Finding Ultra

by Rich Roll

  “This is ridiculous. I’m heading back to the airport. Anyone else?” Without taking a vote, I pivoted on my heels and headed back down the hill we were still climbing, dividing loyalties by heading away from the group. Ultimately, the pack fell into line with my hijacked route change, but the damage had been done—I’d further eroded morale by violating the one sacred rule: No matter what, stick together.

  I was initially grateful to descend for a change, but it wasn’t long before the downward grade took its toll, searing my quadriceps. Every step sent lactate screams up my legs—knifelike jabs pleading with my mind to stop the madness. My focus narrowed, signaling it was once again time to shut my mouth, pull the shades tight, and isolate.

  Soon we hit the flats, again passed the airport, and began a circuit west through the town of Kahului. I dropped back, tracking Jason as he continued to chat with Paul and Molly. I told myself to focus on them. Calm down. Take it easy.

  It was amazing to watch Paul’s run form. A true ultra-running specialist, he was impressively light on his feet, with an effortless stride. He’s the kind of runner who excels at distances upward of a hundred miles. To this day I still have difficulty wrapping my brain around the idea of 100 miles. Someday … I thought. But not today.

  It was now nearing 3:00 A.M. Paul had been working his butt off all day taking care of us, and yet, having run every mile alongside us, he looked entirely fresh. In fact, he ran far more than a marathon that night, because he repeatedly jogged back and forth between Jason and me, bringing us fluids, tending to our every need. But again, I was in that dark place where I couldn’t handle the interaction. I was gruff, shunning the nutrition and imploring him to leave me alone. But Paul knew better. Experienced in how it feels to be in the “pain cave,” he refused to take no for an answer.

  I later felt awful about how difficult I was that night. It was beyond uncool to treat so roughly someone who’d volunteered his time. I apologized to Paul and he said he knew it wasn’t personal. Like many endurance and ultra-endurance athletes, he understood; he’d been there himself.

  Circling Kahului and heading back toward the airport, we hit the twenty-mile mark. Delirium was really setting in now, placed against a very real backdrop of cane fields burning in the near distance. Hundreds of acres blazing in a controlled burn. The predawn sky glowed a fantastic orange, punctuated by an overwhelming acrid aroma. Like a surreal landscape conceived by Salvador Dalí, or a scene straight out of Apocalypse Now, our bizarre environs elevated the strangeness this trip already possessed. But the end was now within reach. Both Jason and I had, for the most part, dispensed with walking, now only running.

  We settled on a large circular loop around the commercial section of Kahului, which would place our finish line in the airport parking lot. Grateful to have something to fix my gaze on besides the haunting glow of burning cane fields, I focused on the closed but well-lit storefronts—a Chevron here, a twenty-four-hour Rite Aid there—anything to distract me from the pain. And the miles clicked by. But the closer we inched toward our destination, the thicker the smoke from the burning cane became. Despite removing our shirts and wrapping them around our faces to filter the fallout, it was soon close to impossible to breathe. Time, once again, to divert the route.

  According to plan, our crew left us to pick up Paul’s car in the airport parking lot. We’d reconvene at an improvised finish line beyond the perimeter of the acrid plume. And so for the last two miles it was just Jason and me, slugging it out against the flaming orange sky, racing against ourselves and the impending dawn. A step at a time, we ran together, silent, just as we’d begun on that first morning of our EPIC5 journey in Kauai—days ago. Almost there. Just get it done. I looked at my wrist every minute or so, in intervals of one-tenth of a mile. Our self-chosen assignment seemed endless and ridiculous at the same time: run in circles around this neighborhood until my computer would grant us permission to stop. And then—without fanfare, or even a single soul to greet us, let alone pat us on the back—we were finished.

  Too tired to hug, the two of us made do with a quick high-five. Our crew was nowhere to be seen. Nothing to do but wait; they should be here any minute.

  I gingerly laid my body down on the hard concrete driveway in front of Royal Hawaiian Tire & Auto, a less-than-romantic backdrop to punctuate the unceremonious completion of our day’s travels. No more than ninety seconds had elapsed when … oblivion. I was fast asleep.

