June 2, 2007

The Day I Became Reacquainted With Menehune

If you have read the first entry of this blog, you might remember that I have something of a problem with lava trolls on the island of Hawaii. Menehune, as they are referred to in Hawaiian mythology. It's too bad, you know, because Hawaii really is a nice place otherwise. I write this the day after arriving home, still scratching my head as to why I have a problem racing triathlons in Hawaii. Must be the menehune. You might think that's just looking for excuses. You might be correct.

The Big Island

I'll talk about the race later. Do you mind if I post a small travelblog first? Doug Stern brings together a great group of people for the swim camp that I already told you about two or three entries ago. Four of us who met there converged upon the half ironman race in Hawaii in June--me from Missouri, Don from New York, Ed from Michigan, and Tim and Lisa from NoCal. Don and I are splitting a condo in the fine city of Kailua-Kona. Same place as I stayed with my crew for Ironman 2005. Speaking of that race, the inspirational John Blais shared the course with me that day. He had ALS and died of that last week, but ALS never had him. The unforgettable image of him logrolling across the white line in 2005 after 140.6 miles will live forever.

We were down the street from Lava Java, which is a good place for a group photo.

They are Tim and Lisa, two of our lanemates from the swim camp, who joined us. They were so generous to let us base from their awesome elegant suite up by the race site. And let us ride in their awesome DVD-playing van.

Here you have a great beach restaurant Huggo's. Try the Mauna Kea pie. If you can eat one by yourself, I would be impressed. Fernando, one of the 2005 crew, can. I have seen it and was impressed and slightly horrified.

There are actually not that many beaches; surprising, maybe, but what is there is spectacular. Try the one at Kekaha Kai for some great body boarding.

There are three main volcanoes that dominate. Here is Hualalai, the pipsqueak.

Don gets the idea to drive up to one of the largest, Mauna Kea. Here is Don driving our awesome convertible.

The guide book basically says "No problem" when it comes to the roads and the effect on your body of going up from sea level to 13,800 feet in about an hour. Pack the camera and some lunch and get ready for some awesome views at the top. Who could pass that up?

Round about 9000 feet up, as we found out later, is a park visitor center. Ordinarily, you will be stopped here by a ranger who will ask you to hang out at this elevation for altitude adjustment. Also you will see warnings as to the dreadful state of the road. If you do not see the visitor center on your way up and your ranger is taking a break, you might not stop. In that case you will go up a road that seems to have been built for only goats. This might not be the wisest thing to do in a Mustang. If it is a rental, however, the state of the road might enter into your calculations as a somewhat lesser factor. This may be one of the few places around that the dust that chokes you when you have the top down is pulverized lava.

OK so up at the top, there are some porta potties, and I have to stop there a minute while Don drives up to the parking area. After walking up a little bit I find the intrepid one (Your Humble Bloggist being the decidedly cowardly and hesitant one) gasping, bent at the waist, and looking at the asphalt rather than the three islands you can (supposedly) see from up there. Now, back in the day I did know a thing or two about high altitude physiology. As a very obtuse aside, there is a story involving me and Sir Edmund Hillary that intersects with this plot line. I will get to that one some day. Whether or not you are a mountain physiology expert, it will probably not surprise you to know that we decided just to turn the bloody car around and descend right then. The upshot is that I saw only the inside of a portaloo up on Mauna Kea and Don saw only a bunch of stars circling around his head like a cartoon sucker punch recipient. This is the only photo I have from that delightful excursion, taken as we beat a hasty retreat.

On the way down we encounter the ranger a little bit late. Dude has a half-face tattoo like Mike Tyson and some Hawaiian Willie Nelson emaciated pony-tail old guy thing going. So he's harshing us out some for not stopping, but as Don deftly turns the conversation to his tattoo ("It is NOT a tattoo; it is culture," says he, whatever that means), and we agree that only chiefs should sport such a thing, cranky ranger guy morphs into benevolent Polynesian leader of men and ushers us into the parking lot. The visitor center is running, for reasons that utterly elude me, a video about the space shuttle program.

Fast forward to sea level and Alii Drive ( site of the Ironman finish line, that race from 2005) where we encounter Ed, known to us from Sternapalooza, and training partner Sandy, both hoping to do something special in the race that would follow two days on. We leaned on them to come to Huggo's, where drinking of wine, eating of Mauna Kea pie, and lack of prerace pasta ensued. It is my sincere hope that whatever disappointment in their race results that happened later was not due at all to Your Humble Bloggist's bad influence. But what a great place to eat by the Pacific. Ed reminds us to take salt pills during the race. I hearken back to my lack of these in 2005 and my conclusion that menehune were to blame. A shiver ripples through at this time. What do they have in store for me this time? Blasted lava trolls!

