Maui Moonlight Madness July 22nd-25th

The Maui Moonlight Madness Marathon

(Haleakala the Hard Way)

Moonlight on Maui

MikeM and Julie T. bring you another in the mad mad run concepts

Gang, here is your chance to see Maui by the light of the Full Moon. This is a run of a lifetime. It includes every run you have heard about on Maui in the economical period of just a few short days.(Think of the money you will save on hotels and food!)

Run the many bridges of the Hana Highway, The Maui Marathon route, Legendary Kapalua, Mythical Makena, Historic Lahaina, and, of course, the Awesome Haleakala!

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The Official Ultralist RTS Race Report

The 36.2 mile Run to the Sun began at 4:30 AM this last Saturday, March 14th 2009, at the House of Pancakes sign at Maui Mall in Kahulu’i Maui, Hawaii. Conditions were beautiful and occasionally runners waiting at the start caught a view of the finish line at 10000 feet high atop the distant Haleakela volcano. John Salmonson, the god-father of Hawaii Ultra Running, started the race and soon after racers received a considerable Hawaiian blessing—a heavy downpour of rain and gusting of wind.

In less than an hour the southwestern winds moderated, the skies became scattered clouds and the near full moon cast a silvery glow across the cane fields and lowlands of the Maui saddle. It seemed an enchanting day to be running across the island that many call pair-o-dice. But the spirits of the land seemed unsettled, and even those in the lead could feel the turbulence that hung low in the air to the southwest.

If you have run the RTS before, or visited Maui you may be familiar with how the showers brought in by the northeastern trades sweep along the northeastern slopes of the volcano, finally being held up by a northwestern ridge of cinder cones and high flows. It usually allows runners to skirt the edges of the squalls and seek protection against the less exposed western face of the mountain higher up the slopes. With a reversal of this weather pattern the lower levels were more protected, but the higher one climbed the colder and more exposed to winds runners became. Above the 4000 foot level conditions quickly deteriorated as fogs, mists, and gusts brushed hard across the mountain. The temperature dropped quickly from the seventies, down through the sixties and fifties.

Rains dampened the runners and winds sucked up body heat. The switchbacks through the pasture land from 4500 to 7000 feet, were intermittently reminiscent of those golden moments of past races, but all to often runners were held up on hairpin turns by high gusting winds heavy with sharp biting rains. Those with heavier gear in drop bags at the Park visitor center were smart if they put on all they had brought along, because above 7000 feet the mists grew thick, the winds howled, and rain pelted hard and stinging on exposed skin surfaces. As the lead runners broached 8000 feet the winds gusted near 50, temperatures dropped below 30 and freezing rain iced the roads and coated the landscape.

Discussions between Park Rangers, race coordinators, and emergency personal led to the moving of the finish to a secondary location at 9200 feet and approx 33 miles, which was below the most difficult of conditions. All the emergency alternative preparations began to pay off and though disappointed, cold and near hypothermic runners were sheltered in the back of a truck to warm up before being shuttled to their rides, or back down the mountain. Cold, wet, shivering, and very tired runners were warmed with hot soup, or hot chocolate, layered in blankets, and watched over by cautious and concerned volunteers. What could have been a very difficult situation for all was extremely well handled by a very prepared and dedicated coordination of volunteers, Park staff, and Maui Emergency Personnel.

Most runners felt a certain wistful regret at not having made it to the top this year. But there were very few complaints from those warming up in the trucks and vans; and a trip to the top where the ice hung heavy in storm force winds was enough to cure all but the few who combine ultra-running with abject stupidity, of their irrational desire to continue beyond the official stopping point. As one local runner explained, there are ample methods of killing yourself in the islands. You can always come back tomorrow Brah, freeze your ass off, get lost, and die and there won’t be anybody to stop you. It was a gentle reminder that almost every island in the group has recorded a score or so of runners and hikers who have disregarded local cautions and simple common sense and gone out and become forever lost.

The top finishers are posted below with complete list at
http://hurthawaii.blogs.com/RTS%202009%20Results.pdf

1 Meissner Sean Or 35 M 5:30:47 1
2 Miyachi Fujio Japan 30 M 5:34:02 2
3 Armstrong Jaime CAN 32 M 5:39:02 3
4 Glaus Eric Hi 47 M 6:01:50 1/40
5 Hart Ellen Co 50 F 6:08:50 1
6 Schramm Erica Nv 30 F 6:10:06 2
7 Cutting Shannon Hi 44 F 6:20:31 3
8 Schramm Mike Nv 40 M 6:36:20 2/40
9 Denniss Tom AUS 48 M 6:42:35 3/40
10 Edwards John BC 63 M 6:44:38 1/60
11 Eklof Klas CA 38 M 6:47:49 1/30

Up the Tantalus Road

It was the typical Saturday Haleakela Training Run. Good to be back on familiar ground, and good to be running with some old friends. We ran to the top of Concretes and got a ride down. Did two of these. Everyone seemed to be just about trained out. The RTS is just weeks away.

