I Did The KL Towerthon In 38 Minutes

I received a certificate of achievement in the mail today. It congratulated me for completing the KL Towerthon last month. Apparently, I ranked 1,371 (maybe there were 1,372 runners) and sprinted up 2,000+ steps in 38 minutes 19 seconds.

Sounds fab, except that I didn’t turn up for the Towerthon. I registered though, and spent the entire time between registration and collection of race pack wondering what possessed me to sign up – one of those Iosodunnowai moments. I viewed pictures and read some personal accounts of past races, both of which made me even more reluctant to go through with the race. The pics showed people running up a dingy, cramped stairwell while the accounts relayed gory tales of people throwing up mid-way …

… didn’t exactly rock my boat. Which was why I signed up and then, proceeded to not show up for the race.

And now, I have a certificate of achievement for doing something I obviously did not do. Not unlike the KL Marathon where you don’t actually have to run or finish anything to get the medal; all you really need is enough elbow strength to shove your way to the counter and grab a medal from the frazzled attendants.

So, just like all my other posts, the moral of the story is: there is no moral of the story. I’m just waiting to see what will be in the mail tomorrow. Maybe it’ll be a certificate for completing a 42K. Now that, I won’t mind terribly.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

I used to read the local papers diligently. Every single day, in fact. So every morning, over a cup of coffee, I keep up with all the happenings in our country:

somebody robs and maims somebody …

some driver falls asleep at the wheel, crashes the bus and kills everyone in it …

somebody slaughters somebody else for cutting him in traffic …

somebody blows up a fancy hotel, a plane, a train, a really really tall building, another person …

somebody warns us not to “sensationalise” racial issues …

somebody spews some more vacuous rhetoric on the wondrous transformative powers of 1Malaysia …

somebody builds a really really big house with funds that seem to have popped out of nowhere …

somebody hacks off the head of a sacred bovine creature and runs around town with it in a most defiant manner …

somebody gets thrown in the slammer for simply doing their job …

somebody gets shoved off a really really tall building …

somebody is accused of corruption while another, who is as corrupt as the big nose on his face, walks away free as a bird …

somebody wants to ban lipstick, high heels, concerts, performances, oxygen, butterflies, whatever …

somebody burns a church …

and another …

and another …

I’m calling it a day and tossing the papers in the bin. I don’t want to read them anymore. I’d rather read this.

Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon 2009

I love Singapore. This is a momentous occasion for me, sort of like a gay guy coming out of the closet and I will say it again: I lurve Singapore. Was there last weekend with some friends for the Singapore Marathon 2009 and I loved it! Oh yes, did I mention that I love Singapore? Well, I do. And this is why:

THE RACE PACK COLLECTION

On the day before the run, we drove to the Expo Convention and Exhibition Centre to collect our race packs. There were tons of cars but it was a gloriously huge parking lot, so no frustrating fruitless rounds were required.

No waiting or lining up either; we walked right up to the row of counters. Young girls (school kids, they looked like) were manning the booth. They were professional, cheery, fast and even wished us a good run the next day. Being Malaysian and therefore, used to bad service, I was a little taken aback.

This is so different from the KL Marathon when we had a horrendous time circling the area at Dataran Merdeka hoping for a parking spot to magically appear. It didn’t appear of course, simply because there were no spots. We had to dump the car in some god-forsaken corner, pray a truck wouldn’t ram into it, make a mad dash to the collection booth, put up with the grumpy staff who shoved our race packs at us and dash back to the car.

THE FLAG-OFF TIME

Flag-off was at 8.30am, so we woke up at 6am, were at the MRT station by 6.45am, reached Raffles City station by 7am.

We had arrived way too early cos we were supposed to meet two other friends over there at 7.30am, so we had some time to kill.

The flag-off time for the KL Marathon was 7am, which meant we dragged ourselves out of bed at 4.30am, drove to Dataran and got there by 6am, spent the next hour lining up in front of the few lousy portable toilets, then made a mad dash for the starting line at 7am. I think flagging off at a decent 8.30am is a much better idea.

THE STARTING LINE

We were all gathered near the starting line at about 8am. The emcee was great and did a fab job getting everyone up and in the mood.

