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Published: October 22nd 2009
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Last Friday the two of us boarded the overnight express train,
Z29, from Yangzhou to Beijing. Around 6:30 a.m. we arrived to a beautiful, clear, crisp Beijing. The main objective of this trip north was to run in the Beijing International Marathon. Our traveling companions consisted of my running buddy Asunsun Halim, his wife, Gyu, their dangerously cute 19-month-old son Eugene, and four other co-teachers; four of which ran in either the half or full marathon. It was now the third weekend in October we had spent in the Northern Capital and we felt like we were returning to an old college campus or past neighborhood… except on a slightly different scale.
On Saturday we visited a restaurant near the Beijing Drum and Bell Towers and had ourselves a pre-race pasta feed. China style. Anyone can claim they were the first to do this or that, and apparently the culture behind this restaurant is that of the original Pizza. A huge piece of
na’an-like bread, cut pizza-style, drowned in a seasoned tomato sauce and then covered by a savory stew of lamb, potatoes, peppers, and onions. I’m not too sure who really did it first, the Italians, the Chinese, or
XinJiang Pizza
hmmmm... ethnic chinese pizza... somebody in between. Either way, this hole-in-the-wall joint had just the right culinary trick; we arrived back to the hostel later that evening well-fed and ready to roll for the big dance the following morning. Ish.
I opened up the race packet to find my bib number and chip and get everything set up before going to sleep. Much to my dismay, no safety pins made it into my travel bag, nor my race packet, nor Liz’s or the packets of the other two teachers who came along for the run. At 9:45 pm I made a mad dash to find safety pins before everything closed up for the evening. No one, anywhere, seemed to have the foggiest idea as to where one could find these odd foreign objects. I can say with quite a bit of confidence that my beloved China produces, at a minimum, 1 billion of those damned safety pins and not one was to be had in all of Beijing. The final solution came to me while listening to Chinese muzak in the local
Wu-Mart (not to be confused with Wal-Mart; Wu-Mart is much more economical). The answer materialized in the form of a pocket-sized “Hello Kitty” brand stapler. I’m almost positive this is the first time I’ve stapled my bib number to my racing jersey.
The next morning we hopped on the subway and headed down to Tien’amen Square for the inception of the day’s mayhem. The marathon was a real kick in the pants. It felt like a typical Chinese endeavor; hovering around 98%!c(MISSING)orrect and infinitely far from 100%! (MISSING)For instance, we had chips on our shoes but there was no timing mat at the starting line. Over 30,000 people showed interest in participation and the starting line resembled that of five pounds of junk shoved into a three pound bag. We were packed in so tightly that I couldn’t move my arms enough to tie the waist band on my running shorts, let alone check my shoelaces.
The race, uniquely executed, deemed immense importance on the full marathon but nearly zero attention to the half-marathon, 9k, or 4.2k races running concurrently. It was definitely a marathon with other races that happened to be tagging along. The half marathon finished quite abruptly, sans pomp or circumstance; not to mention a clock, bananas, timer, or port-a-potties. The sole greeter at the half marathon finish was an un-manned red inflatable from a local branch of a random Chinese bank. Finishers then had to stop their own stopwatches if they wanted any record of their time. The marathoners, on the other hand, crossed a chip pad just to the left of the half marathon finish. Perhaps this would have been helpful if the half-marathoner’s had chips, but alas, it was no to be. Same went for the other two shorter races.
Of my unique experience, I would have to say the best two things were getting smoked by a guy running barefoot (no kidding) and then nearly beaten by a man running in business shoes (black leather, slick soled).
Along the course were thousands and thousands of spectators. Every single one of them yelled the same phrase -
Jai-oh! Jai-oh!, literally meaning “Add fuel! Add fuel!”. Periodically someone would take a stab at English and yell something like “Ok! Ok! Ok!” or “I believe! I believe! You go!”
Afterwards I got an interview with a woman who writes for a Beijing English newspaper. She forwarded a photo from the post-race interview. The caption to the photo, which I believe was printed in the newspaper read, “Kelly Fulton Started Running Marathon From his 21 as a Challenge of Manhood.”
Overall, the race went well. I ran an even split for my first half and second half finishing at 2:56:57. (my time… not chip time or gun time) Elizabeth, thoroughly enjoying the experience as well, ran a 1:48 for the half-marathon. Not too shabby for two
lao wai tourists passing through town and training between five and six miles a day...
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Mom
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good fun
Elizabeth, Do you have the recipe from the Pizza Joint? We look forward to pizza chinese style. Great article. next time I am cheering someone on, I think I will shout "I Believe"......... in what? love, M