The King’s Race and |

Adventures at the Bangkok Marathon.

t all started with an invitation.

In almost two decades of marathon racing, I had never before received an invitation from a race director, so I found myself in a very unusual position when I read the e-mail. To be honest, the invitation wasn’t addressed to me specifically. The director of the Standard Charter Bangkok Marathon had written an e-mail to the 50 States Marathon Club, of which I am a member, inviting club members who had amassed at least 100 marathon finishes to apply for sponsorship. The 50 States Club duly forwarded the e-mail to its members, which is how I found myself sitting at my computer, wondering what it would be like to be a sponsored runner. Me and Deena and Paula and Meb. Interesting.

I prepared my e-mail application and hit the send button. Weeks later, after I had just about given up on getting a response, an e-mail appeared from the race director apologizing for some computer problems and offering me room and board, transportation, and free entry if I would fly to Bangkok to run. In return, I was required to meet with the local media. I quickly e-mailed back an emphatic “Yes” and booked my flight. I was going to go to Thailand! The only problem was that, like many other Americans, my knowledge of Thailand is pretty much limited to knowing that it’s somewhere in Southeast Asia, that Yul Brynner was one of its kings (or so I thought when I was 6 years old), and that it invented one of the world’s greatest pasta dishes, pad thai. Beyond that, my knowledge was sketchy to nonexistent. This would have to change.

A SIDE OF THAI HISTORY

It didn’t take long to get up to speed. I learned that Thailand is nestled between Burma (also known as Myanmar), Laos, and Cambodia, with Malaysia to its south. It’s an oddly shaped country, looking much like Texas with a big tail. In fact, it’s just slightly smaller than Texas. Its 64 million citizens live mostly in the tural central and northern regions, growing Thailand’s major crop, rice. Buddhism is the official religion, practiced by 94 to 95 percent of the population, and Thai is, naturally, the official language, although, luckily for me, English is also commonly spoken. The sprawling city of Bangkok, home to over 9 million people and at least one marathon, is Thailand’s capital.

Southeast Asia has been inhabited for more than half a million years, but Thais date the founding of their country to 1238, when Thai chieftains overthrew their Khmer rulers and established their kingdom. After its decline, the Kingdom of Siam arose in 1350 on the Chao Phraya River and endured for 400 years, until Burmese armies overthrew it and burned its capital in 1767. The Thais rallied, expelled the Burmese, and reestablished the Kingdom of Siam. In 1782, a new capital city was established by King Rama I across the Chao Phraya at the site of present-day Bangkok.

Beginning in the early 1500s, Siam established relations with the West, but for the next three centuries, it traded primarily with neighboring kingdoms and China. In the 1800s, King Rama’s heirs became increasingly concerned with the threat of European colonialism, so Siam quickly entered into treaties with Britain and the United States. Over the following decades, King Rama [V—immortalized as the dancing, baggy-pants-wearing monarch in The King and I—and his son, Rama V, managed to avoid European colonization: the only Southeast Asian country to do so. This was the reason, an expatriate later told me in Bangkok, that Thais hold no animosity toward Westerners.

A Ancient Thailand is never far from view in Bangkok: traditional river boats pass by Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn.

The 20th century brought great change to Siam. A bloodless coup in 1932 limited the monarchy, established a government led by a prime minister and a bicameral legislature, and changed the country’s name to Thailand. Since then, Thailand has been ruled mostly by a series of military governments. In 1992, Thai soldiers killed at least 50 protesters who were demanding an end to military influence in government, and the ensuing political outcry forced the prime minister to resign. The Asian financial crisis of 1997 led to more turmoil and the resignation of another prime minister, and in 2005 allegations of government corruption led to mass demonstrations.

Through all of this, the monarchy endured. Shortly after World War II, King Bhumibol Adulyadej ascended to the throne, and he has ruled ever since, becoming the world’s longest-serving monarch. During his reign, he amassed great popularity and moral authority through his efforts to help the rural poor.

As I prepared for my trip, I read in the newspapers that the military had just overthrown the most recent government. It was almost comforting for me to see that things were humming along as usual in Thailand. I hoped that if there were to be a mass uprising or coup on race day, it wouldn’t take place until the afternoon, after I had (I hoped) crossed the finish line.

