Which is Harder? A Half IRONMAN or a Full Marathon?

There have been quite a few discussions comparing the difficulty of a half IRONMAN with a full marathon, (Slowtwitch, Beginner Triathlete, and Cool Running) and I have thought a lot about it too, as I have done a few of each.

On the Slowtwitch forum, it's no surprise that most [triathletes there] think the triathlon is easier. Just about 42 of 42 people posting in the Slowtwitch forum agreed that a marathon is harder than a half IRONMAN. If we posted a question about the difficulty learning to play the drums vs the guitar on a guitar forum, you know what the answer would be.

The consensus from Beginner Triathlete and even Cool Running pretty much is the same, agreeing that a full marathon is harder.

The fact is, the one that's easier will be the one that you have trained the most for, that you love the most, and that you simply have a natural ability for. That's all there is to it.

However, if you only have experience in one (marathons or triathlons), and you want to know whether to consider entering the other, it's a fair question. Before I had ever done a half IRONMAN, I asked friends if it would be as hard as a marathon.

Let's break the events down into the following:

Training, Equipment, Preparation
The sheer complexity of training for a triathlon certainly beats just running. It requires much more planning, logistics, equipment, equipment maintenance, and don't forget, time.

I love the simplicity of just lacing up your shoes, and running out the door. There's no equipment to fiddle with, nothing extra to buy, nothing to break down, just you, your shoes, and the ground.

Figuring out a training plan that properly incorporates swimming, biking, and running in the right proportions and correct order is hard. With marathon training, you just run enough to avoid injury (not necessarily that simple), rest properly, and get some long runs in (30+k). While there are dozens of both marathon and half IRONMAN training programs to choose from, making a running-only plan work is much easier.

I might only run 7 hours a week while training for a marathon; my half IRONMAN requirements are 8-11 hours. I can do the 7 hours before my family is even out of bed; once I hit half IRONMAN training durations, it eats into my family's time. Especially when the pool is closed before dawn and the long bike rides may go more than 4 hours.

The complexities continue: Re-learning to swim well, finding a good pool that's easy to get to, getting a bike fit on your road bike to be suitable for a tri, buying a tri bike, fixing flats, adjusting the bike, finding nutrition and hydration storage on the bike, the list goes on.

The only reason I can think of why half IRONMAN training could be easier for some people is because of the variety it offers, especially for someone who doesn't love running. The fatigue and monotony of running day-in and day-out can take a toll over the 12, 16, or even 20 weeks you may be training for either event.

Completing vs. Competing
Some athletes race to compete, others are just happy to complete. This is all about how hard you exert yourself during the race. It also contributes to the difficulty of the training before the race - if you only need to complete an event, you may not put as much effort or energy into the training, you may miss some sessions, and you may not be as disciplined.

Personally, I am not happy to just complete any race. I have to do so as fast as I possibly can, racing against a personal goal. I can derive this personal goal from a past result of a prior race or from training. This is why if I can't put in the full training required, I will not race. A lot of my friends have said I'm ready for a full IRONMAN, and I know I could complete it, but I'm not ready to do it unless I can complete it well.

I believe the 42.2km of brutal pounding your body takes in a full marathon, when done at a level to compete, is worse than in a half IRONMAN in which you take a cool swim, do a paced spin on the bike (and coast, drink water, eat food - what luxury!), before doing a half-marathon run at the end (shorter than any long run you will have done in your marathon program).

Running means you carry your full body weight with you (not so on the swim or bike). Running means you subject your body to thousands of falls to the ground, creating impact your body may not want to take (not so on the swim or bike). Running means you cannot coast, glide, roll, or slide (not so on the swim or bike).

You may think that if you can finish a marathon in, say, 4 hours, but it takes you at least 5 or 6 hours to do a half IRONMAN, the marathon is easier. But because it's full-impact body pounding the entire time, the marathon is harder.

If you are only there to complete, a half IRONMAN is definitely easier due to the variety and the fact that swimming and cycling take less of a toll on your body than running. I have seen people walk the half IRONMAN run in its entirety and still finish well within the time limit. Try walking a marathon - you won't finish in time.

If you are racing to compete, whichever you have trained the most for and are better at will be easier.

Recovery
Again, the pounding your body takes running 42.2 km is greater than swimming 1.9, cycling 90, and running a measly 21.1.

That being said, after I finished the Seoul Marathon in March of 2015, I had no problems exploring the city, shopping, taking trains and taxis all over, and doing touristy sightseeing into the night. But I had trained very well for it.

Three weeks later, I finished the Putrajaya 70.3 in Malaysia, and needed a full day to recover. I was shattered. But I did no cycling training and very little swim training.

Conclusion
Which is harder? Plumbing or carpentry? Oil painting or watercolor? American football or soccer? Depends who you ask. Depends on what you know. Depends on what you have trained for.

But all things being equal, the act of running a marathon is physically more demanding than any half IRONMAN. Some in the Slowtwitch forum even think a marathon is harder than a full IRONMAN, because the pace is faster. You see more people walking the run leg of a full IRONMAN than a normal marathon.

10 ways to improve your triathlon time

A beginner's guide to a faster triathlon

There's no getting away from dozens of dedicated swimming, cycling, and running sessions if you are going to perform well at a triathlon, but the gains can be slow and hard-won. If two hours of running can only give you a 10-second gain (hypothetically), how many of those tough runs do you have to do to hit your goal?

There are more efficient ways of cutting your time, that don't involve endless hours of sweat or weeks of trial and error. You still have to commit to those endless hours of sweat, but in addition, you can consider the following. Each requires minimal effort but can cut your time considerably:

1. Case the joint - Free

OK, you aren't robbing the transition area, but if you scope it out in advance (the night before for an IRONMAN or Half IRONMAN) you may be able to steal a few seconds. In particular, look for your spot, marked by your bib number and maybe your name, and walk the transition. If it's a shorter race, and you can't visit the transition area the night before, arrive early.

Your spot will be marked with your bib number

Walk to the swim area. Then, walk the route from the swim, entering the transition area. Make note of where the timing sensor is, and the direction you'll have to trot, the shortest way to your bike. Then, walk from your spot to the "Bike Out" sign, and pay attention to where the line on the ground is. That is, the line before which you cannot mount your bike.

Next, look for where the bikes come in, where you'll enter, and trace your way back to the bike. Finally, follow the most direct path to the "Run Out" sign. Memorise this. Before I go to sleep, I like to replay it in my head, making clear note of each exit and entrance.

Some people attach balloons to their bike to make their spot easy to find, but I think that's amateurish and inconsiderate (they may get tangled in other people's things.) Some people will bring a bright towel which they will notice as they run up towards their bike. In the Bintan 70.3 I placed a large leaf on the ground in front of my bike.

2. Practice the transition - Free

Well before the event, you can set up a mock transition, complete with everything you'll have in your race. Bike, helmet, sunglasses, bike shoes, race belt, running shoes, sunglasses, etc. Then practice running up to your transition, getting on the bike, cycling, getting off the bike, and doing the run.

