Po'uli'uli: Out with the Night Marchers

I was laggin behind Zadoc and Rob out of Pair-a-dice as I just could not seem to get it together. You know how it goes. You forget all the rules you have down so well and then you find yourself out there ten minutes into the run totally unprepared to actually be there. My lights were not powered up, my hand held in particular was about as bright as some star sitting 20 light years off. My socks were not fitting well as I had walked around the house in them for a few minutes before putting on my shoes, I had a eaten a Mexican meal at lunch and the beans were growlin in my gut, I pulled on my bladder hose and ripped the mouth piece right off-which took me five minutes to find and get set properly. But I just pushed on, knowing that sooner or later I'd get it together and all the problems would settle out. That is what constant training does more than anything else. It gives you confidence to face all the screw-ups you basically inflict upon yourself. The trail is neutral, you are your own worst enemy.



So I chased Rob and Zadoc up and out of Manoa, with Rob flying up the hills as if he hadn't run in years, and hitting the Pie Stand in about 52. Then he moved fast along the Flats and out toward the bench. I commented to Zadoc that Rob appeared to be on a mission. Rob said he was testing out his leg, which he had injured at Plain, and it appeared the test was going well, though I could not say I was finding the pace particularly helpful to my still somewhat disordered state. I knew if I stopped they'd be gone far down the trail, and I'd be moping along out there with poor lights, the Night Marchers padding ever closer on my heels.

I pushed out of the Pie Stand just ahead of Zadoc, Rob already gone far through the bambo. I was, however, following closer by then and feeling a bit more in control. I had managed to down a half dozen beano with the hope that it would quiet my gut, and my feet were feeling more comfortable in my shoes. I'd adjusted to the dim mono vision view of just having a head lamp and kept striding along, believing that my time would come, that somewhere in the distance I would pay these guys back for dragging me out of Manoa so abruptly.

We reached the Grassy Knoll and Baens Bench and I quickly replaced the batteries in my hand held. The guys were kind enough to wait for me, and then we headed down with Zadoc leading, and me a bit behind. Rob took up drag while he tested out his ankle on the big down. We made good time as Zadoc seemed to have picked up the baton and appeared compelled to move ahead of us at a rapid pace pushing on down like Rob had pushed up and over. Downs ain't my gig, but I gave it what I had, and my better knowledge of the lines helped me stay up with Zadoc.

We made it down through the Forest, along the bottoms and to the turn at a rapid clip, and that's were I ran into a pair of old friends; The warrior Kahulu and the Ali'i'kaua Kamohomoho. Kahulu is an easy fellow when he is not killing something and he just laughed and said it was good to be out running again, and that it beat marchin around one of Milu's dark fires. He had fought under Kamo's command over much of his life and had been with him through the difficult Maui and Oahu campaigns. There wasn't a more stalwart leader among the Maui armies. Kamohomoho, King Kalanikuple's uncle and trusted war chief, just looked at me hard, and I could tell he intended to beat me up bad on the trip to the top. He didn't resent us being out there on Po'uli'uli but the challenge was clear, and he took on the duel with grim determination. What can you say to guys whose idea of HURT is a bit more serious and long running than ours?

'Well," I thought to myself, "Now I have the ultimate pacers." Kamohomoho has run these trails for a long time and some say he was the first to race the Manoa-Nu'uanu trail--a story buried somewhere in one of my books, so for him it is always a matter of pride to be out there on Po'uli'uli and challenge any runner silly enough to show. Before I could much more than greet the two new additions the five of us headed back along the stream trail at a good clip, and I found myself chasing a couple of ancient pros, men who had had time to learn the lines of the climb out of Jackass like no runner in this day can. Men who, having a chance to draw a long deep breath of fresh air were exhilarated and met the challenge of the climb as if it was their chance at an asscent into heaven, which it may have been for all I know. My only edge was that Kamo is in his mid fifties, or so I am given to estimate. But some say he did not die in the battle of Nu'uanu, and sailed back to Maui where he sought peace with his cousin Kamehameha. I figured I was spotting him a few years in any case, and given his weight, somewhere in the 230 range I picked up a bit more of an edge. But it was a solid 230 spread over a six foot five full time warrior frame. I can generally do wonders with those kinds of advantages. But then again, how many other over six foot 200 plus sixty year old are out there running the night trails? I have the advantage in that group largely because it remains generally uncontested. But now I was chasing Kamo up that trail and he was threatening to leave me behind. Ghosts can beat me at a lot of things, but I told myself I wasn't going to let one beat my ass bad up that hillside.

We hit the bottoms, my pacers and I, and we had the others trailing a bit, though Zadoc was strong, and he was often right behind me on all but the steepest sections where knowledge of the right line is key. Kamo pushed hard and had me wheezing and huffing and puffing as we finally made our way into the lower reaches of the Enchanted Forest. The guys had adjusted to the pace and both were back up with us. But I pushed on, chasing Kamo and Kahulu, jogging the downs and easier ups, striding hard and relentlessly on the steeper sections, taking advantage every technical point I could. I was keeping up with Kamo but just barely. That Damned Kahulu was laughing and joking, telling stories about his days as a Kukini on Maui, and making comments about all the noise I was making. It was clear that he was as good or better a runner than Kamo, but knew enough to demure to his eternal leader. Much like Fishy he never seemed to break a sweat and was always ready with a comment or burst of speed.

