From Start to Finish
What a Difference a Day Makes

Espiens, France 23-07-09

What a difference a day makes.  A day of rest that is.  Also a bottle or two less of red wine the night before a run.  Odile (I am her husband) and Joanna went to the beach to visit a friend so I only had a couple of glasses of wine at dinner with the kids last night. The 12k run today was enjoyable.  It was a pace builder and I managed it well.

Since I had just written the piece about running technology, I was trying, as I ran, to recall if I had forgotten to mention anything else that Pheidipides could have used to survive his run.

It turns out that the run from Marathon to Athens was probably not what killed him.  What few people realize is that he was sent as a messenger to Sparta 120 miles away a week or so before the battle of Marathon.  He arrived at Sparta in less than 36hrs they say.   It was hilly terrain and a horse could not be used for much of the way.  The Spartans were involved in a religious party of some sort and declined to help out the Athenians.  So Pheidippides ran all the way back with the bad news and then immediately joined the battle against the Persians.

The Persians had a cunning plan.  Draw the small Athenian army out to Marathon, wipe it out there and proceed to an unprotected Athens.  Despite being out numbered something like 10 to 1, the Athenians beat the Persians on the plain and drove them back to the shoreline.  Another battle ensued and finally the remaining Persians (still a lot of them) made it back onto their boats.

Plan B for the Persians was to sail for Athens anyway.  After all, the Athenian army was now 26 miles away.  On observing this, the Athenian commanders called upon Pheidippides once again and sent him running to Athens to warn the mostly non-combatant citizens that the Persians were arriving by sea but that the intact Athenian army would be not far behind, via land.  Upon delivering the news of the victory at Marathon, the impending threat by sea and the imminent arrival of rescue by land, Pheidippides finally gave into exhaustion and died.

So Pheidipiddes succumbed not to a mere 3hr, 26 mile run but to 240 miles of running and two major battles in the space of 6 days.  The trot from Marathon to Athens was only a minor contributing factor.  Having known only parts of the Legend – ‘man runs 26 miles to deliver news of victory and promptly expires’ – I, like Michael Clark who wrote about this in Runners World,  was always suspicious.  Why run yourself to death to deliver good news?  Could 26 miles really kill a hardy Athenian?

Provided that I keep the training to less than 240 miles in the six days before Nov 1, and if I refrain from joining in on any large scale, hand-to-hand battles on October 31, I think I stand a decent chance of finishing the NYC Marathon alive.

Long Runs

Espiens France, 27-07-2009


I don’t sleep well the night before long runs. I am anxious and fidgety.  I worry that I will wake up to one of those days when I just don’t run well.  That happens from time to time.  It’s simply not possible to predict which will be a good running day and which will not.


This particular long run was scheduled for a Sunday.  I prefer to make the Long Runs early in the morning whenever possible.  But I did not wake up until 11am.  It was already very hot and looked as if it would only get hotter.  I postponed the run to the following day.  It was a good decision.  On the same hot day at about the same time I woke up, France’s President, Nicholas Sarkozy, went running in the park around Versailles.  He collapsed after 45 minutes and had to be taken to the hospital.  Sarkozy probably didn’t have the option to postpone his run to Monday.  Still, this small decision, although born mostly out of procrastination, makes me feel wiser than the President of France.


Monday is ideal.  There is light cloud cover and the temperature is perfect. I run my furthest distance yet: 25km in 2hrs 37 minutes. I check my time at the half-marathon distance (21km).  My watch shows 2hrs 10 minutes.  I am pleased so I reward myself by opening my last packet of Gu and venture into new and unknown distance territory.  Only 4 more kilometers to go!  It’s a good day for running.


I’ve chosen another one-way route: from Espiens to Nérac, through a circuit of the Parc de Garenne past the remains of a Templar Castle, then to Lavardac on the old road from Nérac, across the wooden bridge into the XIIIth century walled village of  Vianne and back to Montplaisir in Lavardac on the other side of the Baïse this time.


The terrain and views are varied and spectacular.  I like to imagine what people were doing on the same roads and paths 400, 500 or 800 years ago.  Nérac was an important location before and during the reign of Henri IV in the 16th century.  The women in his family: mother, grandmother and wife were renaissance era humanists and intellectuals.  The court in Nérac attracted all sorts of philosophers, artists, poets and probably a fair number of hanger-ons, rogues and opportunists.  My sort of people…. Henri was apparently most interested in watching women bathing in the river below his chateau.


Vianne is a 13th century perfectly preserved walled town built by a reputedly cruel lord called Jourdain de l’Isle in 1282.  He was loyal to the Edward I of England, the son of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry Plantagenet.  It changed hands between the French and English many times during the 100 year’s war and finally became permanently French in the 1400s.


What was on the minds of the people who traveled these paths and roads way back then? Were they walking? On horseback? Driving a mule cart to sell their produce at market?

Surely they had to be thinking about many of the same things I do.  Is my family well provided for and prepared to deal with the world? Will anybody buy these damn things I am bringing to the market?  What are my old friends and family up to right now?  What do people really think about me?  Am I a good person?  Will the gates of Vianne be open when I arrive?  Will there be French or English behind the gates?  Will they let me in?

What’s for dinner tonight?

I hope some of the good wine remains.

Running with David

Elevation Map in Feet and Meters.  Total gain: 2,250ft / 686m

Tan Son Nhat Speedway

Saigon 23-08-09

I am on an early morning run in Saigon.  It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that hot, humid, over-populated, polluted cities with sidewalks reserved for street vendors and scooter parking are not ideal for marathon training.

If I want to run outdoors it has to be done at the crack of sparrows.  Two reasons.  First, it’s too hot to run after about 8am. Even in the evenings the heat of the day lingers while the smog settles in for the night.  Second, by 8am there is already too much motorbike traffic on the roads (and sidewalks) to run.