This is a good time to learn how to push your bike from the saddle while jogging in the transition area - it shouldn't swerve or fall, but roll in the direction you push it.

3. Ditch the gloves - Free

Save time, have one less thing to carry, worry about, and deal with.

4. Use elastic race laces - $5 - $15

Don't fiddle with normal shoe strings when putting your running shoes on. Get elastic laces. I like Nathan Lock Laces.

5. Use a race belt - $10-$20

Forget about pinning your bib to your tri suit. Just string the elastic ends of the race belt through the holes in the bib and wear that for the cycle and the run. To the rear on the bike, and to the front while running.

6. Wear a tri suit - $50 - $350

Changing clothes will slow you down. Wear only one thing for all three stages. A triathlon suit will have minimal padding (don't want to swim with sponges between your legs), no sleeves, and a zipper in the front. You will feel equally at ease swimming, cycling, and running in it. Try to find one that has gel padding, not sponge. It'll last longer and absorb less water.

It might not look very fashionable...

...but you swim, cycle (and run) in the same thing.

In cooler climates, you may wear a wet suit - but here in the tropics we don't need those so I'm only commenting on what to wear in hot weather.

7. Use aero bars - $80 - $500

Aero bars clipped on to my road bike

If you're using a road bike, the most effective thing you can do to make yourself faster, especially over a 70.3 or full IRONMAN is to use aero bars. For just a hundred or two, you'll get close to the position you would be in on a tri bike, shaving minutes on a half IRONMAN.

8. Wear triathlon cycling shoes - $100 - $400

Tri bike shoes usually have only one strap (as opposed to two or three for road bike shoes), and that strap may open the opposite way road shoes do. This makes it easier to quickly pull the velcro open from the inside of your foot to the outside. They also tend to have holes in them to allow water to drain out so your wet feet can dry off before the run. Last, they may have little loops to allow you to thread a rubber band through them and connect them to your bike, while they're clipped in to the pedals.

9. Get a bike fit - $100 - $500

Personally, I believe this to be one of the best investments you can make. In fact, I'd do this before buying any bike equipment or anything of real value. A bike fit expert will ensure you're seated in the optimum position to get the most power out of your body without compromising on comfort, all the while staying aerodynamic. Do it, it's well worth the pain you won't feel in your neck!

Here I am getting my road bike better fit for tris

I did this at Loue Bicycles (Singapore). Ask for Timothy - you will thank me later.

10. Wear an aero helmet - $150 - $500

You may look like an alien, but you will also be fast(er). This is one of those things you do before dropping $3k on a new wheelset, as the time gains vs the cost are well worth it.

IRONMAN 70.3 Bintan Race Report

IRONMAN 70.3 Bintan Race Report - 2015

Racing is addictive. For me, it started with mountain biking, progressed to road bikes, then running, then swimming, and finally triathlon. And in April 2015, I did the IRONMAN 70.3 Putrajaya in Malaysia, and had a great time.

Putrajaya was hot off the heels of 16 weeks of marathon training, and the run being the most important part of the triathlon, I figured I'd be in good shape to finish strong, despite my lack of training for the swim and cycle (I was wrong).

So the day after Putrajaya, upon arriving home in Singapore, I signed up for Bintan, which was to happen just 5 months later, in end-August. Except this one was going to be different: I would find a proper 70.3 training plan, and follow it carefully, with specificity in mind:

Specificity: The principle of training that states that sports training should be relevant and appropriate to the sport for which the individual is training in order to produce a training effect. Source

So, in other words, I had better train by swimming, biking, and running to get better, faster, and stronger in each. I did quite a bit of research and put together a plan - that's a separate story.

The IRONMAN 70.3 Bintan website promised happy, cheering crowds. Would this be accurate?
photo credit

Fast forward 22 August, the day before the race. I had, under my belt, a good 11 weeks of swim-bike-run training, including six swim lessons from a former Singapore Navy diver. He's completed full IRONMAN races, plenty of shorter triathlons, has a US Navy SEAL certification of some sort, and plenty of other great swimming and sports credentials.

In addition to being a faster and more efficient swimmer, he had me do drills for sighting, taught me how to defend myself if someone swam on top of me, gave me exercises to teach me how to rest and breathe yet keep moving, and many other skills.

In addition to the swimming progress, I had actually chosen to train on the bike this time, and did many short rides (25km) with sprint intervals in them. My group rides were perhaps best for my fitness, as it's all one big race anyway, and they are longer (50-70km). Plus I did a few long rides, like 110+km round-the-island sessions.

For the running, the sport I'm most comfortable with, I just did a lot of 10ks in the morning (boring) and some longer runs on the weekend, but nothing much more than 21k.

In addition, I completed a few races (Pokari 10k and Singapore International Triathlon) which are good for speedwork and maybe most important, the experience of competing, especially the technicalities of triathlon.

Armed with this basic training, I went into the race with my normal attitude - a mix of focused seriousness and enthusiastic 'just-have-fun'-ness. I had a goal time which was based off previous races and paces, and adjusted to the progress I thought I could attain:

I had hoped to shave more than 45 minutes off my time - somehow I cut 1:22:29!

I went to Bintan with my wife and two kids, and we stayed at Nirwana - a pretty good place for families, as it has a nice big pool and is right on the beach.

Our room's balcony

The night before, I signed in, picked up my race pack, and racked my bike.

Check out all the nationalities racing

Racked and ready

That night, I had a hard time sleeping, as my mind was racing, thinking of paces, times, strategies, and really just being overly concerned with the next day. I woke up with no alarm.

After a quick breakfast downstairs, which opened at 4am, I boarded the bus and chatted with others who were equally anxious. Time flew by and soon enough I was at my bike pumping the tires, setting up my transition, and getting into the right state of mind.

After a test swim before the start (I'm on the far left)

I went for a quick swim to check the water - even taste it and smell it (advice from my coach) - and generally familiarize myself with the sand, beach, current (or lack-of), temperature and general surroundings.

Sighting and Fighting

Before I knew it, the horn blew and the pros were off! My group was next, just five minutes behind the pros. We started 100m out, as the water is so shallow, at that point it was only waist-deep. I was planning to have to punch my way through the aggression of the front-of-the-beach age groupers, probably receiving a few elbows and heels, all part of the game. But no, everybody was relaxed and spread out, better behaved and paced that the short OD tris most of us are used to.

And once we got going, it was great. We could see the bottom, which was initially just sand, but became colored with coral and the occasional small fish. It didn't feel so much like a race.

The swim, from Strava

Sighting has always been a challenge for me, and I used the bottom of the sea for that, much like you might do with swim lanes in a pool. I'm pretty sure this resulted in a straighter-than-normal swim for me.

The swim was thoroughly enjoyable - no punching, fighting, or excessive splashing slowing anybody down, and ended with us running in knee-deep water for 70-80m.