We made it up toward the top of the Forest and I could feel Rob weakening under the pace Kamo was setting, and every once in a while I thought we had Zadoc pushing a bit beyond his limit, but he would not be shaken. It was all I could do to stay with Kamo, as he ground up and out of the Forest. We were climbing so hard and fast at times that I would lose the line, find myself stumbling a bit as my feet fought to find a purchase over familiar but vaguely strange ground. It is amazing what a few inches to one side or the other of the line can do to a person's perception of the trail.

I always divide the area above the Norfolks into three mental sections. There is the hard push around the mauka valley, steep and somewhat technical, up past the seepy waterfall, and then the march toward the inner switchback, and the hard push back out of the inner valley and toward the rocky outcrop that marks the ridge line. We moved up this at a rapid pace, and after the forced march through the Enchanted Forest Rob's light began to fall farther back. "Wait for you at the top!" I yelled in gasping breath as we passed over him on the higher switch. Kamo, feeling me slow just a bit to call to Rob, just pushed harder, grabbing every advantage he found.

The Outcrop is perhaps the only point on the trail where the trees part, the sky opens up and one can look out into the broad valley of Nu'uanu and get an idea of just where you are and how quickly you have climbed. But we were pushing hard and all I really saw were the rocks marking the footholds and the old stump of the long cut tree at the top of the outcrop. Then we were back under the canopy, Kamo pushing hard, and my horizon the cone of light from my headlamp. I was gasping, belching, farting all at the same time while I struggled to keep up with the ghostly figure just beyond my light. Behind me Kahulu continued his chatter and laughter. It was like running with a demented Fish man. Kahulu was full of encouragement and occasionally hard demands, but he framed it all in one long humorous commentary on the experience.

The second up section is the tricky one and from the view point and higher there is a long windy kind of trail that leads makai into a minor valley or gulch, then we move across a hard lava rock wash of a periodic spring/seep and twist up along the steeper hillside. Then it gets rough. First there is the harsh steep switchback with a few old steps held in place by metal pegs, then the quick push up the Rock Wall followed by a hard climb higher along steep technical ground, a brief respite, then one negotiates the stump of the fallen tree, that came down last year just before my 60 Hour, up through its roots and a few yards farther on to Slippery Rock, which can confuse and even bring pain to any novice to the trail. Then the short steep and nasty climb above it and finally the steep rocky switch back over the same water course we passed below, then a steeper climb up to the next switch, and then makai back out toward the final ridge line of the climb. We did this almost without respite. It wasn't like our two new pacers were afraid of dropping dead, or popping a heart valve, but as I chased I could here Kamo huffing and puffin almost as hard as I was.

One can always tell oneself the worst is over after making that switch above Slippery Rock, but it is still a nasty climb none-the-less. The trail begins smooth but steepens, then it becomes very technical, and at some points, like Blue Rope, a bit dangerous. Beyond the Rope is one more steep and rocky section and then it is actually possible to jog a bit toward Five Minute Hill. From my point of view that is the Nu'uanu up and I had managed to tag Kamohomoho pretty close, though I had to push hard over the final ground, even breaking into a fast jog.

I don't even count Five Minute as part of the Nu'uanu Up while I am doing the climb. It just sits out there on the gray horizon of my mind as I fight to make the agonizing climb. Including it would be just too much. I always have to tell myself that the climb is to the bottom of Five Minute. I push like that is the case, understanding the terrible lie I am telling myself, and the pain and suffering I am going to be inflicting upon myself as a result. But there is no other way. If you keep thinking about Five Minute when you are in the midst of the lower sections you will never be able to push up and out of the valley as hard as you need to. Your mind will be crying and complaining about 'having to save yourself' for the Hill, and you drown yourself in a a sea of choppy complaints. Better to tell the lie, 'Five Minute hill is really Nothing', wink-wink-nod-nod, and give it all you have on the endless push out of the Nu'uanu.

When you reach the bottom of Five Minutes you will just be forced to come up with some extraordinary effort to complete it. It will be miserable, you will hate yourself and the world. You will feel demeaned at times, and if transcending is some kind of gut twisting and lung burning experience you will be bathed in it. Personal heroics are often based on such lies. The mind and body can both be conned by willful deception when necessary. The extraordinary thing is that the more you do it to yourself the more willing you are to actually believe the con. The bottom line is that few if any of us are actually hero's we are just patsies to our own personal dishonest machinations, coaxing and outright con jobs. If we all told the truth: "I told myself it would be easy, even though I knew I was going to get my ass kicked all the way up, and I'm still amazed I even made it." rather than let others speak for us: "He was heroic in his achievement fighting through all the known odds of failure and achieving great success." the earth would be a lot more funny and livable place. We all to often make hero's out of people who are their own personal saps. But perhaps that says more about our need to create so many 'heros' and not be satisfied with the truth that very very few of us are actually anything more than highly delusional.

