Kona 2012 Race Report
I remember reading some of John Cook’s race reports about the many times he has done Kona and two things come to mind – first, that there is something special about this place and this race (which sounds kind of corny – but, isn’t) and second, that the long flight home gives an opportunity to reflect on the experience while it is still fresh and you haven’t yet been consumed by the rapid acceleration back into everyday life and work. I’ve got 14 hours to go, so I’ll take advantage of that time to share with those who are interested … one word of caution though – this is a bit long as I write it as much to share as to capture my own thoughts so that I can remember the event as experienced.
The last time I did the Ironman in Kona was 20 years ago, in 1992. That was IM #4 and the race last Saturday was #24. It seems like a lifetime ago – in many ways it was. Samantha wasn’t born yet, I was riding a steel road bike with the original Scott aero bars and the most innovative thing in the race was having the pros use baby food for nutrition. Believe it or not, I had a better day than Oakes back then, but not by much – he’s put on the boosters since, of course. Kona has changed, I’ve changed and the race has changed. While Kailua is still very much alive with the energy of the race and the thousands of athletes and spectators who swell the local population, it is no longer a sleepy fishing village – nor, unfortunately, the center for tourism in west Hawaii. The bay is as clear and beautiful as ever, but the resorts out on the lava flats have drained the town and things like Wal Mart and Target are now part of the mix with local shops. Germans don’t wear Speedos in the grocery stores any more – the Island feel is still there, but like anything over 20 years it is different. The race has grown – both in size and in sophistication. There are more than 2,000 entrants compared to 1,500 or so and the field is both much stronger and more international … for example, 20 years ago the Japanese would come to finish, today they come to race and race well. The race organization is much more thoroughly choreographed and really impressive. We’ve done events around the world and I’ve never seen as complete an operation. Volunteers, registration, athlete flow before-during-and-after the race, aid station set-up/break-down, litter control & recycling, medical, pre and post-race banquets & entertainment - all remarkably well done. Me, the years and miles bring a different perspective … where I would usually be intently focused on performance I found myself just having a ridiculous amount of fun on what turned out to be a much harder day than I expected. Apart from nearly drowning in the swim (more on that below), I smiled all day long.
Pre-Race
Race prep coming off of IM NYC 9 weeks prior was different than usual. I planned to come into Kona “hotter” than for NYC, meaning less of a taper – for NY I had gotten over-extended in training and had to back way off – which I felt made me a little stale and contributed to some low points during that race. So, a couple weeks of rest, a couple of 100 mile rides, a relay bike leg at Toughman, five 90+ min runs and one really long run left essentially a two week taper. In Kona during race week I felt great – in fact, I had the best pre-race ride ever and felt phenomenally strong on both the bike and in the water. Running in the heat was tougher, but that was to be expected – some friendly Aussies made the one mid-day heat training run fun. The pre-race atmosphere down at the pier was electric and international. Breakfast at Lava Java after swimming in Kailua Bay, incredible bike technology everywhere, sponsors giving away all kinds of gear and everyone in race garb (Tom’s little guy asked “daddy, why are all the men wearing bikinis?”). The Queen K was alive with cyclists all-hours-of-the-day and the wind was calm. By the end of the week things had changed a bit – the pier had become noticeably more intense and it was getting gusty out on the highway.
So, I was ready … until Thursday when I unexpectedly got really chilled at the pre-race banquet – I didn’t expect Kona to be so cool and, although I should have known better, didn’t have anything with me to keep warm. I told Tom that I had to go before the pre-race meeting got underway, but the next day I just didn’t feel right – not bad, just not right and I had lost the “great” rhythm of earlier in the week. Hoping for the best, I pounded vitamin C, took a couple of Advil and tried to sleep as much as possible. That seemed to work – at least I felt better when the alarm went off at 3am on race morning. But, things weren’t completely back-to-normal. We drove down to Kona from Moana Lani (about 25 minutes), Kathy and Samantha found spot on the sea wall to watch the start and I headed into the well-oiled process sequence of getting numbered, weighed, final bike prep and the start. I weighed in at 169 – nine pounds heavier than when leaving Connecticut and probably 4-5 pounds more than expected (2-4 pound gain during a taper is completely normal as the body holds water with stored glycogen in the muscles)… not a good sign as, although I felt good, my system clearly wasn’t normal. Not alarmed, this kind of thing has happened before (although not on race day), I expected to probably have to make a major pit-stop before or during the race or work-through it during the day.
