My 186.195-kilometer Kaike Triathlon

(Last of two-part series)

The aerobars I borrowed from Dawn really came in handy over the 145km course, as I gained at least two kilometers per hour when I got into the crouch, and was able to relax a bit as well when I laid in.

Aside from suffering a near-death experience when I was flying downhill at over 60kph when a car passed inches away from my handlebars, the ride was incident-free, as I took in the beauty of my surroundings, but not long into the climbing section I realized that the bike was way more hilly than advertised—I mean way more.

When the race staff took us around for a course preview the day before, they mentioned that we weren’t going to travel the entire 145km. After the race they said that their reasoning was so that the racers wouldn’t be frightened. Rather than get scared I would have taken comfort in the fact that I knew where the turn around was and budgeted my energy accordingly.

I remembered key landmarks from the drive through which helped out during the race early, but we missed out on covering a lot of the mid to late mountain area, and I felt a little handicapped by not knowing what to look for as I cranked out the ascents.

One of the rewards to every long climb is that your body gets cooled off with the speedy descent that usually follows, but in Kaike my happiness was short lived because I knew that I would return to climb it on the way back to the second transition.

By far and away, the bike leg was my longest and most challenging stretch ever, and while I had taken four hour rides in Saipan, the rides along Cross Island Road to Marpi offered only occasional climbs. The Kaike course was riddled with steep climbs that almost dared the racers to finish.

Once I got to the 90km aid station I knew I was getting close to the turn around, and every time I came to the top of another hill was certain that I would find the final turn around point. I was disappointed over and over again when I was greeted by speedy downhill that were immediately followed by long and winding climbs. I remember wondering if it was ever going to end, but when I saw racers coming my way in the distance I was happy because that meant I was almost there.

When I was feeling my weakest, I found religion at the 105km aid station where Team Saipan took care of me like an Indy pit crew offering me sports drinks, watermelon, and onigiri. I got off of my bike and took sponge after sponge of ice-cold water over my head, neck, and back to lower my body temperature—which it did in a matter of a couple of minutes. Though I didn’t plan to do so, I spent a bunch of time at the break point at the advice of Team Saipan and the race organizers. By the time I saddled up and moved on out I was a brand new man with a set of brand new legs—ala Lieutenant Dan.

Totally refreshed, I headed off for the final 40km of hills and valleys with new energy, and set a personal record and at one point when I reached speeds exceeding 72kph on a downhill portion. My helmet would have offered the rest of my body little protection had a spill occurred, but the rush was incredible. I was free-wheeling through the mountains of Japan, breathing in the forest-filtered air, and times couldn’t have been any better.

My average rate of travel was brought back to reality when I slowed to just under 10kph on one of the later climbs, but by then I was nearing the homestretch that took me along the river and a few kilometers through town.

I was all smiles about six and a half hours after starting my cycling odyssey as I reached T2, and I took my time preparing for the full marathon that awaited me. I ate one of the Accel Gel packets provided by PHI Pharmacy, wolfed down a banana, and chugged some PowerAde before strapping on my sneakers and heading out to the run course.

My energy was high, and I felt pretty good going into the run, but I had a gut full of food and mentally thought that I had plenty of time. The temperature was climbing along with my body temp, so early on I was not feeling all that great anymore.

While I knew it was just the run course that came at the end of the race, the thought that it was a marathon kept hammering home and weakened me a bit. I started to walk early, but won a mental battle by running to one telephone pole and walking to one pole. I kept that up a while until upping the ante to running two and walking one. I increased the ration to 3:1 at one point, but my ankles began to cramp a little and I scaled back to what was working before. I was told that the race would be much easier to run when the sun went down, but it seemed that that moment would never arrive.

I plugged on pole by pole, and by the time I reached the half way point of the run Matsumura-san told me that I had a little over two and a half hours left to complete the race. He asked if I still wanted to try, to which I replied “Hell yes, I didn’t come all the way to Japan to quit.”

I got into the half marathon mode that got me through the Saipan race and just kept picking ‘em up and putting ‘em down. My visits to the port-a-potties at every aid station indicated that I was fully hydrated, so I stopped drinking a lot, put ice in my hat, ate an orange slice, and trotted off with my bottle of sports drink.

This time around there was no more wasting time at the aid stations—just about 15-second turnarounds and a bathroom break if necessary.

The later it got in the night, the more support I got, as I found my self running with Akiko and Ed sometime around the 23km point when they hopped out of the van and joined my trot. I thought for sure that they would only go for a little while, but Ed ran for what I was sure the longest distance he had in a while by going well over 10km, while the former professional Japanese runner stuck with me the rest of the way.

