A Rachel Toor and the author approach the finish line at Auburn.

Many days later, the finish line pictures would show me smiling as Greg placed the finisher’s medal around my neck and me not looking very good as they took blood samples; but I don’t really remember that part or anything much about the drive back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, I climbed in the tub and took my shoes off; sadly, the nice lady who had taped my feet after crossing the river was a prophet. My socks, the tape, and lots of skin all came off at the same time. It did not matter; blisters have never killed anybody, did they?

GREENVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA Early October 2004

Many of my running friends ask, “What did it feel like to get where you have been?”

The answer is not what they want to hear. I can tell that by the disappointed looks on their faces when they hear me say, “I was pretty happy to be finished, very tired, and now I think I am actually a trail runner.”

The WS100 belt buckle is still in the box on top of my desk at home next to my radio. Taped to my radio is a little fortune cookie quote by Robin Williams:

“You are only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”

My application for the next running of the Western States 100 is already i in the lottery pile on a desk someplace in California. ¢

S = S

Volcano Hopping on Easter Island.

aster Island Marathon, June 11, 2006—Diane Kenna, a lithe and efficient

41-year-old runner, would have had plenty of reasons to question her own judgment, particularly as she was powering her way up the brutal three-mile hill after the turnaround point at the 2006 Easter Island Marathon.

Up to this point, she had led the whole way. Running fast and first were hardly new concepts to Kenna. She had clocked a 3:03 marathon at Boston in 1993. Five years later, she had been the first woman across the finish line at the grueling Death Valley Marathon. Nonetheless, in the 80-degree heat and ever-present humidity of this remote South Pacific island in mid-June 2006, Kenna could feel herself wilting. Still, she gamely continued the extended slog up toward the top of the Rano Aroi Volcano.

Making matters worse for Kenna on this muggy Sunday morning, she could hear the determined footsteps of Fernando Heredia drawing nearer. Although the two had yet to meet, Kenna would later learn that the 31-year-old Heredia was competing in his first marathon.

Why, she couldn’t help wondering, had she made a spur-of-the-moment decision 48 hours earlier to compete in a sprint triathlon for which she had neither trained nor had proper equipment? Just 15 minutes before the triathlon had started, Kenna had signed up for the race—part of a three-day trifecta of sporting events on Chile’s Easter Island. (Sandwiched between Friday’s triathlon and Sunday’s marathon had been Saturday’s dramatic 35-kilometer mountain-bike competition that included the long haul up to the summit of the Rano Kau Volcano.) And yes, Easter Island is that island, the one with the enormous stone faces.

A novice swimmer, at best, Kenna had completed the entire 750-meter ocean swim—navigating reasonably tough waves—while floating on her back. Fortunately, a spectator had thrown a pair of swim goggles to her as she was about to wade into the cool Pacific waters. Kenna kicked the swimming portion, largely leaving her arms useless at her side. Unbelievably, she was not last out of the water but merely second to last. Had she been distracted by a bevy of well-toned

A Some marathoners made a spur-of-the-moment decision to also compete in Easter Island’s triathlon.

islanders who had swum in scanty loincloths, leaving little to the imagination? Who knows?

PUTTING THE FEAR OF GOD INTO LANCE ARMSTRONG

It was on the 20-kilometer bike leg, though, that Kenna looked most uncomfortable. She had borrowed a mountain bike minutes before the race. The bike was far too small even for her 4-foot-11-inch frame. Kenna’s knees jutted up just under her chin with each pedal rotation. She had fared better on the 5K run.

Two days later, as the marathon dragged on, Kenna was jarred out of this flashback. She knew Heredia was gaining fast. The upbeat, beer-swilling Kenna is not the sort of personality prone to “What ifs?” But even she couldn’t help wondering whether her legs would have responded more enthusiastically on the climb had she not endured the triathlon’s rigors. (The hour and 50 minutes she had spent on the triathlon course, under a broiling sun, had surely taken its toll, even on the ultrafit Kenna.)

Still, Kenna’s most acute soreness wasn’t from the triathlon at all. Hardly. No, the native New Yorker had decided to go horseback riding the day before

Thea Neumann

the marathon—even though she possessed zero equestrian skills. Her buttocks, shoulder blades, and lower back were aching.

No surprise, Heredia cruised by Kenna somewhere around mile 15. In keeping with the informal nature of the race and of the island, no mile markings were on the course. As an empathetic Heredia slid past, he called out, “This is horrific, isn’t it?”

Well, it’s hardly the Badwater 135 or the Pikes Peak Ascent. But as far as marathon courses go, it’s a toughie. Think rugged trail marathon in terms of elevation profile and lack of spectators.

But Kenna had not been the only one to casually toss her marathon-training regimen out the window in the days before the race. Heredia, too, had been charmed by the magic of Easter Island. When Heredia’s hospitable mates had offered him the use of an all-terrain vehicle to roam the many archeological sites on the island, he had eagerly taken off on his own.

