My copy of New England Runner arrived today. As did a check for $100. Attached was a post-it note:”For the next bar tab! Thanks for the article.” Which follows. – JDW….
Suddenly, somehow, the zoo grew so still, you could hear the African Wild Dog snoring. But that was one of the few quiet moments of Honolulu Marathon Week.
When I looked into staying at the host hotel, the cheapest rooms were like $323 per night.
I typically travel large, but in a Truman Capote style, i.e., I have many well-to-do friends – buddies with Benjamins – who are generous with a spare bedroom.
And I am surprisingly a rather, ummm, appropriate guest. (If you ignore the beer consumption.)
None of my Hawaiian pals had a spare bedroom this week, which figures, but one did have a week-long hold on a room at the Royal Grove, just in case. Suite!
Not so much. After a 21-hour time-zone adjusted trip, we arrive at a combination old folks’ home/ hostel/halfway house..
Upon first blush, my wife couldn’t decide between crying and screaming.
But when we discovered our room was a seedy closet without air conditioning, homicide seemed likely.
My first thought – UPGRADE! Lady at the reception can’t help… yes, you can, I told her.
And I was cautioned, air conditioning would require an additional $100 per week.
(Which we would have readily paid per night.)
But ever so cool- pun unintended – we didn’t laugh until entering our new accommodations.
After all, laughter is the best medicine. I think Chuck Grassley said that.
While the first room looked like an underground bunker where scary men keep kidnapped children, the new digs are more like where you and six buddies crashed on a road trip to Myrtle Beach in the early 70′s.
It’s the kind of place where even I wash the bathroom doorknob.
“I’ve already done that,” my wife says. “The remote, too.”
It’s the kind of place where it can’t hurt to wash the bathroom door knob twice.
The best part about the Royal Grove, besides the price, is the tastiest Korean food on Oahu next door, the Me B-B-Q.
And a half block away, an excellent hangout, La Cucaracha. Happy Hour is 2-6.
We arrive at 2:15, don’t wanna seem too eager, they seem surprised to see us. The bartender starts at 3:30.
You know you are past your prime, when you exhaust yourself walking to the Expo.
Not that I needed a reminder. In my defense, that’s a four-mile round trip.
So, I go the the Expo, it’s rather obligatory, you’re already there to get press credentials.
I see the booth for The Stick.
Full disclosure: I have a Stick, it’s been sitting in my garage for eight years, untouched. But love the slogan: “A toothbrush for the muscles.”
I ask for a brochure, only to be told they have none in English.
On stage, I see two lovely young Asian women, maybe elite athletes, maybe local weather girls.
There is much giggling, which is all I could understand.
Honolulu is, after all, the biggest Japanese marathon in the world.
Note to self: this might be a good time to fly to Tokyo and commit some burglaries.
Legends get muddled, truth gets co-opted.
Dr. Jack Scaff is the founder of the Honolulu Marathon – the Clinic, too – and I’m the guy who sent Hunter S. Thompson to this race in 1980.
Just had to get that off my chest. This sport didn’t just happen on its own.
Which reminds me. This event is much better when you are younger, traveling few miles and somebody else is paying the bills. Just sayin’.
And when there’s a snafu and you end up with Maria Mutola’s corner room on the 11th floor, not to mention the $100 per diem, let’s just say, life is good.
Classic mistake. Bought my wife a couple of drinks, then took her shopping.
Actually, that’s not true. We walked into the Outrigger, I told her On No Uncertain Terms not to go into those shops.
Well, the bag is too heavy for her to carry and she won’t tell me how much she spent.
Somebody asked me if I was running. Of course, I responded.
Because nothing makes me happier than being passed by some guys look like my dad fought against in WWII.
You know that joke? Where the wife asks her old husband, if he wants to go upstairs and have sex? And he says, I can do one or the other, but not both.
Well, if I travel this far to an event, I’m too beat up to run the race.
And every day the din grows louder. The prices seem to increase at a similar pace.
Really, if I hear the theme song from ‘Hawaii 5-O’ one more time, I might scream.
I may bitch and moan and whine and complain, but the Honolulu Marathon is an experience like no other. And I am nothing if not experienced.
Met a young couple from Australia and they were having a ball. “We’ve never been to America before.”
Trust me, I told them, “you are still not there.”
Race day begins at night. The first shuttle bus leaves the zoo at 2 a.m. That’s 0200. In the morning. That’s really, really, really early.
And, of course, it is raining. Sheets of rain.
These homeless folks must be feeling a little more miserable than usual. Then I start to wonder if they feel miserable on a daily basis.
A little thunder and lightning for drama. But, no.
That must be the fireworks at the start.