Much like our Tagaman race, there was a ton of support from the volunteers at the aid stations, and their cheers definitely helped push me along the way. I neared each water stop with progressively darkening skies as the hours began to mount, and the small army of supporters seemed to appreciate both the pain I was feeling as well as my drive to carry on in spite of it.

Chants of “Faito!” and “Brado” greeted me along with a roar when I stopped for my slice and ice when the night was in full swing, and the breeze from the clapping at the 35km aid station gave me the gall to continue on despite reaching the stop after the cutoff time.

When I was told that I had to retire at 9:15, I flat out denied the order. I was only 7km away, my hips, feet, and toes were killing me, and as tempting the idea of getting off of my barking dogs was, I wasn’t going to suffer all of this pain the next day for nothing.

I politely told them that I would surrender my number and ankle monitoring device but that I was going to the finish line. They told me that it was still 7km away, but that really didn’t sound like such a long way since I started my journey at 7am. I continued down the stretch run at my less-than-championship pace, and Akiko silently joined in my defiance. Rather than talk me out of it she ran along side while I explained my case.

Yeah, I was a rebel now. I am the American who joined the race and refused to quit until I crossed the finish line regardless of the finish time! Woo-hoo!

Well, that’s what I was thinking anyway. After picking up a bicycle-mounted race marshal in our posse of two, we pushed on toward the flashing lights of town.

With about 5km to go, I was asked again if I wanted to stop by the support crew, and I said no. It was a little more difficult to refuse that time because the lure of padded seats seemed to be the cure for all of my ailments, but I shunned the sanctuary and plodded on.

When we got back underway it was a little harder to keep the body in motion. Once the blood began to creep back into my extremities, I could start to feel toll that my feet were taking, and knew what I would be facing in the next hour or so.

My pace was slowed, and after about 1,000 meters I could hardly take the pain that was plaguing me from the waist down. My comfortable sneakers felt as if they were choking the life out of my feet, and relief was only a pair of untied elastic laces away so I stopped to loosen them. In hindsight it was a big mistake, as I suffered the full rush of nerves flicking on their pain switch. I was surely finished, but the race marshal encouraged me to continue by uttering a Waterboy-like “You can do it.”

That was pretty awesome, so I got up and forced strides for another couple hundred meters until I was really done. It was really over for me. I was really finished. I was really crushed.

Fifteen hours after taking to the water on the shores of the Sea of Japan my body and mind decided that I had finally had enough, and at 10pm I was picked up just four kilometers shy of my goal, and 30 minutes after they closed the race.

In retrospect I could have spared a ton of time at the aid stations—especially on the run, will be bringing plenty of salt, potassium, and also some pain killers because I am not going to stop no matter what when I return ala MacArthur. I have been thinking about what ifs for more than two weeks now, and I don’t want to go through it like this again.

It’s the first race that I failed to complete, and that’s why next year’s story will be entitled My 190.195km Kaike race

More than anything I am determined to do this again because I hate saying that I didn’t complete it. It sounds so great to say that I was in the big race, but not so good to say that I didn’t finish, and the sour taste in my mouth is continuously driving my thoughts.

I still hate running, and there may never be a cure for that, but I have to do it enough to get comfortable with the fact that I am going to run a marathon after all of that mess next time around.

Since coming back to Saipan, I have watched the home video taken by Ed and viewed the 2004 race film a number of times to compare it with my memory. I have learned so much from racing in the big event, and I found that one can only ask people so much—the rest you have to pick up for yourself through experience.

Now I have refocused my efforts and included a healthy supply of running in my training regimen so that I will do better next year, and it won’t hurt me in the coming races in Rota, Tinian, XTERRA, and of course Tagaman.

My biggest thanks go out to not only all of the sponsors of the Kaike Triathlon, but also to DFS, MVA, PDI, and Taga Inc. for sending me to compete, and Romey Lanuza at Saipan Bike Pro, Kathryn Barry and the folks at PowerAde, S. Joshua Berger and Associates, PHI Pharmacy, Russ Quinn, Dawn Hammermeister, Saipan Swim Club coach Michael Stewart, and NMITF president Stephan Samoylof for giving me the tools to do so.

I would also like to thank everyone who gave me a tip here and there, gave me a pat on the back, joined me for a bike ride, or voiced a little encouragement at one point or another since all of this started in November. Soon our community of triathletes will be a little less complete as some of you are leaving island, and I will return the favor to the next “new guy” in your absence in hopes that they too can enjoy the gift of multisport.