Midway up the Road.

Farther up the Hill

I ran a bit with Don, and chased a few of the others. The roads were a bit hard on my legs. The ups were not great times, but they were ups. I needed to run with the bottle pack to get used to it again. Just slapping it on always causes me to have spasms in my right piriformis.

Running to the House of the Sun

David and I left Lahaina early and made it to the Maui Mall before 5:00 am. I headed out immediately and David stayed to get his gear ready. Right away I knew I had too much stuff. I was running no heavier than I normally do on trails during training, but trying to carry weight and jog roads is always insane. I quickly dropped into a hard pace, and basically maintained that pace the rest of the day.

Photo's of the run

David passed me just as we hit Pulehu road less than two miles into the run. I tried again to jog, but it was a no go. My right ankle was bothering me, I was tight, and I had a list of things I could complain about if I bothered to become concerned with them. We ran down the dark Pulehu cane road, first pretty much alone, and then, as the morning came upon us and it became closer to dawn, the early morning traffic started to barrel out of the hills. Most people are cool and if they can they will give a runner or a biker as much space a possible. But the guy who will kill you either doesn't see you or is one of those kind that sees you, and gets worried about crossing the line into no traffic, and damn near hits you for nothing. When cars are doing over 60 on bad back roads it becomes a bit of a burden. My progress was a bit slower as I dodged off the road when I could.

I usually run on the left as required in the race, but traffic was so heavy, and the guys so nuts, I was forced to the right, and just kept an ear out for traffic coming up the road.

It was slow going up Pulehu, and traffic only dropped off as we hit Pulehuiki; that section of steep ups that never seems to end. I pushed hard telling myself that this was a place were I could catch up on David and powered to the top. It was still slow. I just had too much water in the pack, and too many emergency items to keep my weight down. I made the turn onto the Kekaulike Highway at about 3:30, at least 30 and perhaps 45 minutes behind my best race pace.

It was light by then, and the lowlands were beautiful. The Haleakala was shrouded in clouds. I could look down on Kahalui, and the Wailuku plains. The ocean was turning from gray to a dusky blue. There were plenty of birds in the trees of the small farms along the road, a goat here, a cow there. One old Japanese lady was tending her small patch of strawberries, another woman was wandering her gardens with a pair of binoculars looking for birds. I waved to people, said good morning, and they would stare at me briefly as I strode hard up the hill past them.

The turn onto the Crater Road is always a relief. The traffic is reduced to park almost only park visitors. The road is better, with a bit of a runner's lane, and the views are tremendous as the pasture land blocks nothing. I worked my way up the first miles of the road that wind throught the last of the housing lots. And about mile two I passed a nice looking woman walking her dog. I was half hoping she would ask me to come to her house for a cup of coffee. (Nothing like a smelly runner in your kitchen!). But she didn't, and I hurried by her after a brief hello.

I made the second water cache and downed a large portion of a container of gator-aide. I was jamming potato chips into my mouth when I turned to find that the lady I had recently passed was once again right behind me. It was a testament to the slowness of my pace. I burped loudly in surprise, and with barely a nod to her I took off again. At every switch back I noticed the woman was still just behind me. I was still fantasizing that cup of coffee and at each turn I half watched to see if she would offer that out as an alternative to the long haul up the road. Then somewhere on a long switchback she disappeared.

I ran on and looked up along the ridges trying to find David. On one of the long stretches with a view up the mountain I spotted his white shirt--who else would be walking the road? I noted the place and pushed on trying to get to the spot. It took me twenty minutes to climb the five or six switchbacks to where the road showed the dark cut into the side of the mountain. I pushed on hoping David would become discouraged, or get tired, or bored. My only weapon was a steady pace. When we had eaten at Da Kitchen, I had told Les I would be relentless. It was time to live up to that statement. Every time the road sloped up I pushed harder.

It's maybe six to eight miles of switchbacks up to the ranger station. You can look up the hill across the pastureland and see the road high up, almost beyond distinction. Occasionally a bus or a car would move like a small white bug across the hillside. I put my head down and just pushed on, while watching the dead and dying earthworms that had come out onto the heat of the road in the wetness of the mountain night slowly disintegrate under my feet. There were tens of thousands of worms on the black shinny asphalt. Some still trying to find their way back to the side of the road, most just memories of what they had been. And there were hundreds of cow plops. It seemed the cows, too, came onto the road at night to warm themselves in the heat of the dark road. All along the side of the road there was evidence of their night gathering. Looking down as I forced my stride, my best understanding of the climb was cow plops and dead worms. The views were everywhere, but only occasionally noticed, the road was the center of my universe. The cantered side a growing aggravation, the running water, the mud, offered distractions, and the white line at the outside of the lane marking the edge of my narrow 'right of way' world.

At each switchback one has to make the decision to stay left, as the race rules require, or to move to the right. When there are a hundred people on the road it is easy to stay left on the hairpins that bend and cut through the hillsides up and to the left. When you are alone, the thought of somebody cutting the corner is always with you, and bikers are often reluctant to get into the road. It can be dangerous rounding the blind bends.

