"Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up."
— Dean Karnazes
Sometimes the most successful races are a result of poor planning and preparation. After several weeks of long runs and being sick, it didn’t help that the best pre-race meal I could find within walking distance of my hotel in Beijing was Pizza Hut. I struggled through what appeared to be spaghetti bolognaise then managed a few hours of sleep. But just before 3am we were walking to the buses that would take us to the Great Wall of China.
If I had never been there before, I might have turned around and gone home. Nestled in the foliage high above the road, The Great Wall of China scales mountains and descends into valleys for more than 5,000 miles. It is truly one of the wonders of the world and it is a wonder anyone would want to run a marathon on it, let alone their first. Yet, there stood hundreds of souls hungry for the chance to ascend the mighty steps, not once, but twice over the course of 26.2 miles and some of them were going for their first marathon finish!
The horn sounded the start of the 10K, half-marathon and marathon races. Oddly, the race went out much like a 5K – very strung out with little packs of runners. Determined to take it easy, I was surprised at how well I moved down the road. But the first challenge – a 4.5 kilometer assent up a mountain road, emerged from the misty cloud cover. Being cautious, I hugged the turns to cut distance while others drifted across the road. One such runner I immediately identified as military due to his stride. They always run very rhythmically. We chatted for a bit and he confided that this was his first marathon. “We will probably be battling back and forth all day,” he told me. I simply smiled and pulled away. Another runner from Britain must have been sleeping at the gun judging by the pace he went by me at 5K. But it was no matter; the Great Wall loomed before us, the ultimate equalizer for climbers and pure runners.
For the next 3 kilometers, the Great Wall climbed and fell over the ridges high above the valley. Much of this section was restored, and the stones were congruent and smooth. Some of the path, however, consisted of various varieties of stone with random “steps” chipped out. Treacherous drop-offs slid for hundreds of feet on each side. Occasionally there was a rope for aid. A camera man told me I was in 10th place. I asked if that was overall or marathon, and he replied that it was overall. That was good news. I had taken this section relatively easy. Where others hammered up each step with pristine running form, I ran where I could and power-walked the stairs. After all, some of them were two feet high each! This portion of the course was only 7K in, so why waste it all early? For every 1-2 seconds others gained by running hard, I made it up on the flats and downhills, and conserved energy (and more importantly, muscle integrity) and was still passing runners. That is, until the final descent. A steep, dirt trail dropped into a section of terrible stone steps. Although I was ready to pick up the pace to make up for the slow ascent, a runner was just ahead of me blocking the trail, and I was forced to remain calm for a while longer.
The next several kilometers off of the wall took us out to the villages. I was in 5th with at least two half-marathon runners ahead. Whether there were one or two marathon runners among them, I could not say. But I could see 4th place ahead of me (a half-marathoner). Finally, I said, “What the hell are you doing? You are kicking down half-marathon runners at the 10K mark. Chill out or you are going to be on the side of the road.” So I chilled and started to feel better. I knew marathoners were just behind me but relax as I did, they didn’t get much closer. I was too busy to care anyway, because the local children would laugh and run next to me as I passed their homes. Some sprinted to keep up and others lasted for 400m or more. For a few moments, I could forget that this was a race I came to do on a weekend and remember that life is simpler than that. It was much needed 10 miles in to the race. Not everyone shared the children’s enthusiasm. I would sometimes come up on a group of police officers and a teenage volunteer who were all supposed to be directing me through a turn. They would stare motionless at me, and when I raised my arms in a shrug and asked, “Which way?” I was greeted with no response – just a blank stare. Other times, I would come upon couplets of girls, who probably had been standing there for hours waiting to “direct” runners, and I would smile, wave, and shout a greeting, only to watch them crumble with giggles. It was amazing I picked the right direction each time.
