“Vibram Fivefingers”, EricByers

I was so lazy this past weekend in Auckland and didn’t even find the details for the Human Race (why didn’t they post the starting time/place?) Also been oversleeping for morning runs a lot lately. My body is still getting used to all the physical activity required as the caretaker of a forest monastery – weeding, construction, heavy lifting, hiking – and I’m torn between getting up early and running on an empty stomach or heading out immediately after my shift when my body is worn out and dehydrated.

Still, with my weekly total at zero on a Thursday, I felt compelled to go for a long run. Setting the goal of obtaining a coveted Bundaberg ginger beer in Bombay certainly helped. I was literally past the point of no return from the moment I slipped on my Vibram Fivefingers and began the ascent to Paparata Road.

What a day. My legs were heavy, but more in a pleasantly-used sense rather than worn out. The wind was incredible and against me as I set out towards the setting sun. I love the sensation of barefoot running – in fact, I caught myself landing on the balls of my feet (as opposed to the heel, with shoes) as I dashed around downtown Auckland on Saturday looking for a friend. I know it’s better for form and endurance – burns fat, not carbs – but every now and then along the paved road I’ll let a rock slip under the arch of my foot and make me consider the virtues of “normal” running shoes. Still, the fact that I am writing this at my starting point with a cup of green tea and weary yet perfectly comfortable legs suggests I might be on to something with the Fivefingers.

In any case, the thought of drinking an ice-cold beverage is my driving force as I edge onto the side of the road for car after car. The wind is rustling the trees so loudly I can’t hear anything approaching until it’s right on top of me, but drivers in this area are pretty observant; well, I’m still alive, anyway…

The 3k mark at the T-junction gives me pause… I hadn’t gone past 6k for a few weeks, and although I knew I could just run one way for another few kilometers and hitchhike back, the smarter part of me knew I could never let myself get that close to the finish without pulling through.

The hill at the 4k doesn’t even change my heart rate – a good sign; I must be in better shape than I had thought. A quasi-vegetarian diet and seven hours’ physical labor every day will do that, even if both your legs aren’t off the ground. But now the challenge begins: a big dip to the 5k mark at the turnoff to the Simunovich Olive Estate and from there it’s all uphill for 2-3k. I’ve tried to make the trek over to the store along this route before, only to get winded about 500 meters into the uphill. Not today. Not with ginger beer, chocolate, and a good story at stake. I shift to the left side to take advantage of the sunshine, and try my best to keep pace with the changing grade: 1%, 3%… as the final stretch looms, I can see it’s at least a 5-6% grade, mocking me, daring me to conquer it with my feet. Not so easy after all. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way while running: CHALLENGED.

And I see, I remember that these moments in training or in races are the only parts worth running for, when you’re really not sure if you have the ability to keep going, but will tear yourself apart to find out. One foot in front of the other…

After that little test of humanity, I’m free and clear, a gentle coasting 2k to the convenience store, where I happen to catch the latest headline: someone is training to run the Taupo Ironman wearing a full Darth Vader costume? Craziness. Oh, and if you don’t believe in karma, I should point out it took a full two minutes for a familiar face to give me a lift back to the monastery.

In most Maori dialects, “wh” is pronounced as “f” (e.g. Ngawha Springs = Nafa Springs), but in Wanganui, the “wh” sound is more of a breathy “w” (Whanganui = whaa – n – ga – nui). It gets weirder; there’s also a city in Northland called Whanganui, pronounced with the “f” sound. With me so far? If you want to sound like an ignorant tourist, walk up to the first local you see and proclaim: “It’s nice as in Fanganui, isn’t it?”

Just one of the many issues I’ve been happy to learn about since my late afternoon arrival in this town of 45,000 or so. Wanganui sits comfortably to the west of the river, in an area with black sand beaches, green mountains, and snow-capped mountains to the north (Ruapehu, I believe). Unfortunately, I’ve been told it’s also the home of a lot of gang activity, with young people too bored to do much of anything else. Shops on the main street, Victoria Avenue, are sure to have signs in their windows stating “students will not be served during school hours”.

Wanganui is also the home of the glass festival in late September; blowers from around the world gather in this small New Zealand town to show off their wares, demonstrate glass blowing, and provide a regional must-see event (though if I were you, I’d buy a lotto ticket here).