I also knew that David was cutting the corners when he could. It was his style. If I was going to catch him, I had to run his race. I gave each long rightward bending switch back a good look, and where necessary I slipped across the long expanse of road to the top of the next long straight.

There were cows grazing up the hillsides. They ignored the cars, but found me note worthy. They would stop their grazing and stare blankly at me as I moved past. I talked to them, made noises, called them. They just looked at me, their heads following my progress. Only a few seemed ready to move toward me. I'd moo at them and they would shake their heads and trot away, looking for more peaceful forage.

Rounding on right hand switchback I came upon a family pulled of to the side of the road. The father had a tourist book on the hood of the car and was talking intently on the phone to a tour agent. The young son was standing at the back of the car, the trunk up, getting something to eat. For a moment I thought he was ready to offer me something. We exchanged greetings as I went by. The old man was saying "So basically every price has increased from the ones that are advertised. Well what about the 'Wild' dolphin Tour is that still open? I ran on thinking about the meaning of such a tour. Wild dolphins were Mahimahi. Did that mean you got a nice fish sandwich? Or if were porpoise they referred to, what did one do to ensure you got to meet wild dolphins.

I ran on, making the turn, coming past them 100 feet below me. The father now haranguing his wife about the prices and the need to find some kind of tour for the afternoon. The woman walking the dog strode past them. It just seemed stupid. The whole fucking island lay below them and this nerd had to have somebody take him on a planned event to fill his day. But many tourists think swimming with the dolphins....the mammals not the fish, is something everyone does when they visit Hawaii.

I was alone most of the time as I pushed up the switchbacks. The occasional bike riders would fly down past me, a few of the slower ones offering a 'Good Morning!' That's another event many people plan for Maui. They get a ride up the mountain and then coast down. It seems a bit stupid to me. But I am sure there were not many people who passed me in cars or on bikes who would have willingly traded places. One in a hundred would do what I am doing, maybe one in a thousand. The rest wanted to coast down the hills, applying the brakes, getting some thrill over the drop. The tours are fairly well managed. I passed a group getting ready, and the guide was instructing them on the hand signals he would be using. Most had vans following them down. There were only a few markers on the side of the road noting where some poor soul ended his trip off to the side of the road.

The slopes became wetter as I climbed. The hillsides were flushing water, and the streams flowing stronger than I had ever seen before. It started to get a bit cold, but the long sleeve running shirt was still sufficient. The mists came in occasionally, the fog dropped down the mountain at intervals, but for the most part the weather stayed up higher, and above 6500 feet. Three was a great view of the west end of Maui. I could occasionally look down and see the slopes I had climbed. At a few points I could actually see the entire route. With a telescope I felt I could look right down and see the House of Pancakes sign at the edge of the Maui Mall, where we had started.

My legs were holding up well. I had a bit of a problem with my left foot, which is normal. I stopped occasionally to pull the sock up to eliminate the hot spot I felt on the heel. I knew I would not escape unscathed but I have learned that one much react immediately to heat on the feet. it is the only way to survive a long run. Other than that I was feeling good and just working on my concentration. When I get good concentration my thoughts become quiet and I live the steps. The miles move by about every fifteen minutes, and I watch the hours slip by. One hour, become like the last, one mile similar to the previous, each step a concentrated stride. I monitor my reactions, my feelings, and make minor adjustments, and then take the next step.

It became cooler and more windy as I worked my way up the switchbacks. Near the top, at the point where the road works it way along the mountain toward the Park entrance, it became chilly. I pushed on. By then Charles and Stella had come up the hill and were acting as an aid team. At one stop I ditched a lot of my excess gear. My load became lighter and my stride easier. Charles and I joked about where David was. He had stretched out his lead to almost a half-hour. I realized I was going to have problems catching him. I joked that we needed some really cold weather. It might discourage him. I needed some help from mother nature.

We hit the park at mile 25 and it had been my plan to ride through the gate with Charles and Stella. Charley handed me a five dollar bill and told me to walk through. I had to fight the cars to get to the pay window. "I'm walking here asshole!" I pushed on toward the lower visitors center. I spotted David high up on the switchbacks and pushed. At the visitors center I stopped to put on my running vest. In 20 steps the mists had rolled in and it was twenty degrees chillier. The walk up the switchbacks into the park became dark gray corridors with limited visibility. Most people slowed for me, others just ignored me, some seemed to come at me. Nasty stuff. My yellow clothing helped to keep the cars away from me.

At 7500 feet it got cold, the water was rushing and dripping off the mountain sides. The streams were flowing. The Mountain was heavy with water. Cars sprayed up thick curtains of water off of the water flowing down the road, augmenting the mists. I ducked my head and pushed on.

Suddenly the clouds were gone. The sky was blue and the heat of the sun was a relief. I marched down the road feeling better. I hit the switchback, turned the corner and down the hillsides came a wave of cold foggy air. In moment I was damp and chilled again. I strode on breathing rapidly to compensate for the thin air.