A long, steady climb forced me to slow even more, and glancing back over my shoulder I could see that a marathoner had gotten close (the half-marathon runners had since looped back to the finish). I figured if he was going to catch me because I refused to push this long hill so early in the race (we had just crossed the half-way point), then it was his. But catch he did not as the hill raised above the valley. At the summit, I looked down the river and could see more than a mile of winding road, all of it barren of racers. I knew then that I was either in first place with two men close behind, or in second, but more than seven minutes off the lead. I decided 2nd it was and pushed the downhill to put as much distance between me and the others as I could. On the decent I was greeted by on-coming runners as the road merged again with the out-bound course. “Great job! Only one ahead!” a guy shouted, confirming my suspicions. That was cool with me. This phantom leader had such a gap on me that I could only worry about myself and those coming up behind me.
Never have I been so surprised during running than I was one kilometer later when I rounded a curve and saw the leader on the hill above me. Having passed me before the Wall section some 22 kilometers ago, I thought he was gone, but the early pounding on the wall had ended him. He feebly jogged while local children circled him as vultures circle dying animals in the desert. I crept closer and he resorted to a walk, hands on his hips. Never one to be joyful over other’s suffering, I must admit I smiled when he stopped and hunched over. There is some self-satisfaction in knowing you have paced better than someone. I gave a pat on the back, shouted his name and some encouragement (names were printed on the bibs), and became the meat the vulture children circled as I continued up the hill. On the switchback, I saw that I had put several hundred meters between us in just over a minute and no others were in sight. My glory was short lived. The hunter became the hunted and I ran now not calm but anxious.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!! Trying to put some time between me and the others on a downhill, some bee or wasp crash-landed into my jersey and stung my shoulder. I used the pulsing adrenaline to get down the hill. My pace was much faster than normal marathon pace, but I knew the time at the beginning and end of the race were slowed significantly by the wall. The road turned to dirt and eventually the path was so rutted that the lead motorcycle was almost tipping and I had to pass him up. It took him a mile to catch back up. The path then turned to a trail worthy of Colorado running and I was back in my element. Soon I was on the road again intertwined with half-marathon runners on the way to their finish. I tried to make a game of it, passing as many runners as I could, but the home stretch was very long, the heat was increasing, and I had one last obstacle left to conquer: The Great Wall of China.
Some sadistic race organizer 10 years ago thought that at 20 miles the best way to finish this race was to send us past the finish line and up and over the wall again in the much more difficult “backward” direction. Blazing through the square, the loudspeaker announced my arrival as the 1st place marathoner and cheers from spectators and those already finished (half, 10K, and 5K) were deafening. I gained the wall with the adrenaline pumping and a reminder from the MC that I still had 2600 steps to negotiate. But the wall was my reward for pushing the pace. I am a fairly decent walker (no sir name puns intended) and I figured if I could get to the wall in good shape, I could pace well and use the final downhill to finish strong. As my toes graced the first step, I realized instantly that I was sorely mistaken.
A million white hot needles pierced my quads and calf muscles which each step. Sweat poured off my nose and landed on my shoes. Each step was similar to that of a climber hunched over high on Everest. Step. Huff. Heave. Huff. Step. I kept glancing back to the bridge to see if the next runner had gained the wall. Vomit threatened to expel with each breath, and I wanted to sit down very badly. The climb never seemed to relent. Making it worse were the numerous tourists coming at me. Some downhill sections were so sketchy that you needed to slow and use the rope. I couldn’t do either because my legs were shot and wouldn’t brake and old Chinese men and women were using the only rope and footing available. Several times I teetered on the edge of plummeting down the mountain. A section of steps went skyward again and I contemplated stopping. Immediately I heard the voice of the great Dean Karnazes (a voice that, during a marathon, is somewhat spiritual like those hearing God during other trying times in their lives).
Run when you can. I did Dean, maybe too much, too fast.
Walk if you have to. I am walking, damn it!
