Some time in early 2011, I got an urge to run a half-marathon. (21.1km) I believed that completing such a long race in a foreign country would be a great achievement. I had never run any distance greater than half of a half-marathon, but I felt up to the challenge. During March, I ran a couple times every week. I didn't have a specific schedule, but each weekend the distance that I was able to run grew larger. I remember the day that I finally went for it and managed to run 22 km. "I did it," I thought. It took me forever and my legs ached, but I did it. At that moment I was proud of what I had accomplished, but the satisfaction I felt was short lived.
Soon after a voice in my head began telling me, "You only ran 22 kilometers. There are others that can run 2x, 3x, 4x, and more times farther. There are others that can run the same distance in half the time it took you." Disappointed by the fact that I was no longer proud of what I had achieved because I was comparing myself to others, I decided to take a break from running.
The subject of running came up while eating dinner with a friend several months later. I told her that I had run a little and that it was a dream of mine to complete a long distance race in a foreign country. "Why don't you? You have the perfect opportunity," she told me. I didn't really have an answer. "You're right," was all that I could say.
A couple of days later I received a message from another friend who had heard that I wanted to run a race. She told me about a marathon (42.2 km) that would take place along the demilitarized zone (DMZ) that lies between North and South Korea. The race was just over five weeks away and the longest distance that I had under my belt was the 22km I had run several months ago, but I was going to enter anyway.This was a dream race and the only person that could stop me from completing it was myself. I couldn't let that happen.
I began training that evening. I tested myself to gauge how much my fitness had declined. I was glad to discover that it wasn't significant. I had seen marathon training schedules online that were meant to take place over the course of several months. I didn't have that kind of time. I also read about the importance of a weekly long run; a slow run designed to improve endurance by training your muscles to store more glycogen and use your fat reserves more effectively. That weekend I ran 17 km. The next weekend I ran 22 km. Then 27 km on the third and finally a dreadful 32 km on the fourth. At the end of that run and for the next several days, my lower half was destroyed. My muscles were stiff, my hip and knee joints felt ground up, my ankles were rubbed raw, and the soles of my feet were covered with blisters. I had put much more mileage on my legs in a shorter amount of time than I had ever done before and I was really feeling it.
The marathon would occur in ten days, so I spent that time resting and stretching my sore legs. The training was over with and I felt that I had prepared myself as much as I could given the amount of time that I had. I was a little concerned that the marathon distance was 10 km greater than my longest long run, but I figured that even if I walked the last 10 km, I would be able to finish the race within the five hour time limit.
I remember the anticipation and nervousness I felt on the bus ride up to Cheorwon near the DMZ. During that trip I met many other runners, both novice and experienced. It was great to hear their stories and share their excitement and concerns. There was one worry in particular that I wouldn't leave my mind. Korea is very hot and humid during the summer and I had done all my training in the evening to avoid these factors as much as possible. But, the race would begin in the morning and end after lunch. I hadn't done any serious training during this time of day and that bothered me. I managed to convince myself that I would be fine. I knew that there would be plenty of aid stations along the course. I had done all my training runs (even the grueling 32 km one) with just a single bottle of Powerade. "Even if it's scorching," I thought, "I'll be able to replenish every 2 km or so. There weren't any aid-stations when I trained."
I ate an extra big serving of rice the evening before the race and managed to sleep very well. I woke up early and began to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to do. I bandaged the vulnerable parts of my feet and ate a breakfast of bananas and digestive cookies. I felt calm and relaxed as I made my way to the starting point. I knew that I was just a few hours away from turning this great dream I had into a reality, something I seriously doubted was possible only a few months beforehand.
The walk to the race.
I made my way to the starting point and stood next to the 4 h 30 m pacesetters. I wasn't sure if I could keep up with them the entire way, but I knew that I shouldn't be much slower. My goal was to complete the race and anything under five hours would be great.
