This is the eighth of ten untold stories about the incredible moments of personal challenge and the decisions made that led to the 1989 side-by-side eight-hour battle between Dave Scott and Mark Allen. Everyone has seen accounts of the race itself. Neither Dave nor Mark have told this story from each of their perspectives. But, more importantly, no one has ever heard the details of each of their personal journeys during the year leading up to The Greatest Race Ever Run.

Dave Scott and Mark Allen continued to log training bests neither had previously been able to achieve going into the final three weeks before Kona. But both had to solve some very personal challenges. Dave had a newborn and needed to hold himself together in the face of being a father and an IRONMAN World Champion hopeful. Mark had to figure out how to make peace with the Island of Hawaii, a place he had never been able to embrace. Both would find a way to align their lives and their characters with the challenges they would face in a few weeks.

You may be wondering why we did not schedule the actual story of the race in 1989 during the week of this year’s Ironman. After much discussion everyone involved agreed that this week, and the race on October 12, 2019 belongs to this era’s athletes. In that spirit we scheduled so we could continue the series through Ironman week while allowing the spotlight to shine on the amazing performances that are sure to come on Saturday. Stay tuned for the final two episodes and a surprise bonus epilogue.

Scott Zagarino

Mark Allen

“There’s a history about IRONMAN in Kona that everyone who has done that race understands. There always comes a point during the bike ride when you feel the true reality of the day and what it is going to take to complete it. For me, that point always came at about mile 75 of the bike. It would feel like the bulk of the course had been covered, but then you would realize there was even more to come. It’s when I would realize what I had gotten myself into by racing there. And now, looking back, I can see that this ominous feeling of overwhelming pressure to complete the unknown actually began to seep into my core the second I landed at the airport. 

The first year I raced in Kona, I felt it when they opened the jet door and I stepped out onto the stairs leading down to the tarmac. You didn’t get a gentle entry to the Island with an air-conditioned jetway. No, you stepped onto that tarmac that was black and blistering hot and buffeted by the typical Kona winds. The next year it hit me as I looked out of the plane windows and saw the Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway. I expected to feel excited. I was going to be doing the Ironman for my second time. Instead, I started sweating like I was in a sauna. My armpits were a swamp. I could barely think. It was like a heavyweight fighter had just hit my self-confidence in the gut.

Things just got worse from there. Year after year, I was having a knee-jerk reaction to arriving on the Island. It went something like this. “Felt good at home. Training went great. Got on the plane. Still felt good. Saw the Island. Felt sick. Got off the plane. Felt faint. Trained all week. Couldn’t anchor one second of self-confidence in anything that lasted.”

I tried being like Dave Scott. He seemed to become this invincible force when he arrived on the Island. It was like he breathed in something that was the opposite of kryptonite. Dave got off the plane and took on strength and an untouchable air. I tried to do that. I tried to be pumped up and invincible. I failed dramatically. It just wasn’t me. “Be Like Dave” wasn’t working. But “Be Like Mark” never seemed like anything that would make me capable of standing up to the intense energy of Hawaii.”

Dave Scott

“My first Ironman victory had been in Oahu in 1980. The next year, the course moved to the Big Island—to Kona. I was injured early that year and missed the race, which was won by John Howard. So, my first look at the Kona Ironman course came in February of 1982. 

During race week, I rode my bike out 25 miles (40km) from the town of Kailua. Pat Feeney, one of my inner circle buddies had traveled to all my Ironman races with me. On that day, Pat was driving a car, hopscotching ahead of me. He pulled over and stopped on the side of the road and I joined him for a quick look at the surrounding topography. Pat enthusiastically proclaimed, “This course is relentless and perfect for you, Dave.”  

We walked into the middle of the Queen K Highway and just stood there, gazing at the vast and relentless topography of black volcanic rock. There were few cars that ventured north on the Ironman highway and at this moment there wasn’t a car or human in sight. Looking up the mountains toward Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, feeling the searing heat rise from the black roadway, I immediately felt the energy from this Island.

My inner energy was always derived from a calmness that came to me when anticipating a race. The simplicity of Kona was black and white: windy, hot, endless miles of lava fields, no traffic or crowds to cheer you on during the race. My wins in Kona were not because of my physical tools. It’s just that mentally the conditions seemed to beat everyone else.  

