It’s been a month since Kona Ironman ended but it’ll be back. Money talks. And perhaps you’re as glad as I am that the triathlon takes place on the sunny and not the rainy side of the island, although it would be fun to watch athletes in their skivvies slipping and sliding all over Hilo’s slushy streets.
After a three-year hiatus due to the COVID shutdown, 5,000 race enthusiasts registered this year, chomping at the bit to once again swim 2.4 miles in Kailua Bay, bicycle 112 miles to Hawi and back, then jog 26.2 miles around Kona, all in the same day.
They got their wish this past October when triathletes, plus family and friends, descended in droves on the west side of our island.
I ran into one triathlon devotee with hair whiter than mine who loudly and proudly proclaimed that at the age of 70, she had just finished another Ironman race.
“Wow! You go Girl!” I exclaimed.
But to myself I thought: What are you, nuts?
I belong to that faction of society that finds extreme athletic endeavors pupule and pointless. I side with my brother and his friends who participated in Ironman by stationing themselves at a remote portion on the scorching Waikoloa stretch of the bicycle route, cheering on stragglers who wobbled by. Then they sat back in beach chairs under shade umbrellas and popped open a frosty beer from the well-stocked cooler. Whenever a biker appeared, they jumped up to encourage exemplary effort.
“Good going! Keep pedaling! Another beer please.”
But did you know that in addition to the world-famous triathlon, there’s also the Underpants Run?
Started in 1998 as a protest against triathletes who wear Speedos around Kailua town when not racing, Underpants organizers display their disapproval by wearing only undies to jog on Alii Drive from Kailua wharf to Uncle Billy’s hotel. I don’t know how it is that cotton briefs scream “objection!” to skimpy beachwear, but I suppose it’s the thought that counts.
After several years of exposure, organizers decided to expand their protest run to include fund-raising for charities. Mahalo.
It brings to mind the Naked Bike Ride which also began in the 1990s. That must have been the decade to ditch your duds.
In this annual Seattle parade, participants ride a bicycle buck-naked except for helmets. Safety first ya know? Clothed Seattleites and bug-eyed visitors line the sidewalks to stare and take photos of bare-all riders.
One enthusiastic tourist promised to return the following year for another exhibition of biking buffs and butts!
I participated in neither naked bike riding nor sidewalk gawking but always snickered when reading about the yearly event in the Seattle newspaper, part of my never-ending quest to uncover wacko happenings.
At some point, organizers decided they needed to tack something legitimate onto their birthday suit spectacle so one year, it turned into the Naked Bike Ride to Protest Foreign Oil. Or something like that. As the mother of impressionable children, I thought: Yes, naked bike riders need a cover! But as a writing teacher, I advised: Pick a topic. Nude bikers or crude oil?
Everyone has their own thing. Many want to show off in Speedos, others want to jog in panties and quite a few want to bike naked. Whatever floats your boat … as long as you got county permits to do so.
But I am amused that some whose ancestors sailed off to foreign lands and demanded that inhabitants put clothes on, are now looking for all kine excuses to take theirs off.
Another beer please. Bottoms up.
Rochelle delaCruz was born in Hilo, graduated from Hilo High School, then left to go to college. After teaching for 30 years in Seattle, Wash., she retired and returned home to Hawaii. She welcomes your comments at rainysideview@gmail.com. Her column is published the first Monday of each month.