There were so many people. My heart began beating a little faster as the adrenaline started flowing. After a deafening countdown the race commenced. At first it was a little difficult trying to maneuver among so many runners, but once I found a clearing, I settled into a good pace. The course was very scenic, but there were constant reminders that we were running along a border between two countries that are still technically at war. During one stretch of the race, the wooded land on either side of me was fenced off with barbed wire and had signs that read, "DANGER! Land mines. Do not enter." I ran past military buildings both abandoned and in-use and saw hundreds of South Korean soldiers. Some of them were very friendly and would give the runners high-fives. Others carried rifles and made sure that we stayed on course.
Just a little running hazard.
I felt great after passing the half-way point. There is such a psychological boost that comes once you know that you've run more than what remains. But it was also around that time when it began to get very hot. I felt that the sun was tempting me to quit. I needed to stop at every aid-station for water which always proved interesting. The girls at the stations often appeared surprised to see a foreign runner. They would giggle and huddle together as they saw me approach. "Oooh! Handsome boy," the bravest ones would say to me. I'm not sure if I'm going to miss being complimented on my looks (re: white skin) by strangers once I leave this country.
At kilometer 30 I really slowed down and a few kilometers later I needed to walk. I quickly realized that brought little relief. At this point, walking was almost as painful as running. From kilometer 33 to 40 I alternated between hobbling and jogging. At one point I was passed by a woman that looked well into her 60's or early 70's. "Jesus Christ!" I thought as I watched her run ahead, unable to keep up. It was very humbling to have my ass kicked by someone several decades older than myself, but it was also very inspiring.
The will to finish was what carried me from kilometer 40 to the finish line. I was sunburnt and my legs felt as if they were encased in cement. "Holy shit! I'm going to make it," I told myself as I saw the finish line. People on either side of the road were cheering and cameramen from different newspapers and stations were taking pictures and video.
I looked at the time as I crossed the finish line. I was elated. My official time was 4:34:04; a time well under my five hour goal. Slightly delirious, I made my way to the tented area to pick up some snacks, juice, and a finisher's medal. I walked back to where I was staying and took off my shoes and socks to check out the damage I had done to my feet. It wasn't pretty. My face and body were caked in the salt of evaporated sweat. I showered and bandaged my feet. The mental high that I was experiencing felt incredible. This feeling would persist for the next several days. I was proud of what I had done. I had made a goal, trained hard, and completed it.
Once that good feeling began to wear off, I began thinking of what to do next. "If I can run a marathon, what else am I capable of?" A couple of months later I learned about a race that would be held in Busan, a city nearby. I decided to enter the half-marathon. The marathon I had run tested my endurance. I wanted this race to test my ability to maintain pace. During training I managed to work my way down to ~5 minutes/km. When I ran the half-marathon I was able to maintain this pace for the entire route. I finished the race in just over one hour and 45 minutes. Again, I was happy with what I had accomplished. I was faster than I ever was before.
At the half-marathon, sprinting towards the finish line.
In early January 2012 I looked online for one more race to complete while I was still in Korea. I was overjoyed to find out that one would be held in my Korean hometown on March 1st, only two days after I finished my teaching contract. "Running a marathon in Ulsan, the city I'll have lived in for the past 20 months, right before I leave it... I can't ask for anything better."
It is now February. I ran 178 km in January and I plan on running a similar amount this month. My training is more intense and frequent than ever, but I feel that it's also smarter. I learned many lessons while training for the previous runs. I learned how to listen to my body. I know when to push myself and when to let-up. I have the potential to do much better on this upcoming race than I did on the first. I will have had longer to prepare, I'm more educated on the subject of distance running, I won't have to worry about the heat, and most importantly, I have previous experience.
I believe that I also have a much healthier mindset when it comes to competition. It's hard not to compare myself to others, but I know that I have to run my own race. There will always be someone that is faster and stronger. I feel that the only person I'm in a real competition with, is my past self. And I know that I can beat him.
