With a hurricane bearing down, I ran anyway

Yes, it's true. 

I was there when Hurricane Lowell unleashed screaming winds and torrential rain across Kauai, beginning late on Sept. 7 and continuing into the morning of Sept. 8. Before it was over, it had demolished homes, washed out roads, flooded hotels, snapped trees, torn roofs from buildings, toppled power poles and flattened fences.

It was the longest night of my life.

Each time the winds eased, they returned even stronger. The roar was relentless. It went on for hours. You don't sleep through a hurricane. More than once, I was sure the windows would shatter. Outside, I could hear objects crashing, breaking and being hurled through the darkness. Sitting in the guest room of a friend's condo near Lihue, there was nothing I could do except wait and pray.

Eventually, the winds began to fade.

The sun rose. The clouds parted. Blue sky returned.

I went for a walk to survey the damage. At first, it didn't seem as bad as I had feared. People were outside picking up debris and cleaning their yards. Only later did I learn how hard the Westside, South Shore and North Shore had been hit.

Having once lived on Kauai, my heart sank for the people affected. Many are still recovering. Some businesses remain closed. Power has yet to be fully restored in some areas. For some, life may never return as it was.

But Kauai is resilient. Its people take care of one another. They always have. They will get through this because that's what they do.

When I tell people I was on Kauai as Hurricane Lowell passed within roughly 40 miles of the island, they all ask the same question:

What in the world were you doing there?

What else? I was there to run.

It had been seven years since I last ran the Kauai Marathon. I wanted to revisit old haunts, reconnect with friends and see how fast I could run one of the most beautiful courses I've ever experienced.

When Hurricane Lowell first appeared on the forecast, I wondered if I should cancel the trip. But even a few days before race day, the event was still scheduled to take place. During the years I lived on Kauai, hurricanes and tropical storms often threatened the islands, only to weaken before arriving, bringing little more than rain and wind.

I assumed Lowell would do the same.

So, I boarded an Alaska Airlines flight on Friday afternoon.

When I arrived, everything seemed normal. On Saturday, I attended the marathon expo in Poipu and ran into Jeff Sacchini, owner of the Kauai Marathon. We exchanged greetings, and I told him how excited I was to be back and hoping to run well the next morning.

He looked at me, disappointment on his face, and said, "There's not going to be a race."

The decision had just been made.

New forecasts showed Lowell tracking closer to Kauai. County officials needed the personnel and resources dedicated to the race focused instead on hurricane preparation.

It was the right call.

Still, I was disappointed.

That didn't stop me and a few hundred other runners from covering the course the next morning.

The conditions were warm, humid and calm. About three miles in, a man stood along the roadside handing out water and race medals. A few miles later, on the climb through the Tree Tunnel, I stopped for a photo with a group cheering for runners. Coming through Omao, someone had posted handmade signs with words of encouragement and an offer of free beer. In the final miles, drivers honked and waved. People on sidewalks cheered us on.

The handful of visitors walking around didn't seem to notice as I ran hard the last few hundred yards and crossed a finish line that wasn't there, but no matter. 

Looking back, it seems crazy to have flown 3,000 miles to run a half marathon with a hurricane bearing down on the island. What a foolish thing to do. But I'm glad I did.

What I'll remember most isn't the race. It isn't even the storm.

It's the reminder of how quickly plans can change, how small we are against the forces of nature, and how communities come together when it matters most.

I came to Kauai chasing a personal goal. I left with a renewed respect and admiration for the people who call the island home, as I once did. The night of Sept. 8, I boarded a plane and left. They had to rebuild their lives.

And one final lesson:

The next time a hurricane is headed toward an island, I'll stay home in Coeur d'Alene.

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Bill Buley is managing editor of The Press. He can be reached at [email protected].