A time to keel (over)

I've been out virtually every day running or biking. On the few days I don't do those, I go for a long walk. I'm not losing any weight but am otherwise in the best shape in decades.

A week ago, I decided to bike to Itaewon, the famous melting-pot area I've written about before. My GPS monitor, which I bought in California, said it's 5 1/2 miles from my apartment as the crow flies. (It's longer for a crow on a bicycle, even more so if he stops for a beer at a crowbar. I guess I probably traveled 20 miles in all.)

OMG, guys, to use a popular Korean expression. (No lie: "OMG" and "Oh my God", in English, are very popular expressions here.) Anyway, OMG, what an odyssey. I had a vague idea from Google Maps that Itaewon is north-northwest from me, and I knew that if I kept heading north I'd get to the Han River and be able to find a bridge. The GPS simply says how far away and in what direction the destination is; it doesn't show roads and such.

Well... I biked on sidewalks. I biked in the streets. I biked on the beaches. I biked in the fields. No, wait, that's Winston Churchill. I'll start again.

I biked on the sidewalks (mostly) and in the streets and over the bridges, walked the bike through crowded areas, carried it down through the subway stations and up a HUMENJOUS set of stairs (50-plus of them, each one half-again as tall as a normal stair). When finally I coasted down a steep hill into the heart of Itaewon, nearly two hours after I'd started, I realized I was coasting down the only street there I was really familiar with... I was on Hooker Hill!

I think Hooker Hill is named after Korea's hero, General Joseph Hooker of the Army of the Potomac... no? Okay...

Hooker Hill is what it sounds like, at least after dark. I've never been there after dark and, as far as I know, have never spotted a hooker there; it's also the home of the Foreign Food Market, where I buy curry and Bac-O's, and until that day was the home of What the Book. The reason I picked last Wednesday to do my trek was because WTB was just opening a newer, bigger store on Itaewon's main street.

As for the store itself, I should have waited; they weren't completely set up yet and had run out of pie (which they'd promised on Facebook that they'd have on opening day). The place had all the charm of an airport waiting room. But I did get a copy of the book that changed my life, John Robbins' Diet for a New America.

On the way home, I took a different route; I went south past the huge US Army base to the nearest bridge, figuring I'd cross the river and go down to the path that runs all along the Han until I got to the ballpark, where I'd take my beloved path home. Sadly, there was no way to get from the bridge down to the river, so I turned left along an overgrown sidewalk, hoping to find a crossing. I didn't, but the sidewalk did run out, leaving me to bike on one of Seoul's busiest expressways at rush hour.

I guess they call it rush hour because everyone has to move so slowly; I kept up with the flow of traffic; fortunately the right-hand lane was very wide. After ten minutes or so, I got off at the first exit, only to find myself going through Gangnam (our favorite nearby ritzy shopping area) at the heart of the rush. I walked the bike when I wasn't steering among the crush of pedestrians.

Eventually (after passing a bike shop on my right and realizing it was the same bike shop that had been on my left 15 minutes earlier) I made it home. It was a four-hour trip, including the ten minutes I spent at the bookstore. I'm glad I did it, for the experience, but I'll certainly never do it again.

W

When I'm not running or biking, I'm usually eating.

Most days, though, I'm running and only bike to and from work. I've never been one to accumulate gadgets; I was the last of all my friends to have a cell phone and still spend five bucks a month on mine, only have a Nano as my iPod, I've never had a Blu-Ray player or flatscreen tv. But somehow I've piled up quite an array of running doodads.

This is all for the marathon; I know I need all the help I can get. I have the GPS monitor to tell me exactly how far and how fast I've run, lots of shorts and tops and socks, compression shorts and tights and sweats and a mesh cap, all of which were prizes from races and none of which I've worn, three medals, two pairs of good running shoes, and, now a Utility Belt. Yeah, that's what I'm calling it...

 

( ... na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na... CORNMAN!)

(Between the Utility Belt and the GPS, which is roughly the size of Dick Tracy's Wrist Radio...

...I'm the height of 1940s comic fashion.

Someone on the Seoul Flyers page on Facebook had kindly answered my query about running shops and directed me to Fleet Sports. On Saturday, I took the subway to Jamsil Station, found as I emerged that I was across the street from Lotte World, the world's biggest indoor amusement park, walked around a lovely artificial lake with hundreds of shade trees and a rubberized running surface, and found the store.

