I avoid writing about myself here, but while Ironman 2022 is still fresh in everyone’s mind, I thought I’d set straight a story that many people don’t believe, if they know about it at all: I was in Ironman once.
I don’t talk about it much. It’s no big deal. Besides, back when I used to tell people, I remember feeling kind of awkward standing around waiting for them to stop laughing.
I mean, it’s not like I won the dang contest or anything. But then again, with thousands of contestants and only a few winners, that should come as no surprise.
It was many years ago too. I don’t even recall which year it was. I am pretty sure it was in the 1990’s. One thing I remember clearly though, was the heat. Man was it hot out on the highway. I don’t recall the number or name of that road either, just which road it was – and the heat.
In my defense, many of us who have been around here since before we had gray hair only know the highways as “the lower road” and “the upper road.” Capt. Cook is simply “mauka.” So, that may be why. However, I’m only three paragraphs in and I just forgot what this story is about, so there could be a memory issue here too.
Oh yeah, back to the story: remember, most guys in the Kona fishing community only come in contact with Ironmen while driving along the lower road, trying not to contact them. Especially not with with a truck bumper. This is harder than you might think because many cyclists seem allergic to the bike lanes. Not hitting them can be much harder than they appear to realize. Someone should let them know.
It kind of makes you wonder what sort of indoctrination race officials give the contestants before setting them free on our roads. Some lessons in Aloha might be helpful. That’s pretty basic. Instructions on the fundamentals of physics could go a long way too:
Physics 101 For Triathletes – Vehicles are primarily made of steel and weigh many thousands of pounds. Skinny people on carbon fiber bikes are no match for vehicles. End of Physics 101.
Robbie Engelhard came home the other day reporting that he had just been faced with the terrible, life threatening, split second decision of either plowing into a swarm of Triathletes, or into a herd of goats. Luckily, the decision was made for him when the bikers plowed into the goats. Robbie swerved, missed the lot of them, picked his pace back up and continued on, unscathed. He said that nobody was hurt but he did see a bike tire pop off and get caught on the horns of a billy goat. Robbie was laughing as he relayed that the last thing he saw in the rear-view mirror was the rider standing at the edge of the a’a in his cycling togs, trying to convince that goat to bring his tire back.
Maybe the athletes are too busy trying not to keel over from heat frustration to notice the mayhem that schools of bikers can cause on the streets. Come to think of it, I now remember I had salty sweat burning my eyes while out on the Ironman road, so maybe their visibility is likewise impaired. Mine sure was! In fact, I remember one section of road below Costco where I could barely make out what a runner up front was doing when he spun around, did a pirouette and then crumpled to the asphalt about 20 yards ahead of me.
Everyone just kept running. I didn’t see any aloha in that, so as I neared, I slowed while trying to understand the scene through blurry eyes. Before I could do anything to help, race officials on motorcycles were there, waving me off. Medics appeared as if out of thin air. In an instant, a helicopter was circling with a cameraman hanging out of the door. I forgot that part until now. For all of you who scoff at the mere idea of me being in Ironman, I’m pretty sure I was on TV, so that proof should exist somewhere. But I digress.
It was plainly evident that officials and medics had everything under control. The guy was sitting up too, so it looked like he had fared better than that goat with the tire stuck on his noggin. As Robbie did at his pileup, I went around the whole mess, picked my pace back up and continued on.
One other memory sure stands out from that day now. I clearly remember how happy I was when I made it to Hina Lani Street, jumped into my truck and fired up the A/C! I had only gone to the harbor to check a bilge pump on the boat. I did not remember that I wouldn’t be able to drive into the harbor until the cops stopped me at the intersection. They made me walk to the harbor, even though the racers were not then on the road. They sure were when I went to go home though!
So no, I did not win the dang contest. I didn’t even finish. In fact, I never even started, but I was fair dinkum in the Ironman, none the less. But only once. So there.