The Big Dance: Kona 2004
For anyone interested I wrote an account of my Kona experience to send to family and friends. I'm forwarding it to the herd unaltered so there aren't any specific references to the Mad Cows. So I want to start by saying how great it was to be part of this team. The enthusiasm and support were incredible. I have never been so "cheered for" in an out of town race in my life. Thanks!
I had a really hard time writing this. I couldn't find words that could adequately convey what the experience was like. But here goes...
I arrived in Kona 10 days before the race. For the first few days there were only a smattering of athletes swimming off the Kailua-Kona pier, riding on the Queen K, and running on Ali'i Drive. Most of the humanity on the streets of Kona were your average vacation destination fare. As race day grew closer the number of athletes swelled and the atmosphere became increasingly electrified. The "average" person on the street shifted to intense, finely honed, and about 5% body fat. During this time I got my first exposure to the race course, a chance to try to determine which stories I've heard about the race are "legends of the lava" and which are accurate accounts.
Day 1: The day begins with my first dip into the water off the Kailua-Kona pier from "Dig Me" beach. As soon as I hit the water all of my anxiety about an ocean swim melts away. The water is gorgeous! Warm, crystal clear, teaming with colorful reef fish. I feel like I've fallen into the Discovery Channel. There are swells but they are more soothing than stressful. Barring a major change in conditions I anticipate an enjoyable swim on race day.
I manage to successfully unpack and piece my bike back together despite my meager bike mechanic skills. At about 1:00 PM, in the heat of the day, I head out onto the legendary Queen K highway that undulates across a vast expanse of black lava beds. The weather on this day is pretty benign. A cloud cover keeps the heat in the lava fields from becoming too oppressive. I have a gentle tailwind riding out, a mildly pesky headwind on the return. The road itself is deceptive. From a car it seems fairly flat but when I go out there on the bike I learn that it never quite is. There is a stark beauty to the lava fields, the black rock contrasting sharply with the deep blue of the ocean, the light blue sky and the occasional purple wildflowers. Grafitti dots the black lava by the roadside but it's tastefully done using pieces of white coral.
I ride the length of the Queen K from Kona to Hawaikae and back, ~ 70 miles of the bike route. It doesn't seem all that difficult. My confidence goes up a notch.
The final workout of the day, a 40 minute run in the direction of the infamous Natural Energy Lab. Although the afternoon heat is subsiding, oceans of vital fluid pour off of my body. Hydrate, hydrate! Though I don't feel bad, my pace is slow. Again, though this part of the course looked fairly level from a car, very little of it is truly flat.
Day 3: This day starts by swimming halfway out on the swim course. The water is much choppier today and as I get further from the pier the swells get bigger. I go far enough out that I lose sight of the bottom in water that has 80' visibility and the water beneath me turns the most amazing deep shade of blue. On the return swim I lose sight of the pier between swells. I feel very small and insignificant, but I'm having the time of my life.
Time to check out the remainder of the bike course from Hawaikae to Hawi on the northernmost end of the island. This is supposed to be the most difficult stretch. What a difference a shift in time and space make. The landscape is greener here, more grass and trees growing on spaces between hunks of lava. The wind on this day, in this place is a whole different force than on my first day. It's a howling demon, screaming down the road from the north. The hills are steeper on this end, predominantly climbing up to Hawi. The fierce headwind and the climb slow me to a snail's pace. Periodically, unseen forceful gusts of wind burst from the mountains on my right side and I'm intermittently shoved fiercely sideways. I have to wrestle my bike to stay on the road when I'm hit by these. The closer I get to Hawi the more powerful the wind becomes. A half mile from town I laugh out loud when I have to stand in my pedals in low gear to get *down* a small hill. But, oh, when I turned around! The wind picks me up and throws me back down toward Hawaikae at dizzying speeds. This thrill ride is made into a bit of a white knuckle experience by the coexisting crosswinds trying to knock me over. I've gained a new perspective and a whole lot more respect for what I'm going to be confronted with on 10/16.
Day 7: Three short workouts to do, in race order. First a 20 minute swim from Dig Me beach. Now Kona is teaming with athletes and their friends and family. It's taken on an energy that I haven't felt at any other race venue, ever. This morning I have the privilege of joining a small group of swimmers consisting of my online coach, Mark Allen, and other athletes he's coaching. After the swim I ride the short portion of the bike course that is within Kona's city limits with my race wheels on. My bike wants to go faster than I'll let it go. Finally I drive to the entrance to the Natural Energy Lab grounds and run the mile and a half to the turn around and back. Running down is nice, a gentle descent toward the ocean with a pleasant cooling sea breeze blowing onshore. I turn around and everything changes. Now I'm grinding up a steady grade and the breeze is at my back, no longer cooling me. The perceived temperature rockets up about 25 degrees F. I feel like I'm running inside a dragon's lair with him breathing fire at my back. Then suddenly I'm all done. No more workouts. It's a strange feeling.