I bought some energy gels (holy Pheidippides, they're sweeter than a Hummel figurine of Shirley Temple riding piggyback on a Care Bear) and a water/gel belt. It's lightweight, has a pouch for gels, keys, money, and a cell phone, and two holsters, each one of which nestles a ten-ounce water bottle up against my kidneys. (How appropriate.) It may seem like an affectation, but like the bike helmet I bought (which cost as much as my used bike) I think I may need it to survive... that 13-mile run I did ten days ago nearly killed me and I don't want to complete the job on my 15-miler this weekend.

Like Pheidippides, I plan to keel over the moment I reach the finish line, and not one step sooner.

SJCintheUSA

...or California There I Went.

I've been putting off blogging about my vacation in California, and I don't know why. At first when I came back I was jetlagged, sleeping four hours in the day and four at night. That led to a general sense of ennui, and not for the first time. (Je suis Ennui VIII, je suis...) Then, I don't know, I couldn't figure out what was too personal to post here, I guess. But I'm finally sitting down to write about it, if only because it was important in understanding myself, my country, and my time in Korea.

I stayed with my stepson and his family in Ventura, an hour north of LA, and split time between Tim and April and Jake and Nate (the Grands) and Debby and Bodhi (the Ex and the Dog). The point of the trip wasn't sightseeing or even activities, so to save my pixels and your time I'll just list what I did here.

-Tim and April took me out to a bunch of nice dinners.
-We all went to Disney's California Adventure.

 Nate and me on the humongous vertiginous Ferris wheel.


-Jacob had his elementary school commencement.
-Debby took me on lots of walks with Bodhi, in the parks and on the beach.

So Korea's over there, Daddy?

-Debby took the boys and me to two amazing, peaceful places, Meditation Mount and the Ojai Foundation, in the mountains.

-I took Jake and Nate to a fun water park.

-Debby and I went to her amazing Center for Spiritual Living (Religious Science) church twice; it's in the only art deco, Aztec-inspired church building in the US and the speakers and musicians were terrific, as was the welcoming atmosphere.

Pretty cool, huh?

 

-I ran a bunch of times.
-I bought a lot of stuff (cheap ibuprofen, a GPS running watch, some clothes-- where has Old Navy been all my life?-- running shoes, energy gels).

That doesn't seem like all that much for twelve days, but as I said going places and doing stuff wasn't the point.

As with a bull, the point was twofold. First, and most importantly, I wanted to spend time with the family. (Miraculously, the boys and Bodhi remembered me and still love me... which made the trip worthwhile in itself.)

 

 Dog is love.

Secondly, I wanted to figure out some stuff about me and Korea and America.

And here's what I've come up with: I belong anywhere. It didn't feel strange to be there and it doesn't feel strange to be back. When I came to Korea, I thought it quite likely I'd teach here till I retire, and I still very well may. I should never have a problem keeping a steady job here, and with the job sitch in the States...

Anyway, I found I liked life just north of LA a lot; people are really friendly, the weather's good, it has Korea's mountains (good) and Florida's open skies (good) and people speak English! It's a big if, but if I could get a steady job there with decent pay... well, it's something to think about. And I will.

As far as my being fairly content wherever I live, I'm not at all sure whether that reflects a strength of my character (that is, a certain basic acceptance of the moment that I've been striving for) or a weakness (a disconnect between my self and my surroundings). Either way, I'm okay. I've come to hate the saying "It is what it is," but I yam what I yam. (And as a vegetarian, I never mind a good yam or two.)

I will say that you guys back in the States have sure let it go all to smash in the nearly two years I've been gone. Jersey Shore? Justin Bieber? The Tea Partiers? I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?

But from all the way over here I see all the faults of my country and I love it anyway. I'll be back. Sooner or later.

In the long run...

(I just noticed that this is post number 250 on my blog! No wonder I'm so rich.)

The Joongang Marathon sits glowering and licking its lips, just four calendar pages away, waiting for me to jump into its gaping maw. While I was in the States (blog post to come, I swear), I found Jeff Galloway's marathon guide at Barnes and Noble. Galloway is the runner who pioneered the run/walk method that, he says, allows you to run three times as far as your conditioning would otherwise allow. I used his method, more or less, in 2004, when I ran the Gate River Run 15K (9.4 mile) race in Jacksonville. It worked.