The Swim
One of the unique things about Triathlon is that the average Joe gets to race side-by-side with the Michael Jordan’s of the sport. In the old days everyone, pro and amateur, started together and, inevitably, many of the pros got pounded by the age-groupers who could swim. Those guys must have complained, because now the men get a 30 minute head-start and the pro women get 25. In the mean-time, guys like me get to warm up and float around in the Bay waiting for our start cannon to fire. The field is so large that what used to be 1,500 people jammed into the beach area at the pier is now a wide-open extended line of 1,900+ just short of the end of the pier (probably 100 meters from the beach). Having gotten boxed-in near the pier in 1992 my strategy this time was to do what I normally do – go off the front, away from the buoy line to try and avoid the frenzy. Well, that just didn’t work. First, although the Pacific is warm, we had been floating around nearly stationary for nearly 20 minutes before the sun came up and you could tell that everyone was cold – teeth chattering and visible shaking among many of the swimmers waiting for the gun. Second, since there are usually no more than 50-100 people who can get out of the water ahead of me in one of these swims, I had positioned myself about mid-field, right out front – unknowingly in what turned out to be the most congested area of the start. The gun went off and that was the beginning of a 70 minute nightmare – I got off the front fine, but I wasn’t feeling right. You just can’t swim away from this field – there are too many good swimmers. I immediately got way into oxygen debt (which is normal and requires that you stay calm and get back some extra air), but my gut was fighting me and I was getting pounded so fiercely that I couldn’t get enough air. Things calmed down only slightly as I backed-off, but by the time we got to the turnaround boat I had inhaled so much water that I could barely get anything into my lungs. Backstroke, head-up freestyle, breaststroke – nothing made the situation better. Worse, the turn brought another round of pounding as the field compressed around the turn. For the first time in my 30 years in the sport I understood why people don’t make it out of the swim … shortly after the turn it became clear that I had to do something different. So, I pulled hard to the inside, got out of the pack and headed over to the nearest guy on a surf board and asked if I could just hold on for a while (this is allowed without a DQ). I then proceeded to cough and puke the ocean out of my system. Upon seeing this a couple of the other rescuers come over and, feeling much better, I signaled to them I was ok and they backed off. I held on for a while longer until my heart rate came down. Then, back into the pack and headed back to the pier – getting only moderately pounded. I’ve never been so glad to get out of the water, and never, ever so slow (1:09, 40th in my age group) – what a contrast from NYC’s current-assisted time-trial swim (42 minutes, 45th overall).
Briefly, the next day we were speaking with an Aussie who had apparently made a thorough study of aerial photographs of past Kona swim starts and his strong recommendation was to start in same position I was in left-to-right, but let the front line go kill each other, wait and then come in behind them – based upon his analysis doing so would give you clear water most of the way and the energy you save by not beating each other up can be used to make-up the deliberate start delay at the gun if you avoid swimming directly into the pack - food for thought ….