  I’m not sure how many minutes passed—maybe ten, fifteen tops. But when Paul, Molly, and Rebecca tracked us down, I was still sound asleep. After shaking me awake, Paul had to literally half-carry me into the van, where I rested my head against the window, trying to remain awake for the short ride to the hotel.

  When we arrived at a rather groovy little inn up in the funky town of Paia, Jason helped me out of the car and let me lean on him as he guided me into the lobby. It should be the other way around, I thought. I was in very bad shape—far worse than Jason. And I needed that bed like I’d never needed anything in my life. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t function. The hotel receptionist was doing her best to get us situated at this ridiculously early hour, but it took a spell for her to locate our room keys and sort out our reservation. I was entirely out of rationality and patience, my irritability once again rearing up. I recall very little of what occurred other than that I needed all the help I could get from Jason just to make it up one simple flight of stairs and into that bed. I knew I needed to eat, but I could only muster a few bites of pasta Rebecca had picked up. And as the sun crept up, I shut the shades, pulled the sheets over my head, and was gone.

  DAY FIVE: THE BIG ISLAND

  A VICTORY LAP

  Waking the next morning around 11:00 A.M., I sought out Jason and our crew, and it was quickly agreed to schedule another rest day before our final assault on the Big Island. A few hours later we caught an afternoon island hopper to Kona, and after quickly checking in at the King Kamehameha Hotel—the HQ for the Ironman World Championships and just a skip away from the next day’s swim start at the Kailua Pier—we wasted no time hightailing it directly to Island Naturals, Kona’s newest natural foods market. Finally, I was able to nourish myself with good, clean-burning organic vegan fuel—nutrition that hadn’t crossed my lips since Molokai. And I took every advantage of it—loading up on a giant fresh kale, spirulina, and beet Vitamix blend and gorging on every conceivable whole-food, plant-based delight in sight.

  I could actually feel my body return to life, inching toward homeostasis with every green sip and bite of quinoa and lentils. I stocked up on raw almonds, gluten-free granola, coconut milk, acai, and kombucha to bring back to the hotel for later that evening and the following day’s breakfast, then it was right back to the room to call the family before lights out at dusk.

  Eleven hours of dead-to-the-world sleep later, I arose around 6:00 A.M. to greet our final day feeling shockingly refreshed—in stark contrast to the emotional meltdown and near organ failure of the previous day. I actually felt “tapered,” a term that refers to that feeling of boundless energy that comes with a couple weeks of rest and easy training after a long, arduous season in the lead-up to a big race. It was as if my body were saying, Okay, I finally understand what is going on now—why didn’t you tell me earlier? All I needed was a decent meal and one good night of sleep! An iron-distance triathlon today? No problem.

  Jason and I convened in the hotel lobby and together walked the twenty yards to the Kailua Pier to ready ourselves for the swim. With the hardest work behind us, we approached the day as a victory lap on home turf. Despite the 140.6 miles that lay in front of us—daunting by any objective standard—after what we’d endured, and invigorated by a day of rest, knocking off an iron-distance workout now seemed like nothing more than a walk in the park. We needn’t worry about flights to catch, or what hellish trials the next day would inflict on us. Barring unforeseen disaster, when the day was done, we’d have completed the impossible.

 
; At the pier we met up with some local friends. Grant Miller, the owner of the local BikeWorks bike shop, who’d tuned up our bike gear for Ultraman, was there to tweak and tidy our rides while we got the swim under our belts. And also there to cheer us on was local professional triathlete Bree Wee, with her ever-present smile.

  Wasting no time, we jumped in and began. I knew this swim course—one of the most beautiful ocean swims in the world—like I knew every grouted tile of my local pool. Stroking effortlessly through the crystal-clear water teeming with underwater wildlife, I focused on the schools of fish. A casual out-and-back 2.4 miles, and before I knew it, I was done. Only fifty-one minutes—no big deal on a fresh day, but pretty darn good considering what I’d undergone this week. As I was drying off, Grant smiled, remarking, “Wow, you’re already done?”