So I brought the book back over the Pacific with me, picked up his marathon schedule in Week 8 (as that would get me to the Joongang at the right place on the schedule), girded my loins, and ran. Actually, you know, girded loins are too dang hot in July, so I just wore the usual running shorts...

Sunday, the Glorious Fourth, was my big test: 13 miles, 50 percent farther than I'd ever run in my life. I have to say that I did everything about as stupidly as it's possible to do it, but apparently I survived. I say that only because someone seems to be typing this now.

What did I do wrong? Well, for starters, I did follow the plan (walk one minute of every five) but Galloway says to run the long run two minutes per mile slower than your marathon goal pace, plus 30 seconds per mile for every five degrees over 60... this would have had me doing 14-minute miles; I can walk a mile in 15! Also, I couldn't figure out how 13 14-minute miles would prepare me to do 26 10-minute miles... so I did the run at my usual 10-minute pace. Secondly, I didn't eat anything before running. I also figured there would be bathrooms and water fountains on the way; there were, in fact, bathrooms. Finally, I had brought back a couple of packets of energy gel (sugary salty vitamin goo that refills your tank) from California and forgot to take it along on the run.

Five miles and a little more found me emerging from the path along my stream to the banks of the Han River that divides Seoul, and in another mile-plus along the sunny, hot riverside I was turning around to head home. I'd seen some cool stuff along the way: an early morning taichi session for seniors under a big bridge, a guy soloing on his saxophone under another, a mama duck leading her half-grown 'lings across the trail. I was feeling good and strong and, well, like it was my Independence Day.

And of course on the way back I started getting aches and pains, but that was no surprise. It wasn't till I got two or three miles from home, shirt plastered to me as if it had been spray-painted on, that I began to get a little empty-stomached and empty-headed, wondering if I'd make it back at all, let alone running. I thought about taking off my shoes and soaking my feet in the stream and how I was sick of the incessant din from my iPod and about what I'd ingest first if I made it home. (Answer: a whole bottle of Gatorade, a banana, yogurt, and a bagel.)

I'd told my student Hanbyel, during her first and only 5K, "Sometimes you have to tell your body to shut up." So I did, and pushed and willed and forced my way somehow through the last few four-minute run segments and made it back in 2 hours, 17 minutes, 59 seconds (but who's counting?)

The result? Six pounds of self-criticism for my stupidity and seven pounds of pride. In two weeks, Sunday means a fifteen-mile run... with water and energy gels and maybe a cell phone... just in case.

DAE-han-min-guk!

My trip to California was, despite its rewards, horribly timed for me in the sports category. First, the only specific thing I wanted as far as sightseeing went was to go to a game at Dodger Stadium, and the Dodgers left town on a road trip while I was in the air to the States and came back the day after I returned to Korea. Also, I'd really been looking forward to joining a big Korean crowd for a World Cup match on a big screen; the first Korean game of the first round happened while I was flying east and the last the day before I flew west.

Fortunately, the Taeguk Warriors (that's the official name of the team, "Taeguk" being the yin/yang symbol on the flag, but everybody just calls them the Reds) made it through to the second round. On Saturday, then (having returned on Thursday evening Korea time), I looked into where to join a frenzied mob of Red Devils (fans) for their second-round game.

The big public viewing spots were at City Hall and Hangang Park by the river (coincidentally the spot where my recent 5K and 10K runs were held). Each of these venues had hosted over 10,000 fans for each of the first-round games, and that's exactly what I was looking for: screaming, singing, partying among a host of crazier-than-usual locals.

But the game would be over about 1 a.m., the forecast was for 90 percent rain, and the prospect of walking home five miles-plus, assuming I didn't get lost (which was a big assumption) in the rain, in the dark, after the subway stopped running...

I settled for the CGV theater in the ritzy shopping area of Gangnam, which set aside three screens for the Korean tv broadcast. The room I was in held about 125 screaming, chanting, red-clad fans. We chanted "Republic of Korea" ("DAE-han-min-guk!" clap-clap-clapclapclap) and shouted at the screen and pounded the inflatable plastic sticks that the theater gave us and just had a wonderful time. The moment when Korea tied the game halfway through the second half was a moment of pure joy that... well, you usually can't get that feeling in public.

But finally the Reds were edged out and we all filed out quietly to join the subdued but orderly Red Devils (many with still-glowing plastic devil horns on their heads), milling about the main drag. There was a large number of cops deployed to keep order, but they weren't needed.