I don't know what I was thinking about. I enjoyed the shrubbery at that roadside, the waterfalls and seeps, and watched the occasional birds, kept an eye out for the traffic, monitored my pace. I was focused on catching David. But it was a slow motion chase. I didn't want to stop long for anything as I knew I could not make up the time once I had lost it. The stops at the car were quick affairs, taking 30 seconds and no longer. A few brief words, a few gulps of water, grab something to eat and walk away munching on it. I'd wave and think Charles and Stella as they passed me.

What struck us all was how routine the run had become. I remember when I made a big production about running the Run to the Sun. Now David and I were doing it with limited support, and making good time. We had both matured as Ultra runners, and the distance was no longer intimidating. Each of us just pushed on, facing each new hardship with determination and persistence. We were getting to the top, we just had to keep moving. Charles and Stella had saved my ass on the Mauna Kea squared run, but this one was much easier. I was ready for the cold a bit more, and seemed more ready for the altitude. But it was a shorter run. We were doing 36 not 58. Twelve, twelve and twelve, is a lark compared to thirty-five , twelve and twelve. And Mauna Kea was another four thousand feet higher.

I hit eight thousand feet and knew I was about an hour away from the end. The mile markers were hitting 18 and it was 22 to the summit. The air was thinner, the mists cooler. At once switchback David called down to me from above. It didn't seem that far ahead. Less than a mile, perhaps. I pushed on, jogging a bit when I could. I was feeling better than I did in the morning, but the altitude was robbing me of my strength. I hyperventilated, forcing more oxygen into my system, the chill air beginning to hit my lungs. I switched to nose breathing, hoping my sinuses would warm the air. I'd run for fifty yards, stride on, run again when I had the energy. All the while I knew David would be pushing harder now that he had seen me. Time was running out. I could gain a few minutes a mile, maybe ten over all. He was at least ten ahead of me. He was going to beat me if he didn't break down completely. I knew he was not going to fall apart. I settled for a close second and kept pushing. Now I was racing the clock. Clawing back time from what I calculated as an over 10 hour finish when I had been at the bottom of the crater road. Now 19 miles up, I was shooting for a 9:30. Push, I kept screaming to myself, push and keep going.

The clouds were whipping up and down the mountain in ragged streams of white and gray mist. At one point I passed through a stream of mist heading down the valley, while just ahead of me another band of cloud moved just as quickly up the mountain. In between I found a clear area where the sky was almost blue. Then it was gone, the wind whipping at my face, and drops of rain spattering the road. Now and then the Sun shone and the gravels glistened, the glass volcanic chips of rock sparkling in the brownish red soil. High on the barren slopes occasional silver swords grew, their curving leaves giving them a ball like appearance.

I was hoping the weather would clear as I reached the summit ridge, but it only got worse. The fog and clouds closing in and the road disappearing in front of me. I knew there was a jog to the right and the final climb to the visitors center. I pushed on looking for the ridge and the switchback. My hands were cold. At the car I pulled on a pair of gloves and tied my Lost Soul fleece to my waist. I pushed on. David was only fifteen minutes ahead.

The visitors center lies below the true summit. If you don't know that it is an unpleasant surprise. Almost another mile of up lies before you. The altitude sign says 9500, and you have a mile and 500 feet to go. Difficult even in good weather. It was blowing, misty and very cold. I pulled my bandanna up from around my neck and put it over my face, hoping to warm the air going into my lungs. The wind whipped directly in my face. I could not run. I forced my breath and push on with my stride, leaning into the wind, hiding my face, ignoring the chill. Finally I saw the access road to the Observatories. A jig to the right and the final hundred feet of up. I pushed through the grey clouds and wind. I hit the parking lot, the ground leveled, walked toward the steps, called to David, and he and Charles and I went to the top to get a few pictures at the summit lookout, where the sign reads 10053. I had made it to the top in nine thirty.
It was my fourth summit of Haleakala. I breathed a sigh of relief and silently made a date to meet the spirits again in a few months time.

I was satisfied with the run. I had maintained constant effort over the entire distance and I had never bonked. It had been almost 9.5 hours of constant effort. I had done it without apparent injury and was in a state at the top where I could have gone on much longer. I had achieved my goals. David had beaten me. I credited that to carrying far too much weight at the beginning. I could have carried 50 ounces less water and would not have gone without. I could have dropped some other stuff as well. If I could have jogged along the bottom stretches I could have cut my time and been near even with him at the crater road. If I had been insight of him, within a quarter of a mile or so , I don't think he could have held me back. But that is the way these competitions are. David did a great job of keeping it together with little long distance training. I'm as proud of his effort as I am of mine. There are not many people who could make the thirty six mile run up the Haleakala a fairly ordinary day run. We both did that. It was a great ending to the Year, a wonderful way to bring in the new one.

I have a date with the Mountain in March. I hope to break 8:00 by then. We will see.

