2016 Kuching Marathon – My Less Than Charming Third Marathon

“Why the unusual distance, 42 km?” asked my wife, as I mentally prepared myself to run my third Kuching Marathon.

“Actually it’s 42.195 km, or 26 miles, 385 yards,” I replied.  “That was the distance between Marathon and Athens that the legendary messenger Pheidippides ran after the Greek victory over the Persians at the Battle of Marathon in the year 490BC.”

Pheidippides, after delivering his message, promptly died of a heart attack.  So here we are 2,500 years later still celebrating his feat with our own feet. 

         

Back then, Pheidippides didn’t have the com­fortable running shoes nor was the terrain all that smooth let alone paved, nor were there water stations with isotonic drinks conveniently located along the way.  So what he did back then was truly remarkable and truly appreciated by those of us who try to emulate him by running our own marathon.

Then again, Pheidippides didn’t start his marathon at 2 a.m. unlike here in Borneo.

Up at 12:45 on less than three hours of sleep, I showered, dressed, stretched, and applied muscular ointments and some Vaseline to prevent chafing.  I then took a pre-race selfie before I continued to cross off items from my to-do list, including slipping on my headband and running hat.  I was nearly out the hotel door, when my wife surprised me with a kiss and wished me good luck.

  

Smiling, I felt ready to do Pheidippides proud by participating in the 2016 Kuching Marathon, an event I ran last year and also in their inaugural event (and my first marathon) in 2014. 

In the elevator, I greeted another runner, a young woman, who told me, “Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

“I know, including my wife.”

We wished each other good luck.  Staying at The Waterfront Hotel, we reached the starting line in about a minute and I never saw her again, which was not unusual when you have about 2000 runners and their non-running friends, milling around, stretching, chatting, while mentally preparing them­selves to run an insane distance and endure some minor and major aching along the way.

“No pain, no gain,” they say, which prompted me to ask one of the volunteers as he rode alongside us on his bike, “Aren’t you cheating?”

He didn’t seem to appreciate my humor.  Moments later, trying to free himself from the crowd, he veered toward me, so I stopped to let him pass (as opposed to letting him ride over me), but then he swerved at the last second, and we nearly collided.  Luckily, neither of us fell.

Not a good way to start a marathon.  I got stopped again at the hour mark by a red light and the traffic police.  Being forced to stop when you’re running at a good pace is not good.  Fatigue sets in as you cool your heels.  My plan was to run the first two hours without stop­ping for anything, even water, since I carried my own bottle.  Twice in the past two weeks, I had run to my wife’s village in Sarawak, taking a longer route than usual, and made it there and back in 1 hour, 50 minutes, so I knew it was manageable. 

When I did those runs, I did keep a close eye out for that king cobra that my wife had encountered earlier on that same road.

“What is that?” she asked herself, seeing what looked like a rope in the middle of road that seemed to be moving.  Suddenly it turned and reared up and fanned out its hood as king cobras tend to do.  Eighteen feet in length, king cobras can rise five to six feet and look you in the eye.  Luckily for her she was safely inside her car.  Realizing it was no match for her Toyota Vios, the king cobra maneuvered out of the way, as did my wife, swerving around it.  This meant that the king cobra was still alive, out there somewhere in my path, waiting…

I made contingency plans of what I would do if I happened to encounter that king cobra.   Since I always run with a long white plastic pole to fend off dogs – I get chased at least once on every run, and sometimes I’d have as many as four or five dogs surrounding me, going for it.  I’d swing my stick and carefully back away from them.  Other than scaring me half to death, so far not bites.

A bite from a king cobra would be lethal, so I planned in my head what I would do if I was forced to fight it off wielding my stick.  In my mind, I always win; in reality, that may not be the case.  So I kept running, hoping if I did see that king cobra or any other snake, I could at least outrun it.  A woman running a marathon in New Mexico was attacked by a bear.  Yes, other than cars, there are risks. 

As I continued my own marathon, though without my pole, I did smell death on several occasions – no doubt some roadkill just out of my line of vision.  Out of sight, out of mind, so I kept on running. 