Googles and cap shed, I made a b-line to my bike. Socks, cycling shoes, race belt, helmet. Garmin 910 stop. Garmin 705 start. Jog to Bike Out. Ride.

See my swim on Strava here.

Aero and Narrow

I was hot on the heels of an Australian guy (the bibs have flags on them) on a blue Giant tri bike with a rear disc wheel, listening to the WOOSH WOOSH of his mashing echo from the hub to the tire, sounding like ripping canvas. A good mark to follow, I thought.

We changed places for the next 10km or so, until somehow we separated, and I caught up to a French woman. She and I changed places too, for a good half hour. We had some small-talk, as I tried to speak to anybody who would listen.

"We went 62 km/h on that downhill only to have to do 6.2 km/h on this uphill!" I exclaimed to another Aussie.

"Yeah mate, makes no sense!" he answered, spinning in low gear.

I spoke to an Italian, a South African, a Japanese, and some Singaporeans. Somehow it reduces the competitive tension and just makes the race more fun. It didn't feel like anybody was passing me, and it was kind of nice to pass one guy with a full IRONMAN tattoo on his calf.

I tried to keep in the aero position as much as possible, and after having had a proper bike fit, I felt no neck or back pain or discomfort anywhere. I tried to keep spinning at all times, never coasting.

The bike loop

Over rolling hills, through villages, into some long straights, the road continued. I was amazed I could maintain such a good speed, even sustaining 41-42 km/h for 10-15 minutes alone on the straights, no drafting. Was it training or just pure determination? I knew I didn't want my average speed to dip below 30, or I'd end up with a 3-hour-plus bike time. 3:05 was my written goal but I was really shooting for sub-3.

None of the ride was ever boring or even very hard. The water stops, maybe about 20km apart, were just right. I'd save a bottle or two by stuffing it down my tri suit front, and toss it out to the village kids when I saw them. Eventually, they were all begging for one.

Finally, at about km 75 I started feeling a bit tired, but only very slightly. I was pleasantly surprised that I was still feeling so good, and started getting excited for the run. It was about this point I caught up to both the French woman and the Australian guy on the blue Giant, content to pass them both.

I pulled in with a smile on my face, glad that I beat 3 hours. The Garmin read 2:46:47, a huge improvement from my last 70.3.

See my ride on Strava here

Pace your Race, don't Race your Pace

Here comes the hard part: Switching from the ride to the run. That's what brick training is for. The moment I got out there, a pro passed me, likely on his second lap. He was moving - he had to be doing sub-4 min km splits.

Forget him, I had to pace my race, not race against him or my pace. I was shooting for a 2:15:00 - not fast for me by any means, but if my Putrajaya time was anything to go by, this would be a 30 minute improvement.

There was a guy standing on the side of the road - he looked American - and he looked very strong and fit, with a skinny but muscular runner's body. He was wearing running shorts and shoes, too.

"Hey, take my bib!" I yelled. He flinched towards me, eager to help someone he thought was in real need.

"Run this for me! You look fast!" I continued. He laughed, probably happy to hear such a compliment and I continued.

So after the first km was up, and my watch read 00:05:23 for that km, I knew I was overdoing it. 5:23 for the first km? Too fast! I was going to blow up! I figured anything under 6 would be too fast. Though I have no problems running a 1:50:00 half marathon, I had never performed well after the cycle. Well, that was what all that brick training was for.

After the first water stop, where I poured ice down my suit and drenched myself in water, I felt like I had my legs back, and the transition shock had gone away. All the way up to km 7, the distance of the first lap, I felt great, though I was expecting to catch a bad cramp or feel a sudden rush of fatigue, onset by the blazing sun and heat.

I ran the numbers in my head:

:46 + 2:46 = about 3:30...+ about :05 for each transition = ~3:40. Then add another 2:00 for the run = 5:40.

"5 hours and 40 minutes? Really? How could that be possible? My last one (first one) took me 6:58, say 7 hours. How could I possibly have cut an hour and 20 minutes?" I said to myself.

"Let me do the calculations again, I must have made a mistake..."

"Well, no, that's right, but don't get your hopes up. You'll hit the wall soon enough..."

Then lap 1 was up. And I still felt great.

Being between water and shade was stupid - lake on one side and jungle on the other!

Through the finish area, and around to the start of the second lap. The American Runner was still standing there, and he said hi to me. I waved and kept going.

I was smiling. Not really in pain. Happy to have made it this far, this fast. I was hooked. I wanted more. I could do more. Only 14km more, no biggie. Lap two was fine, and I kept an even pace. No cramps or issues.

As I rounded the finish area, I scanned the crowd for my family, but nothing. There were a lot of cheering spectators, but not my wife or kids. I guessed they would only come about 6 hours after the start, when I told them to finish. But I was going to finish too soon!

Lap three began. The American Runner was gone. The water at the water stops was getting warm. People were limping. Nobody was talking. I was among the walking dead.

But like the ride, I didn't really have many people pass me. I knew my swim sucked, especially compared to all these 6'2" Aussies who have been swimming in the Pacific since they were toddlers. Could I catch them on the bike, and especially where it counted, the run? Looked like it.

Km 18, and it was Hammer Time. Screw the water, forget it all. Sprint to the end. Know the finish is just minutes away, and the faster you run the sooner you'll get there. Around a 90-degree corner, past a photographer, up a 50m dirt slope, onto the road, and into the race village. I had finished in an admirable 5:36:21, already thinking about my goal for the next one.

Happy with my time of 5:36:21

See my run on Strava here

Things you need to know before racing the IRONMAN 70.3 Bintan:

          Logistics

1. Book your hotel months in advance - they fill up very quickly
2. Try to book the one where the race starts and ends (In 2015 it was the Belhotel). This will save you from having to take the bus between your hotel and the Belhotel to set up the transition the night before, going home after the race, and some money as you have to pay for that shuttle
3. Book the ferry as early as possible as well, as the ferries fill up quickly too. Keep in mind that on your way home, if you leave Bintan too late in the afternoon, you will have to pay for a half-day at the hotel (super late checkout)
4. You don't have to pack your bike in any special way. Yow won't have to take your wheels off or even worry about protecting it much. The ferry and hotel crews seem to have been properly briefed on how to handle expensive tri bikes


Pre-race


5. You have to rack your bike the night before, which means you have to get a bus to the Belhotel if you are not staying there
6. The race expo in 2015 was tiny
7. The vendors at the race expo couldn't take credit cards or Singapore dollars
8. There was a money changer in the same building (ground floor) as the race expo


