Isn’t it pretty to think so?
– Ernest Hemingway
If you’ve never experienced it for yourself, trust me when I say… the runner’s high? It’s real.
A runner’s high is the temporary euphoria induced by the release of endorphins (short for “endogenous morphine”) in the brain after intense exercise such as a marathon, or half marathon, or ultramarathon (though usually not a Netflix marathon). In the days following a race, as the runner’s high fades and its attendant feelings of accomplishment subside, many runners respond by immediately setting their sights on their next challenge, in the hopes of recapturing that elusive euphoria. Sound familiar? This is the athlete’s version of chasing the dragon.
In some cases, this addictive goal-setting can manifest in extreme ways — say, running a marathon in all 50 states. I mean, that CAN’T be good for you, amirite?
There’s even an online running club called the Marathon Maniacs that challenges its members to outdo each other by running as many marathons as possible in close proximity. To qualify for the club, prospective members must run three club-approved marathons in 90 days. And yes, like any drug the brain gradually develops a tolerance to exercise-induced euphoria, forcing its devotees to ramp up the running — for example, to achieve the “highest level of the Maniacs,” i.e. Titanium status, members must run 52 marathons or more within 365 days. As of this writing, a whopping 291 Titanium-level members are listed on the club’s website. Which usually elicits the same question from non-runners: “Do these people have jobs?”
Big Island beauty
This philosophy of “More is better” inspires some high-achieving runners to challenge themselves and test their limits, while leading others straight into physical therapy with overtraining syndrome and chronic running injuries. And the line between the two can be a fine one, indeed.
Q: With all this in mind, then, and having participated in one of the world’s most epic races at the Tokyo Marathon six days earlier, what could I do to mitigate the post-race hangover and emotional lull, which in this case would prove more acute than most?
A: Run another marathon, of course!
Ok, so that wasn’t exactly my thinking when I signed up to run the inaugural REVEL Kūlia (Hawaiian for “Strive to reach the summit”) Marathon, shortly after it was announced in September. Truth is, I’d always wanted to explore the Big Island with Katie. Because although we’d spent appreciable time in both Kauai — where we were engaged on 3/3/03 and married on 4/4/04 — and Maui, and I’d visited the Big Island with my buddy Pete nearly two decades earlier, Katie had never set foot on the largest and youngest of the Hawaiian Islands.
Still smiling after all these years! (Kauai, 2004)
So a new marathon on the Big Island, one which just happened to fall the weekend after Tokyo, seemed like the perfect opportunity to schedule a long-overdue visit. We could spend a couple of days in Kyoto after the Tokyo Marathon and then “drop by” Hawaii on our way home to California.
Fortuitously, the timing for Tokyo and Hawaii worked out perfectly this year as the calm before the storm of our RaceRaves March Lunacy tournament. Scheduled to coincide with the NCAA’s own March Madness, this year’s tournament wouldn’t launch until March 17. And so, knowing that our busiest stretch of the year awaited us (though blissfully unaware it would require seven all-nighters in a three-week span), we decided to take full advantage of the brief respite to chill out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Oh, and did I mention Hawaii would be state 26 on my 50 states journey? How’s that for a convenient coincidink?
The sun also rises on Hawaii’s newest marathon
All downhill from here
What a difference a week makes, I thought as the mystical fanfare of the conch shell (Pū, in the Hawaiian) reverberated in the cool, crisp Saturday morning air. Together with a native prayer and the National Anthem, the ceremony marked the official start of the morning’s proceedings. To the east the sun peeked over the horizon, as if awakening to the trumpeting of the Pū the way a rancher might awaken to a crowing rooster. I’m not in Tokyo anymore.
Along with 300 or so of my fellow marathoners, I stood alongside the Ka’Ohe Game Management Area, roughly a dozen miles the way the crow flies (a useful measure of distance in Hawaii) from the tallest mountain in the world. And if you thought that distinction belonged to Mt Everest, then welcome to Geology 101 on “Blisters, Cramps & Peaks.” Because when measured from its oceanic base (since most of the mountain is underwater), the dormant volcano of Mauna Kea stands taller than Everest with an absolute height of more than 33,000 feet. Taking into account only the portion of the volcano above sea level (13,803 feet), Mauna Kea still reigns supreme as the highest peak in Hawaii.