I really have lost all sense of where I am going with this blog entry right now so I am going to transition to Friday, the day before the race.

Friday, The Day Before The Race

OK you have to get your bike to the famous Hapuna Beach. If you need to transport two, that's a good reason to have a convertible. For bike transport reasons, you know.

Don was really generous to help me fix my gears out under the shade of a Hawaiian outhouse at Hapuna. Good gravy it seemed like 110 in the shade out there. A practice swim is a good thing to do. Unfortunately a 20 floated out of my jersey pocket. I kept expecting to find it floating around out there even the next day during the race. No such luck, though. An offering to Poseidon for safe passage or some junk like that I guess.

It's Time for the Race Report

The waters around Hawaii are nice and warm, so, no, you don't get to wear your wetsuit for the swim. With only 900 participants, you are spared the usual melee in the water. The swim for this race was the nicest I have ever seen outside of Curacao. Perfectly clear water allowed you to sight the ripples in the sandy bottom, which made navigation very easy. My time for the 1.2 mile swim was 37 minutes, right around my goal. Sandy from Michigan and Tim from Lane 4 (Way to represent, Tim!)got out a little ahead of me.

The 56 mile ride is basically a quick trip up the side of the Kohala Range from Hapuna to Hawi and back to the Mauna Lani resort. Whether or not you admire the World Triathlon Corporation, you can always count on their events to have perfect support at aid stations and good traffic control. The course is mostly closed to autos. The most notable sight on the way out was a guy with a double AKA (above knee amputation) pedaling along mightily. I don't know anything about this guy, but holy jumpin.

I was happily surprised to encounter the turn around before making the climb all the way to "downtown" Hawi. There were some crosswinds at that altitude, and the going was getting slightly difficult. Enjoying the descent, Your Humble Cycling Bloggist was passed by uber biker Don, fully recovered from the Mauna Kea summit dysfunction. Dude is pumping out some serious watts. Couple minutes later I accelerate as fast as I can to catch up. "Shake and bake", says he. Here's a hint to the movie allusion.

Of course not long after he passes me again and is long gone. My bike time was a shade over 3 hours, again right on plan. Hey that's me in T2 and I really wanted to go running woohoo!



The third leg of this race cannot be called a run for me. More like the Crazed Menehune Death Drag. Seriously I don't know what happened. Kept thinking that if I just kept jogging it out, there would be a return to form. After Ed passed me I kept up with him for a little bit, but could not sustain. Not even the Hooters girls cheering people on could do anything for me. Ear worm:Love Shack-no help. Nice course though, seafront for part, through a little sand, off-roading on the golf course.

About 2 hours into this disaster, I started thinking of how I would blog on this. Clearly some new description was needed. Craptastic. Crapdiddleeriffic. Craptabulous. Crapxponential. Crapzuberous. Crapadoodledoo. Doctor Crappenstein. Field Marshall von Crappenburg. It's a marvelous night for a Crapdance. I've Got A Crapful Crappy Feeling. You want the crap? You can't handle the crap. You're a Good Man, Charlie Crap featuring the hit song Crappiness Is. Ironcrap 70.3. Tour de Crap. Swimbikecrap. We few, we crappy few, we band of brothers. Alaskan Snow Crap Special at Crap Lobster. Talladega Craps: The Ballad of Sir Charles. Well you get the picture.

Craptacular is truly it, and yes I know that Bart Simpson said it and it's not original. I thought it was, but just saw it on Urban Dictionary. I thought I made up a good word, but alas I am no Stephen Colbert. That was a Fourth of July fireworks craptacular meltdown, a 2 hour 40 minute half marathon and now it is on the Ironman website results archive forever...oh, the shame. Mom and Dad, you're still proud of your son aren't you?

How about Crapocalypse Now?

So go triathloning in Hawaii if you want. To you, I donate whatever positive energy I have left. Maybe there will be another try for me. Sir Charles St. John-Smythe vs. the Menehune III:This Time It's Personal. But I doubt it.

The crapaclysm?

WAIT! This post will not end on that note! I want you to know that during a time of suffering such as that, it is never far from my mind how lucky I am to be the parent of Eldest and Youngest Progeny, whose accomplishments provide me with more self-esteem than I should claim. How lucky I am to have so many aloha moments with Awesome Breathing Partner. Friends from all over the globe. (Well, at least all over the hemisphere. Hola, Western Honduras). My ninth grade English teacher, who is one of my most awesome friends and an awesome Penn State trustee(Hail to the Lions!). Mom and Dad, who really are proud of me I think. I was totally kidding when I said that before you know. And the good health that allows me to be a bit disappointed in doing something that would have seemed unthinkable to me 5 years ago. So what if it took longer than I hoped this time.

