Honolulu – The Best, Worst Run of My Life

Honolulu – The Best, Worst Run of My Life

On Monday I ran for the first time since the Honolulu Marathon; it has been more than 20 days since that grueling, best, worst run of my life. 

The Honolulu Marathon is one of the most fun races I have ever done, both times. However, this year was little different. I didn’t train as well as I should have and was completely unprepared for the drastic weather change from Alaska to Hawaii. My last training run in Alaska, was at 15 degrees Fahrenheit; 17 degrees below the freezing point. My next race, the Honolulu marathon, reached a high of more than 85 degrees. It was awful. I watched people being loaded into ambulances, people cramping up due to dehydration, and people stopped at every hydration station looking for something to cool their blistered lungs. I didn’t hesitate to stop at each one myself. It’s lucky there were so many. 

The race started at 5am with a burst of fireworks and a sudden wave of energy that moved the crowd of more than 22,000 forward. It was one of the best feelings in the world. I began my journey about a half-mile away from the starting line; it took close to 20 minutes to get all the way to the front where I could actually start running.

I end up mixed in with all levels of runners at the start of every race. There are kids, old people, walkers, joggers, and even people in costumes; everyone seems to be in my way. The beginning of a race is where a runner makes or breaks a run. Far too often I let my competitive nature overtake me; I end up wasting energy trying to zigzag my way through the crowd of runners I believe are just obstacles blocking my big finish. As I attempt to progress past the flocks of people, I try to memorize what they are wearing, and what they look like. I don’t want anyone that I worked so hard to pass, to pass me later. Unfortunately when I do this, by mile three I already begin to feel my muscles protest. I spent the first mile trying to pass as many people as possible; had I been more patient, I would have passed all those people anyways, and it wouldn’t have cost me so many important calories.

***

The best parts of the race are the sections of the course that are actually in Honolulu. The city, although mostly asleep, is there to greet me with the warmest smile. Officers stand in intersections blocking traffic just for me, and as I run by I shout out “Thank You,” or maybe “Mahalo.” Fans line up along the dew covered sidewalks yelling things in Japanese that I can’t understand, but somehow I know they’re words of encouragement. At this point in the race, my energy level is still very high and everyone seems so excited about running 26.2 miles in a Hawaiian paradise. As the sun begins to rise, my mood begins to change. As the temperature climbs, and the day grows brighter, runners grow weaker, even the fans seem a little less energetic.

As I exit the major hubs of the city and begin to climb the hills surrounding Diamondhead I can see the ocean and feel the cool breeze coming off the sea. I transcend the sweat, heat, and pain, and remember I am in Hawaii, the tropic trophy of the Pacific. Gradually, transcendence slips back to reality and that trophy begins to tarnish in the heat. After 13 very long miles, my lack of proper training, and the elements overcome me. Unable to run any further, I walk.

Exhausted, and a little dehydrated, I still have a lot of hope and drive inside me. I am determined to finish the race. From time to time, I muster the energy to sprint a short distance. Blisters form on my toes and the balls of my feet. My shoes are soaked with water and sweat. My heavy shirt and underpants chaff me raw. Pain. Fatigue. I want to quit. I want to throw myself down to the ground and sleep, but I don’t.

At mile 15, despair settles in and whispers “you will never reach the finish line”. Each mile is another monster I must face; I must fight. Each victory however short-lived brings the realization there is yet another mile, another monster I have to face and defeat.

At mile 21, E.M.T’s doing chest compressions load an elderly woman into an ambulance on a stretcher. The runners with the lady (all strangers from what I can tell) look confused. One of them says something like, “I caught her as she began to fall.” I keep walking; what else can I do?

Another hydration station and bags of ice line the road. I hobble as fast as I can to the ice and throw myself down on top of it like a kid in the first snow of the year. For a second, I’m home. I can’t stay long, because the longer I stay still; the harder it is to get moving again.

With just a little less than five miles left, my spirits begin to pick up and I look forward to crossing the finish line. Several other Alaskans recognize my Alaskan printed cycling shirt and chat with me along the course. People from: Eagle River, Wasilla, Fairbanks, and even Juneau. Looking at the roster now, I see there were 25 Alaskan finishers, some of which came from the most remote of Alaskan communities, like Salcha, Kotzebue, and Bethel. 

The last mile. The last mile welcomed me like a long lost friend. I meet a wonderful woman from Juneau, who has lived in Hawaii for the last decade or so. We chat about all kinds of things, but mostly the weather. She explains how the volcanic fog hanging in the air affects most of the runners. The fog traps in some of the heat and creates more humidity than normal. She tells me it is a horrible day to go running, and then with a smile says, “you better start going, the finish line is less than 50 yards away and you want to look good for your finisher photos.”

My family waits for me in the crowds of people, and I know they cheer for me. I don’t want to let them down, so I run for it. I put on a smile, power through the pain, and run across that finish line. As I cross over the markers I hear my name from across the barrier gates and see my wife, kids, and my in-laws. They smile, and wave, and cheer for me. 

***

I cannot begin to explain the emotions I feel each time I finish a race, and see them there. The support and encouragement my family offers, overwhelms me at times. The love I feel, brings tears to my eyes.

I finished the race in 6 hours 30 minutes. It was awful, it was hard, it was the most painful experience of my life, but it was worth it. It was an amazing accomplishment, and wonderful opportunity to learn about myself. It is a reminder that the limits I put on myself often fall short of what I am truly capable of.