With my departure for my annual pilgrimage to Kona just around the corner I find myself reflecting on the first time I made the journey.
The Big Dance
0445 10/16/04 found me and the other athletes standing in line for body marking and access to the Kailua-Kona pier that would be the staging area for the race start and both transitions. My swim cap and timing chip were my admission tickets to the Dance. Dozens of volunteers, using big rubber stamp numbers and ink pads, carefully applied race numbers to our arms and legs. As we filed from the body marking tent to the pier our chips were scanned, recording all who crossed that first timing mat as official starters. I had made it.
On the pier athletes busied themselves with last minute preparations: pumping tires, filling bottles, placing nutritional needs into drop bags. The atmosphere was intense, focused. What little conversation that could be heard was carried out in hushed tones and in many languages. Expressions on the faces around me were a mixture of eagerness and fear as each person visualized what lay ahead on this day. Starting an ironman is always, at least in part, a leap into the unknown. But this is especially true in Kona, where the Island dictates how the day will go and her rules are constantly changing. Mark Allen and Dave Scott, former Ironman World Champions with six wins each, were both on the pier circulating amongst the athletes. After receiving good luck wishes from both, I felt like I would surely be blessed with the best of luck.
This year, for the first time ever, in a controversial attempt to ensure a clean race for the pro women, the pro start would be fifteen minutes ahead of the age group field. The pro start was at 0645, no one else was allowed in the water until they were away. The canon fired for the first time and the pros were off to the roar of the crowd. There were now less than 15 minutes to get 1700 athletes into the water from the narrow strip of sand known as Dig Me Beach and out about 150 meters in the water to the start line. There was no way to pull that off. A huge bottleneck at Dig Me Beach left a fair number of athletes stranded on the pier or just making their way into the water when the canon fired for the second time at 0700. I was relatively lucky and had at least gotten my feet into the water, but was still 150 meters shy of the start line when the race started. Ah well, I had less congestion to deal with in the early going. As I struck out toward the race course and the open sea I caught sight of frantic athletes leaping off the pier in my peripheral vision. I don’t think the race organizers will be making that mistake again.
The swim was beautiful, even relaxing. The visibility was even better than it had been in the practice swims the days before. The sea was calm, no serious chop, just long lazy swells that lifted me upward then gently let me back down. The motion was hypnotic and I kept catching myself losing focus on the race and dreamily admiring the colorful fishies darting around below me. Around three quarters of the way out I lost sight of the bottom and I was looking down into the most incredible shade of deep blue that went down into forever. The brightly colored sail of the Fairwinds, the boat at the turn around, would alternately appear and disappear between the swells. I began to feel very small, not in a bad way, but in an “awed wonder” sort of way. Then I was at the turn around and as I swam around the boats marking the turn suddenly there were spectators, people leaning over the railings, looking down at us, cheering their hearts out. What a trip! It was surreal to encounter a cheering throng in the middle of the ocean.
On the return I was able to bring my focus back onto the race. It helped that I was now in the mix with people swimming close to my pace. It was time to find some slightly faster feet to try to get a bit of a draft. I swam harder coming back. I reached the pier with a smile stuck on my face. The swim had been a blast! Feeling like I’d had a great swim, I glanced down at my watch and was shocked to see 1:33. OK, no wetsuit, an extra 150 yards swum because the canon fired just as I was entering the water, some extra yards because I swam a bit wide…but 1:33?? I couldn’t account for the slow time with anything more noble than just enjoying myself a little too much out there. Oh well, so what? It didn’t bother me for more than a few seconds, then I let it go.
The first transition was smooth. A quick rinse to get the salt water off. A run to the gear bags where volunteers had our bags out and ready to hand off with the help of sharp eyed spotters. Into the change tents where enthusiastic volunteers were waiting to help us switch from swimmers to cyclists. Another run down the pier to the bike racks. Volunteers steered us to directly our bikes, no thinking required on our part. When I reached my bike it was out of the rack being held for me to grab on the fly. A final run across the bike mount/dismount line and I was on my trusty wheels and off on a 112 mile journey into the lava.
The first 10 miles of the ride was an out and back loop through the town of Kona. Throngs of cheering people, tons of noise. Then a short, steep climb up Palani Road (Pay and Save Hill) and a left turn onto the Queen K. Abruptly the noise ceased. The world went preternaturally quiet. Only the sound of spinning wheels, the occasional click of a derailleur, the sound of my breathing. The buildings of Kona gave way to a vast expanse of black lava, the sapphire blue ocean to my left and the mountains rising up to meet the sky on my right. This was my first time on the Queen K in the morning and I noticed that the tailwinds I’d had riding here in the afternoons was lacking. In fact, I noticed flags pointing toward me indicating a headwind. The further I rode the stronger the headwind got. By mile 25 it was downright brutal. I didn’t need any flags to show me from which way the wind blew! Palm trees were bent in half. Aid station volunteers were desperately trying to hold their aid stations together while clutching their hats and loose clothing. A dropped water bottle travelled an alarming distance before coming to rest. Thankfully, my bike computer was disabled so I couldn’t see how badly the wind slowed me. I panicked momentarily. I questioned my ability to ride so far in this kind of wind, even though I train in the windy central valley of California. Then a calmer voice took over, saying “Just deal with it!” As taught by my coach, I shut up the negative chatter in my brain, turned negative thought into no thought and suddenly I was ok. Then, in that space of no thought, positive thoughts found their way in: “I don’t mind wind. I like wind. Bring it on! Come on Hawaii, show me what you can do, hit me with your best shot!” And she did! When we turned toward Hawi we continued to be hammered by a fierce headwind but also got hit with strong, unpredictable cross gusts. Some of these bursts from the side literally blew me across the road, even if I saw one coming (flattened grass or swerving cyclist ahead) and braced for it.