Keep in mind that Easter Island is effectively one of the world’s largest outdoor museums. In addition to the famous stone faces—called moais—dozens of well-preserved caves, quarries, and petroglyphs dot the island. Heredia, an outgoing man with an infectious zest for life, had tried to see them all. As he had bumped and bounded over the potholes on the island’s choppy dirt roads, Heredia

had wondered, briefly, whether he ought to be home reading a book instead of abusing his body.

SOME PAINS INCOMMON

Even as Heredia passed Kenna, he himself was feeling tenderness in many of the same spots. It turns out that an ATV excursion and a horse ride are not dissimilar. Heredia felt twinges in his back, shoulders, and forearms.

Why would Kenna and Heredia have chosen to exhaust themselves before the marathon? Were they unsophisticated sorts, perhaps? Hardly. Kenna’s day job is director of Global Debt Capital Markets at Merrill Lynch, while Heredia is a highly trained medical doctor, actually a gynecological oncologist. Interestingly—but ever so apropos for the laid-back Easter Island where doors are not locked and crime is virtually nonexistent—neither Kenna nor Heredia had any regrets about straining their bodies since they had arrived on this picturesque island of some 4,000 inhabitants. The theme of the marathon seemed to be: who needs to pamper your body and taper when there is so much to do on Easter Island?

As it turned out, Heredia won with a time of 3:24, but Kenna was not far behind. As she was barreling down a hill around mile 25, one of the scores of dogs that freely roam the island had suddenly jumped across her path. She slipped and tumbled hard on the gravelly road. Kenna finished with raw and bloodied hands, 33 seconds behind Heredia.

“It was one of the tougher marathons I’ve run,” said Kenna, a veteran of 42 other marathons around the globe. “But I’d definitely do the triathlon again. There are times for fast marathons, and this wasn’t one of them. This was about the experience.”

Kenna was reflective about the run. “I had a moment out there, when I just fell in love with the island, the ocean views, the yellow flowers, the horses. It’s hard to put into words.”

Both Kenna and Heredia stated later that the single distinguishing characteristic of the marathon was the simple fact that the race was not the sole focus of most runners on the island—nor should it have been. For the Easter Island Marathon is really about the fun and adventure of being on the magical island. “This island has so much else to offer,” said the matter-of-fact Heredia.

Quickly, then, the background on the race: the marathon—along with the triathlon and mountain-bike race—has been offered annually since 2002. The brains behind the three events is Race Director Rodrigo Salas, a former member of the Chilean national water polo team who now puts on race events every weekend somewhere in Chile. The imminently likeable Salas is equal parts promoter, huckster, and master of ceremonies. Salas can talk anybody under the table in Spanish, English, or even Russian.

THEN THERE’S THE MATTER OF MEASURING THE COURSE

Veteran runners used to efficient race organization ought to steer clear; this is not your race. Three runners who ran with GPS devices independently calculated the marathon course between 25.25 and 25.3 miles—a bit shy of regulation distance. Salas, for his part, said GPS isn’t accurate on Easter Island and he was “sure” the course was the right length. Was it accurate? Who knows? More to the point, who among the participants really cared? Well, there was one runner, a 36-year-old American woman who posted a tidy 3:36; this time would have qualified her for Boston had the race been properly certified.

What of the course? The course profile (see figure 1) gives a sense of what it feels like to run ona subtropical island formed by the eruptions of three volcanoes, the first some 3 million years ago. The first mile or so is staged on the cobblestone streets of the island’s only town, Hanga Roa, where a few dozen curious islanders turned out. Other than the usual coterie of nonrunning spouses and friends, they represented the race’s only spectators.

The course snaked out past the airport, home of one of the longest runways in the South Pacific basin. Paid for by U.S. tax dollars, the runway had been built for NASA as an alternative landing site for the space shuttle.

Interestingly, Easter Island is often billed as the most remote inhabited island in the world. The Chilean coast is 2,400 miles away to the east; Tahiti is just a tad farther to the west. That’s about the same distance as from New York City to Boise, Idaho. Here’s another way to place Easter Island: go due south from Phoenix, Arizona, cross the equator, and you will eventually land on Easter Island. Yes, for those trying to knock off marathons on every continent, Easter Island counts as South America (for more information about the Easter Island Marathon, visit www.marathontours.com/easterisland/index.shtml).

Back to the race: Past the elongated runway, runners began working their way up the reasonably steady seven-mile incline on a rugged asphalt road that cuts north and east through the heart of the island. Runners could swivel their necks

FIGURE 1 Easter Island Marathon course elevation

Elevation (m)

0 10 20 30 40

Distance (kilometers)

left or right to catch magnificent Pacific Ocean vistas on either side of this tiny island. Horses roam freely. At various points, dozens of moais—typically pushed over on their noses—could be seen in the open fields and wild terrain that cover the island. The vast majority of the marathon route has been designated as a nature preserve.

Archeologists disagree over how these massive stone structures were erected, but this much is certain: more than 800 of these faces were built sometime between A.D. 700, when Polynesians first settled the island, and the 18th century, when the first Europeans visited the island. A Dutch sailing ship arrived on Easter Day, 1722, hence, the island’s name. Native islanders, descendants of the original Polynesians, speak their own language, and call the island Rapa Nui. (The cotton race T-shirts dished out to all marathoners read simply “Maraton Rapanui 2006,” which will make no sense to your friends back home.)