MEETING THE TEAM

Next, I decided to find out who my teammates would be. Seeing that the race director’s confirming e-mail was addressed to about a half-dozen other people, I wrote an e-mail to those folks introducing myself and asking whether they were members of my team. The responses were swift. As it turned out, I was part of a distinguished field of prolific marathoners.

Richard Teitz was the first to answer. He was a 64-year-old college administrator from San Antonio, Texas, who had run 144 marathons, most recently just a few weeks earlier in his hometown, when he led a 3:30 pace group. Richard wrote that he usually won or placed in his age group, and judging from his finishing time as a pacer, I didn’t doubt him. Like me, he had never before been to Thailand.

Brent Weigner, from Wyoming, was next to respond. I was happy to hear that Brent was on the team, because as it turned out, I had already met him. Brent, 57, is the director of the Wyoming Marathon, which I had run earlier that summer. His race is beautiful but almost unspeakably brutal, run at altitude and punctuated with gut-wrenching hills, including a ghastly climb to the finish line. My most vivid impression of that weekend wasn’t of the race, however; it was of a comment Brent made as I spoke with him at the small prerace dinner. Brent complained about how pampered runners had become; he had now been forced to put water out on the course. You’ve got to like that attitude. Brent himself had run 145 marathons and ultras, concentrating mostly on stage races, ultras, and extreme

events of one kind or another, with his last road race effort being a 3:38 marathon in January and a 6:13:15 finish in snowshoes at the North Pole. Clearly, Brent was a breed apart.

Roger Hauge checked in next. At 75, he was our most senior team member. Roger ran his first mile at age 60 and his first marathon at 63, but he got up to speed quickly; he had recently finished his 123rd marathon and was working on his second completion of the 50-state marathon odyssey. Roger had been to Bangkok several times, had already run the Thailand Temple Marathon, and warned us that because of the heat, the humidity, and the pollution, we should expect to add 30 to 45 minutes to our normal marathon times.

Dan Shuff followed. He was a 71-year-old retired government employee living in San Antonio, Texas, who runs about 18 marathons a year and who had already run one in every state and two in most.

Rounding out our team were a couple of other runners whom I would meet only after I arrived in Thailand: Hajime Nishi, from Japan, and Victor Bhatt, from Texas.

Looking over the list of runners, one thought popped into my mind: despite being 42, it would be nice to be called “kid” again.

WELCOME TO BANGKOK

Some people hate long flights. Not me. Perhaps because I’m a marathoner, long flights seem more comfortable to me than short hops between nearby cities. Just as in a long race, you can settle into a pace on a long flight, reading, napping, eating, and watching movies. An intercontinental flight has time for everything.

And on a flight to Thailand, there’s nothing but time. First came a 12-hour haul to Tokyo, followed by a six-hour jump to Bangkok, where I arrived in the dead of night. Still, I stepped off the plane in good spirits, marveling at the clean new airport I had flown into. Its soaring glass walls and shiny steel columns and supports announced loudly that Bangkok wasn’t a city bound to the past. After clearing customs, I peered out at the crowd waiting beyond the barrier, looking hopefully for a hand-held sign bearing my name. And there it was—the name was misspelled, but clearly mine. My ride was here.

After waiting for several other teammates to arrive, our transport lurched out into the dark streets, arriving some 30 minutes later in front of a Western-style hotel on the edge of the city’s Chinatown. The hotel wasn’t lavish, but it did seem to be up to Western standards for midlevel lodging. We were being treated to five nights, and as we signed the guestbook, our liaison, a turbaned and very friendly Mr. Sarub Yik, handed each of us an envelope, which we had to sign for. And in the envelope was .. . cash. They’re giving us money! It was a per diem, the equivalent of about $50 U.S. Being an elite runner was really looking good.

My roommate turned out to be Richard, the runner from San Antonio, and luckily for me, he was as interested in wandering the city as I was. After a few hours of sleep, we set out to find the Royal Palace and the Imperial Temple. Nearing the sites, we met up with a local man who told us that the sites were closed for a ceremony being held that morning, but he advised us to visit other sites by taxi. He flagged down one of the ubiquitous motorized three-wheeled transports, called tuk-tuks for the sound they make, and negotiated a price for us of 50 baht—roughly $1.30 U.S. It sounded like a good deal, but several hours later, after only a cursory tour of a few sites and some unwanted, lengthier stops at a “friend’s” shop, Richard and I realized we had been had. There was no ceremony that morning, the sites were not closed, and our friend was a huckster for the stores we were driven to. Since it cost us so very little, I was mostly disappointed at having fallen for the scam. Undeterred, Richard and I did make the rounds to the palace and the Royal Temple and were astounded at their opulent display of color and design. It was like visiting a Thai version of Disneyland, except that it was all real.