The first two Kuching Marathons ran without a hitch, but this year there were some problems.  The 14-km water station ran out of cups, which made it difficult for people to drink and slow for the rest of us waiting for a bottle.  When my turn came, I refilled my own one-liter bottle.  Then at the 17-km water station (they were spaced three kilo­meters apart) they had neither cups nor water nor isotonic drinks.  I still I had plenty in my bottle, but others grumbled.  I heard a few caustic remarks tossed at the hapless volun­teers, who informed us that they had informed the organizers, not that it would do us any good.

At the next station, near the half way point, they had cups and drinks, but the following 23-km station, they were out again and that made quite a few people upset, if not angry at the organizers.  Running a marathon is hard enough on your own without having to worry about not having any water at the water stations.  In the past, I often wondered if the extra weight and hassle of holding my own bottle for 42 km was worth it.  Now I had my answer.  I felt bad for all those waterless runners, knowing how thirsty they must be.

Around the half way mark, my knees began to ache as did my lower legs.  I had to walk out of sheer fatigue, but my knees seemed to ache even more, so I compelled myself to run, albeit slowly, but I was too tired to run and needed to walk, but my knees were too achy to walk….This was not a good sign.

Then everybody seemed to be passing me, male and female, young and old, tall and short, chubby and skinny, even two guys with one arm.  One man’s arm was lifeless, dangling from his left side, the other surgically removed below the elbow.  I immediately thought of the victims from the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing and how courageous so many of them were, after losing a limb, including a leg, to return the following year and run again. 

Although inspired, I still continued to fade.  Then this man in his fifties, wearing a tutu, passed me.

“Stop it,” I said.  “Enough is enough.”

I turned to a tall Indian a few steps behind me, pointed out the other man and said in disbelief, “He’s wearing a tutu!”

The man nodded.  It’s hard to ignore a grown man in a tutu.

“What’s really embarrassing,” I added, “is that he’s beating both of us.”

Later, feeling even more demoralized as people who didn’t really look like runners – including old ladies, chubby guys and school girls – kept passing me, I began to lose hope.  How embar­rassing, I thought.  Is this the best I can do?  I started to have serious doubts.  Can I even finish this race?  Then a busload of pooped-out mara­thon­ers slowed down as it passed by.  I admit the temptation was there, but I waved them on.  One way or another I was determined to finish this race under my own volition, and also within the cut off time of 6 hr 30 min to qualify for a medal.

I know I needed a miracle.

A long-haired angel appeared beside me and asked, “Where are you from?”

“America,” I replied.  She was the first person to speak to me the entire race, not that I was in a-speaking-to mood, being in constant pain.

“You came all this way, or do you work here?”

I admitted that I live here and that I write novels, though not everyone would call that work unless you sell them and they get turned into movies and you become rich and famous.  One of my Malaysian short stories did get filmed by Ohio University, does that count?

Suddenly this angel, who hails from West Malaysia, broke into a song playing on her MP3, “Stand By Me.”

I was hoping she would stand by me a little longer, at least until the song finished – she had such an angelic voice.  But, alas, she said, “See you at the finish line,” and just like that she vanished.

I missed her.  I missed everyone who passed me, but this angel gave me what I needed – hope.  Hope that if I persisted, if I didn’t give up as others had done, that I could be just like her and finish the race and even re­ceive a medal for my efforts.

With that in mind, pain or no pain, I stepped up my pace.

  

I knew I was cutting it close to the cut off time, so I kept doing whatever I could do to compel my body to move forward.  It wasn’t always pretty, but the end of marathons for most runners (unlike the first six Kenyan winners and those who train properly) rarely is.

Then I saw another sign.  Not from heaven, but in front of me.  It stated five kilometers to go.  The next sign stated four kilo­meters to go.  Then three kilometers.  Then two.  Finally, just ahead of me was the one kilometer to go sign.

Another runner said to me, “I never realized how far one kilometer could be.”

I nodded in agreement.  “Even the sign,” which we had yet to reach, “seems awfully far away.”