  “Just warming up, Grant!”

  “So how did it feel to have so many friends out there with you today?”

  Having just performed the swim solo, I was confused. “What do you mean?”

  “The dolphins! You had a whole school of dolphins out there swimming right alongside you!”

  “I did?” I couldn’t believe it. Despite the countless number of times I’d swum in this bay, I’d yet to experience the sensation of swimming alongside a dolphin. How could I have missed it?

  “Yeah! Look!” Grant motioned to Jason, still chugging out in the bay. With a hand to my forehead to shade the bright morning sun, I spied Jason far offshore, stroking to the musical rhythm of several dorsal fins undulating alongside him. I took it as a blessing on behalf of the Hawaiian kahunas.

  Simply beautiful.

  As I awaited Jason’s arrival, I put on my cycling gear for the final bike segment of the week, ate an almond butter and banana sandwich, and greeted five-time Ironman champion Luke McKenzie, an Aussie who’d been training in Kona over the last few weeks with his fiancée (now wife), Amanda Balding. I’d very briefly met Luke and Amanda by happenstance almost two years prior—before I’d even raced my first Ultraman—during a Starbucks break while out riding in my local Santa Monica Mountains. Remarkably, Luke remembered our meeting, and was nice enough to swing by on his motor scooter this morning to say hello and wish us well for the day. His encouragement provided an amazing morale boost.

  “We have a little run planned for later this afternoon if you’re interested in joining,” I mentioned to Luke. I imagined how his long, sure strides would likely compare to ours and jokingly added, “But be warned, we might be running a little too fast for you.”

  Luke laughed. “Good times, mate. I’ve got a big training day ahead, but I’ll think about it. Have fun today, boys!” And with that we parted ways. Given his long slog of serious pro triathlete training that day, I doubted we’d see him again, but I was glad to have made the offer.

  And we were off, accompanied by our friend and “sherpa du jour” Warren Hollinger, Kona local and multiple Ironman and Ultraman finisher. As we pedaled uphill to the famous Queen K Highway, I was again amazed at just how fresh I felt. Thanks to the remarkable natural properties of tea tree oil, my undercarriage seemed to have miraculously healed overnight—staying seated on my bike was no longer an issue. And what seemed even more miraculous: The power had returned to my legs, the fatigue not much more than a mild annoyance. What can I say? The body’s ability to adapt to stress is nothing short of astonishing. With the sun shining, and my friends as my tailwind, my spirits were running high.

  Heading up the Queen K, we followed the world-famous Ironman World Championship course on our way to the tiny town of Hawi, happily baking in sun-crusted lava fields. Sure, it was hot. And windy. But today I was unfazed. After Maui, this was easy. The numbers on my power meter reflected my state of mind and body, registering measurements far above anything I’d generated since our first day in Kauai. I wasn’t just feeling good. I was feeling great.

  With the urge to let the tiger out of the cage a bit, I rode off the front of our little group of three. To the purr of my whirring carbon-rimmed Zipp wheels, I embraced some alone time to connect with my gratitude—not just for what we’d accomplished so far this week, but for all the blessings of my life: the sobriety that had returned me to sanity, the faith that had given me the strength to reinvent my life, and the wife who hadn’t just supported my dreams but co-created them. I also gave thanks for the children I was blessed to raise, healthy and happy. And my friend Jason Lester, who believed in me enough to make me part of his lunatic fringe. Centered firmly in the now, I allowed myself to genuinely feel the sun on my face, lean into the new strength in my legs, and mentally genuflect in this church of lava—this land that had played such a central role in forging my life’s new trajectory.

  Before I knew it, I’d arrived in the hamlet of Hawi, and I pulled over to wait for Jason and Warren. Marking the fifty-six-mile halfway point of the ride, this village, with its hippie sensibility, was also the finish line for the Ultraman Day Two bike course, as well as the starting line for the Day Three 52.4-mile run. That’s a long way of saying that Hawi is a place of great meaning for me.