I wasn’t surprised at the relatively small number of runners that now lined up at the start line according to their projected finish times. After all, this was an inaugural event… in Hawaii… in early March. And though airfare and lodging constitute the major expenses for anyone visiting from the mainland, Kulia is also the most expensive of the eight events in the REVEL Race Series — I’d paid an early-bird registration price of $130 thanks to a $10 discount code.
With the rising sun at our backs we set off on a smooth but immediate downhill trajectory, the early morning cloud cover hanging over our final destination more than one vertical mile below us. Looking down on the clouds, I would have guessed we were much higher than our starting elevation of 5,700 feet. Luckily, though, I would have been mistaken because we’d give back nearly all of that elevation on our way to the finish line just short of the Pacific Ocean.
Highland pastures and eucalyptus trees lined each side of the road — the scenery wouldn’t change much throughout the race, and that was a good thing. A comfortable chill translated to perfect running weather, a welcome reprieve from the cold rain of Tokyo one week earlier.
Despite having only six calendar days between marathons, I had in fact enjoyed an extra day of recovery time courtesy of the International Date Line. The IDL follows a crooked path from the North Pole to the South Pole, marking the divide between the Western and Eastern Hemisphere — which means Tokyo sits on one side of the IDL and Hawaii on the other, 19 hours apart. And that, in turn, meant that the Thursday on which we flew to Hawaii would be the longest day of our lives, as we boarded a plane from Tokyo at 9:30pm on Thursday night and arrived in Kona at 9:40am that same Thursday morning, 7+ hours later.
Crossing the International Date Line may be the closest mankind ever comes to time travel.
Fortunately, in this case it worked in our favor.
Perfect morning for a run, mile 3
The early miles passed quickly and smoothly as we cruised along in the southbound lane on Saddle Road. Race-day tension melted away as the beauty of our surroundings, together with the mild temperatures, overshadowed the fact this was my second marathon in a week. Gray clouds hung in the distance. A rainbow extended across the valley, welcoming the new day. The entire island seemed to spread out before us and stretch out below us. And beyond it all lay the planet’s largest body of water, a fitting backdrop to Mother Nature’s ever-changing theater.
All that was missing was a soundtrack, and my mind responded to the challenge with “Lava,” the whimsical song from the 2014 Pixar animated short film of the same name: 🎵 I have a dream, I hope will come true… 🎶
Yes indeed, it felt good to be back in Hawaii. I couldn’t believe I’d been seven years a stranger.
The Big Island — and Hawaii in general — is a very zen place
Downhill running: your best bet for Boston?
For their part my legs felt limber, felt strong, though at the same time I wasn’t naïve — I knew I hadn’t yet recovered from Tokyo, and especially with all the travel. And so, in the back of my mind, I knew that at some point this morning the bill(s) for my truncated recovery, compounded by the downhill pounding that awaited us, would come due. The question was, for how long could I elude my creditors?
Because the truth is, one of the biggest misnomers in this sport is that with gravity on your side, downhill running is easier. While this may be true for shorter distances on gentler gradients, running downhill for 26.2 miles will punish your legs like nothing else — and the steeper the descent, the more time you’ll spend in the pain cave. This is because a) every step drops a bit relative to the preceding step, wreaking havoc on your quad muscles which suffer microscopic tears with every step, and b) if you’re like me, you have an inescapable tendency to brake instinctively with every step, which eventually shreds your calves.
As if that weren’t enough, if your quads, calves and glutes aren’t sufficiently strong to withstand the eccentric loading and resultant pounding, then running extended downhills also exposes your knees to injury, as the protection normally afforded by the surrounding muscle groups diminishes. Fun times!