Then we heard shouts from the volunteers that were promptly relayed by the other run­ners walking home, “Five minutes to go before the cutoff!”

“I can do this,” I kept telling myself.

Soon it became, “Two minutes before the cutoff!”

Not about to run all this way and not get that medal, I pushed past the pain and even thought of my wife waiting for me at the finish line with another kiss.

“One minute to go,” I heard, so I really poured it on.  I sprinted in slow motion.  Or tried, too.  I even pre­tended that this was the Rio Olympics where all the best marathoners in the world were preparing for their big race.  I ran for the finish line and graciously accepted a medal and triumphantly flung it around my neck.  It wasn’t gold, but nevertheless, I got it!  With some divine help....Lucky for me, and those behind me, since I missed the actual cut off time by a mere forty-five seconds, they gave us a little grace time.

Now and then, all of us deserve a little grace time, and I do appreciate the organizers for that!          

When asked why he wanted to climb Mt Everest, which no man had even done back then, George Mallory famously replied, “Because it’s there.”

The same could be asked of all of us who run marathons.  Two years ago, when I took up the challenge to run my first marathon, I would have replied, “Because I want to be fit.” 

For my second marathon, I would have replied, “Because I want to prove that I can still do it and beat my previous time!"

 

But now, although I failed to beat my personal best time, I would reply, “Because I can.”

Although this year, I admit, I had some doubts...

 

A question for those of you who have never completed a marathon, “Are you up to the challenge?”

I can assure you that Pheidippides would be honored that you have chosen to celebrate his amazing feat.  That’s exactly what I did – for the third time.

—BorneoExpatWriter

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Running Your First Marathon or How to Suck it up!

Kuching Marathon:  Robert Raymer with his sons Jason and Justin

I just completed my first marathon; yes, that’s 42.195km, or 26 miles, 385 yards.  I won’t tell you my age (other than I’m one of the latter baby boomer from the US) nor my time, which isn’t all that impressive.  I did beat the seven-hour cut-off time for the in­augural Kuching Marathon (located in Malaysia, in the state of Sarawak, on the island of Borneo).

“You came all the way from America?” several runners asked me, impressed.

“No, I live here.  I’m a writer.” 
 

They seemed less impressed.
 

My wife wasn’t impressed either.  When I announced that I was running a marathon, she flat out told me, “You’re insane!”

The insanity began when I saw this guy around my age and I could tell from a distance, he was fit.  He wasn’t muscular, but he had this pres­ence about him, and I thought, OK, that’s my goal for 2014, to get fit.  Then I read an article about a woman who ran her first marathon at age 60; she ran one every year for the next 18 years.  I thought, if she could do it . . . . I figured if I could get myself into shape then maybe in two years I could run a marathon.  Then I heard a radio an­nouncement about the Kuching Marathon only to realize it was the final day to enter, so I impulsively signed up.  I thought, OK, I still had four months, plenty of time to get fit.

Clearly I had been thinking too much.  Not that I’m all that out of shape; last year I did compete in my son’s primary school jogathon.  Prior to that, my last competition was 30 years ago in a pair of 5K fun runs at a company picnic back in America.

When I told my brother Bill I was running a marathon he thankfully didn’t laugh at me.  Having run in marathons himself back in the 90’s as did another brother Terry, who also ran in triathlons and Ironman competitions, he sent me helpful articles on how to run a marathon, so that got me thinking and training a little.  Very little. 

 

I did run to my wife’s village Quop, which took me forty minutes from where I live, and ran twice more, there and back, for one hour and twenty minutes without stopping.  In my mind I planned a series of longer runs, but, well those didn’t pan out since my knees were throbbing and who wants to run a marathon on throbbing knees?

The marathon was slated to start at 4 am (it’s the tropics).  I thought that was pretty insane time to start a marathon until they pushed the starting time back to 3 am and we had to be there by 2 am, which meant I had to wake up at 1am.  I was starting to wonder if my wife was right: Am I truly insane?