Crawl if you must. I…ok. And crawl I did. One hand over the other, all fours on the steps. Now it seems captivating, but at the time I was certainly glad no members of the press were snapping pictures of me withering up the steps like a crippled dog. It was easy to see how this wall had repelled invaders for centuries. Dramatic as I am being, the steps eventually did relent and although there were several more significant sections of climbing, the worst was over. As I ran the down slopes and relatively flat portions, I justified my agony by saying that others were also struggling up the same wall at that very moment. A camera man sitting in the middle of the wall jumped up, apparently surprised to see a runner (it had been quite some time since we last went through here). “Good on ya mate! The first one!” he quipped.
“I guess so,” I muttered.
“Got quite a lead too, eh?”
My heart skipped. Really, could I still be ahead? I was certain that six hours had passed and I was the last runner left on the wall. I asked if he could see anyone else and he told me, “Not yet.” I ran on, inspired, glancing back more often than necessary and even though I could see much of the Wall portion of the course, I saw no runners. All that remained was a downhill section of road. If I could stay vertical, I could win. But alas, it was not so easy. Although my pace returned to a regular run, a knot in my stomach and fried legs prevented me from cashing in on the spectacular downhill. By 39k, I was praying for flat land again. I had been running some of my miles in the 6 minute range, yet I estimated that I would be over 8 minutes/mile for the whole race. That couldn’t be right, could it? Oh yeah, the Great Wall. It slows you down a bit. From one kilometer to go, I could see the bridge leading to the wall. If anyone had been able to see me, they would have caught me, and they would have deserved it. I was far too fixated on watching runners start the climb to the Wall. The thought of going over that part of the course made me want to hurl. Little did I know they would still be starting it more than three hours later.
The finish line noise was amazing. Cameras crowded in and not more than a couple of feet after crossing the line I was corralled by the organizer who choked me with a flower wreath around my neck. Reporters asked dozens of questions as I was pushed towards cameras and away from the line. It was a very unique experience and the questions blew me away. Was it difficult? Yes. What was the most difficult part? The Wall. Demographics, where do you work, etc. Then a Chinese man asked me if I thought the current swine flu pandemic (which was limiting the number of visas available) affected the race outcome. I paused, reflecting on what it meant to me and others to be here racing.
True, I had run my slowest time in an open marathon ever, but the course was challenging and I only pushed as hard as needed to win – it was more than 10 min to second place, which was awarded to an able trail runner from Colorado. If I put in more hill work and actually attempted a single speed workout in the last year, I think I could challenge the course record. But I was very pleased with my tactics at this point in the season and couldn’t have cared less if that time got me 1st or 5th. I decided to not draw more attention to his question by dignifying it with a straight response. “I come to a race not to win but to challenge myself. Winning doesn’t matter. Everyone gets a medal out here.” If you want to win this race, come on out next year. We can’t judge a race by a time on paper. You never know how you would have done that day in those conditions. I have looked up many races where I was certain my best would have won it and I have won races knowing full well that if some stud showed up I wouldn’t have been the victor. You just have to run your best and let the chips fall where they may. There are bigger experiences in running than crossing the line before someone else.
In some ways, the hour after the race was as trying as some portions of the race. The Subway sandwiches available to runners upon finishing were mocking me: Just out of reach. The questions from reporters relented but the pictures with other runners didn’t end for quite some time. I was thankful when a friend slipped me a bottle of water because I was starting to feel dizzy. When people found out I was living in China, I got even more pictures. I finally was able to change but couldn’t call home because of the awards ceremony. All I wanted to do was tell my wife I had won. The actual winning didn’t matter to me. She has won enough races for the both of us. But I didn’t want to tell her that I was beaten, that I had given up on myself. The thought of home and running for those who want to hear my story spurred me on when I otherwise could have slowed.
Every marathon I finish, I take the medal and I put it around my bedpost. It stays there until I complete my next race. Sometimes that is a week or two, and sometimes that duration spans a few months. This lets me remember the race, the course, the pain, the thrill. I respect it and it gears me for the next one. But this time, I think I am going to leave the 2009 GWM medal up for a year – 365 days to remember conquering the wall, even if just for a day.
