In 2013 I signed up for what was supposed to be the first
run on the then spanking new Second Penang Bridge. As it turned out, that run was held for the
last time on the First Penang Bridge, but things turned out OK because I still
got bragging rights to running my first run in Penang for the last run on the
First Penang Bridge.
In 2014, I signed up for what would certainly be the first
run on the Second Penang Bridge. I’ve
always been irked by the unwholesome hours for the Penang Bridge runs, at the
best times to sleep. The run on the
Second Bridge was no exception, but I guess that’s the price you have to pay
for bragging rights.
I drove up the day before the run, and basked in the warmth
of friends in Penang complaining of knee, joint and other assorted pains so that
I could smugly inform them I was running the next day and enjoy the look of
incredulity of their faces. The
advantage of smugness over bragging rights is that you don’t actually need to
have done anything, just announcing your intention is enough to elicit a
response. It’s shallow and all that, but we live short lives filled with
moments of instant gratification.
The organisers had advised participants not to drive and to
use the shuttle buses instead. Dutifully, I obeyed, and boarded the shuttle bus
outside Queens Bay Mall at a time the only other beings awake were other
runners and cats hunting for mice.
The roads around the starting venue at Batu Maung were
choked with parked cars. Some people put in more mileage than they had trained
for because they had to walk or run so far from their parked vehicles to the
starting line.
The new bridge was gorgeous, a 20-plus km span with a
sensuous curve and a short kink to allow waterborne traffic to pass
beneath. Starting times for different
events were staggered but there was still a huge mass of people milling about
behind the Start Line for my event. There
was the usual small talk by the commentator to whip up some excitement, but
there was plenty of adrenaline even without any of that. The gun fired and the
crowd surged forward like a single herd of uniformly-coloured animals in heat,
the drumming of feet on pavement sounding like a low roll of drawn-out thunder.
There was an almost immediate bottleneck at the entry to the
bridge. The event was very crowded and
by all accounts, later popular events such as the 10km run were like mob
affairs.
The crowd began to disperse as runners started to run at
different paces. There’s always an
astonishing variety of people running and half the fun is watching other people.
There were the usual few barefoot runners, able to withstand a tremendous
amount of pounding with no artificial padding.
There was a runner in a sarong whom I overhead talking to someone else;
he always ran in that gear, he said.
There were the fanciful runners, who wore funny hats or costumes. And then there were the facial expressions
which evolved throughout the run – the bright-eyed becoming glaze-eyed in the later
parts of the run, the determined jaw becoming slack-jawed later, the
perpetually pained look, the head shaking from side to side posture, like a
runner on a drug high, the stern runners, the smiling runners, and there were lots
of people in it for the sheer camaraderie – stopping by to chat or take selfies.
The road was smooth and predictable, with only a gentle
slope at the high point where boats passed beneath. There was a cool breeze and it was bright
enough from the overhead lighting to see clearly. One of the attractions of an organised run
for which you pay good money to punish yourself when you could have done it for
free at home, is the sense of being part of something bigger than yourself, a
small part of the thousands of people out there, with their aspirations and
weeks of training, and all that dripping human sweat.
There were well-spaced water stations with isotonic drinks,
and volunteers and workers out in full force to attend to distressed runners,
or to start the major cleanup of thousands of discarded paper cups, sponges,
bottles and wrappers of energy bars and gels.
There were waiting lines outside the inadequate number of
toilets. My line was seven people deep, while a couple of gentlemen arriving
later cleverly jumped over the inner barrier, behind the toilets and emerged
moments later, looking much happier with themselves.
There were no distance markers so I didn’t know my pace, until
the turn-around mark which should have been approximately half-way. Mindful of the time lost at the toilet stop, I
took the advice of the few girls along the route who served as cheerleaders
exhorting us to “Add fuel!” in Chinese, and I upped the pace. I ran past a few water stations which were
being mobbed by runners, past the oat bread and bananas at the the food stops
and ‘added fuel’ to run on.
I rather missed the fun events that I’ve come across in
other runs – bands playing music, dancing cheerleaders in costumes, even people
holding up irreverant posters. I grinned
at the memory of a woman at the earlier 2014 KL Marathon who held up a placard
near the finishing line. It declared, “IN MY MIND YOU ARE ALL KENYANS!” Yeah, right.
Early in the run, the front runner of the full marathon event
ran past in the opposite direction on the other side of the bridge. He was
preceded by a police outrider and he ran with the beauty of a gazelle, an ebony
coloured moving sculpture, running alone, for he was so far ahead of the second
runner. Now HE was a Kenyan!
As the race wore on, the distance and the pace exerted their
toll. There were lots of tired runners
walking now, certainly less exuberant selfies, a few people stopped by the side
with cramps or taking a rest….all that pent-up energy at the Start Line
beginning to unwind and run down. Where’s the Energizer battery when you really
need it?
With only a few km to go, there was a 3-km distance marker,
and suddenly everyone was running again.
The pain in my legs had come and gone, and they were pounding the road
mechanically. The pace picked up as I swept
back onto Penang Island, and the last few hundred meters. There were bright lights, cheering people
lining the road, background music and a last turn before the Finishing
marker.
A runner friend had advised me to throw out my hands on
either side so that would block others beside me from finishing before me, but I
thought that was pretty low-class and besides, he was a front-runner while I
was in the middle of the pack.
The finishing area was an untarred, muddy open area with
pools of water and barely enough lighting to avoid splashing into them. I
collected my finisher’s medal and the really big prize, which was the free,
ice-cold, just-right, can’t-be-duplicated-at-home Milo drink.
In the milling crowds and the light of the dawning day, I
met friends and acquaintances, veterans and first-timers, bound in a common
festival of being vibrantly alive and the shared pain of trying to outdo
yourself.
Later in the morning was the true reward: a bowl of noodles
in a Penang coffeeshop. In spite of numerous attempts elsewhere advertising
Penang food, there’s nothing quite like the real thing, which was a large part
of the motivation in driving up all that way, waking up at an nuearthly hour to
go running.
Bumps and all, I had a great time on the Bridge run. It was
a huge amount of fun, being part of the first run on the Second Penang Bridge and
after all that, I didn’t even feel like bragging about it.
Training for the Run:
There are any number
of websites with training programs for various running events with targeted
finishing times. Given schedule constraints, I settled on 2 runs a week, one
short but quick run during the week, and a long-distance slow run on the
weekend, with a gradual buildup of distance.
Having participated in the 2014 KL Marathon earlier in the year kept the
momentum going. Many people train with
running buddies, which is great for motivation and pacing, but it was more
convenient for me to run on my own according to my own schedule. A hilly training route and interval training
also helped.
Copyright © 2014 Lee Yu Kit
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