The day before the marathon was bigly windy
So then why, you may wonder, do runners ever choose to tackle severely downhill courses like REVEL Kulia? In large part, their willingness (and even eagerness) to do so springs from a self-fulfilling prophecy propagated by the events themselves. These races feed into the popular mindset that downhill = fast to promise personal bests and Boston Qualifying (BQ) times. And in many cases, the races deliver — many a runner has set a personal record or qualified for Boston on downhill courses, including me at the 2015 Mountains 2 Beach Marathon.
And that’s where the “self-fulfilling” part of the prophecy comes into play. Buying into the downhill = fast mentality and convinced that gravity is their secret weapon, many BQ hopefuls (i.e. faster marathoners) seek out downhill courses on which to qualify for Boston, which leads to an inordinately high proportion of finishers successfully qualifying for Boston at that event, which leads the event to hype its impressively high Boston Qualifier numbers to prospective runners, which motivates more runners to sign up for that race the next year in the hopes of improving their own BQ chances.
Soon you have an explosion of downhill events across the country catering to BQ hopefuls, including eight REVEL events which bill themselves as “fast and beautiful” and which range in severity from 2,000 feet (the new Chilliwack in British Columbia) to nearly 5,700 feet (Kulia) of downhill, with five of their events exceeding 5,000 feet of net elevation loss. In this way, and thanks to shrewd marketing, REVEL has earned a reputation among marathoners as a “best bet” for Boston hopefuls.
If you spend any time in the various running groups on Facebook, you’ve probably encountered the well-worn argument that says REVEL races shouldn’t count as Boston Qualifiers because they’re too downhill and therefore provide runners with too much of an advantage. As if finding 26.2 miles of downhill is all there is to qualifying for Boston. And the last time I checked, these events were open to all runners, not just elites and select BQ hopefuls.
REVEL Kulia Marathon elevation profile
And speaking of elites, if running downhill is so advantageous, then why won’t marathon world record holder Eliud Kipchoge be running downhill when he chases history this fall in attempting to become the first human to break the two-hour marathon barrier? And why didn’t he do so in his previous attempt with Nike’s Breaking2 project two years ago? Neither sub-two attempt is officially sanctioned for other reasons, so then why not use every advantage at his disposal? Unless running 26.2 miles downhill does not in fact confer a significant advantage.
And while many of the U.S. marathons with the highest proportion of Boston qualifiers are run on downhill courses, in each of the past two years the runaway winners in this category have been the Last Chance BQ.2 races, held each September in Grand Rapids, MI (where 65% of finishers qualified for Boston in 2018) and Geneva, IL (where 53% of finishers BQ’ed last year). What’s so magical about these two events, run on flat multi-loop courses within local parks? Is the Gatorade at the aid stations laced with amphetamines? Do the organizers release a swarm of hungry mosquitos at mile 20?
Unfortunately the answer isn’t nearly so titillating; rather, these events owe their lofty BQ numbers to self-selection. Both events fall on the final weekend of registration for the next year’s Boston Marathon, meaning they are quite literally the last chance(s) for runners to qualify for Boston. And that timing in turn attracts serious last-minute hopefuls with no margin for error. Not only that, but the events themselves maintain strict eligibility requirements to ensure that only runners with a legitimate shot of qualifying toe the start line.
The point being (see? there was one buried in here somewhere), downhill running isn’t easy… and choosing a downhill course is no guarantee of success. I’d learned that painful lesson the hard way at my first REVEL race in Mt Charleston, Nevada last year. Luckily I’d run it strictly as a training run for the Comrades Marathon down run, but on a warm day and with a net elevation loss of 5,100 feet, the course had left a trail of carnage — and nearly 400 Boston qualifiers — in its wake. Katie admitted she’d never seen so many finishers crying and suffering at a finish line.
So then I’d chosen Kulia in spite of its steeply downhill profile, in large part because the timing and location worked out perfectly. That, plus the fact REVEL does a nice job with logistics.
🎵 … that you’re here with me, and I’m here with you… 🎶
What a difference a week makes
My plan for the day was to run comfortably for as long as possible, then dig deep and hold on until the finish. I thought early on I might try to negative-split the course (i.e. run the second half faster than the first), until I realized that trying to slow myself down while I was feeling good might actually prove more stressful than simply going with the flow and letting gravity do what it do best.