I had the chance to observe a goblet being blown at Chronicle Glass by one Katie Brown. Quite an interesting process really: first, the mouth of the goblet is formed by dipping a tempered glass-blowing metal rod into a vat of molten material and blowing it out slowly, giving the rod the appearance of a wizard’s staff. Another piece of molten material is added and precisely spun to form the handle, then a third attached and flattening to make the base. Each time a piece is added, the glass is heated to “temper” it, if you will – reinforce the new shape and strengthen the bonds. As a side note, I didn’t know glass would be so viscous while cooling off; seems more like a very thick marmalade.

As far as running is concerned, Wanganui is the way to go. Try starting from the black sand trail off Balgownie Ave (you’ll see the entrance before the street dead ends) and head north along the riverbank. Better yet, if you’re looking for something longer, try the north end of Kowhai Park near the jungle gym and playground full of giant animals and fairy tale creatures; as far as I know, you can follow the stretch of road past the airport until you hit the seas. Great for early morning runs.

One comment for the running cynics. I know you all wonder why people do this to themselves. The truth is every runner, at every marathon, in the history of time has questioned his sanity as the gun goes off.

…

Wow… how to start… not quite at the beginning of the race, although that was interesting. I guess the race really began for me about 6 AM, an hour before the start, while we were still driving and about to park, when the rain decides to pick up and start pouring down in gallons. Quite possibly the most disheartening thing I’ve ever had happen to me before the start of a race – obviously I didn’t want to go through my first marathon completely soaked from mile 1. Nevertheless, the rain and lightning cleared up nicely around 6:40, leaving me in a prime position to start.

I positioned myself, quite insanely, at the top of the 3:00 pace group. It was my first marathon, and yet I still believed I could break three hours first time out. Quite mad, I know. No sooner than the national anthem was sung, Rick Perry said his thing, and we were off, towards one of the few uphill stretches on the course. I knew I went out way too fast even before I saw a clock, and I promised myself that I’d start at 7:00 minute/mile pace; instead, I was going about 6:50 minute/mile. Big mistake. To tell the truth, miles 1-6 in the Freescale were pretty simple. Still had my energy, didn’t need to hydrate, and a nice steady downhill past mile 2… no problem. After that, though, big problems – the sun decided to come out and shine down directly into everyone’s eyes from miles 6-8, not to mention the draining effect. This was the point where I lost all rational thought but to simply keep moving, keep breathing, one foot in front of the other. I said it for the 30K, and I’ll say it again: when you’re in a race that long, your mind will grasp onto any thought to avoid thinking about how far you have to go, how fast you’re going, and how much pain you will soon be in. One foot in front of the other is probably the smartest thing I could think of over the course of 26.2 miles.

Mile 9. My parents came out at this point, just to cheer me on, and I barely caught a glimpse of them and just smiled. I’m feeling a little drained in my upper body and my stomach starts to feel very empty – a very bad sign. I didn’t eat enough breakfast. Too late now, because there’s nothing to be done; power gel packs, even taken regularly, can’t make up for the nourishment of a solid meal before the race. I hydrate myself around mile 11, and grab some Poweraid to replace electrolytes. In actuality, I know that I’m not even halfway there, and even when I am, I know I won’t feel good. On the plus side, I’m running side by side with my 3:00 pace leader, so I know I’m ok for the moment. How long that will last, no one can tell.

20 Kilometers. I’m expecting to see a friend from UT cheering me on, but she hasn’t shown. Again, nothing to be done. Now’s the time for power gel. I drain it quickly. Pain hasn’t set in my legs yet, but the stiffness is there, and my shins feel a little worn due to the concrete. On the plus side, at least I’m headed in the right direction – towards downtown, towards the finish. By the time the half marathon finish rolls towards me, I know I’m not going to be able to keep up my pace; I’m doing extremely well at this point – 6:52 pace, and going strong, but I know my reserves are running out. I see the happy people going in to finish the half; if only the marathon could end there too… I’m still with the pace leader, nice and steady. One foot in front of the other.

Downtown. Down Congress. Huge fan scene. I can barely hear them, barely see them. I’m fairly winded by this point, and I know there’s still 13 miles to go. The only thing I can do to keep my mind from falling apart is just to do a countdown – 13 miles to go, 12 miles to go… I’m still with the pace leader, but the crowd really isn’t that motivating. What would be more motivating is breaking right across the Congress bridge and going to finish right now. U nfortunately, my legs have other plans. As I turn onto 6th Street, I pass my parents again. They can’t do anything for me at this point. They offer me some more power gel, but I don’t think it’ll help yet… maybe at mile 20. As soon as I pass them, I see it – a steady, ever increasing uphill slope towards miles 16-17. That was really disappointing. There’s still no pain, but something definitely doesn’t feel right.