A HISTORY OF THE MOAIS

In any event, the stone figures average more than 20 feet in height and 14 tons by weight; some are considerably larger. Virtually all have been toppled over. Archeologists believe that squabbling, or even warfare, between competing island cliques triggered the moais’s destruction. Relevant to runners, however, is the sad

Patrice Malloy

A All the original moais were knocked over long ago. These seven have been restored.

Author Willy Stern on a sightseeing excursion on the island.

fact that all the trees on the island were chopped down to make the rollers and the strong hemp ropes necessary to transport these stone faces from rock quarries (from which they were painstakingly carved) to their present resting spots around the island.

In short, this translates into virtually no shade on the marathon route today. We were teased with snippets of sun protection from the odd eucalyptus tree, an introduced species. In days of yore, more than 40 types of trees could be found on the island. Jared Diamond’s 2005 book, Collapse, offers a wonderfully readable narrative as to how civilization on Eastern Island was slowly strangled by the islanders themselves as they hacked down the last of their trees.

The trees may be gone, but observant runners spotted several species of sea birds, including the lovely frigate bird. Aid stops appeared every three miles or so and were manned by islanders who were paid to be there; the concept of race volunteer is alien to Chileans. At no point did any of us runners have an accurate notion of how far along we were, although, in keeping with the island’s laid-back mantra, no one seemed to mind much. Nobody called out split times. Traffic wasn’t stopped, but I would be surprised if I saw 15 moving cars on the sleepy island during the entire race. Forget about a postrace feed.

Jane Mullen

There were hardly any spectators from mile two until mile 25, with the exception of the turnaround point, just off the pristine white sands of Anakena Beach. Here any number of tourists and locals frolicked in the gentle waves. The halfway point was marked by a lonely orange cone in the middle of the road. True to form, no race officials were present to note our arrival at the cone. The honor system was in full effect; this was not a race for timing chips.

The last three-plus miles before the turnaround point were a steady downhill trek. Yes, this was tough on our quads but even tougher on the psyche as each downward step would eventually mean repeating the step on the way back up.

During the 2003 marathon, one runner had hit the turnaround point, taken one mournful look back up the mountain—where Heredia would eventually pass Kenna—and had opted for a quick, if refreshing, dip at the beach.

A FIELD OF 25 HARDY SOULS

Our only companions on the road were the other runners whom we passed either coming or going. It was an odd bunch. Only 25 participated in the marathon. (A

Thea Neumann

The first (and last) mile of the marathon course took runners over cobblestone streets through Easter Island’s only town.

half-marathon and 10-kilometer race were also offered.) Of those doing the full marathon, 20 lived in North America and had come courtesy of Marathon Tours, the Boston-based travel outfit that organizes group tours to marathons around the globe. Two local islanders covered the full distance. A German software engineer, a Brazilian journalist, and Heredia, the Chilean physician, rounded out the field.

Our only other distraction on the course was an ambulance that had been enlisted by Salas to cruise up and down the lonely highway. We quickly learned to flash a thumbs-up signal to the driver if we didn’t require medical attention.

Other oddities: Race Director Salas put on the traditional—if mediocre—pasta dinner at one of the 25 local restaurants in Hanga Roa. For reasons that remain unclear, this gratis pasta repast was not held the night before the marathon. Instead, we gobbled down lumpy spaghetti and sipped orange Tang, en masse, two nights before the marathon.

Despite the fact that air temperatures on this maritime subtropical climate can easily run into the 70s or 80s in June, Salas had the race go off at 10:00 A.M.—ensuring that we would run through the midday heat. Asked why we didn’t start the race at 7:00 a.m. or 8:00 a.M., Salas gamely explained he couldn’t count on the aid-station workers to get out on the course any earlier. Is this correct? Perhaps. Certainly, there was a fair amount of grumbling among runners about the late start time.

The last mile of the race, the stretch where Kenna was surprised by the dog, was back in town; runners had to make numerous turns there at unmanned, if quiet, intersections. Some junctions had small red signs indicating which way to turn. Many had no signs at all. Salas hadn’t mentioned any such signage before the race. By mile 25, some of us were a tad bit confused as to where we were to go.

The marathon cost an eyebrow-raising $150 US to enter, as did the triathlon and mountain-bike race. Salas said the expenses associated with toting the race gear to the remote island by airplane mandated the steep entry fees. More opportunistic athletes quickly found that as race time approached, entry fees appeared negotiable.

Jaime Costas, a 46-year-old police officer from Fort Lauderdale, jumped in the triathlon and the mountain-bike race at the last second and paid half price. Like Kenna, he had trained only for the marathon but couldn’t resist.

“T’d never been on a mountain bike before,” said the engaging Costas. “But once you get here and see the beauty of this place, well, you kinda’ felt ; like you didn’t want to miss out on anything.” A