Pic by Susan Ng

He cracked a bunch of jokes and led the runners through a silly dance routine before the horn finally sounded at 8.30am.

I can’t even remember the emcee for the KL Marathon – he (or she) was that forgettable. The Penang Bridge Marathon emcee I can remember however, but for all the wrong reasons. She didn’t talk to us; she talked at us. She was like a matronly schoolteacher admonishing a bunch of silly kids (that was obviously us).  She added nothing to the atmosphere; just tossed out instruction after instruction. It was quite a turn-off really.

THE RUNNERS

There were 50,000 runners (hoo yah). Men and women were separated into different categories and had different start times.

The moment the horn sounded, everyone started running. Damn semangat. Nobody seemed to be slowing down but that was normal right? The crowd would probably start to thin out (and slow down) by the fourth or fifth km – or so I thought. But no wor.

Pic by Susan Ng

And what was more, most were running throughout the entire route. Even the ones who did slow down only slowed down for a few moments before picking up the pace again. These people were doing this for real – don’t play-play! I was impressed!

You have to understand where I’m coming from. As far as my experiences with Malaysian marathons went, some runners are already walking within the first few hundred metres. And as the kms go by, the crowd thins out and more runners start to do the half-run, half-walk thing (including yours truly). So in Singapore, I was impressed … and of course, stressed. Had to work harder to keep up, otherwise no face!

THE WATER STATIONS

There was so much water here, the only risk runners could possibly suffer from was being over-hydrated. There were water stations and at times, 100PLUS stations, every 2K or so.

I found myself giving the last water station a miss cos I was so well-hydrated. That has never happened before, at least not with Malaysian running events. I have never understood why our organisers are so kiam-siap with water. Aren’t these things sponsored? It’s inhumane (not to mention kinda dumb) to expect people to run in such hot weather and offer only one or two water stations along a 10K route.

THE FANFARE

There were so many people stationed along the route – school kids who played cheerleaders for the day, the first aid folks, supporters, volunteers and at one point, even a band.

Pic by Susan Ng

And these people weren’t window dressing either. They were really cheering us on, encouraging us to step it up. It was real motivation not to slack off (no face leh) … there’s hardly any fanfare here in Malaysia. The handful of people stationed along the route is usually either busy yakking with one another or simply looking utterly bored, swatting mosquitoes by the roadside. They make you want to ram into them with your running shoe, then give them paper cuts with your bib.

THE LAST 2K

While I was more than sufficiently hydrated through the entire 10K thanks to the many water stations, there was a downside to this. Because I was used to having water stations pop up every 3K or so, after having passed three water stations at the Singapore Marathon, I was under the impression that I had already done over 9K.

That was before I saw the sign, which said another 2KM – %$#@$#$#@!!!

… and then, this sign – %$#@%!!!

THE FINISH LINE

Despite my cussing, the last 1K before the finish line was really a lot of fun. There were so many supporters and cheerleaders along the way you couldn’t help but be boosted by their really loud enthusiasm. So there we were, running running running … 800m … 600m … 400m … the cheering got louder and louder and I heard strains of Bryan Adams’ Summer of ’69. It was such a rush as everybody picked up the pace and gunned for the big finish. It was great

THE MEDAL COLLECTION

The moment we finished, we were herded down a designated path. I had no idea where we were going, so I just walked along. Within a few short minutes, I found myself inside a massive tent, the Finisher’s Medal placed in my hand and a warm “Congratulations” from a volunteer. Talk about efficient.

Pic by Susan Ng

At a Malaysian running event, not only is there no fanfare at the finish line, once you are done, it isn’t immediately clear where you’re supposed to go. Case in point: after finishing the KL Marathon, we were pretty much left to figure out for ourselves where to go. We asked around and were told to queue up to collect our medals. We spent the next 30 to 45 minutes queuing and the last 5 minutes shoving our way through to the collection counter (the crowd was merciless) to claim our hard-won piece of metal.

THE TOILETS

On the way out to the MRT station, I caught sight of rows and rows and rows of portable loos.

And rows and rows and rows … they looked exquisite.

If my remarks disturb you, again you must understand where I’m coming from. I come from a country of deplorable public toilets. So this beautiful row of toilets, to me, is nothing short of exquisite. Sublime. Divine. And look ma, no queues!