I heard someone comment prior to the 1986 race that “Dave Scott just likes the harshest and hardest conditions. Rough seas, extreme heat, and wind were ideal conditions for Dave.” But the truth was quite the contrary. I liked neutral conditions. The difference between myself and my competitors, including Mark, was that the extreme conditions mentally throttled their confidence. I sensed this weakness and it elevated mine. I remained steadfast and calm regardless of the rugged conditions in Kona. So, yes, in that way I was hoping for challenging conditions for the upcoming race. Could these elements once again diffuse Mark’s momentum and heighten mine? The question would soon be answered.”

Mark Allen

“In 1989, I was in the midst of an Island identity crisis. My training was great. I performed solidly everywhere else I raced. But when it came to Kona, I knew being more like Dave was not going to be the solution to my character strength that only felt weakness in Hawaii. I love Hawaii but racing there was a challenge—and I didn’t have a solution.

The Ironman World Championship was getting close, really close. I’d wrapped up training in Boulder, Colorado, with some epic session that spelled “FIT” in all caps. Two days of driving got me back to San Diego where I’d train for about another ten days then fly to Kona for the final ten days before the race. But I knew no amount of fitness was going to find its way out of my body in the form of a great race unless I could go to Hawaii and have just being me be enough. 

I was running out of time. Why couldn’t I feel the same ease racing in Hawaii that I felt in Nice, France, or Australia or Chile or Japan? Hawaii was my Achilles heel. There would be no work-around. I had to come up with a way to go there and have whatever strength I had be enough.

I was like the weakling everyone picked on because they knew that person had frailties. No one picks on the ones who will stand solid no matter what you throw at them. Dave was that strong one. I was the weak one. I stopped hoping Dave would be weak or show up without confidence. I knew taking the title from him would be about as easy as taking the towel out of the clenched jaws of a pit bull.”

Dave Scott

“Standing out there on the Queen K Highway that February in 1982, the midday temperature was wickedly hot. The highway didn’t have a sign or a single home—just lava. Pat’s comment paralleled the single mindedness that I relished training along the agricultural roads in and around our hometown of Davis. The temperature was brutal, but I seemed to have an uncanny tolerance to the extreme heat. Davis was known for temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 Celsius) and 90 days over 90 degrees Fahrenheit (33 Celsius) every summer. I savored these hot conditions and my resiliency in training seemed to climax at the Ironman.  

Pat and I recognized the sum of the heat, wind and solitude were my strengths. I didn’t need company to race fast. My training was done by myself nearly 95% of the time—hours of training without the aid of physical and mental stimulation from a team or partners. Davis mimicked Kona. 

That first experience on the Kona lava fields in 1982 set the foundation for my six wins. Regardless of my preparation and the variability of life events, I always felt confident that I would be ready on race day as the plane was ready to land on the Island.”

Dave Scott

In 1989, the final days of preparation before heading to Kona were a mix of final training and being transfixed by the days with my son, Ryan. In the first month following his birth, there had not been a huge change in his daily routine or development. He was relatively quiet until nighttime and then had to be fed at least two times. Being a light sleeper, when my wife got up throughout the night, I would follow and watch in amazement as Ryan fed and then floated off into a deep sleep. 

Now, only a little over a week out from Kona and nearly two months after his birth, I found the subtle changes to be epic. As a first-time father, I was mesmerized by his development and what now felt like day-to-day changes. Unknowingly, Ryan steered me away from thinking about the looming Ironman race. The time I spent with Ryan entirely shifted my mindset and Mark disappeared from my thoughts. 

My wife, Anna, and I had a final preparation conversation to coordinate a moment when I would get to see Ryan on the course during the actual race. We decided on a plan and this elevated my enthusiasm and motivation for race day. I didn’t need to worry about the race because I would be propelled by seeing Ryan. 

My spirits were buoyed by Ryan coming to Kona, and this allowed me to temporarily downplay my concerns about Mark and what might transpire during the race. It all became much simpler than all that: I would be ready to race fast, and my son would be an added incentive.