Race Report: Ironman World Championship, Kona HI

Disclaimer

Ok before you embark on this very long adventure with me, please be warned. This is not going to be the rainbows and kittens, “Kona is so magical”, race report you’re probably expecting. This is because Kona, in fact, was not what we were expecting. Some opinions you’ll find here will likely be unpopular. But, really, what’s the point of writing a race report that’s anything short of the honest reality? I think more people should be straight up about their experience at Kona. It ain’t what you think it is. Ok, if you aren’t already mad, come along and I’ll explain.

First of all, how did we even get there?

When I first met Jerome, almost six years ago, he was already into triathlon and already dreaming of Kona. He was early in his journey at that time and aiming to qualify via the Legacy program (10 Ironmans in 10 years used to earn you a Kona slot). He had no idea that years later we’d be training and racing together at a very different level and he'd be earning his slot with an amazing performance at Ironman Lake Placid in 2021. That race, however, did not go well for me. I set my sights to Cozumel towards the end of 2021 and had an amazing race there but even a 9:58 and 8th overall finish wasn’t good enough for a slot. My age group usually only gets one, maybe two, slots and is very competitive so I’d need to very nearly win a race to get a slot. I decided not to spend 2022 chasing it. I'd just go and Sherpa for Jerome- it was his big dream anyway, not mine. But then in early 2022 we did Ultraman Florida. Having both done many Ironmans and countless 70.3s we needed something that felt like it was pushing the envelope again like Ironman used to. In a strange twist, we came away from it with podium finishes and feeling closer to unstoppable than tested. My confidence was brimming and I suddenly felt I needed to try once more for a slot. After a bit of research I discovered most US races were sold out but something about Gdynia caught my eye and stuck in my mind. I just had a feeling that was my race. My feeling turned out correct and I was able to punch my ticket to Kona (you can find that race report HERE). We were psyched. We were actually going to get to compete at Kona, together! The dream was becoming reality…

Booking the Travel

As a result of the Covid chaos, Ironman ended up with two cancelled Konas and way too many qualified athletes and so decided to remedy the problem by splitting the race into two days. Pretty clever, huh? Twice the income in one weekend. Yay for them, not for the racers. We had never been so didn’t even realize at the time that, while there are several large cities among the islands capable of handling throngs of tourists, Kona ain’t one of them. It’s a small town, with a tiny local airport, limited infrastructure, limited housing, limited rental cars, limited parking. It’s far from well-suited to handle 6000 racers plus families and supporters. Finding flights was painful and expensive, finding housing was painful and expensive and, as we’d discover once we got there, that was just the start of the issues caused by the massive influx of people. We did eventually find flights and a place to stay, complicated multi-layover flights with a mashup of carriers and a very modest AirBnB rental that suited our needs fine but certainly wasn’t where you pictured spending a Hawaiian vacation, and we were lucky enough to get a rental car.

Arrival

We rarely take much extra time off work before or after races simply because we race a lot and have limited vacation time (full time jobs). But, because it’s Kona and Hawaii, we planned for a full 9 days there. That got reduced to 8 days when hurricane Ian came through Florida the week we were supposed to leave and cancelled our original flight, but we were able to rebook the following day on a more direct flight so called it a win. I can’t fully explain the surprise we felt when we landed at the Kona airport. It’s an open-air, outdoor, tiny, very disorganized, airport. Getting baggage and collecting bikes among the crowd of incoming athletes was a bit of a mess but before too long we were in our rental car and headed south past Kona to our airBnB just past town. As we drove the surprise continued. The landscape is nothing like the lush tropical pictures you’ve seen on the internet. I’m sure those pictures were taken in Hawaii, but not in Kona. It’s more like endless stark lava fields. Small patches of palm trees dot the coast occasionally where resort areas have been built, just further highlighting the desolation of the area surrounding them. It was a bit disappointing but we figured the race itself would still bring that magical feeling the other world champs races we’d been to (70.3) had, if not even better.

Pre-Race Activities

We wanted to get the full Kona experience so we participated in most of the pre-race IM activities. We went to the cultural experience, the underwear run, the opening ceremony, the AWA breakfast. But we still weren’t feeling the magic. It was all so crowded and, in a necessary effort to keep things streamlined and efficient, it was all absent of any real glam or “specialness” for lack of a better word. We felt like we were always just being pushed along through the process on an Ironman assembly line. Race and gear check in were the same- herded through efficiently and unceremoniously.

