Backstory…

…because I know you all think I’m crazy to have traveled all the way to Hawaii for a race I wasn’t doing…and you’re not wrong. (Not saying you’re right either.)

The day after Kona 2018 my coach, Josh, qualified for the big dance at Ironman Louisville. I screamed at my phone all day tracking him, texting with his wife, Erica, and other teammates. I was in the middle of a trainer ride that afternoon as he went from a strong bike to one of the best runs of his life, picking off the men in his age group to battle his way onto the podium and ultimately to 4^th place out of some 200 dudes age 40-44. (Holy hokas men in their 40s love them some Ironman.) As I pedaled and yelled at my phone a friend at the race informed me there were four Kona slots for Josh’s age group, a message I then relayed to Erica. She got to call and tell him that epic news when he finished – extra special as Josh had no idea how well he’d raced. The next morning at the award ceremony those four slots were confirmed and Josh said hell yes and punched his ticket to Hawaii. That same day I suggested to Scott we could go with them and miracle of miracles Scott was into it. And so we invited ourselves into Josh’s dream and vacation and a full year in advance we made plans to be in paradise for the Ironman World Championships of 2019.

With that race-cation decision made by mid-October of 2018 I pulled some more major race triggers. I was already signed up for Ironman Lake Placid in July 2019, but I knew being at the World Championships was gonna have me amped and inspired, and I had already been mulling the challenge of a double Iron year. And so I decided to add a late season full – somewhere I could spend my Kona energy, and hopefully fitness. I hoped that I would be in a place to go for a top 10 finish – maybe even a podium if I really got my bike house in order.

Then the whole hip fracture thing, the Lake Placid DNS, the complete and utter destruction of my run. You know all about that stuff, I talk about it constantly. My season changed, my plans, my abilities, but I was still going to Kona. After not even starting at Placid I gave up on my lofty performance goals for Arizona too, but being able to at least start that race took on greater significance. So I decided to stick to my original plan to make island time training and inspiration time and I shipped my tri bike, Koopa Troop, to Hawaii via tribiketransport.

And here’s where it’s more than fair to think I’m out of my mind as it wasn’t a thrifty vacay decision. But renting a bike isn’t an option when you’re 4’10” and not biking over a ten day trip also isn’t an option six weeks out from your own full Ironman. Plus we were renting a house right off the infamous Queen Kaahumanu highway – she was beckoning to me to come ride.

In the weeks leading up to Kona my feelings about Arizona and whether or not I’d be ready were all over the map. Ironman Atlantic City 70.3 in mid-September went better than hoped and boosted my spirits and confidence, but afterward I battled a lot of self doubt never letting myself forget that while 140.6 is mathematically twice 70.3, it is more than twice as hard, and that 13.1 mile run had felt like I was really living up to the Atlantic City setting and rolling the dice. I was still stuck on the anti-gravity treadmill for one run a week to add the miles on slowly and safely, so how was I going to get through 26.2. And of course the swim scaries are always close at hand – my only previous 140.6 had included a downstream swim and Arizona was going to be freezing and unassisted. Still the sense that I couldn’t face another DNS outweighed all other thoughts.

So I shoved those doubts to the side as I shipped Koopa off to Hawaii and packed plenty of swimbikerun gear into my suitcases. (Plural. I brought alotta stuff.) I was 50% sure I could do Arizona, 100% sure that I was coming at it underprepared, and equally sure that I had to try. We landed in Hawaii 7 weeks to the day from IMAZ and I felt in need of all the trilove I could get out of Kona.

And Kona gave me what I needed. (Mahalo, Pele!)

Arriving the afternoon of Sunday, Oct. 6th we had almost a full week until race day, so after Josh and I retrieved our steeds from tribiketransport on Monday, I had no time for excuses. I would have to drop Koop back off for the trip home the day after race day (Sunday the 13^th) and needed to make the most of my time. But let me be very clear: I was scared to make the most of my time.

The Queen 

The Queen K, the highway on which the bike portion of the Ironman World Championships takes place, is famously fickle. She’s beautiful, with smooth pavement and a (mostly) wide shoulder, running through lava fields with epic views of mountains and ocean. She’s also the windiest witch whose gales are unpredictable and merciless, and she climbs and descends thousands of unrelenting feet in every direction. Triathletes the world over know all about the Queen K long before they ever meet her, and I was so very scared to make her acquaintance, sure she would judge me unworthy.