— Dean Karnazes
Sometimes the most successful races are a result of poor planning and preparation. After several weeks of long runs and being sick, it didn’t help that the best pre-race meal I could find within walking distance of my hotel in Beijing was Pizza Hut. I struggled through what appeared to be spaghetti bolognaise then managed a few hours of sleep. But just before 3am we were walking to the buses that would take us to the Great Wall of China.
If I had never been there before, I might have turned around and gone home. Nestled in the foliage high above the road, The Great Wall of China scales mountains and descends into valleys for more than 5,000 miles. It is truly one of the wonders of the world and it is a wonder anyone would want to run a marathon on it, let alone their first. Yet, there stood hundreds of souls hungry for the chance to ascend the mighty steps, not once, but twice over the course of 26.2 miles and some of them were going for their first marathon finish!
The horn sounded the start of the 10K, half-marathon and marathon races. Oddly, the race went out much like a 5K – very strung out with little packs of runners. Determined to take it easy, I was surprised at how well I moved down the road. But the first challenge – a 4.5 kilometer assent up a mountain road, emerged from the misty cloud cover. Being cautious, I hugged the turns to cut distance while others drifted across the road. One such runner I immediately identified as military due to his stride. They always run very rhythmically. We chatted for a bit and he confided that this was his first marathon. “We will probably be battling back and forth all day,” he told me. I simply smiled and pulled away. Another runner from Britain must have been sleeping at the gun judging by the pace he went by me at 5K. But it was no matter; the Great Wall loomed before us, the ultimate equalizer for climbers and pure runners.
For the next 3 kilometers, the Great Wall climbed and fell over the ridges high above the valley. Much of this section was restored, and the stones were congruent and smooth. Some of the path, however, consisted of various varieties of stone with random “steps” chipped out. Treacherous drop-offs slid for hundreds of feet on each side. Occasionally there was a rope for aid. A camera man told me I was in 10th place. I asked if that was overall or marathon, and he replied that it was overall. That was good news. I had taken this section relatively easy. Where others hammered up each step with pristine running form, I ran where I could and power-walked the stairs. After all, some of them were two feet high each! This portion of the course was only 7K in, so why waste it all early? For every 1-2 seconds others gained by running hard, I made it up on the flats and downhills, and conserved energy (and more importantly, muscle integrity) and was still passing runners. That is, until the final descent. A steep, dirt trail dropped into a section of terrible stone steps. Although I was ready to pick up the pace to make up for the slow ascent, a runner was just ahead of me blocking the trail, and I was forced to remain calm for a while longer.
The next several kilometers off of the wall took us out to the villages. I was in 5th with at least two half-marathon runners ahead. Whether there were one or two marathon runners among them, I could not say. But I could see 4th place ahead of me (a half-marathoner). Finally, I said, “What the hell are you doing? You are kicking down half-marathon runners at the 10K mark. Chill out or you are going to be on the side of the road.” So I chilled and started to feel better. I knew marathoners were just behind me but relax as I did, they didn’t get much closer. I was too busy to care anyway, because the local children would laugh and run next to me as I passed their homes. Some sprinted to keep up and others lasted for 400m or more. For a few moments, I could forget that this was a race I came to do on a weekend and remember that life is simpler than that. It was much needed 10 miles in to the race. Not everyone shared the children’s enthusiasm. I would sometimes come up on a group of police officers and a teenage volunteer who were all supposed to be directing me through a turn. They would stare motionless at me, and when I raised my arms in a shrug and asked, “Which way?” I was greeted with no response – just a blank stare. Other times, I would come upon couplets of girls, who probably had been standing there for hours waiting to “direct” runners, and I would smile, wave, and shout a greeting, only to watch them crumble with giggles. It was amazing I picked the right direction each time.
