Honolulu Marathon Week: On The Outside Looking In

The Royal Grove Hotel at Oahu, Hawaii - Hawaii on a Map
Poolside at the Royal Grove, Waikiki
 
Some days the old runner doesn’t feel all that excited about writing.  Writing a hell of a lot like running.
Some days you just gotta do it whether you’re in the mood or not.
The old runner was a septuagenarian before he finally came to grips with his soul’s, his spirit’s, essence of contrariness.
He had been punished by being forced to run.  He became a runner.  Long distances.
He had been punished by being forced to write one hundred times “I will not spend the entire class staring at Dorna Handy’s chest.”
He became a writer.
He had been spanked once.  And was looking forward to the next time.
But I digress for starters.  Got myself assigned to cover the 2014 Honolulu Marathon.  God bless New England Runner.
Absolutely the best running magazine currently published in the USA.  Far better than RW. (Recipe World)
 
Found these notes from “(a work in progress-page one).” December 2014. – JDW
 
***
 
Suddenly, somehow, the zoo grew so still, you could hear the African Wild Dog snoring.
But that was one of the few quiet moments of Honolulu Marathon Week.

When I looked into staying at the host hotel, the cheapest rooms were like $323 per night.
I typically travel large, but in a Truman Capote style, i.e., I have many well-to-do friends who are generous with a spare bedroom.
And I am surprisingly a rather, ummm, appropriate guest. (If you ignore the beer consumption.)

None of my Hawaiian pals had a spare bedroom this week, which figures, but one did have a week-long hold on a room at the Royal Grove, just in case. Suite!

Not so much. After a 21-hour time-zone adjusted trip, we arrive at a combination old folks’ home/ hostel.
Upon first blush, my wife couldn’t decide between crying and screaming.
But when we discovered our room was a seedy closet without air conditioning, homicide seemed likely. So, we instantly decide to get an upgrade.
Lady at the reception can’t help… yes, you can, I told her.
And I was cautioned that air conditioning would require an additional $100 per week.
(Which we would have readily paid per night.)
But ever so cool- pun unintended – we didn’t laugh until entering our new accommodations.
After all, laughter is the best medicine. I think Chuck Grassley said that.
While the first room looked like an underground bunker where scary men keep kidnaped children, the new digs are more like where you and six buddies crashed on a road trip to Myrtle Beach in the early 70′s.
It’s the kind of place where even I wash the bathroom doorknob.
“I’ve already done that,” my wife says. “The remote, too.”
It’s the kind of place where it can’t hurt to wash the bathroom door knob twice.
The best part about the Royal Grove, besides the price, is the best Korean food on Oahu next door,
the Me B-B-Q. And a half block away, an excellent hangout, La Cucaracha.
Happy Hour is 2-6. We arrive at 2:15, don’t wanna seem too eager, they seem surprised to see us.
The bartender starts at 3:30.

My newest oxymoron: Snorkel Fun.

You know you are past your prime, when you exhaust yourself walking to the Expo.
Not that I needed a reminder. In my defense, that’s a four-mile round trip.
So, I go to the Expo, it’s rather obligatory, you’re already there to get press credentials.
I see the booth for The Stick. Full disclosure: I have a Stick, it’s been sitting in my garage for eight years, untouched.
But love the slogan: “A toothbrush for the muscles.”
I ask for a brochure, only to be told they have none in English.
On stage, I see two lovely young Asian women, maybe elite athletes, maybe local weather girls.
There is much giggling, which is all I could understand.

Legends get muddled, truth gets co-opted. Dr. Jack Scaff is the founder of the Honolulu Marathon – the Clinic, too – and I’m the guy who sent Hunter S. Thompson to this race in 1980.
Just had to get that off my chest. This sport didn’t just happen on its own.

Which reminds me. This event is much better when you are younger, traveling few miles and somebody else is paying the bills.
Just sayin’.
And when there’s a snafu and you end up with Maria Mutola’s corner room on the eleventh floor, not to mention the one hundred dollars per diem, let’s just say, life is good.

Classic mistake. Bought my wife a couple of drinks, then took her shopping.  Actually, that’s not true.
We walked into the Outrigger, I told her On No Uncertain Terms not to go into those shops.
Well, the bag is too heavy for her to carry and she won’t tell me how much she spent.

Note to self: this might be a good time to fly to Tokyo and commit some burglaries.

And every day the din grows louder. The prices seem to increase at a similar pace.
Really, if I hear the theme song from Hawaii Five-Oh one more time, I might scream.
 
Somebody asked me if I was running. Of course, I responded. Because nothing makes me happier than being passed by some guys look my dad fought against in WWII.

You know that joke? Where the wife asks her old husband, if he wants to go upstairs and have sex?
And he says, I can do one or the other, but not both.
Well, if I travel this far to an event, I’m too beat up to run the race.
Honolulu Zoo Home

I may bitch and moan and whine and complain, but the Honolulu Marathon is an experience like no other. And I am nothing if not experienced.
Met a young couple from Australia and they were having a ball. “We’ve never been to America before.”
Trust me, I told them, “you are still not there.”
Race day begins at night. The first shuttle bus leaves the zoo at 2 a.m. That’s 0200. In the morning. That’s really, really, really early.

And, of course, it is raining. Sheets of rain. These homeless folks must be feeling a little more miserable than usual.
Then I start to wonder if they feel miserable on a daily basis.
A little thunder and lightning for drama. But, no.
That must be the fireworks at the start.

I began my race at the five-mile mark, near the intersection of Kalakaua & Uleine, under the overhang at the entrance to Billabong, Christmas carols blare from the Hyatt Regency.
I strolled casually to the finish line at Kapiolani Park. Feeling not a little like Rosie Ruiz.
And nobody noticed the rain.

I set up my office at the first table to the steps to the beach. 
Little boys playing in the sand, not so little girls jiggling in thong bikinis.
If you ever stop by the Shore Bird at the Outrigger Reef, tell Elaine, the bartender, I said, “Aloha.”
 
After all those $100 beer tabs, she’ll remember…
 
https://www.jackdogwelch.com/?p=1106
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEvGKUXW0iI