Day 9: The bike and gear bags have been checked in. My drinks are made up, my special needs bags stocked. Nothing more to do. The last rays of the setting sun are reflected off the ocean which looks as still as glass. The frenzied activity that has defined Kona for the past weeks grows quiet, a moment of peace and calm on this final night that is between me and the Big Dance.
0445 10/16 found me and the other athletes standing in line for body marking and access to the 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. 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 step into the unknown. But this is especially true in Kona, where the island dictates how the day will go and her rules are always changing. Mark Allen and Dave Scott, former Ironman champs with six wins each, were on the pier circulating amongst the athletes. Both wished me a good race, I felt like I'd gotten to rub Buddha's belly.
This year for the first time ever, in a controversial attempt to ensure a clean race amongst the pros, pros started 15 minutes ahead of the amateur field. The pro start was at 0645, no one else was allowed into the water until they were away. The canon fired for the first time and they were off with 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 ~100 yards in the water to the start line marked by the Body Glove boat. 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. I had at least gotten into the water, but I was still 100 yards shy of the start line when the race started. Ah well, less congestion to deal with in the early going. Even though not many people were around me in the beginning I stuck with my plan to swim wide to the turn around to stay out of traffic and avoid being beaten up. As I struck out towards the open sea I caught sight of frantic athletes leaping off the pier in my peripheral vision. Though I'm sure they weren't at all amused it did look pretty comical.
The swim was beautiful, even relaxing. The visibility was even better than it had been in the days before. The sea was pretty calm. No serious chop, just long lazy swells that lifted me upward then gently let me back down. The motion was almost hypnotic and I kept catching myself losing focus on the race and dreamily admiring the fishies darting around below me. About 1500 meters out I lost sight of the bottom and I was looking down in to the most incredible shade of blue that seemed to go on forever. I also kept losing sight of the brightly colored sail of the turn around boat between the swells. I began to feel very small, not in a bad way but in an "awed wonder" sort of way. Before I knew it, I found myself at the turn around boats. As I swam around them I could hear cheering and I caught glimpses of a crowd of spectators leaning over the railing, looking down at us, cheering their hearts out. What a trip! It was surreal.
On the return I moved over to swim more in the mainstream figuring I'd be with people swimming close to my pace by now. It was time to find some slightly faster feet to try to get a bit of a draft (legal in the swim). Having bodies close by kept my head more in the race and I swam a bit harder. I reached the pier with a smile stuck on my face. The swim had been fun. I glanced at my watch feeling like I'd had a good swim and was a bit shocked to see 1:33. Twenty minutes slower than I thought I was capable of. Ok, no wet suit, an extra 100 yards because I didn't make it to the start before the gun, some more extra yards by swimming wide...but 20 minutes?! I couldn't account for it with anything more noble than just enjoying myself a bit too much out there. Oh well, so what? It didn't bother me for more than a split second, then I let it go.
T1 was smooth. A quick rinse to get the salt water off. A long run to the gear bags where volunteers had our bags out and ready to hand to us with the help of sharp eyed spotters. Into the change tents where eager volunteers were waiting to help us switch from swimmers to cyclists. Another long run down the pier to the bike racks. Volunteers steered us right to our bike, no thinking required on our part. When I reached my bike it was out of the rack being held for me to take on the fly. Helmet, sunglasses and number on. A short run across the bike mount/dismount line and I was on my trusty wheels and off on a 112 mile journey.