Race Day #1

My race was Thursday. We were up by 3:30. Quick breakfast, got my kit on, applied number tattoos, and drove down to a nearby drug store where there was supposed to be a shuttle to the race. We pulled in to a nearly empty lot and saw one tiny bus waiting for folks. Kind of weird. Where was everyone? Oh well. We got on the bus and shuttled to near the race start. (As it turns out, for whatever crazy reason, it was a one way only bus and would leave Jerome stranded with a three mile walk home). I went into transition and prepped my bike, then came out and met back up with Jerome. We found a spot on the sea wall and hung out for a while, the race was still an hour away. Leida joined us to wait on the sea wall and before long it was time to find my starting coral. I found my age group and my friend Kerry. We got to chit chat while we waited to get in the water, which was awesome because it kept the nerves in check. Before we knew it we were in the water swimming towards the start line which is actually 50 or so yards off shore. We treaded water and laughed and chatted until finally the horn sounded and we were off.

The Swim

We had done two practice swims on the race course already so I had a good idea what to expect. The only major difference was that in our practice swims the water was calm and clear and you could watch all the fish below you as you swam. It’s absolutely beautiful and I was so looking forward to the long race swim. I hadn’t taken into account that with 150 women in my start group kicking and paddling the water was too churned up to see the bottom. Oh well. I spent the first half mile or so carefully selecting the right feet to follow- someone doing the right pace, swimming straight. I found a good one and stuck to her the rest of the race. She slowed a bit the second half and I was tempted to jump to a faster passerby but I was used to her rhythm and taking it easy to bank some energy seemed like a good plan anyway. I checked my watch as we exited the water: 1:09. Right on track. As I entered the changing tent I saw Kerry and said a quick “Hey!” as I dove into my blue bag. Pulled out my shoes, threw my swim stuff in, and took off towards my bike. Helmet on, grabbed the bike and headed for the mount line.

The Bike

There's a short out and back south of Kona before the long grueling ride north. At first, with the crowds cheering and the adrenaline pumping, I was feeling pretty good. After returning through Kona and starting the long haul on the Queen K the full weight of the heat started to become apparent. This was going to be hard. Like epically hard. I decided then, not even 20 miles into the bike, that I was definitely sticking to a very conservative game plan. It was obvious to me even that early on that this was the kind of race that could wreck you, that I wasn’t contending for any kind of notable ranking, and that the rest of my season needed to take priority over performance that day. I settled into a relaxed pace and tried to enjoy the ride. The heat, lack of scenery, and constant passing by crazy fast women, was making that difficult. The ride is almost entirely one long straight out and back. We had a slight headwind going out and I thought “well at least that means we get to finish with a tail wind”. No such luck. Mid-day the wind turned and we got to face the headwind coming back as well. The mid-point is the town of Hawi. There’s a long gradual climb with significant winds up to the turn around, then a white-knuckle descent through the crosswinds back down. I opted for mostly just coasting the descent, again just trying to go easy and not wreck myself. Another girl pedaled hard to pass me, then quit pedaling. Of course I got sucked into her draft. So I moved out to the shoulder to catch enough headwind to move back, dropped back 15 meters or so, and moved back into the lane. 10-20 seconds later an official came up beside me and blue carded me. I’d still yet to pedal. I was pissed. I now went from bored and hot to mad and hot. That lasted the rest of the ride. But as we all know, this ends with a run, and running is my happy place.

The Run

Much like the bike, you start with a short out and back to the south with all the crowds and adrenaline leading you into a false hope for a great run. No one has a great run in Kona (outside of the pros, and even most of theirs are bad). By mile 7 you’re heading north away from Kona on the Queen K highway in full sun for an impossibly long impossibly boring stretch of about 8 miles of just straight road before you turn into the energy lab. Pair that with aid stations spaced 1.5-2 miles apart, due to not having enough volunteers, and I swear it was the longest 8 miles of my life. I NEVER walk at aid stations. I ran through the first two, as usual, grabbing some ice and a couple Gatorades, maybe a water. While this is usually sufficient, it’s ridiculously hot and these are twice as far apart as normal. By mile 5 I was already dizzy with dehydration and from there on out I was not only walking aid stations, I was stopping for picnics. The only problem is that after being that hot for that many hours, nothing tastes good, everything makes you want to hurl. So you try a little this, no that’s not good, nibble that, nope that’s gross, smell this, mmm maybe. Full-on-picnics. The positive is that this method was allowing my to actually run pretty well in between aid stations, but of course it was killing my pace. Oh well, the finish time was going to be pretty bad anyway….