THE MCDONALD’S

As is customary after every run, we stuff our faces with the unhealthiest food we could find. Delicious.

And the McCafé Oreo cookie cake slice wasn’t too bad either.

THE END

So in conclusion, I love Singapore. Oh wait. Did I already mention that before?

Penang Bridge Half-Marathon 2009

It is 8pm and I am trying desperately to sleep. Which is stupid cos nobody sleeps at 8pm. But I have to get up at 1am and be ready for the Taxi Man at 2am so we can get to Queensbay Mall by 2.30am so we can be in time for the flag-off at 3.45am for the … Penang Bridge Half-Marathon!!! (cue: cymbals clash, fireworks explode, dogs howl and babies wail in the background).

It’s hard to sleep. We’re staying in this over-a-century-old adorable little guesthouse (look at the pic – I just love the shutters) with walls so wafer-thin you can be in your room upstairs and hear every word of every single conversation that’s going on downstairs in the lobby area. I’m not kidding. So yeah, it’s hard to sleep.

By the time I manage to nod off, it’s past 12 midnight and in less than an hour, my alarm rings. %$@#$#!@#!#. I ask myself for the millionth time why in the world I’m doing this to myself. Then I remember: the reason is sleeping right next door. I remind myself to clobber her when we’re done.

It’s pitch-black out. And why shouldn’t it be? It’s friggin’ 1am in the middle of the night! Hardcore runners (a group to which I obviously do not belong) think nothing of doing this year after year after year but honestly … I think they’re just drugged up by all that 100 PLUS. It’s kind of insane to crawl out of bed in the dead of the night just to go run on a bridge, don’t you think? I mean, who does this kind of thing?? Oh wait. I’m doing it right now.

By 2am, we’re safely installed in Taxi Man’s taxi and speeding off to Queensbay Mall. For the convenience of his round-trip chauffeur service, we’re forking out RM70. Talk about highway robbery!

We get to the mall with plenty of time to spare. At first glance, I am rather impressed. Nice huge area, clean and a well-organised bag check counter with friendly helpers (of course this is before more runners arrive, they run out of shelf space and start dumping bags on the floor).

The mall area is also well-equipped with portable loos. Don’t snigger. If you’ve ever been to one of these things, you’ll know that this is extremely, extremely important. No loo, no run.

We spend the next hour or so hanging around. Everyone else is busy stretching and doing all those warm-up things but not us. Hah. We sit on the pavement, motionless except for the occasional yawn, trying to stay awake. We take pictures and watch other people warm up. They’re such show-offs!

At 3.45am, it’s finally our turn. The gun goes off, confetti fills the black sky, the lion dancers go wild and off we go. God help us all. Well, help me, to be precise.

Now, up until now, I’ve only done up to 11K. My standard MMO (Marathon Modus Operandi) has always been to run half of the quarter, as in 5K out of a 10K. So it’s only fitting that I now run quarter of the half. So that’s what I do. Brilliant.

We start running on the highway. It takes us about 20 minutes to get to the bridge. It’s nice on the bridge – the sea breeze is strong, the air is cool, the lamps cast a soft orange glow on everything you see. It’s so nice out that I don’t even turn on my music.

Before I know it, I’m at the 10K mark – woo hoo! Hey, I think to myself, that wasn’t as bad as I’d expected! We make a U-turn on the bridge and it’s another 5K or so before getting off. I’m in high spirits now. Halfway there!! Only another 10K more to go!! Ok la, 11K but who’s counting? I’m way too pumped up!!!

It’s at the 15K mark when things take a turn. That’s when we get off the bridge and back on the highway. That’s when the soreness starts to set a little in the legs. Hmmm. Maybe I should’ve grabbed one of those Salonpas patches. Oh well, never mind. I’m still making decent time. It’s a little after 6am. Only 6K more to go … surely I can get that covered before 7am! I’m still doing gloriously well!!!

Somewhere between 17K and 18K, the soreness gets worse. By now, I’m thinking, aiya, why get so worked up about finishing before 7am? As long as I make it within qualifying time of three and a half hours, it’s still decent right? It’s still okay (gives self imaginary pat on back). No need to get stressed out over this. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose; what matters is how you play the game. Of course, I know only losers say this but I’m so sore I fail to remember this.