A long, steady climb forced me to slow even more, and glancing back over my shoulder I could see that a marathoner had gotten close (the half-marathon runners had since looped back to the finish). I figured if he was going to catch me because I refused to push this long hill so early in the race (we had just crossed the half-way point), then it was his. But catch he did not as the hill raised above the valley. At the summit, I looked down the river and could see more than a mile of winding road, all of it barren of racers. I knew then that I was either in first place with two men close behind, or in second, but more than seven minutes off the lead. I decided 2nd it was and pushed the downhill to put as much distance between me and the others as I could. On the decent I was greeted by on-coming runners as the road merged again with the out-bound course. “Great job! Only one ahead!” a guy shouted, confirming my suspicions. That was cool with me. This phantom leader had such a gap on me that I could only worry about myself and those coming up behind me.
Never have I been so surprised during running than I was one kilometer later when I rounded a curve and saw the leader on the hill above me. Having passed me before the Wall section some 22 kilometers ago, I thought he was gone, but the early pounding on the wall had ended him. He feebly jogged while local children circled him as vultures circle dying animals in the desert. I crept closer and he resorted to a walk, hands on his hips. Never one to be joyful over other’s suffering, I must admit I smiled when he stopped and hunched over. There is some self-satisfaction in knowing you have paced better than someone. I gave a pat on the back, shouted his name and some encouragement (names were printed on the bibs), and became the meat the vulture children circled as I continued up the hill. On the switchback, I saw that I had put several hundred meters between us in just over a minute and no others were in sight. My glory was short lived. The hunter became the hunted and I ran now not calm but anxious.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!! Trying to put some time between me and the others on a downhill, some bee or wasp crash-landed into my jersey and stung my shoulder. I used the pulsing adrenaline to get down the hill. My pace was much faster than normal marathon pace, but I knew the time at the beginning and end of the race were slowed significantly by the wall. The road turned to dirt and eventually the path was so rutted that the lead motorcycle was almost tipping and I had to pass him up. It took him a mile to catch back up. The path then turned to a trail worthy of Colorado running and I was back in my element. Soon I was on the road again intertwined with half-marathon runners on the way to their finish. I tried to make a game of it, passing as many runners as I could, but the home stretch was very long, the heat was increasing, and I had one last obstacle left to conquer: The Great Wall of China.
Some sadistic race organizer 10 years ago thought that at 20 miles the best way to finish this race was to send us past the finish line and up and over the wall again in the much more difficult “backward” direction. Blazing through the square, the loudspeaker announced my arrival as the 1st place marathoner and cheers from spectators and those already finished (half, 10K, and 5K) were deafening. I gained the wall with the adrenaline pumping and a reminder from the MC that I still had 2600 steps to negotiate. But the wall was my reward for pushing the pace. I am a fairly decent walker (no sir name puns intended) and I figured if I could get to the wall in good shape, I could pace well and use the final downhill to finish strong. As my toes graced the first step, I realized instantly that I was sorely mistaken.
A million white hot needles pierced my quads and calf muscles which each step. Sweat poured off my nose and landed on my shoes. Each step was similar to that of a climber hunched over high on Everest. Step. Huff. Heave. Huff. Step. I kept glancing back to the bridge to see if the next runner had gained the wall. Vomit threatened to expel with each breath, and I wanted to sit down very badly. The climb never seemed to relent. Making it worse were the numerous tourists coming at me. Some downhill sections were so sketchy that you needed to slow and use the rope. I couldn’t do either because my legs were shot and wouldn’t brake and old Chinese men and women were using the only rope and footing available. Several times I teetered on the edge of plummeting down the mountain. A section of steps went skyward again and I contemplated stopping. Immediately I heard the voice of the great Dean Karnazes (a voice that, during a marathon, is somewhat spiritual like those hearing God during other trying times in their lives).
Run when you can. I did Dean, maybe too much, too fast.
Walk if you have to. I am walking, damn it!