I began my race at the five-mile mark, near the intersection of Kalakaua & Uluniu Avenue, close to the statue of Duke Kamehameha, under the overhang at the entrance to Billabong. Christmas carols blare from the Hyatt Regency.
It’s still dark, of course. And suddenly there is a lone Japanese athlete, seems to think he’s in a 10K.
I know there are a half-dozen Kenyans in the elite field, even a couple of pacers, so, whisky-tango-foxtrot, what’s going on? His name is Saeki Makino and apparently he did this last year, too. Covers the first mile in the black mist in 4:54. Which explains the gap to his pursuers.
I haven’t been curbside at a major marathon for quite some time, so I was ill prepared for what came next.
Nothing. The elite men, fewer than a dozen guys, came by and then there was nobody. Until the elite women showed up, looking quite sexy, I noted. Then…nothing.
A few Japanese men, but that’s it. Seems strange with over 22,000 entrants.
Where are all the guys like me, like who I used to be when I first raced here in 1978?
I strolled casually to the finish line at Kapiolani Park. Feeling not a little like Rosie Ruiz. And nobody noticed.
In the press tent, protected from the rain, I listened to the radio commentary offered by the likes of Greg Meyer and Toni Reavis, a couple of guys who know something about the game of running. I have been aboard the press truck at previous Honolulu Marathons, this is better. Somehow more informative. And, oh, much less miserable than being in a open vehicle in the rain moving into a wind, unprotected.
The winds and rain were at their fiercest from miles 11 through 15 out Kalaneaneole Highway to the turnaround in Hawaii Kai. And, as you might well imagine, the same – just different – on the way home. The pack passed halfway in 1:08:40, and shortly also passed that kamikaze runner. Pretty damn fine brave effort, I thought, Pretty damn painful, too. Makoni eventually placed 24rd in 2:41:13. That’s 1:08ish out and 1:33ish. What’s Japanese for ‘ouch?’
Finishing 23rd was Olympian 3:50 miler, now in the Masters division, Kevin Sullivan in 2:40:22.
Among a coterie of countrymen, in heat & humidity, the action rarely starts before 35K. I mean, really, what’s the point?
Especially, especially, if you have athletes of this caliber. Paul Lonyangatta, a sub-60 half-marathoner, was the first to surge. Ethiopia’s Geb Abraha, a 2:06 marathoner, chased. Accompanied only by Wilson Chebet, who is even faster. The trio covered miles 21-23 in 9:59. Then started to go faster. Lonyangatta and Chebet motored the mile 24, UP Diamond Head, in 4:44. Uphill…. Inexorably, Chebet pulled ahead. I didn’t see this actually, I heard it, from Toni Reavis.
The other 22,000 participants heading out on the course, now around the 8-mile mark of their personal trial, saluted as Chebet roared home.
“They are moving to the side, cheering their support,” Reavis reported, “losing valuable seconds off their 9-hour marathons.”
JAL stewardesses held the finishing banner as Chebet became the 2014 Honolulu Marathon champion at 2:15:35. He earned the $40,000 first prize, running negative splits 68:40 – 66:45. As if toying with the course as well as his challengers.
In only her second completed marathon, Kenyan Olympian Joyce Chepkirui, an accomplished 10K specialist, earned the women’s crown with ease in 2:30:23.
My new friend Diane Nukuri of Burundi & Flagstaff placed 7th in 2:37:11. I single out Diane because, if I was a race director, and had the budget for only one elite female, this would be the lady. My goodness, what a charmer, what a great representative of the sport.
And then I headed back to my hotel. Call me naive, but I was surprised to see a few of the 10K participants still on the course.
Think I saw a guy who likely did fight my dad in WWII.
Next thought was, I hope I am still moving with that determination at that age.
Like I said, I first ran the Honolulu Marathon in 1978. I finished 149th of 7204 finishers in 2:54:23. Officially.
In 2014, thirty-six years later, that time would’ve earned me 63rd place. With a field three times the size.
Only sixteen (16!) athletes from the USA finished faster. And what does this say about the race, the sport?
Obviously, more people going slower.
And if you want to feel what it feels like to finish near the front of a major marathon, Honolulu is your greatest opportunity.
There is no cut-off time at Kapiolani Park.
The final finisher arrived at 14:21:09. That’s a 35:21 pace.
I would not have been last.
But that guy bought the ticket and took the ride and I did not.
After the race, after a nap, I once again set up my office at the Outrigger Reef, at the first table to the steps to the beach.
Little boys playing in the sand, not so little girls jiggling in thong bikinis.
If you ever stop by the Shore Bird at the Outrigger Reef, tell Elaine, the bartender, I said, “Aloha and mahalo.”
After all those $100 beer tabs, she’ll remember me ….