It’s right about here when I begin to lose the will to live. My feet are stinging and my legs feel like they’re about to fall off, and this is an understatement. At this point, I no longer care if I make the qualifying time. I just want my legs to not fall off.

I can’t even walk briskly anymore. I’m limping all the way down the road. After what seems like eternity, I see the sign: 20K. %$@#$#!@#@!!! Only 20K??? There’s one more %$#@$@ km to go?? Good lord almighty!!! Despite my silent emotional outburst, I put on a brave face and soldier on.

I tell you, 1K is very difficult when you’re crippled. But for the sake of sportsmanship (haha, the very idea of me being a ‘sportsperson’ makes me ROTFLMAO), I limp through that last 1K. I remember the announcer demanding early this morning that we run past the finish line in triumph, flash a big smile and look to the cameramen cos they want to get a picture of “each and every runner”.  Yeah right. My idea of ‘triumph’ is not passing out at the finish line. At that, I succeed. I hobble past the finish line and get this: I DO NOT PASS OUT (cue: harps play, doves are set free from their cages, their wings all a-flutter). Yes. It’s a moment of great triumph. I will remember this for as long as I live.

Taxi Man is waiting to pick us up and send us back to the guesthouse. We crawl into the car and spend the trip regaling each other with tales of how fun it had been at first and how horrendous it became in the last few kms. I’m on the verge of saying “never ever again” when I stop myself. Who knows? I once said, “I will never eat bittergourd ever again” … and guess what? I did. So I keep my mouth shut.

Iosodunnowai

I have a condition. It’s called Iosodunnowai*. It’s a condition that results from three things: a distorted sense of your own capabilities; susceptibility to the influences of the environment; and a general absence of brain activity at the time of decision-making. Put these three together with an activity that you would – under normal circumstances – never ever dream of undertaking in a gazillion years, and there you have it: Iosodunnowai.

I realised this last weekend when my Penang Marathon pack arrived. As I sifted through the contents of the courier bag, it hit me that the 21K I’d so enthusiastically (some say psychotically) signed up for months ago, is now just one week away! As in 7 days!! As in 168 hours!!! As in 10,080 minutes!!! As in … well, you get the picture.

I must’ve been drunk or something when I signed up back in May. No, wait. I wasn’t drunk. I was just over-confident and seduced by my friend’s enthusiasm (“Come la!! You’ve done so many 10K runs, don’t you want to aim higher? Don’t you have any goals? Any ambition?? Don’t tell me you’re going to remain a 10K runner all your life??!!”). Also, my brain wasn’t functioning particularly well that day.

So yeah, I’ve suffered from bouts of anxiety over the past few months whenever I entertained thoughts of my impending doom (usually when I decide to go eat thosai and drink Milo at the mamak instead of going for my run) but it was different back when it was several months away. Now that it’s THIS WEEKEND, I’m experiencing the true extent of Iosodunnowai.

“You signed up for the 21K?? Why are you doing this to yourself la???”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“You psychotic or what?”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“Have you been training?”

“No. I spent the last few weeks eating donuts and sleeping till 10am.”

“My god!! Some more now you’re going to attempt the 21K??!!”

“Like I said, Iosodunnowai.”

The realisation that one suffers from Iosodunnowai is usually followed by a feeble attempt to extricate oneself from the infernally dumb decision one has made. Which is what I’ve been trying to do these past couple of days. The way I see it, I have three choices:

1. Avoid all association with the event. By not wearing my bib and bright orange running vest, people will assume I’m a phantom runner and will not laugh at me if I wind up last.
2. Wear the running vest but conveniently forget my bib. That way, race officials won’t be able to tell which category I’m supposed to be in and will therefore, not stop me when I sneak into the 10K Fun Run route.
3. Stay at home.

The only real options are the first two. I can’t stay home simply because there are three people out there who have also signed up for the run and will kill me once they get back from Penang. So you see, I’m in a rather tight spot.

I think I’ll wear pink.

……………………………………………………………………..……………………………………..

* Iosodunnowai is known in English as “I also don’t know why”. It’s a common response Malaysians give when they’re asked why they’re doing something incredibly stupid/suicidal and is usually delivered with a shrug and grimace.