Settling back into the hotel that night, both Richard and I fell asleep quickly, but our internal clocks had not yet adjusted. At 3:00 a.m., I found myself wide awake, and I heard rustling from the bed across the room.

“Richard, you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Wanna go for a run?”

“We might as well.”

Which is how we found ourselves heading back toward the Royal Palace in the dead of night, looking to do a few laps around the Sanam Luang—the royal grounds. In the daytime, it looked like an expansive ball field, basically oval shaped, about 2.5K around. At 4:00 a.., though, it was an unexpectedly crowded place, with homeless people camping out on the field and young, aimless kids milling around its edges, eating, drinking, and getting high. The roadway reeked of urine. This was not at all what we expected, but we put in our five miles and made our way back to the hotel. Once returned, I scheduled a massage for that morning—something I had promised to treat myself to. Despite everything you might have heard about the vibrant sex trade in Thailand, legitimate sports massage can be had without any so-called “happy endings,” for a fraction of what it costs in the United States. As my young masseuse dug her heel into my hamstring and pulled on my leg, I smiled contentedly as only a distance runner would.

That afternoon, our group assembled in the lobby for our ride to the packet pickup and expo, where we would participate in a press conference. Sitting up at a dais, we were each introduced and briefly interviewed, to the polite attention and applause of our small audience. Afterwards, the race director, Songram Kraisnthi, told me that of the 3,000 or so expected marathoners, only 28 would be foreigners. He had invited us, however, not just to increase foreign participation but to inspire the Thais to take up distance running. Although some 10,000 people would participate in the 10K the next day, participation in the longer distances was lagging. In cooperation with the National Jogging Association, he had established marathon clinics at four or five locations throughout the country. While this led to a 50 percent increase in the field in this year’s marathon, he hoped to add 1,000 more runners the following year and to make inroads among younger runners, especially those under 20.

That night Richard and I attended a performance of traditional Thai dance theater, courtesy of Mr. Yik. It was elegant and beautiful, evoking a traditional tale of the Thai god/king warring with an evil demon. As I marveled at the control and artistry on the stage, I regretted that I would not have time to get outside of Bangkok to experience more of the traditional kingdom.

THE STRANGEST RACE IN THE WORLD

At 3:00 a.m. on race morning, Richard and I gathered our gear and made our way down to the lobby for our 2K ride to the start line. It was warm out, and I had already begun to sweat—not a good sign, I thought. An early start was allowed by the race officials, so as we made our way to the starting line, we knew that

Jeff Horowitz

The marathon director made sure invited runners got a taste of Thai culture as these traditional dancers and musicians entertained guests at a banquet.

many other participants—including most of our own team—were already out on the course. We wanted to experience the official race start, though, and since we were still on U.S. time, it felt only as though we were heading out for a comfortable midafternoon run.

Richard and I had complied with the race instructions requesting that we wear the official race singlet, given to us at the packet pickup. The singlet was yellow—the royal color—in honor of the 60th anniversary of the king’s ascension. I was especially glad to have done so after seeing that everyone else at the start wore yellow, too. The people’s fondness for the king seemed genuine; during my stay there, I saw people everywhere wearing yellow polo shirts bearing the royal crest and the yellow wristbands that were sold to support the king’s charities.

The runners formed up in front of the royal palace, and after we listened to a drum performance, the race got under way. Temperatures were warm but comfortable, with a light breeze helping to keep things cool, but I knew that we were in a race not just against distance but against time. We had less than three hours to sunrise, and with it, temperatures in the 90s and humidity to match. I mulled this over as we raced past the Royal Grand Park and the Ministry of Defense and turned left, heading up to and over the Phra Pin Klao Bridge.

On the other side, I began what I have to say, in hindsight, was one of the oddest racing experiences I’ve ever had. The course took us for a 20K out-and-back run on an elevated highway. On paper, it seemed a bit dull but nothing more. In reality, though, it was surreal. Picture this: It’s the dead of night, and almost all of the buildings to the side and below you are enveloped in a shroud of darkness. Around you are several thousand other runners, silently padding along. There are almost no spectators, and the volunteers at the rest stops every few kilometers offer support, but they do not shout, and they do not yell. It feels like I had entered the heart of running, where there is nothing but the movement itself and the sound of feet slapping against asphalt. All of the familiar distractions of the big-event races had been stripped away. There were no bands, no cheerleaders, and no costumes, just runners with a job to do, laboring in a very workmanlike fashion toward their goal. I decided that I liked this strange, new world. It felt pure to me.