The Finish

Ok I know this all sounds like a lot of complaining. I swear to you I’m usually a super happy racer and and even happier traveler. We travel all over and race so much because we love it! Literally for no other reason. But, I’m telling you, everything about this experience was just sort of off. And the finish line- the part that should be the most exciting and happy and magical- was probably the most disappointing of all. The chute itself is just like any other- run down the carpet, they call your name as you approach, you try your best to make a cool pose our at least not look like death for your finisher pic and probably fail… at other races this is where Jerome is either waiting right there after the finish line or, at the very least, is standing at the edge of the barricade, waiting with hugs and congratulations. Anyone that’s followed my journey knows this is my favorite part of every race. My reward for finishing. Not in Kona. In Kona as soon as you’re three steps over the line there’s a volunteer at either side of you ushering you away from the finish area. One literally has their hand on your back pushing you forward through the post-race assembly line. Do you need to med tent? No. Ok keep going. Stop at a table where they hand you a baggie containing your medal and finisher shirt. Another table stop for your towel. Still pushing. Finally “here’s the food tent and if you like you can head over to that area to relax and recover”. Ok… I wander through the food tent, but I don’t want food I just want to see Jerome. I get through to the other side and there’s a dead end. Blank walls. What the heck? I just want out of here! I wander back towards where the shirts and towels were, confused. I hear someone else asking how to get out. “There are a few exits, the closest is back that way” and she points. I wander in that direction and finally find a way out. No Jerome. Maybe he’s at a different exit. Why is this so hard? I finally happen to find Andreas, Kerry’s husband who waiting outside the med tent on a ridiculously dehydrated Kerry, and call Jerome from his phone and decide on a meeting point. By the time I finally am reunited with him all the “Yay I finished!” has turned into frustration. What a bummer.

Race Day #2

Beyond the obvious infrastructure issues that arise from doubling the size of the race, the other major but more subtle issue is for all the folks racing the second day. By the end of my race (two days before Jerome’s race) he was exhausted. Anyone who has ever spectated a race knows it’s exhausting. The parking situation is never good, so there’s a ton of walking and time on your feet, it’s crazy hot, and you’re anxious all day watching your loved ones suffer for endless hours. Additionally, he also got to hear all about how awful it was from myself and Kerry, both of whom had had pretty bad race days. The last thing you want right before a big race is to hear first hand accounts of how brutally hard and awful it’s going to be! Nonetheless Jerome had his race and did really well, all things considered. His feelings pretty closely mirrored my own as far as the course and venue were concerned.

The Departure

I won’t go into all the drawn out details, but again will reiterate that Kona airport is not equipped to handle that many visitors and certainly not that many visitors with bikes. The chaos we found on arrival was nothing compared to the chaos the day we left. We were at the airport over two hours before our short local flight to another island, and almost missed it because checking the bikes took that long, only to sit on the plane on the tarmac for nearly two more hours due to “baggage loading issues” and still had our bikes get stuck in Kona for two more days waiting for space on a flight.

All-In-All

I hate to even write this post because I don’t like complaining and I’m not generally a negative person. I debated writing it at all because I know it just makes me look whiny and ungrateful. However, because I know there are so many out there, little us, who will go to extraordinary lengths to qualify and spend incredible money to go to Kona, I felt it was important to be honest about our experience. I wish I could have come back with the rainbows and unicorns magical feeling I expected and write a glowing report and tell everyone they should try to make it there. But that wouldn’t be honest. In reality, this was our fourth triathlon world championship. We did the 70.3 Championship in Nice, France (magical), the ITU long course Championship in Almere, Netherlands (incredible), and the 70.3 Championship in St. George (super cool)- all of those experience had the really special feeling that this one was missing. I don’t regret going. It was a worth while experience and, because it’s Kona, I’m glad we can say we did it. However, we will not be looking to go back anytime soon.