Subject: HURT 100 (long) From: "Jason Hodde" Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2001 09:49:35 -0500 I wrote a version of this report back in January and never sent it. Since airfares are CHEAP, I thought this might help put this race on someone's calendar. I know that many of the HURT I veterans are returning for HURT II. Jay ultrarun100@hotmail.com --------------------------- HURT 100 Flying over the lush, green valley on our approach to Honolulu, I saw the steep hills that I would be climbing less than 48 hours later. The hills dominated the landscape, jutting out of the ocean with a steepness reminiscent of the Wasatch of Utah, covered with a green façade that reminded me of the land of Eire. It was a picture-perfect beginning to the first organized 100-mile trail ultramarathon on Oahu; it was a stunning start to my first time in America’s 50th state. It was a perfect backdrop for a running vacation, for running through America’s rain forest, and for experiencing the “Aloha” of the islands that I’ve read so much about yet never experienced. The trails of the Honolulu Mauka trail system form an intricate network of paths that draw Hawaiian runners to the sere serenity of the rain forest from the hustle and bustle of the modern, overpopulated city that Honolulu has recently become. The home of America’s most popular honeymoon vacation spot, Oahu offers more than luxury hotels and the white, sandy beaches of Waikiki. Away from the tourism that is the lifeblood of the island lies a garden waiting to be explored on foot (mountain bikes are not permitted), a palace of such grandeur that only nature can provide. The ultrarunners in Hawaii run on sacred ground. The land, a product of nature’s power, rises out of the ocean to a high point that is often obscured in clouds at an elevation of almost 3,000 feet. Between the beaches and the clouds, you can find some of the most pristine wilderness found anywhere. Old, twisted trees and Banyan roots line mountain paths first designed by wild Hawaiian pigs. Rugged passages carved out of the side of the mountain make trails overlooking the Manoa and Makiki valleys a challenge to navigate, in the light, wet rain that seems to fall constantly. The rain forest is the wettest place on the island, receiving over 80 inches of rain each year; the beach in Waikiki receives only a few. The race starts early in the morning at the Hawaii Nature Center, a small and obscure set of buildings dwarfed by the mountains that rise from their back door. A bridge leading over an unnamed creek serves as the port of entry into a world that is challenging, glamorous and pristine in its beauty. In the glow of the tiki-torches, the competitors each take a moment of silence to reflect on life -- past, present, and future -- and to prepare for the challenge they are about to undertake. With an opening chant and prayer (a “pule”) spoken in Hawaiian and the sounding of the conch shell, the 30 runners pause momentarily to consider that the first 0.8-mile is uphill some 800 feet, up Maunalaha, a mountain affectionately named “Hogsback” by the local runners. One look at the mountain will tell you why its nickname is Hogsback. The black dirt is littered with jagged rocks, its spine made of an intricate array of the shallow roots of the trees that twist and turn along the trail’s surface. Running up this mountain is a challenge, a task that is limited to few of the finest runners in the race. I opt to walk, knowing that 100 miles is a long way, and climb by the light of my flashlight. Sunrise is just over an hour away. The course is as difficult as it is beautiful. While the trail surface is generally nice to climb and walk on, many sections are covered in Banyan roots and fist-sized rocks that make running challenging. In addition to the extremely steep hills and the technical single-track trail, the narrow ridges and cliffs through which the trails wind their way make running with confidence and alertness paramount for safety. I reach the Manoa Cliffs trail, about 4 miles into my run, after an hour. The sun is beginning to break over the mountains and shine light on the high-rise hotels rising from the beaches of Waikiki, which I can see in the distance. The lush green foliage surrounding me wraps me with security even as I run along the cliff faces. A light, warm rain begins to fall. Many ultrarunners routinely ask themselves, “where would I rather be than right here, and right now?” As the light rain lands on my face and mixes with my sweat, drops down my face and into the corners of my mouth, I think that I’m in heaven. Surely, there is no better place to run and no place to