  Soon Jason and Warren arrived, with Rebecca following just behind in our support vehicle, and we took an extended lunch break. Again, today was a celebration, not a race. The feeling was of a leisurely excursion, not a scramble, and Rebecca produced an impromptu picnic. I swiftly shoveled three Vegenaise and avocado sandwiches down the hatch, washing them down with a quart of coconut water, at which point Jason, who was always amused by how much food I could pack away, remarked, “So, Roll-Dawg, how many avo sammies you figure you’ve inhaled this week?”

  After a quick calculation, I answered. “Sixty, easy. Possibly seventy.” It’s not an exaggeration to say that my EPIC5 experience had been fueled in large part by avocados, grapeseed oil–based Vegenaise, and coconut water.

  Spirits still high, we got back on the bikes and descended from Hawi down toward the Queen K. Together we rode gently back into Kona town, circling the main commercial drag before completing our ride where the day had begun, at the Kailua Pier. I had 2.4 miles of swimming and 112 miles on the bike under my belt, and I was still smiling. The sun still tall in the sky, my energy ran high, and I was excited for the run—our final leg. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but the idea of running a marathon now struck me as nothing more than an afterthought—just a final jaunt before putting this entire event to bed.

  I downed a jar of Endurance Elixir, yanked on my compression socks, and laced up my running shoes. Ready to go, I was cheered to once again find us in the presence of Luke McKenzie. The Ironman champ is one of the biggest names in triathlon and also one of the nicest. Despite Luke’s already having put in torrid bike and run workouts earlier that day, he was declining his well-earned right to vegetate in front of the television, so he could join us stride for stride for our marathon’s first several miles.

  Once through town, and with about seven miles under our belt, Luke bid his adieu as we headed up the steep incline known famously in Ironman parlance as “Palani Hill.” And before we knew it, we were back on the Queen K, once again donning our salt-streaked headlamps to cut a path across the black lava. The miles clicked by, and the fatigue began to rise once again, reminding us that we weren’t yet free of its grasp. But we kept on, maintaining an even keel. The familiarity of the terrain helped. As it became necessary to start digging deep as we pushed past the marina on the outskirts of town, I recalled a run that Jason and I had completed during our training camp leading up to Ultraman 2009. On this same track of highway, we busted out a very hard two-hour run in the pouring rain on a dark night. It was one of those runs where everything just clicks. And by tapping into that very lucid memory, I felt stronger.

  I turned to Jason. “This remind you of anything?”

  Jason smiled. He knew exactly what I was talking about. “One of the best runs of my life, big bro.”

  “Until now,” I said, continuing to marvel at just how well my body was holding up after the trauma that visited me
on Maui. We certainly weren’t running fast, but we were running. And most important, we were enjoying the experience. Rather than dread the miles to come and focus only on being done, we were savoring these final steps.

  With about six miles to go, a car pulled up and out jumped Grant, further raising our spirits as he jogged alongside us in his Teva sandals. When he remarked that this was his first “run” in years, I responded, “Then you might have considered wearing some running shoes, at least!”

  He confessed that he didn’t even own a pair. But he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to participate. Ably plugging away, Grant was just happy to be there. Talk about a boost!

  Counting down. Five miles to go. Then four. And before we knew it, only three more miles to go. I could feel those mental window shades beginning to drop, and I fought the urge to withdraw as I’d done during the final miles of every previous marathon that week. I battled myself to stay present and, most important, to stay connected with Jason. And just when I thought I couldn’t sustain my pace or any semblance of sociability one minute longer, out of the dark appeared Luke and Amanda, riding alongside us in their scooter, snapping pictures, shooting video, hooting loudly, and honking their horn in support. Later, we’d learn that they’d been at home and about to call it a night when they were struck by the urge to venture out and cheer us to the finish.

  With the town now within reach, and buttressed by Luke and Amanda’s cheering motor escort, which felt a bit like a presidential motorcade, we made our downhill right turn off the Queen K en route to the finish. Then came the goose bumps. As the reality of what was happening began to set in, I felt an energy surge that carried me that final mile. My emotions took over. And with the Kailua Pier now within reach, tears began to stream down my cheeks. Two hundred yards to go and I no longer wanted it to be over. I wanted to keep going.