If You Are Lucky
Santa Rosa de Copan , Honduras
April 2007

I pondered as to whether to blog about this, loyal readers. Some people might think me writing about my trip to Honduras last week might be an attempt for me to try to toot my own horn as some kind of huge altruist. In the end I decided to take that chance because you need to know about some people whom I am privileged to have as friends. In that spirit, here is a list of things that might happen to you if you are lucky.

CAMO

If you are lucky, you will encounter people in the world associated with groups like Central American Medical Outreach. CAMO is the brainchild of a remarkable Ohioan named Kathy Tschiegg. Her passion for the medical well-being of the people of Western Honduras is inspiring and at times a little intimidating. Down below I'll show you some of the work she and the people of the beautiful town of Santa Rosa de Copan have accomplished together.

CAMO and I met under fortuitous circumstances in 1994, a young organization and young doctor. I do not presume to say that I have made anything but a sporadic, microscopic contribution to the works of this group over the years, but I have been around long enough to appreciate the changes in Santa Rosa. Many incredible people have traveled to Santa Rosa over the years through CAMO to deliver both sophisticated medical intervention like cleft lip repairs and more mundane (but probably more important) services like hospital laundry repair. They have a good website. You can check out all the stuff there.

Let's start with the ER. I do believe Dr. Doug Ross (remember George Clooney from ER?)himself would find little fault with the ER at the Hospital de Occidente. It's brand new. Gracias, CAMO.

Here are the vestiges of the old one. I have seen patients in that ER over the years. Trust me, you just don't want to know.

The streets outside are being redone by the amazing craftsmen who cut the stone and place each cobble by hand.

An important need is for prosthetic limbs. I have never seen a prosthetist at work until the other day.

CAMO has built a large building down the road that houses an enormous warehouse with all sorts of donated medical supplies sorted by folks in Ohio so that they can be properly shelved.

It will not surprise you to know that wheelchairs are the difference between life and confinement for those who need them. A good wheelchair mechanic is totally necessary.

How about a fully stocked and staffed pathology lab? Was that there 13 years ago? I think you know the answer.

My friend Dr Robles (ophthalmology in Santa Rosa)

If you are lucky, you know a colleague with the good humor and immense skill of my friend Hector Robles. He and wife Lourdes have been my friends since 1994. It isn't easy to communicate since we are not fluent in each other's languages, but this does not matter. Hector loves to tell the story of our first meeting back then when he thought I was the student and this other guy, who really was the student, was the professor. I am a little proud to have taught him a few tricks over the years, but mostly proud that he allows me continue to be a small part of ophthalmology in Western Honduras.

Kids in Honduras=cute!

I must tell the story, in some detail, of one little dude. I quote herein that fine bloggist Roxie, who chronicles the exploits of our office, and my assistant extraordinaire Angie. I cannot have put it better, much to my chagrin.

"It seems that a little six year old boy and his sister were "jousting" on bicycles using umbrellas as lances. The sister tallied a bittersweet victory when Dr. A had to repair her brother's torn (eye) muscle from a last, fateful umbrella joust. Dr. A admitted this was the first jousting injury he had seen since he was an intern back in medieval times."

That's a very rare injury. We did our best to fix him.

Here is a picture I took of the town while I was under the mistaken impression that I had some time to kill before surgery.

The tireless staff waited patiently for the dumb gringo roaming the streets with a digital camera when he should have been in surgery. Really, I need to learn Spanish someday and not just fake like I can understand.

This is Mirna, a remarkable woman who has worked incredibly hard as a nurse in the public hospital to put her daughters through bilingual education, and now into medical school.

You might think that gringos who volunteer for service in "medical brigades", as they are called, do good work. Really, though, you should admire the people like Mirna. The increased volume of patients that are seen and have surgery during these times means many extra hours of work for the staff at the hospitals and OR. They also have to deal with a different way of thinking that we, the North Americans, bring with us. I suspect, regrettably, that we sometimes do not carry humility in our suitcase of good intentions.

The Family Bueso

If you are lucky, you will travel to another place and encounter a host family with the generosity and gentility of el alcalde (the mayor) and his incredible crew. Melo is obviously a great mayor.

The day I left the president of Honduras was coming to town to dedicate a water treatment plant that will provide good water to everyone on the city. What percentage do you think had drinkable water 13 years ago? I think you know the answer. The First Lady of Santa Rosa, Melida, is an amazing mom, cook, and drives through big city traffic to drop a nervous North American at the airport like she is a Formula One champ. Wow, what a ride! I am privileged to have spent my week with them, feeling like one of the family.