Crawl if you must. I…ok. And crawl I did. One hand over the other, all fours on the steps. Now it seems captivating, but at the time I was certainly glad no members of the press were snapping pictures of me withering up the steps like a crippled dog. It was easy to see how this wall had repelled invaders for centuries. Dramatic as I am being, the steps eventually did relent and although there were several more significant sections of climbing, the worst was over. As I ran the down slopes and relatively flat portions, I justified my agony by saying that others were also struggling up the same wall at that very moment. A camera man sitting in the middle of the wall jumped up, apparently surprised to see a runner (it had been quite some time since we last went through here). “Good on ya mate! The first one!” he quipped.
“I guess so,” I muttered.
“Got quite a lead too, eh?”
My heart skipped. Really, could I still be ahead? I was certain that six hours had passed and I was the last runner left on the wall. I asked if he could see anyone else and he told me, “Not yet.” I ran on, inspired, glancing back more often than necessary and even though I could see much of the Wall portion of the course, I saw no runners. All that remained was a downhill section of road. If I could stay vertical, I could win. But alas, it was not so easy. Although my pace returned to a regular run, a knot in my stomach and fried legs prevented me from cashing in on the spectacular downhill. By 39k, I was praying for flat land again. I had been running some of my miles in the 6 minute range, yet I estimated that I would be over 8 minutes/mile for the whole race. That couldn’t be right, could it? Oh yeah, the Great Wall. It slows you down a bit. From one kilometer to go, I could see the bridge leading to the wall. If anyone had been able to see me, they would have caught me, and they would have deserved it. I was far too fixated on watching runners start the climb to the Wall. The thought of going over that part of the course made me want to hurl. Little did I know they would still be starting it more than three hours later.
The finish line noise was amazing. Cameras crowded in and not more than a couple of feet after crossing the line I was corralled by the organizer who choked me with a flower wreath around my neck. Reporters asked dozens of questions as I was pushed towards cameras and away from the line. It was a very unique experience and the questions blew me away. Was it difficult? Yes. What was the most difficult part? The Wall. Demographics, where do you work, etc. Then a Chinese man asked me if I thought the current swine flu pandemic (which was limiting the number of visas available) affected the race outcome. I paused, reflecting on what it meant to me and others to be here racing.
True, I had run my slowest time in an open marathon ever, but the course was challenging and I only pushed as hard as needed to win – it was more than 10 min to second place, which was awarded to an able trail runner from Colorado. If I put in more hill work and actually attempted a single speed workout in the last year, I think I could challenge the course record. But I was very pleased with my tactics at this point in the season and couldn’t have cared less if that time got me 1st or 5th. I decided to not draw more attention to his question by dignifying it with a straight response. “I come to a race not to win but to challenge myself. Winning doesn’t matter. Everyone gets a medal out here.” If you want to win this race, come on out next year. We can’t judge a race by a time on paper. You never know how you would have done that day in those conditions. I have looked up many races where I was certain my best would have won it and I have won races knowing full well that if some stud showed up I wouldn’t have been the victor. You just have to run your best and let the chips fall where they may. There are bigger experiences in running than crossing the line before someone else.
In some ways, the hour after the race was as trying as some portions of the race. The Subway sandwiches available to runners upon finishing were mocking me: Just out of reach. The questions from reporters relented but the pictures with other runners didn’t end for quite some time. I was thankful when a friend slipped me a bottle of water because I was starting to feel dizzy. When people found out I was living in China, I got even more pictures. I finally was able to change but couldn’t call home because of the awards ceremony. All I wanted to do was tell my wife I had won. The actual winning didn’t matter to me. She has won enough races for the both of us. But I didn’t want to tell her that I was beaten, that I had given up on myself. The thought of home and running for those who want to hear my story spurred me on when I otherwise could have slowed.
Every marathon I finish, I take the medal and I put it around my bedpost. It stays there until I complete my next race. Sometimes that is a week or two, and sometimes that duration spans a few months. This lets me remember the race, the course, the pain, the thrill. I respect it and it gears me for the next one. But this time, I think I am going to leave the 2009 GWM medal up for a year – 365 days to remember conquering the wall, even if just for a day.