Race-related


9. The swim started about 100m into the sea, because the water is so shallow so far out. So it's not a pure beach start, but a waist-deep start
10. It seemed to be a very fast swim, with zero waves, zero current, and supposedly a lot of people set personal bests
11. You can see the bottom of the sea, coral and occasional fish included, for about 40% of the swim. This helped me sight, as I just used the bottom to make sure I was going straight
12. The transition isn't your typical row-after-row of bike racks; rather a long chute with racks on both sides. This is more fair as everybody has to travel the same distance in the transition
13. The cycle is only one lap, unlike Putrajaya which is two
14. The ride has a few small hills, but nothing large - less than Putrajaya
15. There are a few good, fast downhills and I could hit 60+ on several different occasions
16. Save the water bottles handed out at the water stops if you can to chuck to the village kids along the way - they love them and will ask for them
17. Expect to find people cheering along the way as you pass through the kampongs - I saw a class of school kids, a tae kwon do group, workers, families, and all types of people, and they were all excited. Wave to them and reciprocate their excitement!
18. The run was three 7km laps. They'll give you a different color rubber band to put around your wrist to mark your first and second laps
19. In the run, there isn't a sliver of shade. Putrajaya had like three tree branches of shade, Bintan had zero. Not one limb, stick, or leaf overhead. However, Bintan was not nearly as hot as Putrajaya
20. The water stops on the run were just about every one km apart. They had ice water, Pure, Coke, and some had watermelon, gels, and other snacks. But there were no showers or jellybeans like in Putrajaya. Some people carry water belts on the run, but that's totally unnecessary at Bintan.
21. At the finish line, after receiving the medal and towel, they did not immediately give the finishers their finisher shirts. Apparently, we were supposed to have queued up somewhere to receive them. I was never told of this queue and never received my shirt

Ironman 70.3 Putrajaya Race Report

Ironman 70.3 Putrajaya: It has a reputation for being a hard one - brown fresh water for the swim, hilly roads for the ride, and a brutal, shade-less course for the run. Sounded perfect!

I had only ever done one triathlon, and it was the mini distance. I got first in my age group, but that's not much of an achievement - we were all beginners just seeing if we could do this revered trifecta of sports: Swim, bike, run.

I'm an experienced cyclist and an OK runner, but a weak and vague swimmer, with terrible technique and no real skill. I only learned to swim the crawl in October 2014, and had been practicing on and off, eventually working my way up to 2km. Really just building the confidence I could power through that segment. Everybody knows the bike and especially the run are where you have to be strong to do well in a tri. As long as I knew I could do these 1.9km of swimming, I didn't much care how fast I'd be. I had the ride and run to make up time.

Registration was very easy and clear on the official Ironman site, and post-registration communications were regular and reassuring (unlike the Seoul Marathon - see my previous post).

The big question was whether to drive or fly to Putrajaya, the government district outside Kuala Lumpur, incidentally, not far from the airport. Flying would be nice as it would be faster than driving the 350km, and would make the return trip home easy, when I'd likely be fairly tired. However, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of getting a bike bag or box and checking my bike. I'd have to take quite a few parts off and it might be a hassle. Finally, it would end up being pretty expensive paying for airfare for me, my wife, and two kids when we could just drive.

Driving would be good because I could just put the bike on the roof rack and not have to worry about any mechanical issues. Plus, if I took the Monday off (the day after the race) we could drive back a day later and I wouldn't have to worry about being too tired to drive.

Car loaded with my bike and my son's

We left Singapore on a Friday, 3 April (Good Friday), and had a nice drive up north, even passing a few others with tri bikes on their cars headed to the same race.

There are a number of good hotels in Putrajaya - we chose The Pullman, mainly because my friend and experienced Ironman Clarke Wan was staying there. It's about 10 years old and in decent condition. Some parts of it are well-worn and need help, but overall it was nice.

We did have a few problems, though:

1. Check-in took more than an hour, despite us arriving late in the day (2:30 pm - you'd think the previous party would have checked out at Noon or so and the room would be ready).
2. Our booking on hotels.com indicated we had breakfast included. The reception told us otherwise.
3. The air-con in the room was very weak.
4. The phone in the room did not work.

...but the view from our room was nice!

I would not stay there again - there are others in the area such as the Shangri-La and Everly which would likely be better.

Saturday morning Clarke and I headed out to the race start area for an orientation swim. The water was very pleasant (albeit brown and murky). The swim was about 800m, and simulated the actual race in that we had to follow the buoys. This really helped me learn the system (white buoys marking the straight areas of the course; yellow the turns).

There I am admiring Clarke's graceful arm stroke

Into the warm pool of algae

Clarke gave me a lot of tips and pretty much showed me how it would be on Sunday. Guys on kayaks and jet skis patrolled the area, and platforms in the middle of the course were set up for tired swimmers. Observing these things, plus my easy finish of the 800m really made me feel confident for race day.

With the swim out of the way, and one less thing to stress about, it was time to collect my race pack. Collection was extremely fast and efficient. They had the usual race expo stuff where I bought a few extra gels for good measure, plus an Ironman bento box to hold the gels on my top tube.

Race pack collection with the future Ironman, Ezio

Bibs, timing chip, tattoo

That evening, Clarke and I headed over to the transition area to rack our bikes and set up for the next day's big race. We let some air out of our tires to prevent them from expanding in the sun and possibly popping.

Superman tatted me up

Early to bed was the next prudent step, as we had to be at the start line before dawn. Clarke and I agreed to meet early, and drive over in my car.

When we arrived, carrying bags of shoes, water, gel, Clarke's floor pump, and other necessary race stuff, there were quite a few people already there. We laid out our gear, pumped our tires, and waited.

The pros started first, showing impeccable form, swimming at an awesome pace. The way they sighted the course and just glided through the water was really something to admire. I waited anxiously, Clarke less-so, and we proceeded to the 45 min - 1 hour start bin. Of course Clarke is faster than that, but he was just being nice, keeping his anxious friend company.

These start pens were up to us to choose (meaning you could start in a faster one if you really wanted without proof that you could swim that fast - but you'd probably pay the price by getting run over and end up feeling slow).

I dove in, right behind Clarke. This would be the last I'd see of him until km 5 of the run.

As I swam, I involuntarily smiled, happy that I was doing this, and generally enjoying the experience. I knew I wasn't fast, and unlike other races (marathons) had no expectations. For once, I was truly and honestly just having fun, not competing.

I latched onto a guy, who was paddling at my awkward pace, but straighter. Not a bad strategy, assuming he knows where he is going. None of the swim was hard or tiring. Just slow, though I did finish in the middle of a huge crowd. I thought I'd be last!

Feeling great - don't get used to it

Out of the water, through an arch of showers on the incline up to the bikes, and to rack spot 662. Content with my swim, I pulled on my socks, shoes, helmet, race belt, and sun glasses. I trotted out to the start area, mounted the bike and clipped in.

The ride felt incredibly harsh - did I inflate the rear too hard? More than the normal 120psi I'm used to? Something was off. Oh well, time to hammer it. I yelled with excitement, "Yeah!!" and mashed down the road, lined with a few spectators.

There was a 180-degree U-turn a few hundred metres up ahead. I had heard (and seen) roadies who can't control their bikes and spill in these turns. I saw this in a duathlon. As a mountainbiker with decent technical skills, I don't have this problem, and am happy to take these turns fast. So I rounded it at a spirited pace, and what do you know? Rear wheel slid out and I almost low-sided.