It happens at mile 16. I want to stop. I need to stop. I must have been insane. There’s no point to any of this. Suicide might be preferable at this point, and probably less painful. I’m winded. I’m soaked. I’m sticky from sweat and spilled Poweraid. Yet for some reason I keep moving. Nothing on the side lines motivates me. I just keep going. Steady pace, one foot in front of the other.

The turnaround at mile 17. Even more disappointing – a LONG, steady uphill all the way back to Congress. And I know exactly how far that feels. I’m hydrating at every stop now, but it doesn’t seem to help. Already I can feel like every last patch of water and energy is being sapped and depleted from the cells in my body. And I’ve still got 9 miles to go. I’m still with the pace leader, miraculously; I really don’t know how. My legs do hurt now, hurt considerably. But in my mind, I know I can go at least to mile 20, because I’ve run that far before. Not at this pace, to be sure, but I think I can do it.

Mile 20. The uphill slope has stopped, thank God. I retrieve some power gel and down it in one gulp, almost gagging. It was worth it. I’m still with the pace leader, but I know I won’t be for long. I hydrate with some more water and power aid, but it really doesn’t help – I know I need the electrolytes, but all the sugar causes a sudden drain after I swallow, something that can’t be helped. I can’t see the finish as the lake comes into sight; probably a good thing, so I don’t know exactly how far I have to go. But I do know… 6.2 miles. 10 kilometers left.

I stop thinking. My brain is mush. I hit the wall just before the 21st mile mark. I want to stop, I need to stop. My legs are on fire, feel like swollen protrusions of pain. I have no breath; my chest is being sapped of all its strength. Hydration doesn’t help. Cheering doesn’t help. Pace leaders sure don’t help, because I lose them. I guess this is where the marathon really begins.

I miss the 22nd mile mark; I guess I was just blind to it. Nothing feels right, and I know it won’t again. The only thing on my mind is how best to stop running, how to get over to the finish line with the food and the water as quickly as possible. Despite the pain, the logic is overwhelming, and it occurs to me at mile 23 – I have to keep breathing, stay alive, keep moving forward. There’s nothing else to be done. I’m feeling the worst I have ever in my life. No exaggeration. Nothing left, no speed to release, just the eventual running until my legs snap in half.

I hated the spectators at mile 24. They knew it too – “just a little further, you’re almost there, you can do it!”… yeah, right. They have no idea. They don’t know what this feels like. I know exactly how far I have to go: 2.2 miles. I also know I’m incapable of going that far at any speed, might not be capable of walking that far. I can see the pace leader – he has about a 30 second lead over me. He tried to encourage me, but I just didn’t have it in me. Everything aches. My legs, quite in pain, sore, and tired from the rigid movements, are now starting to cramp. And to top it off, I get a stitch. I haven’t gotten a stitch from running in years, and yet it chooses to present itself now. That alone tells me I can’t make it, I shouldn’t be able to make it, I’m not meant to make it. But I keep going, I don’t stop.

Just before mile 25, there is huge temptation placed right before my eyes: my apartment. Right here. Now! With its bed, its food, and its air conditioning, I know I have to go by it as quickly as possible before I yield to temptation. Even worse, I’m all too familiar with the hill I have to ascend to escape sight of my home; it’s bad. It’s really bad. My legs are cramping on all sides, and I don’t know what a muscle tear feels like, but I was sure I was starting to develop one.

I know I can’t keep going. I haven’t been sure since mile 21. I’m running on the rightmost side of the street, on the hard concrete, because for some reason that feels slightly easier. There’s only one thing on my mind: how far left to go. 1 mile. 0.6 miles. 0.5 miles… the 26 mile mark. This is the ONLY time I know for sure I can finish. That’s it. I don’t stop, I just keep myself moving, one foot in front of the other. 0.2 miles to go. I round the corner. More people are there, as well as a long, golden chute. My salvation, my reward.

