Finding Ultra by Rich Roll

Author:Rich Roll [Roll, Rich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-95221-9
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2012-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

THE ALOHA, KOKUA, AND OHANA OF ULTRAMAN

Just finish.

In 2008, this was my only goal for Ultraman. I’d pushed my body as far as it could go in the six months of prep time. And I’d trained my mind to overcome fear and welcome the suffering I’d soon face. But I was also a realist. Remember, two years ago you struggled to make it up the staircase. Don’t do anything stupid. Be conservative. This is just a celebration of your life-changing journey. Enjoy the ride.

Nothing left to do but show up. So I arrived at Kailua Pier in the dark predawn to ready myself for the three most challenging days of my life, Day One kicking off with a 6.2-mile ocean swim followed by a rigorous ninety-mile bike ride. Absorbing the nervous energy of my competitors’ final preparations, I felt the familiar butterflies that preceded the swim races of my youth. With the moment I’d worked so hard for finally upon me, suddenly finishing didn’t seem enough. I wanted to race.

But I couldn’t do it alone; my success relied heavily on my crew. Unlike most endurance events, Ultraman is a completely self-supported adventure. From a van that was packed floor to ceiling with spare bicycle parts, tools, food bins, canisters of race nutrition, coolers of ice water, overnight luggage, and enough race apparel to suit all weather conditions, it was up to my crew to not just cheerlead, but monitor my hydration and caloric intake, manage unforeseen obstacles like equipment failure, and navigate the many tricky turns necessary to keep me on course.

Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan. But I’d assembled a great team that was captained by my cyclist friend Chris Uettwiller. Also helping out: the Buddha-like L. W. Walman, and my dad, who’d flown in from Washington, D.C., and was thrilled to be handling driving duties.

Later, Chris would tell me that as my dad stood on the pier watching me ready myself for the 10-kilometer swim, he got choked up.

“Dave, are you okay?” Chris asked.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, my dad composed himself with a broad smile and a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m fine. It’s just that, you see the way he’s swinging his arms like that? It’s what he always used to do as a little boy before every swim race.”

Soon, I was wading gingerly into the water and lining up next to my thirty-four fellow racers for the impending start. And before I knew it, the gun fired and we were off. Steady as she goes. Managing an even and sustainable stroke cadence, I steeled myself to relax, making a point to enjoy the sunrise off my left shoulder and the colorful marine life peppering the reefs below. A tidal chop jostled me about, pushing me backward at times, but you can’t fight the current—better to surrender to its overwhelming power.

Next up on the list of challenges were the jellyfish. Ripping through a swarm of them around the halfway mark, I suffered more than a few stings across my arms, shoulders, and face.

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