With that in mind, I’d set my A, B and C goals as a sub-3:45 finish (A), a sub-4 finish (B) and any type of finish (C). Although as worst-case scenarios go, having to return to Hawaii because I’d DNFed a marathon was among the best of the worst.
With the winter sun inching its way up in the sky in mile 4, we were greeted by the strident crow of a late-rising rooster somewhere off to our left. I had to smile — my kind of rooster, this night owl.
Mile 5 passed quickly — too quickly, as it turned out — in conversation with a fellow who was training for the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Race in July. Running at a comfy conversational pace, I glanced down as my Garmin registered a 7:57 mile time. Easy there, boy. I wished my new friend luck and watched him cruise ahead as I pulled back on the throttle — in his neon green tee I’d have no problem following his progress for the next few miles.
A gathering of goats appeared along the side of the road, clearly none too impressed that we humans had nothing better to do than chase each other down this hill.
A headwind kicked up in mile 10, too little too late to spoil the party as we turned back south, thereby positioning the wind at our back. This was the first of only three turns we’d make on the day, the next in mile 15 and the last one within yards of the finish line.
Two thumbs up on Mamalahoa Hwy (photo: REVEL)
Now on Mamalahoa Hwy (Rte 190, which circles the island), the two-lane road widened a bit to include a shoulder on each side. In the cool weather I’d yet to take advantage of the aid stations, though clearly the route needed more trash bins for those who had — in several spots I noticed discarded Dixie cups or GU packets, which could have easily ended up catching a gust and blowing off the road to become island litter for a grazing goat to find. And again I was reminded of Tokyo, where volunteers had stood holding trash bags every 50 yards or so along the tidiest marathon course I’ve ever seen.
What a difference a week makes. The thought struck me again, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the stark contrast that spanned seven days and 4,000 miles. Warm, dry temperatures vs. cold, steady rain. Wide-open expanses vs. soaring skyscrapers. Peace and quiet vs. hustle and bustle. And most striking of all, 325 runners vs. more than 100x that number — roughly half the population of Kauai.
What the course lacked in trash bags, it made up for in photographers. Every few minutes, it seemed, I would see either an official photographer or a sign announcing a photographer ahead. I spent a lot of time smiling (or faux-smiling, in the last few miles) for the cameras. And all photos were free to download after the race, yet another striking contrast with the Tokyo money-making machine.
On the other hand, the one notable similarity of Hawaii to Tokyo — with a high-five to the folks at the Kings’ Land Resort in Waikoloa Village — was the heated toilet in our hotel suite, though admittedly it didn’t hold quite the same appeal here in sunny Hawaii as it had in cold, rainy Tokyo.
Headed south now on 190, the route would flatten out over the next four miles, offering a welcome reprieve from the incessant downward trajectory. After running downhill for 10 miles the level surface felt more challenging, but still I tried to take it easy, slowing my pace into the 9+ min/mile zone while still feeling good.
Our second turn of the day pointed us in the same direction that, well, pretty much every turn in Hawaii points — toward the ocean. This time our route pointed westward on Waikoloa Road, with the vast Pacific below us stretching toward the horizon and — wait, was that Maui visible across the water? Aloha, Maui!
Each island in the Hawaiian archipelago has its own unique charm, but the Big Island stands out in several respects. One is its sheer size — true to its name, the Big Island is the largest island in the United States, with a size larger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined. It’s also the biggest of the Hawaiian Islands, boasting 63% of the land mass of the state and yet only 13% of its population. So there’s a lot more open space to explore than you’ll find on Oahu or Maui or even Kauai.
Not only that, but it’s still growing. The youngest of the Hawaiian Islands, the Big Island has existed for less than 700,000 years. And owing to tectonic movement, the Big Island currently sits over the geologic hotspot that created the state’s other islands, which explains why it’s also home to two active volcanoes — Kilauea and Mauna Loa, the latter the largest above-ground volcano on the planet.