In the meantime, the rear tire and tube totally slid off - a dramatic flat. I clipped out, flipped the bike, and started changing it. A race volunteer ran over with a CO2 cartridge, and helped me inflate it, after I had pretty much already pumped it up. It took about 9 minutes.

Turns out I had been riding with a flat rear tire from the beginning!

Bring the pain

With that solved, I continued on, actually looking forward to the two 45km laps around scenic Putrajaya. The course was hilly and hot, but well-paved, with no gravel or potholes. There were some fast downhills, slow uphills, and plenty of in-between. I'd hit up to 60 km/h on the downhills, usually screaming with enthusiasm, and generally trying to keep a happy and positive mood.

The water stops were very well set up, with plenty of volunteers handing out red bottles. Grab, drink, throw. The only thing we had to watch out for was the empty bottles - they could make for a very bad crash.

My goal was to do the whole thing in 3 hours flat, or an average of 30 km/h (no drafting allowed). I did almost exactly 30 km/h for the first 45km. But the sun and the hills took a lot out of me - it was really heating up and there was no shade. I finished the second a bit slower, but still behind my goal time. Moving time, according to my Garmin, was 3:05, 5 minutes off my goal, but actual time was 3:13, due to the flat tire. Not so great.

Having done a few duathlons, (but no brick training!!) I knew the hard part was about to hit me. But I had just done a great marathon in Seoul 3 weeks prior and was in excellent marathon race-ready running shape.

Ditch the bike. Chuck the helmet. Flip the race belt. Toss the bike shoes. Pull on the running shoes. Swig some water. Pop some Hammer Endurolytes. Sunscreen, visor, Garmin, go.

Here we go. Yeah my legs feel like bricks right now but I'll get into it, that'll go away. How do you know, you've never done any brick training? Whatever, I just ran a full marathon, this stuff is easy. It's four segments of 5km each. I scoff at 5km runs. 10km runs too. Who does runs that short? Nobody I know. My average training run is 18km. This is a training run. I can do this in 1:50, 2 hours max. Well, maybe 2:05. Hold on, my legs still feel funny. Actually this is pretty hard. Damn, it's hot. This sucks. Have I done one km yet? 700m? What?

That's pretty much what went through my head during the first kilometer. Confidence. Then some second-guessing. Then a stomach cramp. But I plodded on, at about 7 min/km. Slow but not hopeless. Soon enough I caught Clarke. We power-walked, and joked that it was easy. I needed more of his positive attitude.

I hung with him for a kilometer or two then tried to pick up the pace. Cramps came and went. Run. Jog. Walk. Run. Walk. Jog. Everybody was doing it, that was a consolation. The sun was relentless. No shade.

"There's a camera! Make it look like you're running!"

I caught people and joked that I was on my third lap, and that they'd have to do three as well. Some laughed. Others didn't. Either way, it kept me sane. Sane but in pain.

Despite my struggle, I enjoyed it. The drink stations were the best I've ever seen, better than those at the Seoul Marathon. Giant tubs full of ice and water, with huge plastic ladles to dump it over your head. I'd dump ice down my bib. Cold sponges. Isotonic drink. Jellybeans. Watermelon. Bananas. Coke. Friendly volunteers. Showers.

Another consolation was that hardly anybody was passing me. Some, but not many. This made me realize that it wasn't just me being uncharacteristically slow - everybody was suffering.

At one point, towards the end, and at the one and only shady drink station, I approached one of the volunteers, a guy in his mid-20s. I put a hand on each of his shoulders, music pumping in the background, looked him square in the eyes, and screamed the cheesiest thing I could think of, "MAKE IT RAIN, MO-FO!!" He laughed, and poured about a litre of frozen water over my head. Everybody cheered and I ran off.

2:43 is the worst ever half-marathon time I've done in my life, but it's the only one I've done after 1.9km of swimming and 90km of running.

Smiles can be deceptive

Help me

It's a waste of time smiling, who cares if I paid $70 for these stupid pictures

Upon crossing the finish line, they announced my name, and draped a frozen 70.3 towel over my shoulders (that was great) and gave me my medal. My family saw me finish, but they looked about as worn-out as I was - they had been sitting in the heat for a few hours.

Please, no comments about a full Ironman

I finished under 7 hours, in 6:58:50.

Swim: 53:58
Bike: 3:13:53 (Garmin read 3:05 but 9 minutes was spent changing a tube)
Run: 2:43:41

Sure it was hard, but it was supposed to be. Next time I'll train for it specifically instead of doing it off the back of my marathon training.

What I liked:

1. Flawless organization
2. Amazing drink stations
3. Warm swim, with a rolling start (no boxing)
4. Roads totally closed off to traffic
5. Great atmosphere with excellent volunteers

What I didn't like:

1. No shade (I got terribly sunburned, but that was my fault)
2. That's all I can think of

The day I returned home, I registered for the Bintan 70.3.

2015 Seoul International Marathon: Be careful what you wish for

Race Report

15 March, 2015

Preamble
The intent of this race report is mainly practical:

1. To help people decide on whether or not they want to race in the Seoul Marathon
2. To help sort out some of the logistical issues I faced and couldn't find online
3. To give a sense of what the race atmosphere was like

Finally, I hope it's entertaining and even fun.

Be careful what you wish for
Having only completed one full marathon, I wanted to try another – this time in a cooler climate, and ideally a new country. My performance in Singapore’s Sundown Marathon on 31 May 2103 was sub-par, even bordering on shameful (in my mind). The night conditions were far hotter than the dawn I was used to training in, and I didn’t train enough in the first place. I wasn’t proud of my achievement, so wanted to stack the odds in my favour for the next marathon. My formula:

1. Train in hot conditions, compete in cool conditions
2. Train much harder, longer, and better
3. Avoid injury, burnout, and family conflicts due to potential overtraining

After a bit of research, I narrowed my choice down to Seoul and Tokyo, but went with Seoul as it was during my son’s school holiday and Seoul doesn’t have the lottery system (limited entries) that Tokyo does.

My wife, a beginning runner, wanted to try her foot at a race or two, and so she decided to join Seoul’s 10k while I did the 42.2. We made this decision in October 2014, giving us a full 18 weeks to train.

Further, we figured this would be a good chance to see a new country (I had been to Korea but not South Korea!) as well as bring our two small kids and my wife’s parents.

Registration
If you do not live in Korea, the most obvious way of registering for the Seoul International Marathon is the website, http://seoul-marathon.com/ . It may be one of the worst race sites I’ve ever seen, especially if you can’t read Korean. The language selector is of little help – many of the links you click on after changing it to English lead to Korean pages.

It is very confusing, with phrases like, “Log on to our official website and click the button for registration.” Wait – I thought this was your official website.

Another was, “Payment method: Bank Transfer”, which makes me think only telegraphic transfer is possible – but in fact they take credit cards. Even after having a Korean friend look through the site, she believed the same thing. We spent a lot of time figuring out how to do a bank transfer only to discover later that they indeed did accept credit cards.

