Da Doo Run Run

A forced smile, but the thumbs-up is all heart. At this point, the knees had to be slathered with Deep Heat. Precautionary.


The final sprint.

When I was training for an aquathlon and triathlons earlier this year (soon, I will be starting that up again soon), swimming posed all sorts of challenges for me. I had to brush up on old middle-school-caliber championship strokes (yes, I have gold medals from swimming!) and I had to deal with working out without an iPod. I am hopelessly addicted and devoted to my iPod, perhaps because I am hopelessly addicted and devoted to music. I can't live without it. At any point in my life where I can be listening to music, I am. I fall asleep to music, I run errands to music, I hang out in all sorts of waiting areas to music. So, I had to force myself to meditate and concentrate while swimming, focusing on making each stroke good. I would count the number of strokes it took me to get from one end of the Olympic-sized 50-meter pool to another (approximately 35 when starting out, 48 when I'm tired). So, guided by voices, mostly my own in my head, I would practise and build stamina and endurance for 750 meters or 1.5km, whatever the event entailed.

I'm no Michael Phelps, I'm just kelp. Although I felt strong and confident at the starting line to the marathon last Sunday, it felt different. I wasn't excited like I was last year. I wasn't blah like with the half, but I just didn't feel like I wanted to surge across the start line. I guess when you throw in two major weddings of good, old friends, a silly marathon doesn't seem so much like flavor of the week (unlike the scotch and pecan ice cream I had last night). Last year, I remembered every significant moment and all the highs and low points of the run, even remembering which tracks came on my iPod at which particular point that inspired me or made a difference in my psyche. This year, everything was a blur. All I know is that I wanted to get to the finish point.

What I don't know and can't explain is this: I completed the race in 5:13:24. Last year, I trained pretty hard, missing only a couple of long runs here and there and finished in 5:00:03. I know I'm not fitter -- not in terms of body weight, anyway. I am about four or five pounds (!) heavier this year, but I improved in strength because I've steadily worked on a resistance program all year. My beer belly is definitely bigger. So perhaps, I'm better in overall physical capability. But what it goes to show is, what if I hadn't put on the extra weight and trained well (if I had remained injury-free)... would I have done even better than my target of 4:45?

I believe so. That's because I maintained a steady pace throughout the run, even though I started feeling gassed round about 13km. Fortunately, Dion joined me at the point and ran 21km with me on the East Coast Park loop, and kept me on pace. I was still going to finish at 4:45 when my right thigh suddenly buckled at 38.5km. That's not to say I wasn't laboring up to this point -- in my last 11km, I had to envision targets for myself in order to keep running. I looked out for every kilometer mark and when I hit that, I would look out for the drinks station sign. I kept myself pushing every 500m and very slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y counted down the kilometers. So when the thigh collapse happened, I had to sit on the sidewalk while my muscle throbbed to its heart's content. After about two minutes, I pushed myself up and tried to start running again. No dice -- cramp city. I ended up walking through 41km, and found something in the reserve tank to gun the engine for one slow jog for about 700 meters, then sprinted (!) the last leg.

This year, there were even fewer spectators and entertainers. It was downright boring. I think everyone expected more supporters since more of the run took place along the beach, but that was wishful thinking. There is just no support here for any kind of event -- people are jaded and are more concerned about a marathon not messing with their traffic route than the fact that this is a fantastic event and all runners really need the motivation to press on, especially if you're a schmuck like me. In Chicago, supporters are crammed every inch of the way, even in the most desolate segments of the route. I think it's telling that I received a barrage of well wishes from a tremendous number of friends all the way from Chicago, but didn't hear much from people here except for my family and a couple of friends. Nothing against anyone, just an indication of how non-plussed people are about things that don't involve their stock market investments and real estate purchases. Where's the passion for the finer things in life you can't buy with a checkbook!

I'm also working on a letter to the marathon organizers about the route. It blows my mind that Uniquely Singapore, our tourism board, is one of the sponsors, yet we have the most uninspiring route ever. Lots of people think of these as destination events -- wouldn't a route weaving through Chinatown, Little India, Kampong Glam, Katong and Geylang Serai be such an outstanding showcase for our country's heritage and attractions? How cool would it be -- in Chicago, the marathon snakes through more than 30 neighborhoods. From Boys Town (drag queens!) to Chinatown (lion dances!) to Pilsen (mariachi bands!) to Bridgeport (gangsta rap!), it's so much fun to run. You don't even think you're running. It's just one big city party. The fact is, Singapore won't bear the cost for closing down its streets for a marathon, because it doesn't make money like an F1 race. Ya know, all this is bullshit. No wonder people here won't give more than a shit about the year's marquee marathon event.

I'll get off the podium now, because that's only reserved for champs, not chumps. I actually feel happy to have completed two marathons, considering the second went as well as it could for my level of preparation. We had fantastic weather, actually, and I managed to run a hell of a lot more than last year. I had trouble walking and the minute I stepped under the shower, I realized I had lubed everywhere but between my butt cheeks, so that meant major crack chafing which lasted for 24 torturous and excruciating hours. I went for a massage which really, really helped me walk again, then got drunk on sambuca shots, whiskey and champagne at Aiwei and Zull's wedding party that night at Velvet Underground (more to come on that this week!). Fortunately, as a ball player hanging out with some of my greatest friends here, we earned the right to park ourselves on the edge of the buffet table and at a bottleneck so the booze waitress always had to stop by us. I was out like a light by 11pm and slept for 12 hours.

Thanks to everyone for your excellent support and advice, although I feel completely undeserving of it. I believe I promised to run a marathon with Mofo and one with Jiggy and a half marathon with Rich and Laurie and god knows what else I have said over beers. Can we try to consolidate, please?

(Yes, I have one more marathon in me. It will be in Chicago. I am devoting the rest of my life to half marathons around the world -- Dion and I are planning to run the Angkor Wat Half Marathon next year!).