In fact, thanks to this hotspot the Big Island had recently gotten even bigger. On May 17, 2018, Kilauea (which had been erupting almost continuously at low levels since 1983) unleashed its fury in a violent eruption of ash and lava that destroyed 716 residences and added 875 new acres to the island. And Kilauea’s eruption may have deserved some of the credit for the smaller field size at REVEL Kulia — in the week leading up to the race, three months after the volcanic eruption on the far side of the island was officially declared over, race organizers were still fielding phone calls from prospective runners who were hesitant to travel to the Big Island.
The Big Island’s youth means much of its landscape is dominated by volcanic rock, and thus stereotypical white-sand beaches are tougher to come by than on the other islands. Rest assured, though, there are more than enough activities to engage the average tourist — hiking, snorkeling, ocean kayaking and exploring Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park are among the most popular ways to get to know Hawaii’s big baby.
🎵 … I wish that the earth, sea, and the sky up above… 🎶
Hōlei Sea Arch at the end of Chain of Craters Road, Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park
Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’…
The road sloped forward and the downhill began again in earnest as we turned onto Waikoloa Road. Passing the mile 15 aid station, I flashed the volunteers a thumbs-up, thanked them and grabbed my bottle of Maurten carbohydrate drink waiting right where Katie had left it for me. (While we runners had been riding the bus to the start line and most non-runners had still been asleep in bed, she’d driven up to mile 15, dropped off my bottle and turned back before the road had closed.)
A slight camber in the road caused brief concern, though luckily it didn’t last long — this downhill was bad enough without the road tilting under my feet.
Regularly sipping from my bottle and now moving at an increasingly sluggish pace (sorry, gravity), I reached mile 18 feeling ready to call it a day. The Maurten was doing nothing for my energy levels, because truth be told my energy levels were fine, as usual during a marathon — instead, it was my rapidly deteriorating quad muscles that were slowing me down. Because mile 18 was the point at which my overworked engine started to leak oil, and the wheels started to loosen significantly, if not fall off.
Original statue of Kamehameha the Great, Kapa’au
Right around this time we also turned into a stiff headwind, which nearly stopped me dead in my tracks. If this wind kept up for much longer, I thought, I’d have no choice but to wave the white flag and walk it in from here. Fortunately, we turned away from the headwind before I was forced to make that painful call.
Speaking of painful, though, my left calf started to tighten significantly in mile 18; I couldn’t recall that ever happening in a marathon. Yes indeed, these last 8 miles were going to be all kinds of fun.
Luckily I could suffer in relative private, since outside of the small aid stations there was a grand total of maybe ten spectators along the entire route, all of them clustered in Waikoloa Village where I saw Katie just after mile 21. I’m pretty sure no one on the island aside from the organizers, participants, volunteers and Katie knew there was a marathon happening today.
I managed a quick smile and accepted my second bottle of Maurten from Katie as I shuffled past. Passing an older fellow who stood cheering on the runners, I complimented him on his eye-catching red, white and blue t-shirt: “Make America Civil Again: Anyone Else in 2020.”
The busiest stretch of the day — Waikoloa Village, mile 22
I felt a surge of adrenaline (Katie sightings do that) and hoped that with it would arrive a second (or third, or fourth) wind, though with five miles to go I was mainly hoping my janky left calf wouldn’t cramp. I’d never cramped during a race, and I didn’t want this to be the first time.
This may have been the first road race, though, where I didn’t see a single spectator sign. Which doesn’t mean the course lacked signage — as was the case at Mt Charleston last year, REVEL had come prepared with their own motivational messages distributed along the route including:
- Only 25 miles to go!
- Slay the day
- 99% of the people in the world can’t do what you’re doing right now
- It’s just a hill. GET OVER IT.
- That’s not sweat, that’s liquid awesomeness
- Run like Ryan Gosling is at the finish line. (What, no Scarlett Johansson sign?)
- Stop reading this and keep running!
- Pain is just a vehicle {somethin’ somethin’ about success}
(On that note, there’s something uniquely demoralizing about signs that use the word “pain” … no matter what the message, just seeing the word seems to make things worse.)