So no credit cards, right?

Bank transfer by credit card??

 Another one, more amusing than it was problematic, was the header, “This is Dong-a marathon department.” Thanks for letting me know.

I thought this was Boston Marathon department

Eventually, I figured it all out, and registered us on the site, paying with my MasterCard. It was pretty cheap, only 50,000 won, or US $48. I received a confirmation email but couldn't find more info about race pack collection or anything else. Normally, after registering for a race, you’ll receive numerous reminders, promotions, updates, and generally reassuring communications. But from “Dong-a marathon department” we received nothing else.

So two weeks before the race, I called the number on the site, and surprisingly, somebody answered. He spoke good English, and he told me I had not paid for either my race or my wife’s! But I had booked flights and a hotel for myself, my kids, wife, and her parents (many thousand dollars)!

Luckily, there were still full marathon slots open at that time (again - two weeks before race day!), but all the 10k spots had been filled. We pleaded with him, but he wouldn't budge. My wife was disappointed, but at least I had secured my place.

Travel
Flying to Korea from Singapore is easy enough, and so is getting a taxi (van in our case) to the hotel. We opted for a serviced apartment, as there were six of us, and my wife and her mom like to cook. We stayed in Fraser Place Central, Seoul (http://www.fpcs.co.kr/ ). Turns out this was a perfect choice – right near the race pack collection and the starting line (we didn't even realize that when we booked)!

I absolutely recommend Fraser Place Central, especially if you are with your family. It's near the start line and is a great hotel with very helpful front desk staff. But be careful - there are two other Fraser Places in Seoul, so make sure you book the right one.

I made sure to arrive two days before the race to give myself adequate rest and enough time to case the joint – figure out when, where, and how this thing was going to start and end.

Race Day Logistics
Even before flying off, we realized there were a few things to worry about such as what I’d wear while waiting for the race to start (the temperature was about 1 degree Celsius), how I’d get back to the hotel from the end of the race, how my family would find me at the finish line, how we’d meet up then, and more.

First problem – the cold. I know, I know, I chose this race for this very reason, but when the forecast temperature is just at freezing, you know you need to wear more than your tropical super-light shirt and shorts. I remembered at the Gold Coast Half Marathon (July 2014) people wore flannel shirts and jackets while waiting for it to start, and chucked them on the ground at about km 2 – they were later collected and donated to charity. That sounded like a good idea. I wondered if such a setup existed in Seoul.

But here in Singapore, I don’t have any cold weather clothes suitable for running. And I wasn’t about to go buy some just for the 10-15 minutes I’d be waiting at the start line in Seoul, only to throw it in the gutter, never to be seen again.

Was there some indoor area for us to wait in? Were there heaters there? Did they have Australia’s charity system? I checked the website – nothing. I searched Google for some reviews – only a few, but nothing about the weather or how do deal with the freezing start.

My wife finally agreed to come with me to the start, and take my jacket when the gun went off. OK, problem solved.

This event started near my hotel, and ended far away at the Olympic Stadium (remember Seoul in ’88?) by Jamsil station. How were we going to work this out?

There was a lot at stake. had been training hard for 18 weeks, waking up at 4am many days, with many trips to the podiatrist and physiotherapist (solving old injuries), and all the other sacrifices that come with getting your body and mind race-ready.

I had been reading numerous books on marathon training, nutrition, races; I had reviewed many marathon race plans; I had done countless entries into race pace calculators. My mind was awash with numbers, times, splits, heart rate zones, dates, times of day, when to wake up, when to go to sleep, when to schedule my long runs, short runs, tempo runs, and more.

I replayed the horrors of my last marathon, vowing to never commit such a traumatizing and grievous act against myself. I had to redeem myself. I had to pull myself out of the depths of marathon failure that I thought I had fallen into. I would not fail.

So back to logistics: I wanted my family to see my cross the finish line, because this was going to be a monumental event for me.

But how?

The day before the race, we took the train to the stadium (43 minute ride) and walked over to the stadium. There were dozens of race volunteers walking around, starting to finish off the last of the setup. We asked the first group of volunteers we saw where the race would end, and whether or not my family could watch me finish. They couldn’t understand us. We asked the second group of kids (all in their early-20s). They couldn’t understand us either. But eventually, we did find where it ended: Inside the stadium.

In the train station near the stadium - my wife and two kids posing in front of a baseball team's backdrop

The finish line was set up, with TV cameras pointing at it, and the usual barriers and banners around it. But could my family stand right there at the finish line? One English speaker told us they could. Another told us they couldn’t, but they could sit in the stadium. A third said they couldn’t even go into the stadium.

Basically, nobody knew. And I wouldn’t have a phone on me during a marathon, so reaching each other was going to be hard. At least we knew where it would finish.

TV cameras trained on the finish line

I told them to be there approximately 4-4:30 hours after the start (8:30), so that meant they should wait there between 12:30 and 1pm.

Race Pack Collection
With the help of the hotel concierge and Google Maps, we were able to find the Dong-a building where the race pack collection was. Now this wasn’t your typical race expo with rows and rows of the latest running products, shoes, watches, and more. Just a boring old building with hardworking staff handing out simple, plain plastic bags.

The Dong-a Building

There was no queue, no commotion, and no hype. It almost felt like this race wasn’t going to happen or we had been conned into some tiny or even non-existent event. Were we getting our money’s worth?

The hallway to go pick up the race pack. Exciting.

The race pack included a nicely printed race program (in the form of a magazine), the bib (with a letter E, indicating my start sequence – A was first), a timing chip, a long-sleeved Asics shirt (with nothing printed on it), and some Sensodyne toothpaste (?).

The race pack. Note the blue back in the top left.

There was also one other thing – a blue, heavy, large plastic bag with a drawstring. It had a sticker in the corner with my bib number on it and some Korean writing, and a big number 77 and “7:30”. Aha! This was a jacket dump bag for me to give to them before the start, which presumably they’d return to me somehow at the finish line. I guess.

I told my wife she didn’t have to wake up early and come to the race start, and that I’d chuck my jeans and jacket in the bag – problem solved. Hopefully.

The Start Line
Just two train stops away was Gwanghwamun – the race start location. I arrived at 6am, even though the flag-off was supposed to be at 8am. I’m always paranoid about being late, especially in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to carry my phone, the train pass, or any wallet. I just carried some big bills under the insole of my shoe for emergencies!

It was just at one degree Celsius. I was wearing jeans, the long-sleeved Asics shirt, and a sweater on top of my running clothes. I was frozen. It was dark and desolate. There was almost nobody there. There was nowhere to stand, nobody to talk to, nothing to do. Except freeze.