My badass speed queen bff, Clarice was staying with us for the first few days so on Tuesday we decided to head out for our first tussle with the Queen together. Our rental house was in a gated community right off the highway so easy-ish access. I say ish because to get to the road we had to get down a hill so steep even a bike titan like Clarice didn’t feel safe riding down it. So after a morning swim practice we grabbed our wheels, pulled on our cleats, and began the slow walk down to a safer pitch to mount.

We didn’t plan to ride the whole workout together – my bff is lightyears faster than I am – but we would at least start together and I hoped I could hang with her long enough to get more comfortable in this intimidating setting. But Pele wasn’t about to extend me that grace. As we clomped awkwardly downhill one of Clarice’s bike cleats fell apart. She was forced to turnaround and go deal with her equipment, and I was forced to descend the mountain to my destiny alone. I felt like the famed mad Queen had somehow arranged this obstacle just to mess with me and get me alone, like a lioness hunting the weakest in the herd. I felt personally attacked by the Queen Kaahumanu Highway.

That first ride I put in a little over twenty miles and got a taste of the steady flow of vehicular traffic including the large trucks that created violent wind vortexes as they flew by. I got a taste too of the infamous winds that changed without warning, and the desolate Martian lava fields that comprise the landscape north of the airport. It wasn’t enough of a taste to discourage or fully terrify me; it was actually the perfect – albeit lonely – introduction. I allowed myself to sit up most of the first ten miles heading out to get more comfortable, then tried to drop into aero for the return ten. I arrived back at our community – after a harrowing wrong turn that sent me through a parking lot with unforgiving speed bumps and then scraping my way up a steep climb with very little momentum – feeling proud of my Queen K baptism. I dismounted for the long march to the top of our hill but luckily Josh came to my rescue in his Tahoe, sparing me the hike.

I felt broken in by the highway and (more) capable of handling the week of riding now. The second day I followed Josh out to a beach some 30 miles away, parking and convening in the lot there before we would each go on our individual way. I couldn’t help but take terrified stock of every long grinding hill on the drive out so that by the time I pulled my Jeep into the Hapuna Beach lot I had sweat out most of the previous day’s bike confidence.

Josh suggested 50 miles for me, which felt massive given the setting and the seeming mountains I’d just driven up and down to get here. I winced and moaned at the mileage and he snapped back that I had shipped my damn bike to Hawaii and needed to ride it. I suggested 40 miles as if we were bartering for workouts, which isn’t really how our relationship is supposed to work. He gave me stern Josh voice and responded, ‘at a minimum.’ (Honestly tough-love-Josh is probably my favorite Josh.)

As I got going I was surprised by how strong and brave I felt. I found my aero bars immediately and stayed low even as I took on those ascents, and even scarier, those descents, that had spooked me on the drive out. I ended up putting in closer to Josh’s 50 miles that day and got to end the whole damn glorious demanding ride at Hapuna Beach where the water is postcard perfect. Day two felt like a massive success.

Driving back after some quality beach time I took stock of the hills I’d just summited; they still seemed substantial in the car and I patted myself on the back for having handled them. I also congratulated myself on my apparent mastery of the winds that rattled the jeep, especially with the passage of each bigrig. I got home thinking, Liz – 2, Queen K – 0.

Oh but she would have the last word. Words plural. Four letter ones.

The next two days she thrashed my ass, first over 30 planned miles that turned into 22 on Thursday, and then over 50-70 that turned into 45 on Friday. After Friday’s long-turned-medium-ride I got home in a foul mood feeling discouraged and incapable. Luckily the next day was race day so I couldn’t self-centeredly dwell. And I wouldn’t have to ride.

Race Day

Instead Erica and I got to experience the pinnacle of our crazy sport. It was better than I had even imagined, from the 3:30am wake up to the 1:30am bedtime. (Thank you late night redbull, followed by late night bagels and white wine on the lanai!) I volunteered from 11am until almost 4pm at T2 handing athletes their bike bags, which offered an incredible opportunity to see all the pros come in off their bikes and later to legally assist all my friends racing. (Handing Josh his bike bag was a particular highlight of the whole day!)