The Big Bad Beautiful Haleakala

Minch makes it to the Run to the Sun

So dude... This is like, not about any of those real fast runners who I only see glimpses of on their way back down the mountain in their cars--those late morningfinishing clowns with broad smiles on their faces and 'Good Job!' cheers who interupt my pain orgy by causing day dreams of dragging them out of their cars and working them over. No, sorry dude, this is about a few of the grunts that made the slow agonizing effort up mountain with goals of 8:00 or more in mind..
It was dark at the start, but the stars were out there hiding in a few clouds and the light glare of nighttime Kahalui. It was cool, but not chilly and it seemed a bit humid, but that may have been the sleepless night I'd had, or some other minor transgression I had allowed myself the night before.

I couldn't see many people I knew and most of those were just the familiar backs of heads. We'd all hung around the front of the running store before moving to the start and it was there that greetings had been exchanged and we'd laid down final insults and challenges. Earnest Tay asked me if I'd brought the binocs he'd given me the night before. 'Just so you can see me way up high on the crater road' 'That's a good one Earnest,' I'd laughed 'Come on lets head to the Ale House, I'm buying you all you can drink!' Earnest had to think about that one, but in the end he turned me down.

I spent the night at the 'Banana Bungalow' in Wailuku. It was Keg night there, and the beer flowed and the party was hot. I was tempted to go catch the action but instead I lay there listening to some guy named Mikey drop pickup lines on the girls who walked by my window. Seems Mikey was a not to successful street entrepreneur from a west coast big town with a very limited catalogue of lines. It's debatable whether I got any real sleep but in a kind of vicarious way it was a busy social night. In the end I got up early, drank some cold coffee and headed to the start.

When Big John said go, well I took about 10 steps and turned around to see who was behind me and even the spectators had moved away from the start line faster than I was managing. I was alone on the street, and I looked up ahead and the crowd of race stragglers was moving quickly out of sight. A new PR: to the back of the pack in less than a minute.
I had to start a fast walk sooner than I wanted to and just managed to stick at the back for the first half-mile. I wanted to catch Don Fallis, so I could slow him down a bit but I couldn't even see him out in front of me. No Don. He was gone, off running and socializing with the fast lane crowd. I ran alone along the dark street for a while before I spotted Cheryl about 100 yards up. It took me a few minutes but she can not disguise herself, even when she goes incognito without her tiger skin compression shorts. So I concentrated on that aspect and slowly pulled in behind her at that HURT training distance I am so used to. I stayed there for a while listening to the group chatter and listening to my body whine about the fast flat start.

Actually my body was not happy with me. I had not gotten a lot of sleep and I had drunk a few beers at dinner the night before and I had not had any hot coffee, and on and on with complaints to the point where and I finally just turned of the internal crazed radical radio rant show monologue that composes much of my conscious processes during periods of stress and watched the ground pass beneath me.

I finally let Cheryl know I was behind her, and we talked a bit. I mentioned I was looking for Don and she said she thought he was just up ahead. I looked but couldn't see his silhouette in the crowd of runners on ahead of us. We talked intermittently and ran slowly through the back streets of Kahalui. I should have stayed right there with Cheryl and warmed up as it was a nice pace that my body could handle at this point in the race, but I was impatient to find Fallis and slow him down a bit, so when I thought that I saw him up ahead I pulled around Cheryl, wished her a good race and moved on.

I chased Fallis' silhouette all the way out of Kahalui, onto the Hana Highway, and then down the road to Pulehu. I believe I finally caught up with him around that aid station where the road jigs and a cane haul road goes straight on---a confusing place where one year I was 200 yards down the Cane-haul road before I realized I was alone. But this year the cane road was fairly well blocked off with cars and it was easy to find ones way through the intersection. I ran behind Don for a while before pulling up on him an letting him know I was there.

Don was running with Chrissy Ferguson whom I had met just before the race. She is the RD of the Arkansas 100, and that is where Don hails from. They were having a very nice conversation and since I wasn't capable of pleasant at that time of the morning, nor generally talkative during a race, I hung back and drafted Don. I may have said something about the fast pace, or made some off-kilter remark but aside from the initial pleasantries I just hung a few yards back and watched the bumpy road work its way by. Somewhere after an aid station, in between the sour smell of garbage and the warm earthy scent of cattle plop and piss, I felt the 'call' and dropped off to the side of the road. A lot of runners re-passed me and I once again began the quest for Don's silhouette. My right hip was beginning to show wear and at one point I felt it let loose and I almost toppled over. My fast pace was a dangerous gamble.

I found myself drafting a succession of people faster than I as they made their way past the long train of racers. I would lose my 'pacers' on the gentle slopes, and then regain my position on the steeper sections where I could out-stride almost everyone around me. The change in pace allowed me to gain some control over the pain in my right hip. But my priority was catching Don, and all the while I was scanning the forward runners for him, and becoming increasingly frustrated by my inability to catch him. As a result each successive 'pacer' I selected was just a little faster than the previous. This carried me up the road at a much quicker rate than I had anticipated, putting heavy stress on my glutes and piriformis-- which never produces a long term positive gain for me. But 'That damn Fallis!' was up ahead of me somewhere and I intended to catch him.

