Do you remember your first time? I’m not talking about THAT! I mean the first time you ran in a marathon (26.2 miles or 42.195 kilometers). I remember mine despite the passage of almost 28 years. I had done dozens of 5Ks and 10Ks, and a few half-marathons when I decided to give it a try. I ramped up my training for a few weeks. Then, without telling another person, I drove from Austin to Dallas, rented a cheap hotel room and took part in the White Rock Marathon. My time of 2:48:02 was good enough for 68th place overall.
I want to make abundantly clear that I am not a superstar in racing flats. I have no illusions of greatness. Even at my best, there were several echelons of runners—male and female alike—above me. Still, that was a fine start to my marathoning career. My running buddies back in Austin could hardly believe it. I invested these races with considerable meaning; they validated me and my life in an almost ineffable way. I found them deeply satisfying. Nonetheless, I honestly think my days of running marathons, 43 of them, have come to a close. It started with a bang on December 4, 1988 and ended with a piteous whimper on March 20, 2016.
There are three main reasons for stopping: (1) I am 63 years old, (2) both knees have been surgically repaired, and (3) I only run 2 miles per day. That is a very long way from even rudimentary marathon preparation. No coach alive would urge his runners to attempt a marathon on such minimal training. The results will be bad, and you just might hurt yourself. But since moving to Korea in late 2007, I have been in a place that is not remotely conducive to long-distance running. Come check out Gangnam, a dense district in the very dense city of Seoul. You will understand. And I confess, even if I were in an ideal area—right along the Han River, for example—I doubt I would be eager to resume long-distance training runs. That is firmly in the past.
I took part in 33 marathons in the USA and another 10 here. In all of the former, I had done adequate—yet far from optimal—training. Regarding the latter, for the seventh time I would run in the Seoul International Marathon. It is by far the largest (28,000 participants) and oldest race in Korea. I also did one in Daegu, one in Suwon and a smaller one here in Seoul.
My decision, although necessarily tentative, was made several months ago. Running marathons is not something you can do forever, although I sternly refuse to say the O word (“old”). So everything about this race was done with the awareness that it would not be repeated. I’m always amazed at how people waste energy before the gun goes off; save it for the race, you idiots! Then comes my routine of running and walking, running and walking. This is what I must do since I am not in marathon shape. I run as much as I can and walk when I must. I muddle my way toward the finish line. I remember with a nostalgia that almost makes me weep when I could run the whole race, hardly slowing down in the last 10K. That was in my late 20s and early 30s.
In anticipation of this special day, I had a little banner printed with “43rd and final marathon / March 20, 2016 / Seoul, Korea” sewn on the back of a gray, sleeveless University of Texas T-shirt. Several people during the race asked me, “Why?” My reasons have already been stated.
The conditions were good, but it was a tough race. I was having to stop and walk relatively early, and my left knee was unstable and causing me problems. OK, so the time would not be impressive. But there was only one issue—was I going to reach the finish line? Of that there could be no doubt. I am reminded of a friend from Texas named Tommy Cornelison. Although he was a good runner, much better than I, he had a rather picky nature. If things were not just right, Tommy would quit. In the middle of a race, he’d just bail out and hope for better results the next time. I was never like him; if I start, I will finish.
As always, I felt grateful to the volunteers, without whom such events could not happen. In fact, many of those handing out water and doing other basic tasks were high school students who were there just to add one more item to their “spec list” in the hope of impressing the adults who make decisions about college admissions. The race course passed by several of the sites we visited in our August 15, 2015 excursion around Seoul to commemorate 70 years of freedom from Japanese colonial rule: Tapgol Park, Bosingak, Keijo Cultural Center and City Hall.
We were running along the south side of Cheonggyecheong (a rather distinctive urban stream) when a building caught my attention. I stopped and took a look. Needless to say, I would not have done so if I were a young, well-conditioned marathoner. On this day, losing 30 seconds was inconsequential. I had found the 3-star Central Tourist Hotel, where I stayed during my brief visit to the city in 1994. I made a mental note to return later and reminisce.
Somewhere in the 34th kilometer of the race, I had an accident. Exhausted and trying to conserve energy with every step, I somehow tripped on a marker in the middle of the street. Down I tumbled, just catching myself with the palms of my hands. I must have twisted as I fell because I somehow gashed the outside of my right knee. A fellow runner helped me to my feet.
Let’s just say the last part of the race was difficult. Of course, lots of others were hurting. An ambulance came for one guy sprawled on the sidewalk, and numerous runners had stopped to seek treatment for blisters, muscle pulls or what have you. Mercifully, we neared the stadium which, come to think of it, was first put to use when Seoul hosted the Summer Olympics—1988, when I got into marathoning. We entered the stadium and did 3/4 of a lap before a fairly large gathering. My time of 4:31:56 was almost two hours worse than the PR I had set in San Antonio back in '92. It had been a grueling experience and yet one with which I was familiar.
The next day, I realized I was sunburned. My left knee was visibly swollen, causing me to limp. There were bruises on both hands, and others that had manifested overnight on my left wrist and right elbow. One toe had a blister. Except for the knee, this is minor stuff.
I really do not remember when I started dedicating my marathons to friends, loved ones or people I had reason to admire and respect. The honoree this time was Gary Scoggins, whom I have known since 1963 when we were 5th grade students at Hexter Elementary School in Dallas.
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