Then race night Erica and I volunteered as finish line catchers from 8pm until 1am. We worked as a team intercepting athletes after they crossed the finish line, guiding them to get fluids in or the medical tent when necessary. I think I can speak for her and report that those were five of the most special hours of our tri-lives.

Ok maybe they were three of the most special hours. For the first hour or two it was a bit slow and monotonous and there seemed like there were more volunteers than were needed so we had long waits between catching athletes. But by 10pm there weren’t that many volunteers left and we were on constant call the final few hours of the race. We got to see the most incredible people like Roderick Sewell, the first double above-the-knee amputee to finish Kona. And we got to collect people as Kona champs Jan Frodeno and Anne Haug and other pros gave these finishers their leis.

When you catch any Ironman finisher, but especially the late night Kona finishers you become instant best friends. People you’ve just met hug you and cry on you and tell you how hard they fought to get there. We caught people who had fought for DECADES to qualify for this race. They moved me the most because I could see myself and my own journey so clearly in them.

When the final finisher ran in at 12:30 the finish line, which had already been an hours-long dance party, truly erupted. There were fire dancers, there were cheers and tears, there were pros and paratriathletes and Mike Reilly. A Native Hawaiian elder came out and sang a beautiful song and everyone held hands and smiled and cried and then hugged and then I got to tell Jan Frodeno how much his recovery from his own hip fracture had meant to me. Seeing him win after his own injury felt so meaningful and he was absolutely gracious and kind while I fangirled and gushed.

The day after the race I got up early to get in one last dance with the Queen before I would have to hand Koopa over for his long trip back. After Friday I was humbled but I wanted to heal some of my bruised ego. Over 25 final miles she beat me up a bit more, but she also allowed me some final victories. After 150+ miles with the Queen that week I would definitely give the overall W to her, but I also had my moments. That final ride was a perfect farewell, hopefully just for now and not for forever.

But there are three sports in a triathlon, right?

Mixed in with all those literal and figurative peaks and valleys cycling, I also had a go at swimming and running Hawaii style. I logged lots of run miles on famed and beautiful Ali’I Drive – including the Underpants Run.

I also joined Clarice for a few of her practice swims and I think it ruined all other open water for me. At first it was hard to focus on actually swimming, we were so mesmerized by the crystalline water and the tropical fish that made it feel like we were trespassing in an aquarium, or in someone’s screensaver. On our second swim I successfully followed Clarice’s feet for almost the whole mile and change workout. I’d never managed to stay on someone’s toes before and I’d never maintained pool paces in the open water.

And I swear we got in some actual normal person in Hawaii vacationing though I could have done better by Scott on that front. I guess we’ll just have to come back.

So where did Kona leave me?

I want to Kona-qualify more than ever; but I also feel less sure than ever that I’ll make it.

I conquered a lot of residual cycling fears; but I also realized how much work I still have to do to repair my bike confidence.

I’m more enamored of the tri world than ever; and less sure of my place in it.

My tan lines have tragically faded but I’m still riding that island wave. The energy of the biggest dance in our sport is wholly unique and special and I have no regrets about going through the financial and logistical trouble of going. I am glad I put in the hours, replete with their victories and disappointments. If nothing else it was one of the best vacations of my life – ten days spent in paradise with friends I adore getting to watch people achieve lifelong and hardfought dreams.

I am leaving 2019 in such a different place than I started it, in good and bad but mostly good ways. (For one thing, I can walk.) I had such big dreams when we decided to go to Kona, and I still have those dreams, but they’ve been tempered a bit by both time and the Queen and everything. I guess ultimately Kona didn’t give me exactly what I was looking for or what I thought it would, but maybe she gave me gifts I didn’t know I needed. Kona didn’t dash my dreams to bits in her lava fields, but she did hold a microscope up to them, and to me, and she forced me to grow up a little bit. The Queen K let me know how much I still have to learn and grow as a cyclist, but she also gave me hints that I’m capable of learning and growing. Kona and the Queen and Pele all said this shit’s not gonna come easy, and it might not come at all, but if it does, you’re gonna have to work your ass off, and it will be so worth it.