The Bike
Kona is now a single-transition race, so the bike and run courses both have out-and-back segments in Kailua prior to heading out onto the Queen K. On the bike this leads to some congestion on Kuakini Hwy where it parallels Alii Drive near the shore. With 2,000 athletes there were a ton of drafting calls on that first 10 mile segment (Hodska, Ken Glah and others got penalties there – and these guys know what they are doing). Throughout the day the winds were a huge factor, living up to the “wind which blows both ways” Muku Muku legend. Coming out of Kona onto the Queen K we had a tailwind and pushed nearly 30mph. Out past the airport it changed to a cross-wind and by the time we got to Waikoloa at mile 30 we faced strong headwinds which built into wildly blowing gusts on the ascent into Hawi. I was still blowing ocean out of my chest and sinuses on the way out, but as I had expected, things seemed to get clear and feel much better by the turn-around. My experience in the swim was apparently not unique – an ex pro from New Orleans climbing to Hawi with me indicated that she too had gotten beaten up and had to pull out of the melee to collect herself. Hodska also took a bad shot to the head. The decent from Hawi was incredibly fast and we had some brief cloud cover as those behind us experienced light rain on their ascent. Turning at Kaiwahae and onto the Queen K the trade winds over the lava flats had reversed and were merciless – 35 miles all the way back to Kona was a small-ring grind, even standing downhill couldn’t get much more than 15-18mhp. Pounding the salt tablets and taking energy blocks plus the ever reliable Snickers Bar (melted) and pouring water over myself to stay cool I was feeling pretty good. Not as good as in NYC, where I felt fluid and powerful throughout most of the bike – but no major lows either. Leaving the barren openness of the highway, coming back to civilization and entering town is one of the unique emotional moments of this race – I don’t know why, but every time I’ve done it that is the moment where I feel like, no matter what, I will make it to the finish.
The Run
Coming off the bike the first few steps after six hours on the bike is always a shock to the legs and this Saturday was no different. But, after running all the way around the perimeter of the pier I could tell that my legs were there and they would be fine. Like the bike, this course configuration has an out-and-back along Alii Drive that is pretty flat and is unparalleled in its beauty. I’ve always thought of the Pacific along Alii in its rise and fall to appear almost as if the ocean is breathing – add spectators, the mix of athletes racing and the experience is incredible. Even better, after staying conservative for the first five miles on the outbound leg I was feeling strong and fluid. I picked it up from the turn-around and carried that pace back into town. Tom and Bruce were heading out as I came back through town where I saw Samantha and Kathy at the base of Palani Drive and gave them the “hang loose” Hawaii sign with both hands, smiling ear-to-ear. Heading up and out of town was slower but I felt strong all the way to the Energy Lab – at that point I remembered the advice of many to hold-back until mile 20 and then, if you’ve got it, to pick up the pace. John was on his way out of the Energy Lab, but not in his normal Zen mode since he waved back when we passed each other. I slowed down at mile 15 heading down towards the lab and ocean – which was a good thing – as I was starting to feel less able to push the pace into the turn-around. Picked up my special needs nutrition and hit the head on the way back onto the Queen K and tried to settle down. My core just was fatigued enough that pushing hard the last 6 miles wasn’t taking, so the road back into town was slower than my legs would have allowed and the miles ticked by as the sun began to set into the Pacific. Bruce and I passed – he looked great. Coming back towards Palani I ran by the Germans yelling “Hup! Hup! Hup!” from Hannes Hawaii Tours – Hannes did the Ironman with Lisa Loprinzo and I in 1984 and he has made a career out of arranging race travel for his countrymen to these events. We’ve seen him at events all over the world and it reminds me that, no matter how much the sport has grown, the core of it is still remarkably tight community. Coming down Palani I could see the lights from the finish and begin to hear Mike Reilly announcing people crossing the line and picked up the pace even though there is a mile or so to go at this point. Left turn on Kuakini away from the finish at the bottom of Palani, then around the back-side of the empty storefronts with only a few spectators and then making the turn onto Alii Drive – where the scene goes from near emptyness and darkness to an explosion of people, lights, noise and celebration as you approach the pier. Running under the giant Banyan tree and entering the finish chute little kids and adults are holding out their hands looking to high-five athletes running through, people are waving flags and the noise level grows with every step . The finish line is amazing – this year they elevated the finish, it was as bright as daylight, packed with people and truthfully an emotional experience. In 1984 when I did the race the first time I didn’t get a finish photo (for whatever reason) – this time they got five … and you can tell that I’m having the time of my life!
In the days following the race I was far less sore than usual and it was clear that I had lost the opportunity to have a great performance in the last days of the taper plus how I had positioned myself for the start – nonetheless, of all the IM events I have done this one was special and a terrific experience. As Bruce said, “it’s everything I thought it would be.”
We’re psyched for next year at Coeur d’Alene – that’ll be #25 and I’ll be 52 and the race is on my birthday. Doing Kona again as the 2nd IM of the year in 2013 would be #26 … I’m liking the symmetry of these numbers …
Aloha !