vacation than on the rain forest trails of Oahu -- at least for the next 36 hours. The race has a 36-hour time limit, an extremely long period of time even by ultrarunning standards (most 100-mile events have a 30-hour cut-off). This limit, however, is warranted. The steepness of the mountains, all similar to the first climb up Hogsback, make a fast race pace practically impossible. It is a course to enjoy in spite of the effort; anything less would be limiting your happiness and would be against the local flavor of the event. The course, designed with three aid stations, is fashioned in a T-bone shape that brings runners from the Nature Center to Paradise Park over the mountain, back up the trail past the gorgeous Manoa Falls and over another mountain to the Judd Trail at the bottom of a steep mountain called Nu’uanu. Each of the aid stations sits at the bottom of steep hillsides littered with rocks and boulders. They each have their own theme and their own unique tastes of food to offer the runners. While many ultrarunners choose to limit their food intake to hard candy, soda, and sportsdrink, I choose to partake of the local fare and eat pizza, hamburgers, sushi, lau-lau, poi, and Hawaiian pig sandwiches during my trek. The volunteer support is a runners dream; in the spirit of “aloha”, they even helped me change my socks (not something normal people would care to do). The 20-mile course requires that we make 5 revolutions of the course to finish 100 miles. The first loop, when I’m fresh and alert, takes me almost 5 hours to complete. In a 100-mile event, a 4 MPH pace is considered good when it occurs toward the end of the race. To start out that slowly means one of two things: 1) Either the course is drastically more difficult than the normal 100-mile race, or 2) The runner (i.e., me) is not as fit as I need to be. Running the trails of the HURT 100, I realize that both of these things are true. The course is one of the most challenging 100-mile courses I’ve run, much more difficult than the Western States 100 or the Leadville Trail 100, the two ultramarathons with the largest number of participants. It is for experienced trail and ultra runners only, meant for those who are in superb mental and physical condition to test the limits of their physical and emotional endurance. The race is not for the faint of heart. In the spirit of Aloha, the volunteers feed me as I finish my second circuit of the course. It is nearing evening, but I’ve only run 40 miles in the first 11 hours. I realize, somewhat unexpectedly, that I am well within the 36-hour limit, but that the fun and excitement of the race has worn off and I’m thinking about quitting. When you are running 100 miles, you tend to think about quitting quite often so you just try to put the thought out of your mind, say a big “mahalo” to the volunteers for feeding you and changing your socks, and head out along the trail again—where you can’t sit down and relax. Maunalaha has gotten steeper by now, and the rocks and roots of the trail have grown since I ran them in the early morning. I pause several times on the climb toward heaven to catch my breath and gaze in awe at the sun setting over the ocean in the distance. I’ve picked up my flashlights from my supply bags and placed them in my waist pack. The pack gets heavier the more I run even though it contains no more supplies than it did at the start. It contains my 40 ounces of sportsdrink (the minimum required amount), a whistle (also required), some band-aids, toilet paper, and enough bulbs and batteries to last for the next 12 hours. I continue to press on, yet slower and slower. My desire to continue is based on my desire to see the lights of the city from the top of the ridge on Nu’uanu. The trail on this section of the course is so steep that the race directors have tied a safety rope to a tree, allowing us to pull ourselves up -- or ease ourselves down. By the time I’ve made it to this point in the loop for the third time, I’ve decided that I’ve had enough running and that I should pause in the gentle stillness of the forest to gaze out over the hovering glow of the city lights in the distance. “Each of those lights has a story to tell,” I think to myself. And so do I. I turn my flashlight back on and continue on up the trail to the Nature Center, about 5 miles away. Even though I’ve decided to stop my run after finishing 100 km, I will have a story to tell for the rest of my life, a story of running through the rain forest on Oahu. It’s a story that most vacationers to the Island will never be able to tell, and the reason that I will go back next year. My story still needs the final 38 miles.