Finish time 3:00:57

Mile 1:
All downhill, no problem. I told myself I’d go out at around 7:20-7:30 min/mile pace, but I had a feeling I was going faster, and I was comfortable with it. I know the two thousand or so people ahead of me slowed me down a little, but I wasn’t even remotely tempted to go out with a bang – I allowed myself to be passed. By a LOT of people. No worries. I did end up getting all of them in the end. The clock at the end of mile one showed 0:07:30. I knew I was about 30-40 seconds off the clock, so I knew I was going faster than expected. No way I could keep this up…

Miles 2-7:
These were fairly uneventful. I thought I couldn’t keep my pace, but I did, running 6:45, 6:50, 6:52 miles back and forth. Amazing. However oxygen deprived my brain was, I was still aware that this was the easy part – all downhill. I didn’t pick up refreshment until mile six I believe… a nice gatorade. The spectators were great. I can say with total confidence it was their enthusiasm and my fellow competition that allowed me to run so fast. There were a lot of kids – some just wanting high fives as we passed, others handing out bananas, orange slice, water, sponges, gatorage, and vasoline (no, I never took that). I hoped I didn’t corrupt them with my shirt, which read “if you can read this, I just went Kenyan on your ass” on the back. Everyone thought it was hilarious. I had gone over a few gentle uphill slopes, nothing too major.

Miles 7-10:
Here’s where I really worried about keeping up my pace. Still feeling fine, still hydrated, still encouraged, but I kept telling myself “make it to 10… see how you feel then…” My fellow competitors were really nice about dropping me our current pace – I’d overhear them talking after a mile mark, and simply ask. I should point out – everyone I talked was amazed this was only my 2nd marathon, and I was in the corral I was in. I hardly saw anyone younger than me.

Miles 10-13.1:
The fun begins – still on 6:52 average pace, still energized (consumed a Powergel pack), still swept up by the crowd. Shortly after passing the 20K (12.4 miles), I ran by Welleley college. If I could do any part of that race over it would definitely be Wellesley. Nonstop crowds of girls on the right hand side, all begging to touch and kiss you… no, I’m not joking, they had signs. I should have made out with at least one of them, but I didn’t want to stop. Oh well… maybe I’ll stop by there in the future. The 13 mile and half marks were just past the college. Denser crowd than usual, and my family was there, just catching sight of me at the last second. I came in precisely on pace, the clock reading 1:30:31.

Miles 13.1-16:
The point of no return. I knew if I got past 16 and still felt ok, I could probably finish. Like I said, 16 was my long run. But also, mile 16 was at the bottom of a hill and the official start of a four mile uphill ending at Heartbreak Hill. I would say I was perfectly paced up to a little past 16… then the hills began.

Miles 16~20.6:
Yeah… despite popular Boston Marathon sentiment, and you may think I’m lying, I had no trouble managing the hills, including Heartbreak. Oh, it was a strain, of course, and it did bring me down to 7:00 pace, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Let’s see… a nice, gentle uphill and back down for 16-17.5, followed by a somewhat steeper hill leading to the 18 mark. 19-20 were ok. One perk, to be sure, my legs were NOT cramping or aching at mile 20 like they did in Austin. I had not hit the wall just yet. I was a little fooled by Heartbreak, though – there’s a hill just after 19, about the same grade as Heartbreak, that levels off and again proceeds up, up, an up. But I tell you, no problems with Heartbreak. Those occurred afterwards…

Miles 20.6-23:
The top of Heartbreak was uneventful. I reached the top; that’s all. Nothing spectacular. I must admit it probably drained my legs more than I was consciously aware. After 22, my left quad started shaking, hurting, straining, buckling is more like it. I don’t know why I kept going. “Gotta keep breathing, stay alive…” may have floated through my head at one point. I’ll tell you, though, despite the pain, I couldn’t help admire one sign a group of girls had made saying “Chuck Norris wouldn’t stop.” That was funny. Thank you Chuck Norris, thank you for Boston.

Mile 23:
Oh yeah, the pain is still there. And it’s spreading to my right heal. My right quad is still ok for the moment though. I could have sworn I overlooked the 23 mark and was hoping for 24… each one of those last miles lasted soooo long. At this point we were just crossing over the interstate into Boston proper. The crowds are continuous, neverending. Makes me wish I wrote my name on myself or lifted my head a little higher. Oh well. Great crowd. Despite the pain, it’s still a profession runner feeling. I should point out I really, really want to stop. I HAVE to stop. I swear I feel blisters, and stumps of pain where my legs used to be. Trudging on…

Mile 24:
Like Freescale, I now know I can finish. My pace is still slow, but I also know I can beat 3:10. HOWEVER, I don’t know if I’ll keeping running. The pain is overwhelming even on the downhill grade. I’m passing tens of people who have stopped on the sidelines or started walking, and I know I’m not very different from them. Play to the crowd, spread your arms, listen to someone playing Eye of the Tiger…

Mile 25-26.2:
Mile 25… mile 25 was a blur. I think I hit it along a street parallel to Tremont, but who knows. I can recall “25 M” printed on the pavement. Once more, I know I can finish, but I’m still not sure I can go without walking. I know there’s a final right turn coming up, but it never seems to happen. I’m half expecting to see my family there, but it did occur to me they may not make it in time (turns out I was going faster than they thought). Ok, stick with me here… I’m still thinking of walking. My body and spirit aren’t drained of energy (thank Gatorade endurance formula for that), but my legs hurt ten times worse than they did in Austin. I knew I should have pushed myself to 20. A painful reminder as I round the final corner. The final stretch. It’s still like 600 meters, but the finish is in sight! Packed with spectators. I’m literally stumbling in as I cross the finish, passing a few, getting passed by a few others. But it’s over. It’s done. And I did it.