But then I saw a Starbucks (there must be more coffee places in Seoul than anywhere else in the world). I went over to it, and to my dismay, it was closed. But right next to it was a Holly’s Coffee, a big local chain. I went in, found a seat (nobody was there) and waited. And waited. Then at about 7:25, I pulled my jeans and sweater off, put them in the blue bag, and headed down. I thought that time on the bag was when I had to dump my bag, and the 77 was where I had to put it (like a box).

As I left the coffee shop, I saw rows and rows of trucks pulling out, each with a big white number on it. Quick, find 77! Suddenly, 77 drove out – what were the odds – and I ran up to him, franticly waving my bag in the air. He crossed his arms, forming a giant X, and floored it, clouds of diesel smoke trailing him. I guess I missed the 7:30 cut-off time. They were rolling out fast. “Well, at the worst, I’ll just lose these clothes, no big deal,” I thought to myself.

“I missed my truck! Where can I put my bag?” I frantically exclaimed, to one of the volunteers working. He understood, but couldn’t speak English – he gestured to his right – I ran there. I saw a crowd of runners, probably 60-70 of them, in a mad frenzy. They were passing their bags over their heads to a lone worker, perched on the back of the covered truck, aimlessly throwing them into the back.

More lost runners like me queued up, and when it became apparent that they wouldn’t all fit in the truck, a mad rush ensued, and I was one of the first to get aggressive: I just launched my bag over everybody, past the poor bag-loader-guy, knowing if it landed in the bed of the truck it would get a spot at the finish line. It was an amusing scene, in a country as orderly and clean as South Korea. Bag spot secured.

You would have thought that with all that rush, the race was about to start. But no, we waited for a good 40 minutes at the start line, shivering in unison, freezing as a group. Small tents were set up on the side of the road which offered wind protection and heat-generation-by-the-herd capabilities. You can have one or the other: your space or a tiny bit of warmth. I opted for the latter, and crowded into the tent, consoled by the other equally cold runners. I like my space, but not in what felt like Antarctic conditions.

Opposite the tent was a mobile outhouse unit that contained at least 10 urinals and 4 toilets on the men’s side. It was like a trailer – not a bad idea, and certainly better than the normal port-a-potties you see at races. Lines were stringing out of it, into the race start area.

Next to that was a giant aluminium cylinder full of something really hot to drink. I left my warm-ish spot in the tent for something even warmer (or so I thought), only to queue for about 7 minutes, and only to start believing if I could just warm up to hypothermic levels, I’d be happy. Ötzi the Iceman was never this cold.

Styrofoam cups full of black and white powder were lined up on the table in front of the tall silver cylinder. I grabbed one, clueless as to what it was, and filled it up with boiling water from the silver thing. It was some kind of hot chocolate coffee stuff. Not good unstirred, and hotter than the core of the sun.

So hot that it was totally undrinkable and ironically amusing. You want a cold race? You got it! Oh, too cold for you? You want a hot drink? You got it! I was getting everything I wished for – in extremes. I chucked that thing on the ground, next to a wall among dozens of others (they’d clean up the cups) and scrambled back to my tent of sheep.

Soon, the masses of people started moving, and we left the tent. It was a slow walk. There were some guys next to me with Chinese flags on their shirts. Desperate for some human interaction, I reached out, “Ni hao ma?” I asked. “Hun hao, hun hao!” they replied, smiling and nodding deferentially, happy someone noticed their nationality.

Considering my bib had an E on it, I was in the last start place. Like most races, the faster runners start in front. Upon registration, I had the option of sending my past race results to them to determine my start spot – otherwise you get thrown in the last one, E.

The crowd continued for maybe 20 metres, before the Korean national anthem came on. We stopped, turned towards some invisible flag (I never saw it), and resumed. In three to four minutes we were up to a trot, passing the start line. It was official!

I hit the start button on my Garmin 910xt, and fell into a pace. Tried to, at least. There were too many people, too slow, too close. I couldn’t get my pace up. I was shooting for a 5:55 pace, which would have had me finish in 4:09:39. It wasn’t happening. Plus, I was staying cold at this glacial speed. I still envied Ötzi – I’m sure the glacier they found him in moved faster than this (and was warmer).

The Race
The first few kilometres snaked through what appeared to be Seoul’s central business district: wide roads, tall buildings, and huge digital billboards. It was still cold, the sun had only been up a few minutes, and the pace was too slow to be really warm. Police dotted the route, about one every 20m, which I thought was an amazing feat.

I found myself running next to a man, probably in his early-60s, and said hi to him. He spoke great English. He worked for a government agency that educated people in third-world countries on environmental issues, and was about to go to Indonesia.

As we ran, he pointed out landmarks, and told me facts about the city. “The area we’re going through used to be very dirty. The river was very polluted. Now it is nice,” and “See these uneven bumps in the road,” gesturing to high undulations in the asphalt created by buses or heavy trucks. “In Korean, this is called ultung-bultung”. I made note, as one wrong step and you could twist your ankle.

He was a seasoned runner. He said he had done more than 60 marathons which I thought was very impressive. Later, I realized by “marathon” he meant “running race”. Nevertheless, he said his record marathon time was 3:30, but that he’d finish this one closer to 4:30. He kept telling me to slow down and save my energy. The biggest rookie mistake in running a full marathon, as we all know, is going out too fast in the beginning, and he was trying to help reign me in. Thing is, I was never going to finish within my goal of 4:10 at this pace. A 6:30 pace produces a 4:34:16 marathon.

I said bye to him and broke away, up the curb onto the sidewalk. This was at about km 6, right along the beginning of Cheonggyecheon-ro, and it was still crowded. Oddly, nobody else was running along the sidewalk. This gave me a nice clear path to run at my own pace.

To my left was a canal, nicely landscaped with sidewalks, trees, and plants. On each side of the canal was a road going opposite directions. On the other side I could see the elite runners going the other way, having completed our stretch and presumably done a U-turn at the end. Bridges crossing the canal, perpendicular to our road, were closed off by police, totally preventing any through traffic.
The buildings were all selling machinery, lots of textiles, construction supplies, and other industrial materials. They were like very run-down malls that only sold one thing, like cloth.

Coming from Singapore, I’m used to drinking a lot of water. I knew my body didn’t need the kind of water I needed in the tropics, so I tried to reduce my water intake, but I must have drank too much because I had to use the bathroom, badly, and I wasn’t sure where to stop.

At about km 9 I saw a line of people scrambling into an old, dirty textile mall. The queue snaked into a dark, narrow hallway, with the men’s bathroom at the end. The wait would be long. But to my right was the women’s, and I wasn’t sure if it would be kosher or not to go in there. In the US or Singapore I wouldn’t care – there weren’t any women around anyway – and I lunged towards it and the guy in front of me said, “No!” and made the X sign with his arms like lorry driver #77.

Another Korean guy behind me said it was ok, and he ducked in. I followed. Then after that, the entire queue piled in. I was out of there in 60 seconds, feeling a bit guilty that a few guys who went in before I did were still in the men’s line. But it’s a race, right?