Finally, perhaps two hours into the race, we hit the real hills where I dropped the jog and started my concrete hill stride. For those of you unfamiliar with Concrete hill, it is a steep telephone access road that leads to the top of Pu'uohia at the top of Tantalus road overlooking Honolulu. The HURT crowd trains regularly on that hill. Where the runners around me were acting like they had just hit a wall my body began to sing. Hills! Ups! Steep Sections that were a joy to behold. I greeted a long string of runners as I marched by them. My ass was sore from the evil treatment of flat roads, and a fast pace, but the hills allowed me to rock my hips, stretching the attachments and ease the tightness and pain that had been developing over the lower 10 miles. In all of that section I had only a hand full of racers come by me, and most of those I re-passed before the carnage of Pulehu and Pulehuiki had run its course.
As I made my way through the mid section aid station where Pulehu intersects a main road and you cross to begin Pulehuiki I met up with the Binoc's man himself, my good buddy Earnest Tay. I greeted him with a mad laugh but was saddened to learn that Earnest was hurting, his ankles not liking the long road run. I was wanting to kick his miserable ass fair and square, to pass him as he fought to keep me at bay. I'd perfected a wide selection of annoying noises and cat calls to torment him with before I administered the executioners stroke of a fast pass. It would have to wait for another race.

"Where the hell is Fallis? I've been chasing him for miles," I exclaimed.

"Don? He's back there," said Earnest pointing back down the road.

"Man, I've been after him for a long time, and now you tell me I missed him? He's not up ahead?" I asked disbelieving I had run by him.

"Yeah man, Don is not up there," said Earnest pointing uphill. "You are strong today." he added,

"How come you looking so good?'

"Keg night and plenty ladies at the Banana Bungalow man. Can't go wrong on Keg night," I joked.

Earnest and I talked a bit about the race, and then I felt the need to move on. Not wanting to leave my old pal behind without some kind words I wished him Luck in the race, and comforted him.

"Hey man I didn't bring the Binocs, but don't worry Earnest, you won't get lost. When I get to the top I'll hold up this glow stick. You can just follow its yellow glare all the way to the finish line! See yah!"

My consoling words to Earnest seemed to help him a lot because right away he appeared to be doing better and we pushed past a succession of slower racers as we made our way up the easier sections of Pulehuiki. I looked back a few times and Earnest was sticking to me about 20 yards back. Like Don says, it is always amazing how, if you take the time, a few kind words can lift a fellow runner's spirits. Earnest's spirits were evidently rising even higher because occasionally I could here him yelling "I'm coming Mike. I'm gaining on you! " I felt so good about that that when we hit the really steep sections of Pulehuiki I jogged up the inclines, knowing Earnest would take inspiration from my example. Unfortunately he didn't gain sufficient inspiration and after running a particularly long and steep section I could no longer hear his pleasant chatter. You can only do so much to urge a fellow runner along. Puleuiki was runnable and Ernest just had to accept that.

I was having fun. Perhaps too much fun. The pace I was doing in this section was far faster than I knew I should be doing. But after the ten miles of easy upward slope the hills just felt good. As I rounded a corner I saw my friend David Bonnett, whose father I've known since childhood. David paced me through the critical fourth lap at HURT and we have run a lot together. David had been kicking my ass up and down our training runs on Tantalus and it was a pleasant surprise to run into him on Pulehuiki where the terrain was more like Concrete's than Tantalus. I started howling at David from fifty yards down the hill; long noisy wolf like howls that everybody likes to hear coming up behind them. When I got to within a few paces of David I commenced to breathing really hard. Long gasping kind of breaths, and then I pulled in a step behind him and followed in his footsteps and breathing down his back. It was the kind of thing I had planned for Earnest and didn't want to just waste. Finally David turned around in mock annoyance.

"Oh its you Mike! I should have known." he said shaking his head. "I wondered what kind of an asshole was following me. Should have known it was you," he joked! "You are looking strong today. I was hoping that cold would keep you down, he added with a smile.
I'm feeling fine. I responded. Earnest is just back down the hill. Didn't bring his glasses along but told him I'd light the way for him. He seemed to appreciate that.

"Yeah I bet", said David. I don't know, I'm not feeling to strong, I can not figure out what's wrong, he added.

"I'm drinking loads, and eating all the time." I responded.

"I know, I'm trying that too. I don't think I went out too fast. Maybe it was the run I did on Wednesday. The hills seem steeper than usual."

"Drink more, and watch your electrolytes. It's dry out here today. I'm shriveling up. Drink."

We talked like that, exchanging thoughts on the race, trying to figure out David's situation. We both knew he should be out ahead of me. Then as we hit a particularly steep section it became apparent that I was going to move on. This was a race. No quarter given and none asked. I moved ahead of him a few turns before the killer steep at the top of Pulehuiki.