Melito is one paciente valiente! Gracias por la anesthesia magnifica, Nathalie!

Si ustedes estan leyendo, muchissimas gracias por todo

Other things about Honduras

If you are lucky, you will have the opportunity to visit Western Honduras in your life. The tourist highlight is surely the Mayan ruins at Copan. If you can go, you will probably find it hard to believe how incredible the buildings, art, and geography are. On this field they played baloncesto, that famous game with the rubber ball.

These temples and pyramids were built to honor the gods and god-kings of the Maya.

My amazing guide Rodolfo picked up these fluffy fibers off the ground. Kapoc, if I have spelled it correctly. His ringtone is "Boulevard of Broken Dreams". I suspect the Maya would have dug Green Day.

Did you know kapoc was used to make life vests in WWII? I most assuredly did not.

They made scary skulls.

My understanding is they aren't meant to be macabre, but to represent ancestors in the watery underworld (not evil, that's just where everyone ends up, if I got it right from Rodolfo). Mayan cosmology is really interesting. I'm not going to describe it all here. That's what Wikipedia is for, my friends.

Around the ruins is a variety of wildlife. In this enclosure, I was bitten by a toucan (not painfully). Did you know that toucans have a feather for a tongue? I, for one, did not.

They grow awesome coffee there. I just took a sip. You can buy it at Copan Trade. I just took a sip of some right before I wrote this sentence. Their economy is largely dependent on coffee growing. You might want to buy some. OK ad over.

The horse culture thrives in this part of the world.

There are real cattle drives on the highway.




To some extent, the bicycle has begun to replace the horse for transportation. You should see these athletes trudge up these serious mountains fully loaded with wood, food, and a lot of other things I wasn't sure of. I am sure any of them could dust me in a time trial.

Near Santa Rosa there is a big hot springs area. Those aguas thermales are an awesome place to party. They're open until one AM. If you see the First Lady of Santa Rosa there, do not bother declining her offer of vodka. You will eventually accept, trust me. Hey, there's Kathy Tschiegg from CAMO.

How's that elbow, Doug Stern?

Flying is no fun. Getting a ride to the airport from Melida is fun, though. Another thing that is fun is riding in the tram at DFW. Some of you know that I love public transportation. Especially when you can take awesome pictures out the window. Maybe you think that's weird. Maybe you're right.

A Final Thought

Here's a story from 1994. I, the young harried doctor in an unfamiliar place, left my wedding ring in the pocket of my scrubs. It was found by a laundry worker who returned it to me right away. I am sure that selling that ring would have been worth several months' salary for her. Maybe more. Maybe you will have the opportunity to feel at home in another land among people like this. If you are lucky.

"Dude, you gotta put that in your blog"
26 March 2007

Yesterday I'm out on the club ride with my estimable coach Eric (that Washington Husky down there). No ride would be complete without a photo dontcha know. So I'm chatting with Da Coach about this humble blog and how I was too embarassed to include a story in the IM Hawaii post that started my whole blog thing and the literary effluvium that has followed. It has been a year and a half now. I think I'm pretty much past it. So I have amended the first blog post below, if you care. It's down there in "The Bike Ride" section.

In June I'll be back on the Big Island for another big race. Sure, go ahead, say it. Menehune bait, why would you be such an idiot as to go back there? This is a pretty good question that I hadn't really thought through prior to signing up. This time I will have my Navajo copper "strength" medallion. Awesome Breathing Partner assures me menehune will quake with fear. Probably I should not tip my hand. Menehune might be reading this. Really, though, I think they have moved on after torturing me. Probably they're working over some poor soul who took some lava rocks home after their vacation. Speaking of vacation, we got that thing on our trip to Santa Fe in December. While there we were caught in the storm of the proverbial century and pretty much had enough of snow for a lifetime.

Today we went for a ride with Youngest Progeny and took the obligatory picture.



One final, unconnected note about the blogging process. Someone, and you know who you are, has promised to bury me in a heap of comments. This is something Your Humble Bloggist has been waiting for. Comments are valuable. Someone, and again you know who you are, commented on one of my race photos. Well, not technically a race photo of me, but in actuality some beefcake dude who is looking down coming out of the water whose photo I picked out of the "unidentifiable" stack after a race because I didn't really like how stupid mine looked. Well, it didn't take long to be called out. I post the photo and comment here.

Here is a photo of my actual biceps. And yes they are really that eensy and yes I really am a guy, although Youngest Progeny never hesistates to remind how I do not have "manly" arms. So no, of course that guy in the photo is not me. Right. Enough about that. Why don't you go read about my fall off the bike in Hawaii?