On weekdays I am generally confined to the electric highway in the gym.  On the weekends I venture out into this urban combat zone.

There are some advantages to treadmill training.  The gym is air-conditioned and the machines face a floor to ceiling window.  I have a view on a busy downtown intersection.  From here I can watch near misses as scooters run red lights towards oncoming buses.  Or see the occasional legless beggar negotiate the crosswalks that drivers routinely ignore.  Scenes like this stop my mental whining about having to run in-doors.

Fartlek, tempo and interval runs are also much easier to manage on a treadmill.  Below are two pace graphs of Fartlek runs.  The first was outdoors and the second on a treadmill.  If an intern working the late shift at the ICU saw that first chart she would surely call for a crash cart and a de-fribulator.

The out-door runs have their advantages too, compared to France.  I don’t have to worry about water.  It’s for sale at sidewalk stalls every 50 ft or so.  Also available are noodles, frying tofu, cigarettes, strange soy drinks, motorbike repair shops, petrol for sale in milk bottles, barbers, puppy-for-sale, racks of sub-standard motorbike helmets and just about anything else that you can imagine.  When I see a stretch of sidewalk with absolutely no vendors I know to cross the street.  These are generally the areas that the neighborhood citizens have by mutual consent agreed will be a public toilet.  They get a lot of overnight use judging by the smells.

The streets of Saigon are incredibly active from even before sunrise.  I am not the only one who has discovered that it’s too hot and crowded to do much outdoors after 8am.  There are hundreds and hundreds of people out and about along the roads and small parks that I run through. I ran over 280 kilometers in the time I spent in France.  I saw only one other runner and the occasional cyclist there.  Saigon mornings couldn’t be more different.  There are crowds to rival the panicky shoppers found at a Wallmart on Christmas Eve.

I see comrades of every age engaged in both familiar and exotic exercises.  A type of speed walking is common.  It’s not the Olympic style speed walking where after 20 miles skimpy shorts are wedged tight up the sweaty cracks of athletic women who look best from behind.  It’s something that involves a very energetic swinging of the arms while walking at a fairly normal pace.  I’ve been hit pretty hard in the thighs and nearby regions a few times when my vigilance fails.  A polite apology always follows along with a bit of shock when the accidental offender sees that I am a foreigner. I’ve yet to see another foreigner on the runs around my house but I am sure a few have passed me in cabs on their way home from the bars in Pham Ngu Lau.

There are Tai Chi groups scattered about and once I saw a woman practicing slow concentrated movements with a very sharp looking sword.  She had a respectful amount of space around her.   In a few parks there are regular jazzercise sessions going on with very loud, blown speakers , an awful musical selection and always one or two incredibly camp looking dudes who have snuck into the midst of the pack of middle-aged women.  What are they thinking?

Badminton is very popular especially amongst the very old.  They string nets across pathways and tie them off on trees.  If they use fishing wire I have to be extra careful not to garrote myself on a line.  Since the players are so old and short these are sometimes strung very low.  I’ve only been caught up once.  So far….

On Sunday mornings I regularly see a troop of very serious martial artists.  Or they might be a very competitive Dragon Dance team in training.  Mostly teenagers.  All in black Karate outfits.  In idle moments, they do standing back flips while waiting for the next drill.  The drills are done in unison and sometimes dangerous sticks and poles are flung about.  Surprisingly, there are very few runners and not many of those look like they are running distance.

Almost everyone, whatever they are doing, looks content but also determined.  I feel that they are preparing for an energetic day ahead.  One full of hope, promise and progress.  This is what I like about Vietnam.  It moves ahead.  Not always in the way I would like or in ways that I understand but ahead anyway.

Getting up at this time and seeing what people do in the very early mornings explains a lot to me.  Saigon is a town of early risers, even on the weekdays.  This is not unusual in a culture and econmy that is fundamentally an agrarian one.  Now I know why the girls in our call center quickly scarf down their noodles or rice then turn off the lights to nap through the rest of the lunch hour.  I understand a little better why people in the office start to fade or get cranky around 4 or 5 pm.  And now I know why they have dinner as soon as the sun goes down, slam down 5 beers and a bottle of whiskey and are home in bed by 8:30pm.

I did see something new on my long run this morning.  My house is near the Tan Son Nhat airport.  Access to the airport is via a flat, straight six-lane road of about two kilometers.  The road is one of the few with wide and relatively clear sidewalks so it’s inevitably part of my long run course.  Today, it seemed that that motorbike traffic was bigger and louder than what I would expect.  At the end of the wide street the sidewalk was lined with people sitting on their parked motorbikes, which were pointed towards the street.  I thought they were looking at new billboards on the other side of the street.  I really am an idiot to think this.  But I work in advertising so what should I expect?

It seems that while I was gone someone decided to set up an illegal drag strip for even bigger idiots on this stretch of road.  These guys have removed mufflers or whatever else slows them down.  They have bored out the cylinders of their 50cc scooters and probably a fair amount of gray matter between their ears while they were at it.  They remove their helmets.  I suppose its just added weight or perhaps it’s a condition of betting that helmets are not allowed.  In any case, there are obviously very few brain cells to protect.  They wait for the light to turn and off they go popping wheelies on ridiculously small scooters, trying to look cool in front of the gathered crowds.  They generally speed against traffic to get back to the start line when they finish.  It saves them about 3 seconds by not having to cross over the correct side of the road.

I’ll probably see some of these guys again.  They will be the new paraplegics trying to cross the busy intersection below my electric highway at the gym. I only hope they don’t crowd out the land mine and Agent Orange beggars that really need the cash.