Crossing the finish line

I did not run at this year’s Gyeongju International Marathon for the first time in three years. The recent persistence of hypotension and some personal circumstances have abruptly cut off the 12-week training for what would have been my half marathon. But I was there at gun time - to witness the rush of adrenaline as thousands of runners disperse into the distance, and to cheer for my two young daughters who proudly pinned a tiny Philippine flag on their race bib.

Jajah and Marxia running their second Gyeongju International Marathon

Two years ago, I also wrote an article about running as my life’s metaphor. Running is all about endurance, and that is basically how I get through life’s difficulties as well. What I like about running is the common ground among runners – the silent motivation to reach one’s goals without the dictates of competition (except for elite runners). The race sets off and you race against time, and not against each other. 

The elite runners at gun time.

Korea is a perfect ground for running; the routes are mostly flat and the weather is cool in the fall and spring, making these seasons filled up with weekend marathons. In Gyeongju, the rich infusion of history and culture makes the city a great venue, especially for foreigners, who get to pass along several historical relics during the race. 

Running is a favorite pastime among Koreans, being avid about wellness and sports. Their overt fondness for marathons draws admiration. You see flocks of spruced up girls running alongside, a couple at their senescence, a paraplegic on a wheelchair – all dauntlessly weathering the distance. 

Their fondness for the sport is understandable. Running bears a significant part in the Korean history during the 1936 Berlin Olympics when Sohn Kee Chung took the gold. But Japan had the official gold credit since Korea was under the rule of the Japanese Empire. Sohn expressed his dissent by refusing to sign his name in Japanese characters and bowed his head in protest at the awarding ceremony. He later became a heroic symbol of nationalism and patriotic sentiments. 

Sohn Kee Chung holding the oak leaves 

to cover the Japanese flag emblazoned on his chest.

Running also brings a patriotic wave for me. I wear my flag conspicuously above my race bib - my tradition each time I run in Korea - which is the best part of the race. I hope to get back to running soon. Again, I will run against myself and my own time. I will also run with others who live the same metaphor as mine. After all, it is a discipline that has nothing to do with speed, social status, educational achievements, or political affiliations. It is about enduring the painful process of getting to the finish line that bears witness to the persevering spirit.

Photo credits:

http://www.eurowon.com/2011/10/sohn-kee-chung-la-gran-leyenda-del.html

http://marathon.donga.com/img/gyong_poster.jpg

Running in Gyeongju – a travel back in time

Dr. Yong Larrazabal recently wrote an article for SunStar Cebu about his feat at the Gyeongju International Marathon in South Korea last October 16. It was a notable achievement for him, having set a new personal record of 3:45, beating his previous 3:47 at the Seoul International Marathon in March last year.

He was right about running in Korea; the routes are mostly flat and the weather is relatively cool in the fall and spring, making these seasons all cramped with weekend marathons. And he was right about Gyeongju too. The city is a perfect venue for running, especially for foreigners; it features a rich infusion of history and culture. And unlike metropolitan Seoul, it affords an urban-yet-laidback lifestyle. It was the capital of the ancient South Korean dynasty of Silla – an age-old prominence that gave the city its rightful entitlement as an “open museum”

Pre-race assembly at Hwangseong Park

But he wasn’t right when he said he was the only Filipino in the race. I was there too, however, obscured among the thousands of eager runners - restless and enthusiastic as the gun time approaches. And I wore the same tiny Philippine flag I had on proudly at the Incheon International Marathon last year. I took time to buy felt papers of yellow, red, blue, and white at the university store, cut them into shapes and glued the pieces together to make that gallant symbol of my pride.

Proudly donning the national colors

I guess Dr. Yong and I hinged on the same wave of feeling of being the only Filipino among the 10,000 runners coursing through the downtown, along ancient historical relics, rice fields, and highways. But unlike me, Dr. Yong is one distinguished Filipino runner/eye surgeon back home. I could liken him to the celebrated Japanese runner/novelist Haruki Murakami whose book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running has greatly inspired me to take running as my life’s metaphor. And he has already been trailing clouds of reputed glory both in running and in his medical practice. He and his wife, the renowned Donna Cruz, have been running together in several marathons both local and abroad, making them a celebrity running couple whose merits as regular runners are measures of their métier for the sport that tests discipline and endurance.

In Korea, road running is also a favorite pastime - Koreans being avid about wellness and sports. Their fondness for marathons inspire admiration – you see a bunch of spruced up girls in pretty ponytails, a couple at their senescence, a paraplegic on a wheelchair, a father and a daughter pacing alongside – all weathering the distance with dauntless spirits. But these all make sense in a health-conscious society and a sport that bears significance in the Korean history.