Kamo hit the Hill looked back at me and grinned and push hard up the first steep crab walking it-low to the ground and letting his long legs cover the ground quickly. I followed suit, pushing hard, Zadoc was right behind me, and Kahulu brought up the rear, singing in a monotone but heavy syncopated chant. There was not even time for me to look at my watch, we just raced up the steeps of the first section, making the ridge line more quickly than I was used to, and then racing over the narrow band of rock.

Five Minute is an ironic name for the Hill, as at the best of times it is entirely possible to get up the hill in under four. But Five Minute Hill is named because even at the worst of times you need to be getting up this hill in under five minutes. If you don't, then you know you have real problems. That is not to say that five minutes is an easy time, it isn't, and if you are not in shape five minutes on this hill can be one long eternity. The hill is relentless, it is first steep, then technical along the narrow ridges, then so steep you find yourself wondering how you can actually climb up the vertical dirt slopes. Then it becomes steep and technical, the rooty section of the final ascent making the way even more difficult.

We were running when we hit the final steep, and Kamo hardly broke his pace as he pushed up the steep dirt slide. I thought he would just leave me behind, but his bare foot slipped, where my Adidas grabbed hard, and I gained a few paces on him. He pushed left and I broke right, taking that often unused line that zigs and zags through the heavy roots on the last two grassy ups. It was a gamble, but I was all in, I needed to gamble if I was going to win. I could hear Kamo off to the left and he was gasping almost as bad as me. I pushed the air out on each breath, letting my lungs fill and then, for just a split second more, fill again, and then I pushed it back out hard. I always figure this kind of forced breathing gives me five to ten percent more power. It was just enough and I pulled ahead of Kamohomoho in the middle of the last up. I had him! I thought to myself, and then I stumbled and he surged forward. I bent into the hill and let the fire and pain in my body flow through me, and milked my already oxygen depleted state for one more charge. We hit the top chest even, both of us gasping, both of us forced to bend into the pain. Finally I stood up, and found Kamo hard at me. For a moment I thought I was due for some serious retribution. Then just as fast he smiled and slammed his hand down on my shoulder. My knees buckled a bit, my shoulder sagged but I stood straight and stared back at him, with the edge of smile on my face. It was the 'Goooo Jawwww' moment.

We turned back toward the hill as Zadoc and Kahulu pushed over the edge. Kamo spoke quickly and firmly with Kahulu. Kahulu turned and he to slapped me hard on the shoulder. The Ali'i'kaua Kamohomoho asks me to inform you that you are always welcome to run with us on Po'uli'uli. I said my Maholo to Kamohomoho, bid both warriors Aloha, and they quickly moved off up the trail as if they had not just climbed out of Nu'uanu. I staggered to the bench and sat down sucking on my water hose and waited for Rob, reflecting on the past 30 or so minutes and the meaning of hitting the top of Five Minute.

I've seen all kinds of reactions at the top of the Hill. It hurts so much getting there after the long haul out of the Nu'uanu Bottoms and then hitting Five Minute, and one has been fighting so hard, that people are often filled with anger and frustration. They had fought through their reserves far down the hill, and had begun throwing everything into the fire just to keep going. Anger and Frustration are what gets thrown in when you have stripped you body and mind of everything else. Some people get to the top of that hill and they want to punch somebody for putting them through all the agony, and it takes a few moments for that abject anger and frustration to evaporate. So when you are standing there and some poor soul comes dragging himself up that final steep, gasps like he is about to die, and bends over and pukes, stand back a ways when you utter that congratulatory 'GOO JaWWW Mannn!' because he may just be looking for some neck to wring. And you really don't want to be self selecting yours for that particular award.

When Rob came over the top he was hurting, but he snapped back in a minute or so, and he, Zadoc and I pushed off down the trail toward Aihuilama, and the Falls trail to complete our New Moon out and back. We traveled hard and made good time, but for me the run over, and I spent a lot of time reflecting on that push up the Hill with Kamo.

There is no doubt that I'll take the great warrior up on his invitation, and its likely that when I am gone from this time and plain of reality I will be running with him when ever I can. So, after I go, if you are pushing up out of Nu'uanu on a dark Po'uli'uli and you hear some one breathing hard at your back but know you are alone on the trail, it may well be my spirit, out for that one day of the month, pushing with up that endless up, doing what I love to do. And if you don't push extra hard up Five Minute, you may, joust out of the corner of your eye, catch a glimpse of me beating you up that hill! And after you hit the top, if the light of stars is just right, you may see me, Kamo, and Kahulu marching away fast on that long curvy section above the Grassy Knoll, as we need to make distance and complete our monthly march along the trails, ancient and modern above Honolulu long before dawn. Aloha. Mikem