I was glad my wife convinced me to check into a hotel so I could walk to the race; she didn’t trust me to drive at night without sleep).  The day before the race, I went to sleep at 4 pm, but my two boys woke me up at 6 pm, and then I twisted my own arm to join them for a pizza.  I was back to bed by 8 pm, but didn’t fall asleep until around 11pm, just in time for the alarm to go off.

I took a quick shower to wake up, ate some granola bars for breakfast, and applied generous doses of Vaseline on any part of my body that came in contact with my clothes to avoid chafing, especially those safety pins attached to my number A1-0445; I even put plaster across my nip­ples after seeing a photo of a marathoner whose nipples were bleeding from the chafing.  Who needs that?

Before leaving, I put on a blue headband and a silly hat and slipped out of the hotel room only to bump into another guy dressed like me, also running in the marathon.  I was glad I wasn’t the only fool staying at that hotel.

After some monkey-see, monkey-do stretching, I made my way to the starting line in the middle of the pack.  The front is reserved for the Kenyans, those competing with the Kenyans, and those taking selfies with the Kenyans.  (Kenyans took 8 out of 9 top spots; the other went to an Ethiopian and a Malaysian took tenth!  The winning time: 2hr 22min 9sec.) 
 

Altogether there were four races 5K, 10K, 21K, and 42K (plus veteran categories for those of us above 45), with a total of 5,500 runners from 30 countries.  Thankfully the starting times were staggered:  The race finally started for those in front.  For us in the mid­dle we still had a ways to go before we got to the start.  I was impressed by two things:  how far ahead those Kenyans were as they curved around Padang Merdeka and by all the people lining the street to cheer us on.  Did I mention it was 3am?  Don’t these people sleep?

Once we got out of town, people gathered in front of their homes to watch us run by.  Some made a party of it, banging on drums, chanting and holding out their hands for us to slap. 

“Good Morning,” the children would say to me in English and I’d reply in Malay, “Selamat pagi!”  But was it morning?  Hell no, it was 3:30 am!  Shouldn't they be in bed?

Then there were long stretches when there was no houses, no people.  So I noted the road kill, includ­ing a scorpion and a couple of snakes, hoping I wouldn’t join them.  In marathons people do occasionally die, usual­ly of a heart attack as did Pheidippides, the legendary messenger who ran to Athens after the Greek victory over the Persians at the Battle of Marathon.

A 54-year-old runner from Brunei did die that morning after fainting a half hour into his run, not the marathon but surprisingly the 5K fun run . . . . Always make sure you’re fit and healthy; if in doubt, consult a doctor before your race, even if it’s chasing your grand­kids around the dining table.  Those miles do add up.

Some runners ran in groups, some ran with blink­ing reflector lights on their backs or the back of their shoes.  Others ran barefoot.  Some carried special backpacks containing special fluids with a special hose that could reach their mouth.  Others wore specialized fanny packs for their drinks and energy gels.  Many ran with head­phones and a few Mickey Mouse ears.  This one guy sang as he ran.  I was im­pressed with both his voice and his repertoire and was so disappointed when he ran out of range.

Many brought their phones and cameras and took plenty of  photos of their com­pan­ions and new-found friends and some selfies, too; they would pose at every pose-able locale from Slow Down signs to scenic bridges with middle-of-the night fishermen.  One lone fisher­man with four poles was eyeing us as possible bait. 
   
With hardly any traffic, we had the roads to ourselves.  Just had to avoid running into other run­ners like those who ran four abreast carrying on a lively conversation.  If I found myself getting hemmed in or stuck behind the same monotonous runner I knew it was time to pass.  Running marathons, I dis­covered was a lot like playing leapfrog.  I kept passing people, then they would pass me and this would go on for hours, and I’d say, “You again!”

Pretty soon you made friends for life, like Mohan Marathon from Singapore, who ran in the New York Marathon twice and the Honolulu marathon countless times.  Bald-headed and in his fifties, he made every­one laugh and kept calling me, Mr. Pennsylvania, and would introduce me to others and tell them to make sure they finished ahead of me.  When another runner had leg cramps he stayed with her to make sure she got some help, and kept helping her throughout the marathon and made sure that she got her t-shirt and medal, a true gentleman.