In mile 22 the 3:50 pacer passed me running alone; I tried briefly to keep up but quickly discarded that absurd notion. As her silhouette receded in the distance, so too did my “A” goal of a sub-3:45 finish. Forget 3:45, I thought bitterly, at this stage I’ll be lucky to finish by 3:45pm.
And down the stretch they come! (mile 26 and then some)
My pace crept up into the 10 min/mile range as we turned back west, where a robust tailwind was waiting to escort us to the finish. In any other race I might have sung Mother Nature’s praises; now though, with my quads and calves threatening a meltdown at any moment, I neither wanted nor needed a tailwind pushing me, and I’d prove unable to take advantage.
Because in essence, these last four miles would simply be a matter of hanging on — the downhill hurt, the tailwind wasn’t helping, and gradually I reached the point where my legs were so torn up I could barely lift them with each step. I felt like one of those poor saps from Greek mythology who turned to stone after gazing upon Medusa’s face.
On the bright (or not bright, as it turns out) side, the weather was cooperating and the day had turned out to be mostly cloudy, such that our frenemy the sun never had a chance to burn away the clouds and ratchet up the heat as it generally does for other Hawaiian marathons.
With my unseeing gaze directed straight ahead (it’s Hawaii, head up!), I felt more than saw the occasional car or truck whiz by on our right, though safety was never a concern since we were well buffered by the width of the road shoulder.
Given my ever-slowing pace, I was amazed that until the last half-mile or so, nobody passed me who I didn’t immediately pass again. Apparently we were all hurting, though I’d be lying if I said my own misery loved the company.
Cheers! Let the recovery begin
I dug deep, focused my remaining energy on each labored step and resolved to stay the course for as long as I could without stopping to walk — walking, after all, would only prolong the discomfort. Having felt my legs wobble when I’d paused to grab my bottle at mile 15, I knew that if I gave into my fatigue and slowed to a walk now, my legs would blissfully throw in the towel and I’d be unable to get them started again.
My inner struggle felt like the ugliest thing on this beautiful island. Do I still have any shot at four hours? Honestly I had no idea, and I refused to glance at my Garmin lest I add to my stress.
Admittedly, every photo taken of me in the last six miles was an abject lie… I sure as hell didn’t feel like smiling or throwing up the shaka sign, but then again I’d paid to do this and we were in Hawaii, so I might as well make the best of it.
The “One Mile To Go” video of me on the REVEL website is almost comical. My arms seem to be single-handedly (no pun intended) trying to propel me to the finish, pumping furiously up top while down below you could barely slide a playing card under my feet with each step. Watching it makes me wince. And yet my form is downright fluid compared to my finish line video — I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone cross the finish line as if they were walking barefoot on broken glass:
Cresting one last rise in the road, the finish line came into view below us; try as I might, though, I could no longer lift my legs to speed up. So awkwardly I tossed Katie my bottle, rounded the third and final turn of the day, and passed under the first-ever REVEL Kulia finish arch in a hard-earned time of 3:58:38.
🎵 … will send me someone to lava. 🎶
HEY BUDDY, WHAT’S YOUR HURRY??
Bent, but unbroken
Stopping to gather my wits, I was surprised when my unsteady legs didn’t give way beneath me. Genius hobby of yours, was all my brain could muster. Somehow I was able to bend at the waist to receive my finisher’s medal and purple orchid lei (a thoughtful touch). Looking back at the finish, I saw my SoCal buddy Robert squeeze in under the four-hour mark himself; his companion Karen would finish her 50th state an hour later.
Then I stood rooted to the ground, bent over, hands on knees with an icy wet towel (another awesome REVEL touch) resting on the back of my neck. Someone asked if I wanted medical assistance, and glancing up to meet their eyes I realized I was standing alongside the well-stocked medical tent. No thanks, I’ll be fine… eventually. At least heat hadn’t been an issue as it had been at Mt Charleston.
Trying in vain to get comfortable on my feet, I collapsed in one of the few available folding chairs off to one side of the gravel highway pullout that doubled as a venue for the post-race party. Granted I was in no mood to mingle, but then again I didn’t seem to be missing much — along with water and chocolate milk (too soon), refreshments included canned beer (way too soon) and Domino’s Pizza (always too soon). Rather than a massage tent (always a bonus), four Rapid Reboot pneumatic compression machines were set up and seemed to be taking forever between customers, so I gave up on that idea. That was it as far as sponsor booths go.
