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