I settled into a comfortable groove, balancing my eagerness to get in miles before the sun came up against the need to keep a little energy in reserve. I had lost Richard at the start, but I found him on that long stretch of highway, running alongside Chris, a U.S. Air Force man stationed in Hawaii, who had come out here just to run. A little farther ahead, we came upon Brent and yelled out encouragement as we passed. Apart from Chris and our own group, I heard some Aussie accents and a few German voices, but that was all. And no Thai voices; they ran silently.

Richard and I made it to the turnaround at the 15K mark, but I felt quite strong and pulled ahead a little farther down the road. I came upon Roger, who had taken

The author strikes a familiar runners pose: showing off the finishers medal.

an early start, and he cheered me as I passed. As I approached the modern Rama 8 Bridge, I considered how this city seemed to be a study in contrasts, with its new airport, gleaming new subway system, and this elegant new bridge nestled against ancient neighborhoods and temples. But of more immediate concern as I approached the 30K mark was the red hue filtering through the sky. I felt like a vampire, knowing that the sun’s rays could spell my own doom. [had conservatively planned for a four-hour marathon finish, but with 12K to go, I decided to pick up the pace and try to finish before the real heat set in. As I ran, I suddenly thought about how the race director would likely be checking the finishing times of our team, and I was suddenly motivated to do the best that I could, in appreciation of what he had provided to us. I wondered, Is this how elite runners feel?

We were off the highway now, turning along the city streets, and then we passed a zoo, which my nose recognized before my eyes saw it. Near the 34K mark, we looped in front of the beautiful Chitrlada Palace. It was full daylight now, and I was starting to feel weary. The course took us past well-manicured canals and then along the riverfront. We were close to the finish line, and I knew

JEFF HOROWITZ | 1121

Thad to hold on just a little longer. Some runners blew past me, and my competitive heart sank for a moment until I realized they were the 10K runners. But I recognized where I was; I had only two more turns to go. On my left was the high wall of the Grand Palace, and as I made the final turn, I could see the finish line just up ahead. I took a garland offered me by a woman’s outstretched arm and flew through the finish line: 3:46. Not close to a PR, but a best-Bangkok time for me. And there was Mr. Songram Kraisnthi asking me how I did. “Great, great,” I huffed. “Great race.” As it turned out, I was the first of our team to finish, but Richard was just a few minutes behind me, and Dan won his age group. I hoped Mr. Songram would be pleased.

But the best was yet to come. After collecting my race medal and something to drink, I was presented with a container of pad thai and then shepherded through to the recovery area, where volunteers made fresh batches of pho soup and thai eggs over rice. The finish area filled to become a sea of yellow shirts, alive with voices and laughter. That evening I would share a table with my team and the real elite runners at a big banquet, to be followed by a 2:30 a.m. departure for the airport, but at that moment, at the finish line, I marveled at the scene around me. It was at once familiar, but still strange. It was the Bangkok Marathon, and it was all I hoped it would be.

Jeff Horowitz

A Forget bananas and bagels after the marathon—here comes the noodle soup!

UPDATE

If everyone were as focused on running as are the readers of Marathon & Beyond, there might be fewer problems in the world. Unfortunately, that’s not the case, and as fast as we run, the world’s problems still seem to catch up with us. On New Year’s Eve, 2006, eight bombs exploded in various locations around Bangkok, leaving three people dead and at least 36 injured. On January 30, 2007, two more explosions occurred in Bangkok. Thankfully, no one was killed. These bombings are thought to be related to political tensions within the country. On February 23, 2007, the Thai government warmed that there could be further attacks in Bangkok, and the government has strengthened security in the city.

This was sobering news for me to hear, since it was so at odds with the warm and friendly reception I received during my stay in Thailand. But while this news cannot be ignored, I still plan to keep the Bangkok Marathon on my race calendar. Runners are, I believe, optimists by nature, so I’m willing to bet that things will be calm on race morning 2008. Let’s all hope that’s true, because, to borrow i a phrase, a marathon would be a terrible thing to waste. ,