Always great to see a friendly face in a faraway place (photo: Robert Manon)
We stuck around to watch for Bay Area native David, whom we’d met at dinner the previous evening along with his wife Nancy. David had qualified for Boston in four different age groups and was gunning for his fifth different age group BQ at Kulia. Unfortunately 5,700 feet of downhill would take its toll on him as well, and despite needing a qualifying time of 4:05, he’d finish just short of 4:35. But David knows as well as anyone that the marathon is an unforgiving beast. And no doubt he’ll be toeing another start line soon with an eye toward 4:05. I’d recommend one of the flat September Last Chance BQ.2 races in Illinois or Michigan. 😉
That afternoon we hopped in the car and headed north on Hwy 270 to the Pololu Valley Lookout, which offers spectacular ocean views along with access to a black sand beach on the valley floor. Thing is, you first have to reach the valley floor, which requires a short, steep and rocky hike that drops ~420 ft in 0.6 miles. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem — unless you’ve already dropped 5,700 feet in 26.2 miles that same day. I felt as though I were trying to negotiate the descent with concrete pillars for legs, and if it hadn’t been for Katie’s shoulder I wouldn’t have stood a chance. So then my advice if you’re planning to run REVEL Kulia for speed: save the hiking for the next day.
Not that the next day in Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park was much better. In fact, it may have been worse for my calves, even though my quads escaped Kulia relatively unscathed. Volcanic black rock makes for unstable footing under the best of circumstances, and this was certainly not that. Even on smooth paved surfaces, the slightest downhill left me shuffling sideways or grasping at Katie’s shoulder for stability… and stepping down from even the lowest curb? Fuhgeddaboudit.
On one walk in the park we encountered an older couple, the man using a walking stick and clinging to his wife’s shoulder for support on one short decline. Looking at them felt like looking in a funhouse mirror that, rather than making us short & squat or tall & thin, aged us 30 years. He and I were moving similarly, and suddenly I had a renewed empathy for the challenges of aging. Not since I’d put my ankle on backward during the 2013 ET Full Moon Midnight Marathon had I felt so helpless on my own two feet.
And with that, the decision was made for me. In much the same way that professional coaches and politicians who otherwise would be fired suddenly resign to “spend more time with their family,” I’d be taking forced time off after Kulia to come down from my protracted runner’s high and fully appreciate an amazing week. Two countries, two continents, state 26 of my 50 States quest… it was all good. Even my aggrieved calves would (eventually) come to agree.
Hawaii’s newest marathon features a beautiful course that I’d wholeheartedly recommend. Team REVEL does a solid, consistently professional job in helping their runners set personal bests and qualify for Boston, and Kulia is no exception. But if you do view REVEL as your ticket to Boston, be sure to approach it with eyes wide open.
Because if you think running downhill (and especially this much downhill) is easy, then I leave you with the wisdom of Ernest Hemingway protagonist Jake Barnes, whose wistful words close The Sun Also Rises as he reflects on a star-crossed relationship that might have been.
“Yes, isn’t it pretty to think so?”
BOTTOM LINE: If you’ve ever run a REVEL race, then you know exactly what awaits you on the Big Island… and if you haven’t, you may want to carry a fire extinguisher just in case your legs spontaneously combust. With nearly 5,700 feet of descent according to my Garmin, Kulia wears the downhill crown as the steepest of the eight REVEL courses — which is a bit like calling the Pacific the deepest of the oceans.
Physically, my own race could be broken down into two clear segments — 18 miles of “Count me in!” followed by eight miles of “Get me OUT.” Even a tailwind in the last six miles couldn’t save me from imploding. Granted, I’d run Tokyo six days earlier or I might have expected more of a 20/6 or 22/4 split. In any case, based on my previous REVEL experience at last year’s Mt Charleston Marathon in Nevada, I knew the last few miles would be painful… I just didn’t expect that my quads and calves would call it quits in unison.