The turn around in Hawi, a small village turned cheering section for us on race day. Mingling with the roar of the wind the sounds of cheering and cowbells as I approached the turn. A brief moment of crowds and cheering that quickly faded behind me as I headed back down toward the Queen K and the lava. For a short time there was a tailwind, but it couldn’t be fully taken advantage of because there was the matter of trying to hold my bike on the road when a gust punched me from the side. It did give me a break from the feeling of grinding against a force trying to push me backward, a short rest for the legs. At Hawaikae the tailwind disappeared and with 30 miles to go the wind shifted. I found myself once again riding against the wind. It’s really true! There is a headwind in both directions! This had the potential to be a very long 30 miles…more headwind and now very hot. It was time to turn the brain off again and just pedal.
I left the loud silence and mystique of the lava and re-entered the frenzied crowds in Kona. Nonstop cheering for the entire final mile of the bike. T2 was more chaotic than T1 or maybe my perception was altered after so many miles of heat, wind and lava. A volunteer grabbed my bike from me. When I first started to run my legs and torso wouldn’t unfold. It was the most alien my body has ever felt transitioning from bike to run. The long run to the gear bags gave me a little time to re-acquaint myself with my legs and regain the ability to run on them. I had a bit too much help in the change tent. Volunteers were trying hard to be helpful but kept taking things I wanted and handing me things I didn’t need. Bless their hearts, they changed my socks for me but in the process, I later learned, removed my timing chip rendering me untrackable by friends and family. I finally got out of the change tent and onto the run.
During the first half mile my ears were ringing from the screaming crowds. Friends and team mates jumped out of the crowd to cheer me on. After a few twisting blocks I was running along Ali’i Drive. ALI’I DRIVE!!! Protected from the wind it was hot and muggy. I found I liked the feeling of sweat rolling off my body, it felt like a spiritual cleansing. I focused on my turnover, drumming a steady beat with my feet.
Around mile ten I ran back up the hill on Palani Road that I had biked up so many hours before and back out onto the Queen K for one more trip into the lava. The sun was getting low and heat was no longer a major factor. It was still warm and muggy but had lost the potential to be debilitating. I was running a bit faster than I had at Coeur D’Alene, I could feel it, but I was also closer to the edge this time. The bike ride had definitely sapped my reserves and by midway through the run I was relying on a pretty steady supply of sugar in the form of cola to keep the engine running. But I kept running. No walking. None. Not even through aid stations. I feared if I allowed myself to walk I’d want more of it.
Darkness had settled in fully by the time I made the turn toward the Energy Lab. I had to laugh at myself running to the Energy Lab a few afternoons earlier in the heat of the day to see what it would be like. What was I thinking? There was no way I would be reaching this point while the sun was high in the sky. It actually did prove to be helpful, however, because it was so dark in there that it was like running into a black hole. At least I had a mental picture of where I was going and I knew what to expect in there.
The turn around at the Energy Lab. I was flying high. As hard as this was I was having the time of my life. Then I came upon a team mate, a pro, she was walking. I was shocked and a bit sad to see her having such a difficult time. I told her how tough she was to keep going when most pros would have quit. She urged me onward toward the finish line saying “I’ll get there, it’s just going to take a while.” I left her and ran on but spirit a bit damped. Then the aid stations ran out of cola. I was relying heavily on this easy to stomach instant energy source. My confidence wavered as I climbed the long grade away from the Energy Lab. My mantras came back to rescue me – “Deal with it.”, “Turn negative thought into no thought.” Deal with it: I replaced cola with GU, harder to choke down but worked just fine once in the stomach. Turn negative thought into no thought: I let my mind go quiet, thought no further than my next step and opened my senses to my immediate surroundings…
I am floating along the Queen K in the pitch dark. Glowing arm and neck bands drift toward me as I approach the unseen runners who are wearing them. Water, GU. Run, run. Follow the white line marking the edge of the road to guide my feet. Run, run. The lights of Kailua-Kona in my field of vision. Run, run. Turn on Palani Road. Crowds, cheering, noise. Run, run. I can hear the announcer. Run, run. Turn left. Turn right. Run, run. Turn onto Ali’i Drive. Run! Run! Mike Reilly is revving up the crowd as the clock ticks. Will anyone else break 13 hours? he asks. I am coming! I know I will! Run! Run! I’m in the final stretch. The clock ticks towards 13 hours. The crowd roars. Arms reach out to high five me, to touch me. I reach back. I throw my arms in the air. I stop for a moment to take it all in. RUN! RUN! Across the line into the arms of my catchers, my angels. A 20 year old fantasy comes true.
“…the winds became the most influential element in each athletes’ outcome. Headwinds, side winds, headwinds, tailwinds, more headwinds…it was never NOT a factor. Slow times? Just add wind. Demoralized athletes? Just add wind; ever present, pushing, shoving wind that forced everyone to concentrate on holding a straight line the entire bike ride. Forget finding “the zone”. Space out for even a moment and a swirling unseen shove can make you look like a drunk trying to tackle a sobriety test…It only takes a quick glance at the carnage to get an idea of what really went on out there on the closed roads of the lava (29% of the pro field and 12% of the amateurs failed to finish, the highest drop rate in race history). And when crossing the line demands focus of such extreme proportions, that singular task placed finishing on this day squarely in the realm of purely extraordinary.”
-Mark Allen on the 2004 Ironman World Championships