That last section is about as close to concrete road as a public road can get, and it has got to be one of the steepest roads in Hawaii. I don't think a lot of cars could make it up it, but I took it fast and strong. Perhaps too fast and strong. But I felt good and at that moment I just believed that I could charge on forever. We are often funny like that. Even when we know that something can not happen, that it is impossible, we believe the siren songs of a strong body, the melody sung by short term anaerobic muscle tissues, and march on in spite of our training and knowledge. But it just felt so good I couldn't resist the challenge. At the top I greeted PJ and John, and turned and began coasted along the only down section on the course letting my heart rate drop back past explode level. I reflected on the fact that at the turn John had not said a lot. I knew what he was thinking because it was what I was thinking. As good as I felt, I was doing too much too soon. There was still 20 miles to go in the race. That can be a long way when we are talking about 7000 feet of climb, less oxygen, and colder temperatures.

A mile down the road I took the turn and started up the crater road still riding the adrenalin high of the Pulehuiki steeps. Taking the hill at a good pace I began to gain on the runners ahead of me. I passed Eddie Fan there, and a few other people I knew. It was somewhere along there that I said hello to David Carlson at an aid station. David was having a hard time, but his reason was classical understated; he'd run a low three something Marathon the week before. I saw Carl Wooten, along that stretch I believe and then at about mile 18 or so came into the aid station to find Gordon Lau.

Gordon and I have been running together for years. There was a time when I could occasionally keep him at bay, but in recent years his training has been phenomenal and he runs in a different class. Of all the runners at HURT 2007 Gordon stands out as my personal hero. His seventh place finish was stunning, and taking into account an age handicap he walked all over most of those who finished ahead of him. He has the most steady pace of the runners I can run with, and he almost floats over the trails. I can often take him on the hills but his steadiness almost never fails to overpower me near the end of any run where I manage to gain the lead.

Most everyone is aware that Gordon finds the Run to the Sun difficult. He didn't even want to show up this year, but was urged on by Earnest and Don, and finally gave in. But that doesn't make him any less of a competitor. So running into Gordon at mile 18 was a real surprise. I laughed like a madman, quickly got half a bottle of water while I exchanged greetings with him and chased him out of the aid station sticking close on his heels. I followed him up toward the the hairpin curve that cuts through that first grove of Eucalyptus below the grasslands, then over the cattle crossing and out into the bright sunlight of the lower pastures. When the road got steeper I passed him. But I knew from experience that he would not just go away. I looked up the switchbacks and knew I had to conquer them if I was going to leave Gordon permanently behind. Again I was letting the excitement of the race seep into my pace. I was letting the race run me and not fully running the race. At that point I had my hip pain under control, but only marginally, and despite my constant hydrating and eating, I was beginning to feel the wear of the long run. Alarms were beginning to sound in my system, but I was switching pace and altering my intakes and I felt I had things under control. Anyway it was really fun seeing all my running buddies here at the bottom of the hill, and I was having a good time.

Making the first switch back I looked back to find I was gaining on Gordon. I looked ahead and began to concentrate on the runners ahead of me. I slowly reeled each of them in. One of the fellows I passed was Les Martusko who would come by me time and again along this section. But with few exceptions I overtook the runners I could see, and only rarely did I have anyone come past me. My watch still showed I was making better than 12 minute miles. It was good, but hard work. I was beginning to have to race walk more than jog because of my hip, but it was uphill effort and my high-gear walking stride can match most joggers. But I could tell I was slowing a bit, as a couple of runners I had passed on the lower portion of crater road now rebounded by me.

At one point I looked down over a half dozen switch backs. I could see Earnest far below, then David, and just a bend behind was Gordon. I turned my head up the road and battled the switchbacks up toward that last long windy section of road before the high groves and the curve toward the Park Gate. It was just run 100 paces, stride 100 paces and run 100 all the way to the Ranger Station. The wind had picked up and we had come far enough around the mountain for cool misty clouds to come in on us. My hands were a bit cold and the cold wet wind was playing a number on my lungs, but it was still a nice day. It was just a necessary hard grind to get to my bag at the station and put on some warmer clothing.

Down the Mountain the low clouds were dropping a bit of rain on the cane lands and a rainbow played in the showers. Higher up the sun shone brightly on the pasture lands and groves of Eucalyptus, and on that long upward twistysection before the forest and park gate the winds blew strong and chilly against us--an occasionally misty shower falling from fast moving clouds making the turn into the lee of the mountain, churning angrily and then quickly dissipating in the warm dry updrafts from the lower pastures. I ran with some people I know and even exchanged a few brief conversations, but the pace was taking its toll on me and I don't remember faces let alone names. All that section comes back to me as is a cold hard forced march.

When I made the ranger station, I put on all the warm clothing I had. I figured it was overkill but I was cold and I thought it would be better to run too warm than too cold. Pulling on a pair of nylon pants and a fleece pull-over I was not surprised to see my old buddy Gordon come in. I didn't ask him how he was doing. He was there that was enough to know. I just grabbed my bottle, thanked everyone for their help and moved on as fast as I could.