On the bright side, it’s Hawaii so the scenery is beautiful. Gazing out across the Pacific Ocean and seeing Maui in the distance certainly helped to distract from my mounting fatigue. Best of all, once you cross the finish line you are now free to move about the island and to enjoy all that Hawaii has to offer — if you can still walk, that is. It’s no accident the medical tent is only steps away from the finish line.
Just another evening in Hawaii…
… and literally one minute later
PRODUCTION: This year’s inaugural Kulia race definitely delivered on REVEL’s promise of “fast and beautiful,” though the evidence suggests that with 5,700 feet of elevation loss, the company may well have reached the law of diminishing returns on speed.
Not surprisingly given its venue, Kulia is the most expensive of the REVEL events — I’d paid an early-bird registration price of $130 including a $10 discount code. Still significantly cheaper than say, Honolulu, and probably not a deal-breaker if you’re traveling from the mainland to run in Hawaii. Plus, your registration comes with all the niceties you’d expect from a REVEL event, including free gloves/heat sheet to stay warm on race morning, near-immediate results via email, free race photos, and even free goodr sunglasses. Race day also featured some distinctly Hawaiian touches including a pre-race conch blowing and native prayer, plus purple orchid leis at the finish line. And who doesn’t love a lei?
The expo was small and easily navigated, with several of the same vendors I’d seen at last year’s Mt Charleston expo including doTERRA (essential oils) and Rapid Reboot (recovery). We also met the garrulous race director of the Big Island International Marathon who was none too pleased (understandably so) that REVEL had shown up in his ‘hood and scheduled a marathon/half marathon one week before his own.
On-course support was excellent, including a bottle of Maurten that Katie dropped off and which was waiting for me at the mile 15 aid station. (Mahalo, volunteers!) Be aware, though, if you’re a runner who feeds off spectator support and raucous crowds: outside of aid station volunteers, I could count the number of spectators on two hands. On the plus side, few spectators meant few vehicles, and despite the fact we shared the road with traffic for much of the race, the organizers did a nice job of allowing us a wide berth such that safety concerns were minimal.
That said, the course definitely needed more trash bins, as discarded Dixie cups or GU packets in several spots lay one gust of wind away from becoming island detritus for a grazing goat to find.
The post-race party felt more functional than festive, held as it was in a gravel clearing on the side of the highway with a spread of Domino’s Pizza, water, chocolate milk and canned beer. As the lead singer of Suicidal Tendencies once lamented, all I wanted was a Pepsi, and sadly there was none to be had. Chocolate milk or beer definitely wasn’t going to cut it for a stressed-out stomach that wasn’t yet ready for protein, fat or alcohol.
On a semi-related note, with the REVEL team now in charge things are looking up for this year’s newly resurrected Portland Marathon, which after several years of poor management and underperformance (culminating in a 2018 cancellation and change of leadership) finally promises to live up to its potential.
SWAG: REVEL takes its swag seriously. In addition to everything mentioned above (gloves, goodr sunglasses, lei), their race tees are among the best in the business, while their finisher medals are always hefty and well crafted, even if they insist on featuring their company logo (and was this year’s spiral supposed to represent a… nautilus shell?) rather than, say, a true Hawaiian-themed design. But the ultimate swag, really, is the opportunity to explore and experience the beauty of the Big Island. In the words of legendary marathoner William Shakespeare, “I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”
Updated 50 States Map:
RaceRaves rating:
FINAL STATS:
Mar 9, 2019 (start time 6:30 am, sunrise 6:36 am)
26.15 miles from Waimea to Waikoloa Village, HI (state 26 of 50)
Finish time & pace: 3:58:38 (inaugural REVEL Kulia), 9:06/mile
Finish place: 132 overall, 20/31 in M 45-49 age group
Number of finishers: 323 (171 men, 152 women)
Race weather: clear (46°F) at the start, partly cloudy & warm at the finish
Elevation change (Garmin Connect): 181 ft gain, 5,747 ft loss
Elevation min, max: 117 ft, 5,686 ft