The first miles of the ride were an out and back loop through the town of Kona. Throngs of cheering crowds, tons of noise. Then a short, steep climb up Palani road and a left turn on the Queen K. Abruptly the noise ceased. The world went eerily quiet. Only the sound of spinning wheels, the occasional click of a derallieur and breathing. The houses of Kona gave way to a vast expanse of black lava, the sapphire blue ocean to my left and the mountains rising up to my right. This was my first time on the Queen K in the morning and I noticed the slight tailwind I'd had in the afternoons was lacking. In fact, I noticed flags pointing toward me indicating a head wind. The further I rode the stronger the headwind got. By mile 25 it was brutal. I didn't need any flags to tell me from which way the wind blew! Palm trees were bent in half. Aid station volunteers were desperately try to hold their aid stations together while clutching their hats and loose clothing. A dropped water bottle traveled alarming distances 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 doubted 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 kicked in saying "Just deal with it." As taught by my coach, I turned negative thought into no thought and suddenly I was ok. Then no thought was replaced by positive thoughts "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 headwind but also got hit with strong, unpredictable cross gusts of up to 45 mph. Some of these gusts literally blew me and my bike across the road, even if I saw one coming (flattened grass ahead) and braced for it. 60 miles into the ride, the turn around in Hawi, a small village turned cheering section for us on race day. A brief moment of crowds and noise 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 cross gust hit. 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 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.
Physically, I was holding up just fine. I had adhered strictly to my nutrition/hydration plan and it was working. A few swallows of Accelerade (electrolyte drink with a small amount of protein) every 10-15 minutes. Half a bottle of Gatorade at every aid station (~10 miles apart). One Payday bar early in the ride. A few swallows of Ensure Plus for calories every 30 minutes from then on. One electrolyte capsule every hour starting at 90 min into the ride plus a small can of V8 for added potassium in Hawi. No plain water.
I left the silence and mystique of the lava and reentered the frenzied crowds in Kona. I was cheered in the entire final mile of the bike. T2 was more chaotic and less efficient than T1. A volunteer grabbed my bike from me. The long run to the gear bags turned out to be a blessing because when I first started to run my legs wouldn't unfold. It is the most alien they've ever felt in a bike to run transition. The long chute to the gear bags gave me time to reacquaint myself with my legs and regain the ability to run on them. I had a bit too much help in the change tent. I couldn't get irritated because the volunteers were trying so hard to be helpful. But they kept taking things I wanted and giving me things I didn't need. They saw dry socks in my bag and decided to change socks for me. Oh well. No harm done (Or so I thought*). I finally got out of the change tent and onto the run.
My ears were ringing from the screaming crowds. Friends and clubmates (Mad Cows) jumped out of the crowd to cheer me on. After a few twisting blocks I was running along Ali'i Drive. Protected from the wind it was hot and muggy. I actually kind of liked the feeling of sweat pouring off my body. I focused on my turnover and sticking to my nutrition plan. On the run I was alternating Accelerade from a handheld bottle with Gatorade from the aid stations. I continued my hourly electrolyte capsule and I had two more small cans of V8, one in T2 and the other at 30K. Powergel replaced Ensure for my calorie source and I planned one every 5 miles. At mile 10 we ran back up the hill on Palani Road, which we 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 when I reached the Queen K 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 Coke) to keep running. But I kept running. No walking. None, not even through aid stations. I feared if I allowed myself to walk a step I'd want more of it. I did have to make two pit stops but I even ran up to and away from the porta potties (which were set well off the beaten path).
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'd be reaching this point while the sun was still up. It actually did prove to be helpful, however, because it was so dark in there 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 is ~30K. Only 8.5 miles left. I was flying high. As hard as this was I was having the time of my life. Then I came upon a friend and teammate walking. I was shocked and sad to see her having such a difficult time. I told her how tough she was to keep going, most would quit. She urged me onward toward the finish saying uot;I'll get there, it's just going to take a while." Then the aid stations ran out of Coke. I was relying heavily on this easy to stomach, instant source of energy. My confidence wavered a bit as I climbed the long hill 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 Coke with Gu for sugar and took one every 2 miles. Sure it was much harder to choke down but once I got it past the pharynx and esophagus it sat in my stomach ok. 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 float along the Queen K in the pitch dark. Glowing arm and neck bands drift toward me as I approach the unseen runners that are wearing them. Gatorade, Gu. Run, run. Follow the white line marking the edge of the road, it will lead you to Kona. Run, run. The lights of Kona in my field of vision. Run, run. Turn on Palani Road. Crowds, cheering, noise. Run, run. I hear the announcer. Run, run. Turn left. Turn right. Run, run. Turn on Ali'i Drive. Run, Run! 400 yards to go, the announcer is revving up the crowd as the clock ticks toward 13 hours. Will anyone else break 13? he asks. I am coming. I know I will. Run, Run! I'm in the final stretch, 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 just a moment to take it all in. Run! Run! Across the line into the arms of my catchers. A 20 year old fantasy comes true.
...the winds became the most influential element in each athlete's outcome. Headwinds, sidewinds, 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 in the closed roads of the lava (note: 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 this year's race.