Final time 3:04:46

Nagasaki Bayside Marathon (長崎ベイサイドマラソン)
October 28th, 2007

At some point on Sunday my heart stopped. My soul left my body, began floating into the beyond, when it suddenly glimpsed me continuing to pound the pavement because that’s my purpose on this Earth. I am a runner. Evidently, I am also a masochist. And I believe the most difficult things in life must be earned through sweat, blood, and guts.

The day started out commonly enough; I awoke in a foreign environment, threw on some thin clothes, and prepared to satisfy my need for speed. My legs felt as useful as two thick pieces of bamboo, a result of my travels the day prior.

I was concerned. My long distance experience was exclusive to the states, and it was in the distant past, still rippling from the effects of the 2006 Boston Marathon. Add to that 17 months of a Japanese diet, a 12 kg loss in muscle mass, and three weeks of inconsistent sleep… out of my mind.

A clear morning. Sunny skies. Junior high school students gawking at me as I picked up my bib number.

1496 runners for a half marathon. I had to beat them all, or die trying.

I blink, and two kilometers have already past, my legs carrying me through the congestion towards a small gap between the heats, just large enough for me to stretch my arms.

The crowds of athletes are dense, the families cheering “gambatte” and “fight” (ファイト) from beyond the barrier of green cones. A grandmother looks directly at my reddened face and claps even louder. A tunnel approaches.

Cruise and cargo ships lie resting on our left, the majestic view of Inasayama (稲佐山) on the right. A world of constancy – shoes hitting the road, sunlight beating down our energy, spectators’ voices always passing through the soft wind.

9K. I feel no pain, no thirst, only anger at allowing myself to do this. Why? Why couldn’t I have played football in high school, dated that blonde cheerleader, and set myself on the path for a shallow, yet happy, existence? Runners are deep thinkers – how else can you spend three hours by yourself in motion?

A familiar tune forces me to smile, turn my head, and clap in support. I find the strength to put on a show for the junior high school band, letting them see I am moved by “Eye of the Tiger”. The thrill of the fight.

“…it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward.”

Sage words. The only thoughts present as I continue in a trot up the steepest hill towards the Megamibashi (女神橋). How hard you can get hit… An 8% grade, and I’m still running, still standing, still strong. Thank you Rocky.

15K. The midmorning sun is starting to bake my head, amplified by the metal and concrete structure of Nagasaki’s landmark bridge. The ships and finish sit 6 km in the distance, just within sight. The salt flaking off the side of my head comes not from the surrounding seawater, but my own sweat, rubbing against my cheeks now as I trudge, head raised high to the shimbun photographers, in a veneer of courage.

18K. A game has begun. A competition between a fellow distance warrior sporting a black warmup with red stripes. No words. No eye contact. But somehow we are aware of each other, and push.

We push past 19K, where I know I can now finish without stopping. Steady on pace, mo chotto (little more).

Something inside me breaks at 20.7, and I relinquish to the beast inside. Turning to the right, I face my opponent and bellow: “dekimashou!” (let’s go!)

He takes the lead. I shove right back. Spectators are ogling, clearly bemused by our plight. Neck and neck, we cross the 21.0975 mark, nearly tripping over our own legs. Enjoying the moment, ignoring the pain – the path for true adventurers.

Clock time 1:30:34
Actual time ~1:28:00
100位/1496

Mention in the Nagasaki Shimbun

長崎ベイサイドマラソン＆ウオーク4246人が汗

　第６回長崎ベイサイドマラソン＆ウォークは２８日、長崎市の水辺の公園を発着点に行われ、女神大橋を渡るハーフマラソンの部では３９歳以下の男子を山川貴広（長崎市）が１時間９分１８秒の大会新記録で、同女子は近宗操（福岡県）が１時間２６分３７秒でそれぞれ制した。

　県内外から４２４６人が参加。特別招待選手として１９９２年のバルセロナオリンピックに出場した小鴨由水さんが参加した。