Most runners, by the way, are cheer­ful people; less than cheerful people don’t wake up to run marathons at 3am!  They also encourage you any way they can to keep you moving toward your goal of completing your marathon.  Some are road warriors, best to stay out of their way if don’t want tread marks up your back, or they'll sneer at you as you pass them.  A guy running in front of me was talking to another runner about a recent 84K race.  Who in their right mind would run two marathons back to back, but then I saw this guy with 100K t-shirt, which I found either encouraging or discouraging.  Are runners truly in­sane?  I’m not even talking about Triathletes and Ironman competitors, let alone those who run 250K across the desert!

One runner I kept bumping into had a helpful slogan on the back that said, “Never Quit.”  Another, “Run Till You Drop!” Before I did drop, I had to stop now and then to have my legs massaged.  One time I had to sit off the side of the road to relieve discomfort to my left foot.  I removed my shoe but was afraid to remove the sock to see what was going on, afraid of what I would find and then use that as an excuse not to finish.  (I did tape my toes to minimize any blistering, not that it helped.)  Next time, I know, get better shoes.

In the days leading up to the marathon, I kept giving myself reasons why I shouldn’t go through with it, like lack of adequate preparation, lack of sleep, potential knee injuries that would require surgery, falling and injuring myself (I had a nasty fall in January that gave me a black eye), or even something fatal like a heart attack.  Who was I fooling?  I figured the odds were so stacked against me, and that didn’t include all those Kenyans!  But then I thought, well that line of think­ing isn’t helping me. 
 

My whole reason for running in the first place was to get in shape.  In the back of my mind, I’ve always wanted to run a marathon, but then that’s like a lot people wanting to be an author; they just don’t want to write the damn book!  Who in the right mind wants to run 42km at 3am in the tropics?  But I figured the only way I would ever run a marathon is by run­ning a marathon.  No guts, no glory!  Then I realized, once I actually showed up my odds were 50-50!  Either I fin­ished the race or I didn’t.
 

Having a 50% chance at anything in life are pretty good odds.  Then if you back that up with a valid reason (wanting to prove to my wife that I’m not insane), some sheer stubbornness (I paid for this so I’m finishing it!), and a self-motivating mantra to help your­self get past the pain and that proverbial wall (they said it was proverbial not real!), those odds start to shift in your favor.

Around the half way mark, in the middle of nowhere, like a mirage, all these people popped up playing tambourines, singing and dancing.  Or maybe it really was a mirage . . . .  By the time the call to prayer came at 5:20 am, followed by the sun rising 6:38 am, I was still hang­ing in there, though at times walking and sightseeing more than running since my legs were killing me and I felt really, really pooped out.

“Hey, are you a tourist!” another runner called out to me, as I was enjoying the view from a bridge just as the sun was coming up.   

Oh, yeah, the marathon!   

Lack of training, I realized too late,  is the consummate marathon killer.  Either you put the miles in or you didn’t.  But then I noticed how some runners walked really fast by pump­ing their elbows.  By walking at a brisk pace you don’t fall too far behind before you get your second, third, or fif­teenth wind. 
 

Then you play games with yourself, I’ll start running after the water station or until the next road kill.  Basically you do what you have to do to keep going.  At the 34K mark they gave us a banana for breakfast.  Along the way I tried energy jells, Red Bull, isotonic drinks, granola bars, dried fruit, and gummy bears, some of which I carried in a fanny pack.  I carried my own bottle which gave me the flexibility to drink or sip when I wanted to and could refill it at the water stations, every three kilometers.  Glad I did.

The whole final third of the marathon, when you felt like your legs dropped off a few kilo­meters back, I kept pushing myself, staying focused.  I also relied on my past experience of completing the Big Loop Trail at Bako National Park with my son Zaini when he was 16 and climbing Longs Peak in Colorado with brother Bill when I was 22.

My writing mantra for the year going into the mara­thon was “Believe and Do!”  But during the actual running it became “Suck it up!”  By 7am the traffic came, and it got worse once we got back into town.  We now had to avoid cars at inter­sections, at round-a-bouts, and when double-parked!  Aware there was a mara­thon going on (signs were everywhere as were helpful policemen), most drivers were courteous (or curious) and gave us a chance to live.  Others, well, we were fair game.