The crowd had thinned a bit out on the road and I could see I wouldn’t have pace problems due to the crowd – but I knew I’d have other pace problems. Not being too slow, but killing myself early by going out too fast, now that I could.

I realized my past few KM had been at about 5:30 – too fast for my goal. I was shooting for a pace of 5:55, for a finish time of 4:09:39. But I had to make up for lost time in the beginning and for the bathroom break.

Soon, at KM 11.5, we did the U-turn, and were doubling back on the other side of the canal. It was depressing to see the thinning race crowd behind me. Of course we all like to think we’re towards the beginning of the pack, and the sight of a huge majority behind you is good for your ego. But in this case it felt like I was at the end.

On the right side of the road the shops turned into almost a flea market of junk and the oddly interesting artefact. I spotted an old Massachusetts license plate, among other things. I noticed the same police officers that had been on the other side had now crossed over the bridges to our side, dutifully keeping the traffic out of our way.

Approaching 14km (I like this point as it’s 1/3 through the race) I started to get anxious. By that point I had been putting in solid 5:35-5:40 splits, which finally brought my average down to my desired 5:55 pace. But I knew that accelerating my pace early on to make up for a loss before that was about the worst race strategy possible. My judgement and [very limited] experience told me I’d be able to sustain a 5:55 pace until only about km 28-30, maybe 32 if the stars aligned. A better bet would be to bite the bullet and slow down, so as not to risk bonking at 30, and still be able to put in a semi-respectable finish of about 4:20-4:30.

But no, I know myself, I’m not that wise or restrained. I would rather push it, risk it, raise the stakes! I kept up my pace.

At the halfway mark I needed to hit the can again and really couldn’t wait. There were two toilets right there, and I waited, and waited, and waited, for the guy to come out. Finally I had my turn, and ended up putting in a dreadful 6:59 time for that kilometre.

I kept going, feeling good. The crowds along the sides of the road thickened. Hundreds of students, mostly all girls, had these giant foam hands they held out, which people high-fived. I hit every single one I could.

Eventually, I saw some balloons ahead. Those had to be the 4:15 pacers. I caught them and hung with them for a while. If I could finish with these guys I’d be satisfied. They chanted, military-style, in Korean. One word they kept repeating sounded like, “Hwy-TING!!” Turned out to be a Korean-ized version of “fighting”.

Soon enough, we hit KMs 28, 29, and 30. I felt great. I looked back. The balloons were a distant sight. I didn’t even mean to but I had passed what I thought would be my support group.

Yet again, the number of spectators increased. More girls with foam hands. More “hwy-TING!”. Old people from a retirement home on crutches and walkers were out. A homeless guy hungover in the gutter was cheering. I was high-fiving cops. People had set up their own refreshment stands on the road giving out Coke, juice, water, beer, soju, fruit, candy, and all kinds of things. One woman handed me a gel. Another, candy. She said to me, an obvious foreigner, “kuài diǎn!” or “hurry up” in Chinese. Odd but fun. I replied with an appropriate “Xie xie ni!” Even the Chinese were in on the fun.

Another old man, this time easily in his late 60s or early 70s, and I found ourselves running side-by-side, at the same pace. He exclaimed a strong “Hwy-TING!” I echoed it. We did it again. People around us followed. The spectators cheered. Everybody was hyped.

This excitement had me increasing my pace, and at km 32 I waited for the bonk. But how could I bonk when I felt so great? At this point, the casualties started mounting. Guys nursing cramps dotted the curbs. Others, whose paces had degraded into a deathmarch, started looking like zombies. Yet more simply slowed down.

I usually am the one suffering at this point, habitually too fast in the beginning, unable to pace myself. But not this time. I thought only the very experienced runners and the pros put in reverse splits in their marathons. Incredibly, nobody had passed me since about km 30. I was passing everybody.

At km 34 I really let it go. 8km left was nothing. I wasn’t going to bonk. From km 35 on out I’d end up doing an average of 5:01 all the way to the finish line.

I started yelling my own hwy-TING chants, to nobody in particular. I cheered at the spectators who cheered at me. At a drink station, which incidentally are about 50m long to prevent traffic jams, they were handing out sponges. I yelled, “YEAH! I LOVE SPONGES!” with over-the-top enthusiasm and excessive excitement. The kids manning the station laughed and cheered me on.

At KM 40, with only 2 to go, the time read 3:52. That meant I would have had to run the last 2 km of this marathon in 4 minutes each if I was to finish in under 4 hours. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be possible for me. I regretted the time lost in the beginning and for the toilet breaks. But what could I do, except hammer it from here on out?

I accelerated into a near-sprint. It became almost dangerous as I had to navigate the walking dead and other casualties you find at the tail-end of a marathon. Over a bridge. Past Lotte World. More sponges. More yelling. More excitement.

At around 41.5 I came up behind two guys who were holding a third between them, as he limped his way in. A good show of sportsmanship, especially since they were probably all strangers. But that didn’t stop me from exclaiming my excitement through more top-of-the-lungs yelling, “Hurry up! Let’s go! Almost there!” It was a mix of much-needed encouragement and enthusiasm, in this field of silent plodders, and uncalled-for and insensitive pushing of those who clearly are at their limit, almost hubristic.

But I didn’t care. It was my celebration of success, my realization of personal victory. It was never about ‘just finishing’ but finishing respectably, or I daresay fast (for me). It was vindication. It was redemption from my own deathmarch in 2013, resulting in the pathetic (for me) time of 4:57.

About 100m from the finish line

 The race ended in Jamsil stadium. To get in, the route crossed through the parking lot. Barricades kept the thousands of spectators away. I increased my already-fast pace (I did km 42 at 4:50) to a real sprint. A man in the crowd, clearly also American, said loudly, “Well he sure looks confident!”

We entered the stadium arch, and had to do about ¾ a lap. I took this a probably my one-and-only chance to do an all-out sprint in an Olympic stadium with thousands of people watching. I pretended I was in the Olympics, and actually angled my body around the first corner, leaning in, following the inner-most lane.

On the train back to the hotel

My result

A happy finish at 4:02:33 by my Garmin; official time of 4:02:30. Average pace of 5:43. I didn’t think I was capable of that at the time.

4:02:30

In summary, I had a great race. I underestimated my own training and potential. I knew the weather would help, but I underestimated just how much it would help. I overestimated how much I thought I needed to drink.

I wished for a cold race, and froze at the beginning. I wished for a fast race but set a pace that was too conservative.

Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

See my full Strava record of the run here.

Rating

What I liked:

• Amazing drink stations (long and not crowded; raisins, bananas, water, Pocari Sweat)
• Great crowd
• Alcohol
• Cool weather
• No narrow roads, paths, sidewalks - we had two lanes at all times, minimum
• Totally flat route
• Hwy-ting!
• Cheap entry (compared to Singapore)
• Easy race pack collection

What could be improved:

• No finisher shirt
• Not very nice medals
• Difficult registration process
• Poor pre-race communications (email)
• Basic user experience problems on the website
• Not the most scenic route