Daereungwon Tomb Complex: Gyeongju's famous landmark

Anapji Pond

1936 Berlin Olympics: Korean marathoner Sohn Kee-Chung took the gold. But the country was under the rule of the Japanese Empire and so the flag on his uniform wasn’t Korea’s and Japan had the official gold credit. Expressing his dissent to the orders of the colonial government, Sohn refused to sign his name in Japanese characters and bowed his head in protest at the awarding ceremony. When Dong-a Ilbo, one of the major newspapers in Korea whose nationalist founder Kim Sung-soo became the country’s vice-president in 1951, published a photographed of Sohn with a blotted out image of the Japanese flag on his uniform, the colonial government was infuriated. The publication was suspended for nine months and eight people affiliated with the newspaper were imprisoned. Sohn later become a heroic symbol of nationalism and patriotic sentiments.

While we have nothing so monumental and profound a historical account in marathon as the Koreans do, running in a foreign country brings a patriotic wave. I wear my flag conspicuously above my race bib – being certain that however obscured runner that I was, I have pattered dusts of Filipino resplendence on this part of the world. And that is the best part of the race.

Now I’m back to my corner in Iksan City, where I work as a professor, contemplating on a selection from a number of marathon schedules in the spring time. By then, I’d be in Gyeongju serving a new academic ground in a city that brings everyone to a travel back in time. Dr. Yong might be coming back for the Seoul International Marathon in four months. I wish to see him at the finish line and cheer for a highly esteemed fellowman and a former boss.

Life’s Metaphor

A line from Oprah Winfrey goes, “Running is the greatest metaphor for life because you get out of it what you put into it”. In running, I have one favorite word: endurance. And that's basically how I get through life as well – the power to withstand life’s trials and difficulties.

Last week, I had my first international feat at running, at the 11th Incheon International Marathon in South Korea where I’ve been for the past seven months as an expatriate. I signed up for only 5K since I had little time to train; besides, I haven’t tried running on a very cold weather. It’s late March but there hasn’t been any sign of spring yet.

The start and finish line.

Weeks before the event, i only managed to run a total of 12. 4 miles, a lame preparation for an important milestone in life, especially for someone who is no longer young enough to depend on agility and strength alone. Again, going out for a run on a cold weather was a struggle. But I had to run nevertheless and get used to the weather or I wouldn’t have made it to the race day.

I’m practically a newbie (and a late-bloomer) at running. I started just over a couple of years ago, after more than a year of bout with hyperthyroidism. So it was like a form of resurgence, a reawakening of a dispirited self. Since then, I felt that every time I run, I purge myself of the remnants of the disease that gripped my body with heavy night sweats and palpitations. Running has helped me claim back the vitality I lost to an unseen enemy whose battle is silent yet costly.

Soon I found myself signing up for marathons, which I have in my “life’s bucket list”. I bought myself a good pair of running shoes and dry-fit shirts for weekend runs with Chris, who was more than happy to see me back in shape.

At the subway plying the Incheon Line 1, you could actually point out who were heading to the Munhak World Cup Stadium – those with timing chips attached to their shoelaces while others had race packs in hand. I got to exchange a smile, a guess-we’re-heading-the-same-way kind of smile, with a middle-aged man who caught me staring at the timing chip on his shoes. I felt somehow we understood each other; besides he must’ve noticed we were both wearing Mizuno, like the couple of other runners in the same car.

The Munhak Stadium hosted some matches in the 2002 World Cup 

where Ji Sung Park scored a victory against Portugal.

That’s what I like about running. There is one common denominator among runners – the silent vigor and the motivation to reach one’s goal, without the dictum of competition (except, of course, for elite runners competing against their rivals). The race sets off and you race against time, and not against each other.

Running has also become like a sort of spiritual process for me. I get to feel the cold breeze and watch the outline of trees against the blue sky as I run. From these, I imbibe the inspiration to think, write and believe - on the basis of reason and emotions, that running is my life’s metaphor.  And at the culmination of each run, I feel a sense of gratitude, a feeling that I usually carry over to the next run.

Yesterday, when I did a sort of reconnaissance run around Hamyeol, where our university moved all foreign professors’ accommodations, I saw how perfect the place is for running. A short distance from the campus is an endless row of orchard, covered by a thick morning haze. I stopped by the roadside to watch an old stooped woman pruning her plants and placidly snipping off some weeds from her garden.

In What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami writes that no matter how long mundane some action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes contemplative, even meditative. And I say amen.  

Wearing the Philippine flag was the best part of the race.

I have five weeks till the 2011 National Half Marathon in Busan, and I have to cover a longer mileage to prepare myself for another arduous test of endurance. And as I stretch out over a distance, space, and time, I’ll give heed to the silent and often inconspicuous sources of inspiration along the roadside. It’ll be spring soon; maybe just a couple of weeks more and the trees will start growing back their leaves obliterated by winter.  I’m glad I have the spring to stir my imagination as I gear up for Busan. Again, I’ll run against myself and my own time; I’ll also run with others who live the same metaphor as mine.