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HAWAII FIVE DOUBLE O
Kenny Moore
October 08, 1979
During a 20-day race covering 500 kilometers—or 2� laps around the island of Oahu—the entrants experienced exhaustion, ecstasy and the execrable
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October 08, 1979

Hawaii Five Double O

During a 20-day race covering 500 kilometers—or 2� laps around the island of Oahu—the entrants experienced exhaustion, ecstasy and the execrable

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He had climbed the cliffs back at Kaena Point, thinking that because telephone wires were up there, a road might be. "I climbed ledge after ledge and it got awfully hard, so I looked back and I said, 'Oh, no...the path's down there.' " His crashing descent had been at the expense of his legs.

"Harvey is an accumulation of everything that has ever gone wrong with a runner," said Henderson.

"You're right about what a mess I am," Shultz agreed. "Look at this blister on my heel."

Henderson asked if he had any moleskin with him.

Shultz glanced at the lawn to his right and to his left. "I haven't seen a mole in the longest time," he said with innocent desperation, as though he might be expected to catch one.

During lulls in a four-hour lunch of Portuguese sweet bread, honey, Primo, roast beef, cheese, Manoa lettuce, orange and more Primo, we swam in a little bay; signed a petition against a deepwater harbor for oil tankers at nearby Barbers Point; showered in the park lawn sprinklers; and heard the tale of the three high school kids from Ramona, Calif. who were running with us. Bruce Breon, Ralph Mittman and Larry Hargis had somehow talked their teachers into cutting them loose for three weeks in April and May on the promise that they would write extensive reports on their experience. They'd dived for golf balls in Southern California water hazards and sold them back to pro shops to raise their plane fare to Hawaii. "Cross-country is what I love," said Mittman, "but I've never seen anyone do it like Harvey."

"That's not cross-country," said Henderson. "That's rock surfing. Hey, Harvey, rock's up!"

On the third day we were running by 7 a.m., easing into the idea of 23 miles, when Dave Erb, 28, a Colorado Springs builder who had been laying off the pace the first two days, moved strongly ahead. In ragged single file we ran down the west side of Oahu, the first 12 miles along the Farrington Highway, a four-lane glut of buses and trucks and menacing boxy vans with darkly tinted windshields. The vehicles blasted by our elbows with what seemed blind indifference, each tightening our nerves one increment more as it passed.

Then we left the main road and followed an old highway eight miles through cane fields. Sections of cane were being burned before cutting. Rats and mongooses ran before the fire. Through the smoke and floating ash we got our first look at the tiny profile of Diamond Head, far off to the southeast, proof that we were making progress.

Erb, Jones, Henderson and I, running in a little group, passed used-car lots and taverns along Kamehameha Highway. Flimsy suburban roofs terraced the slopes of Pearl City above us. After 22 miles, when I yearned to be done, Jones seemed to come to. "How far are we going today?" he asked, apparently just having thought of it. Henderson stared at him.

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