My decision to wear my nylon pants was not the best. I have carried those pants on every cold run I have ever made. They have been to the Haleakala more times than most tourists. But I have never felt the need to wear them. Running out of the aid station and around the first turn we met the winds head on. The pants billowed out like sails and I my mind filled with images of old fully rigged sailing ships. I wanted to rename myself the Endeavour, or the Prince Le Bo, or some other sailing ship that had churned through Hawaiian waters. But I was warming up and that seemed to help my speed a bit. I kept the stuff on for a few miles as I did the 100 walk, 100 jog, 100 walk cycles almost without thought.

A bit higher is actually seemed to warm up as we moved above the cloud layer. We had moved back into the mountain's lee and all the extra clothing seemed unnecessary. I stopped at one aid station and shed the fleece pullover and the pants and one of the crew there was kind enough to offer to drop it off at the top. I marched on, feeling the altitude from time to time. Drinking what seemed like a great deal of water 15-20 ounces per mile,sucking on my bottle of gue, and eating as much as I could force down. Move, move, move. Ever slower but move. It was hard to gauge my speed as the mile markers were gone. In past years I could at least remember times from one mile to the next. This year I had to rely on the aid stations signs, and do impossible mental math to come up with a pace. Looking at my watch I was beginning to realize that my sub eight hour goal was just about toast. I need to kick ass and I just didn't have the energy to even care that I had to kick ass.

Somewhere below 8000 I came up on an a lady about my age who looked under a bit of stress. It was Carol Laplant who was out to set a record in the 60 an over female age rank. The fact that she was this far out ahead of me was impressive. When I asked her if she ok Carol told me the altitude was getting to her and she felt lightheaded. She asked me for electrolytes. I gave her one and told her to start drinking more water as it was a lot dryer up top then it appeared. I left her in the care of the runner who behind me. Ten minutes later she came running by me evidently rejuvenated and forcing me to dig down deep just to keep her within a hundred yards.

No good deed goes unpunished I mused to myself. I chased Carol into the next aid station where I left her as she watered and carboed.

Once again the switchbacks within the park were a mindless grind and I don't remember much other than the increasing fatigue, pain and the slow motion of my limbs as I struggled to make pace. I was running with Tom Sagawa. We leap-froged each other a number of times. His long aid station stops, or occasional lapses in concentration, allowed me to pass, and my increasingly frequent lapses in concentration permitted him to once again gain the lead.

With about three miles left in the race I hear steps behind me. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Gordon the Relentless was again hot on my hells. I turned back around and pushed harder hoping that I could once again put him behind me. It worked for a while but this time I couldn't shake him. The second time he came up on me I was ready to let him pass. But instead Gordon just said "Lets go Mike, take us in. Run 100, walk 100. Lets go." Having Gordon behind me is always incentive to try harder. I dug deep and picked up the pace as best I could. My hip was twanging occasionally, my lungs were wheezing, I was getting lightheaded, but I had

Gordon on my heels and was not about to let his largess go unpunished. I pushed.
So the last two miles it was Sagawa , me and Gordon. I gave it all I had. Gordon would fall behind a bit as I summoned the strength to push, and then as the next wave of fatigue washed over me he would be right back behind me, relentless and constant. Up a head Sagawa was having similar problems. I'd gain on him, and he'd look back, see Me and Gordon and summon strength from deep down and burst ahead of us again. If I had run a smarter race I would have been able to take him at this point. But my games on Pulehuiki had robbed me of finisher's sprint. I could summon neither the energy nor the will to chase him down.

We made the first parking lot, with two tenths of a mile to go, the wind blowing hard and forcing me upright. I grabbed a quick drink at the final aid station and pushed on with Sagawa just twenty yards ahead and Gordon right there with me. I strode hard up that final hill, chasing Sagawa and fleeing Gordon. We made the turn, moving into that final nasty windy cold steep and I looked back and there was Gordon not five yards from me. "Don't worry about me Mike. You got it. Its yours." Said Gordon. I strode on. Sagawa looked back from his lead position a few yards ahead. I just nodded at him silently echoing Gordon's words. I was spent, and just wanted to finish. And that's how we crossed the line. me at 8:13 something. Race over. Not long after our finish Les came across the line and then Carol. Good finishes all for the over-fifty crowd--over 60 for Carol and Les!

....So I didn't break eight hours which was my goal. My 'easy' goal, I might add. But 8:13 was a personal record and I finished 4th in the 50-59 age class, Sagawa taking third and Gordon fifth. I'm proud of that, as that age group has proven to be a tough bunch. The best thing I did over the race was focus on my pain and keep it manageable, and if I would have gone out slower and walked Pulehuiki I think I would have eliminated the pain and been in kick-ass shape to move up the mountain and take a sub eight. That will have to wait until next year when I am a bit younger and stronger!

It was a good fun time. Wonderful aid and support and thanks to all who were there to provide it. A great romp up the Big Bad Beautiful Haleakala! ....mnmuench
March 29, 2007 at 04:10 PM