, with sluggish arms and aching hips. Not an auspicious introduction to the home of Pele. Tomorrow, I’ll try Dig Me beach early in the morning, and then run into the Energy Lab late in the day. It’s all about training confidence at this point.
Tomorrow, maybe I’ll explain why my bike is in the shower.
