Kailua Kona is the personification of a beachfront/oceanfront community. With an aura of pure relaxation, inviting restaurants, cantina-like bars, and the rising and falling tide playing a rhythmic jubilant tune, it exudes “Copacabana.” I’m down with Barry Manilow.
On the preivous blog I gave context to the city at a given place in time, so my point of view is one sided, but let’s spend more time discussing the weekend from a non-ironman standpoint. The poor planning and organization (to which I was primarily hands off, with the exception of the car) left us houseless and carless two days prior to flight. A last minute beach condo came through, however, and the location fell slightly below perfection (there, after all, was no AC; Ha!) On a scale of 1 being a shack in Death Valley and 10 being my place in Waikiki, I gift this place a 9.1. A few miles from downtown, hopping, Jack Johnson Kailua Kona (the city reminds me of a Jack Johnson song), it WAS the ideal spot.
By the time the cab dropped us off and we situated ourselves at the condo, it was already 7pm. A couple of the guys went to grab alcohol while Whitney, Tiffany, and I stayed back to drink the leftover beer in the fridge. After Tiffany decided to get ready for the night, I ditched Whitney to make a phone call out on the lanai. Turning around to make a jibe to her regarding whom I was going to call, I laughed and
THWACK!!!
Usually when someone feels something press against them while they are walking, they stop. Oh not this guy. Turning around after making the comment, I walked face first into the screen door, BUT KEPT GOING. It was as if my body told me it was there, but my mind couldn’t process the fact that something was physically in my way. The end result wasn’t pretty, and the screen door didn’t stand a chance. I knocked it off the track, ripped through the bottom half, and as we slow motioned our way to the floor, beer flew everywhere. Twisted, tangled with this pliable piece of metal, another thud reverberated throughout the condo; looking around, Whitney fell into an epileptic fit of laughter on the floor.
Friday night included dinner and drinks at Huggo’s, a spectacular oceanfront restaurant with decent specialty cocktails. Saturday brought on the ironman, but post event included a couple of hours of experiencing the nightlife. A proper journey back home wouldn’t be proper without liquid courage, so we stopped at Lulu’s. On the way to the top floor, I saw a man forgo drinking the rest of his full cocktail, and naturally felt inclined to comment on the situation.
“Hey, what the heck are you doing?” I commented, “Nobody ditches out on the rest of the drink.”
The guy turned to me, laughed, and tried to pawn it off. Instead, I simply encouraged him to come with the group and finish the rest of cocktail. His guest, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, trudged her feet coming back up to the second floor. Cocktails, shots, beers, and laughs later, I found out this gentlemen previously ran the ironman in under 10hrs, hailed from South Africa, and helped us enjoy the Kailua Kona nightlife. Besides the fact that he could barely stand (still debating on whether or not it were due to drunkenness or lactic acid), the highlight of the night was a blend between when co-worker Eddie commented on a cute girl sitting at a table with a friend and other guys and the guy trying to do a vertical jump onto the bar. Regarding the comment and before even completing the statement, South Africa sprinted over to help Eddie find a lady. Regarding the standing leap, the guy actually pulled it off!
The rough alarm clock (ocean waves crashing) did little to soothe my pounding headache the next morning, but after a cup of coffee and breakfast, Eddie, Tiffany, Kristina and I jumped into the boat, our special edition Lincoln town car, give me a break-it was all they had left, departing south of the city. Just outside of Captain Cooke bay (where he was stabbed to death), we decided that it would be more memorable to venture to the southernmost tip of the United States and cliff jump. Geez, Talk about a brash decision.
Weaving through hairpin turns with little shoulder room at an elevation over 1,500 feet, we completed the expedition to find windmills. No, I am not kidding, windmills. From Blooming Prairie I can trek 15 minutes and find ample windmills thanks in part to McNeilus, but never would I imagine that we would risk life and death to come across (expletive) windmills. Surprised, I was thankful enough to realize that this was not the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Past the dozens of worn iron paper wheels emerged an interesting, rugged cliff side….and now for the jump.
I don’t know about any of you, but walking along the elevated cliff, looking at the jagged rocks 100 feet below, I couldn’t help but think that a slip here, a stumble there, and I would fall into a Picasso-like mess of bone and skin only to be washed away by the rising tide. These are natural thoughts, right? Well, no need to answer my own rhetorical question, but I am terrified of heights. The only way to conquer this would be to face the fear head on; for those of you cognitive behavioral theorists, this process is called exposure.
What heightened the danger of the fear facing mission was the method for returning from the 50 foot jump. To complete the mission, We would have to climb up an Indian Jones-esque rusted over, swaying ladder. Not giving my fears but two seconds to run wild, I stripped down (talk about exposure)…
To my swimsuit (just wanted to give you a visual). Giving myself one last pep talk, “Kraig, if that 6 year old boy can do this, so can you. Oh, and if you don’t, Kristina will think you are a coward,” my legs jellowed out beneath me and I tripped!
Clinging to the top of the cliff with one hand I couldn’t help but think about the impeding pain below. Not death, but shear misery from the awkward fall to come. With blood starting to trickle down from my Stallone style cliffhanger grasp, I managed to swing my other arm onto another rock to pull myself up.
A blink later, and after the Final Destination glimpse, it was time.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
I two stepped (a local Hawaiian wahine called it two stepping) and threw myself off the cliff screaming the majority of the way down to the ocean. The cold, salty ocean gave me instant feedback about the quality of my jump; forgetting to execute a perfect pencil, my bum’s soreness could still be felt at work two days later.
What an exhilarating experience?! To jump, for the most part, without hesitation and be welcomed by the inviting blue water, sends chills through my arms as I type this. Sure I am still scared as hell of heights; No, I will not go hang gliding; Yes, I do think about Valleyfair rides crashing every time I am on the top of the Wild Thing roller coaster. But to go through and meet this goal is overwhelmingly satisfying.
Ha, and now the funny part. My co-worker Tiffany, a cute, bubbly, and fantastic person was arguably the most hesitant person in the group to jump. After nani Kristina jumped, she found a fickle form of courage. Pause for laughter.
Clearly instructed to jump like a pencil, Tiffany’s execution ranked last of the four, but in terms of splash, blew the competition out of the water. Flying through the air, her upper body remained calm, but her legs acted as if they were running a sprint. The constant movement of her leg’s forced some type of imbalance and she slowly started to lean backwards. It was almost as if seeing a swan swimming gracefully on top of the water knowing that the legs were moving at full steam; in this case, we could see below the water.
THWAT!
The impact twisted my stomach and I thought she was going to cry. Instead, up popped this girl all smiles (sore and shocked) but smiling up a storm. What a catching attitude!
Already a week later, Tiffany recently told me that bruises cover her upper thigh and butt. Haha. Funny stuff.
That’s it folks. Another long blog. Enjoy the weekend and the photos below.
A hui hou kakou (Until we meet again)