When I got to those final two kilo­meters, on the last of my rubbery legs, a short, stout woman leap­frogged me and urged me on, and I thought, hell if she can do it . . . . Besides, I wasn’t about to run a full marathon and not get that t-shirt and metal!  My wife needed proof! I needed proof, too, so years from now I could look back on that day 17 August 2014, knowing that I came to the Kuching Mara­thon, saw all those thousands of run­ners, and conquered the course (but not the Kenyans).  Or in non-Roman terms, I sucked it up.

Later, I planned to use the marathon experience to lord it over my kids, “Hey, if your father can run a marathon, you can at least clean up your room!”

Then I began to wonder, why do normally sane people put themselves through the pain and or­deal of running a marathon (and do it again and again)?  Do they do it for the camara­derie, for the challenge, or because they can?  Does it even matter?  Then I remembered an expression I once heard, “You never know how far you can go until you’ve gone too far.” This not only ap­plies to running and writing books, but also to all creative, business, and pro­fessional en­deavors. 

The real question you might want to ask yourself, how far can you go in your life?  You may not want to run a mara­thon, but then again, why not?  If you can run a marathon, then nothing can stop you from pur­suing your dreams.  When things go horribly wrong and you feel like giving up or quitting life for good, you just do what you had to do to complete that darn mara­thon, including those nasty hills they throw at you when you least expect (or want) them . . . you suck it up and keep going!

Then there it was . . . the finish.  Before I knew what was happening, a pretty woman put the metal over my head, knocking off my hat in the process, and then another made sure I had the correct size t-shirt.  And it was all over except the pain . . . . You would think that the pain ends when the marathon does, but, sorry, it doesn’t.  Taking your shoes off does help. 

But you still have to make it home or to your hotel; unfortunately, the days of porters carrying you in style ended a few generations ago.  So I walked with my wife back to the hotel in my socks along with our sons Jason and Justin, with Jason proudly wearing my metal around his neck (he got first dibs).
   

Then the cramps set in.  For me, that happened while I was soaking in the bathtub.  My wife had to help me out of the tub in a very painful, undignified flamingo stance. 

“Do you need me to dry you like the boys?”

“Please!” I said, and then Jason stepped on my aching, blistered toes.  “Please, watch the toes!”

I thought I would collapse asleep for at least a week, but I wasn’t all that sleepy, so we checked out of the hotel at noon and headed home with a few stops in between.  Getting in and out of car, in and out of chairs was an ordeal, but the staircase at home was pure torture.  I had to hold onto the banister and take baby steps sideways in an effort to minimize movement.  Any jerk like motion such as lift­ing a leg to the next step was excruciating painful.

When I finally did collapse, I slept wonderfully well except whenever I changed positions, then I’d feel that throbbing pain in the lower legs and toes.  But the knees were fine!  The following morning, the pain was still there, a lot of stiffness too, so I had to walk Frankenstein-style around the house.  But at the same time, I had this incredible afterglow.  I ran a marathon!  I really did!  My blue t-shirt and cool metal were proof!

 

Now, instead of calling me insane, my wife calls me her “marathon man”.

–Borneo Expat Writer

*A fun, practical way to raise your self-esteem, list down 25-50 of your personal achievements (even if they mean nothing to anybody else except you!

**Get a jump on your New Year resolutions

*** Here's a link to my second marathon. (2015 Kuching Marathon)
      And to my third marathon (2016 Kuching Marathon)

Here are links to four of my author to author interviews of first novelists:

Ivy Ngeow author of Cry of the Flying Rhino, winner of the 2016 Proverse Prize.

Golda Mowe author of Iban Dream and Iban Journey.

Preeta Samarasan author of Evening is the Whole Day. 

Chuah Guat Eng,  author of Echoes of Silence and Days of Change. 

Plus:

Five part Maugham and Me series

Beheaded on Road to Nationhood: Sarawak Reclaimed—Part I