I walked home in an intermittent drizzle. On the way, I passed three young people who responded to my scarlet "Korea Fighting: shirt by chanting "DAE-han-min-guk" and cracked up when I joined them in the rhythmic clap. I got home, oozed into bed, couldn't sleep (damn jet lag), and got up to blearily stare at the US losing their game, going back to bed again at 5:30, about an hour later than I've been waking up each day (damn jet lag). But I'd like to end this post with a couple of more positive thoughts.

First, I was the only non-Korean I saw inside the theater building and I was older than anyone else there by about thirty years. I've gotten used to seeing very few Westerners and, whether walking around downtown Daegu or in Gangnam, I generally stand out in the crowd as much for my white hair as my ashen skin and funny eyes. The positive thought? That's fine. Somewhere along the line, I stopped caring about being different. For a long, long time in my life I never wanted to stick out. Now I just don't care; wherever I am is where I belong. I'll write more about this if I ever get my thoughts together enough to blog about my California trip.

Also, during the game's first half, the two twenty-something women sitting to my left at the theater saw that I didn't have a pair of the plastic cheering sticks. Each of them gave one of theirs to me and spent the rest of the first half holding one each, beating them together awkwardly but endearingly. At halftime I went out to the lobby, got my own sticks, and gave theirs back with thanks. This is a small thing, but it's a reminder to me that, however xenophobic or closed Koreans may seem as a group, individually they often show real kindness and consideration to a waegook far from home.

Or am I far from home? Wherever I am really is where I belong. DAE-han-min-guk.

Just another manic Sunday

Yesterday was a long, exhausting, and fulfilling day.

The lead-in was less than stellar, as a whole bunch of idiots were playing basketball (not horse or just shooting buckets, but an actual game with lots of yelling) outside my window till past 1 a.m. I finally got to sleep about quarter past and got up at 5:45 to get ready for the long trip back to Hangang Park by the river, where last week's 5K race was, for this week's 10K.

The trip there involved my going the wrong way on one subway line (for one stop; I ain't a compleat idjit) and then, when it looked as if I might miss the race, jumping the barrier in a deserted subway station because the turnstile thingy wouldn't recognize my T-Money card though it had lots of credit on it. I kept expecting the K-cops to come bursting out of some booth whence they'd been surreptitiously monitoring the station and grab me, but they didn't. Haven't yet, anyway. I'm not answering my door, though, if somebody rings it.

I was getting frustrated and nervous at the site of the race, a huge grassy square with tents set up on three sides. I went here to pick up my race number, but they sent me over there, where the people sent me back over there, where they sent me back to the original here, where they still couldn't find my name. None of these folks spoke English, of course; last week I had my student Hanbyel with me to negotiate such things, but dot dot dot.

Perhaps it's because I kept asking, "Yeodol K?" Silly of them not to understand what I meant; they didn't recognize "K" as short for kilometer (though it is phonetically Korean for "dog") and... um... it may not have helped, as I realized later, that yeodol is actually "eight". (Yeol is ten.) So apparently I was asking them something about eight dogs.

Then I tried to pick up my goodie bag for the race, which included a World Cup-themed Korea running shirt, compression shorts (though I'm not sure I want my giblets compressed) and running tights. So the here people sent me back to the first there, where... ah, heck with it, I finally got the goodies. Then I went over to the Seoul Flyers (running club) tent and met Jae, the Korean-American president of the club, who was wonderfully friendly, with whom I talked till somebody came up and told me that the 10K people were making their way to the starting line, so I had to weave my way through thousands of warming-up runners and ended up with a bunch of fit guys who had no idea what I meant when I asked them if they were lined up for the 10K. No, they were marathoners... anyway, you get the idea.

In Korea, they usually seem to run a 5K, a 10K, a half-marathon and a full marathon together, each race starting a few minutes after the one before. The warmup time is something to see, with some guy screeching exhortations over the PA, some very hot girls in very hot pants (What?! I'm old, not dead) shaking... well, everything... to the latest K-pop hit, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (which actually has nothing to do with Dick Van Dyke and crew), and everyone giving his neighbor, in unison, shoulder rubs and shiatsu massage.

I finally did get to the right starting line, where Jae (stop thinking about the hot girls in hot pants and refer back two paragraphs) remembered my name and insisted on taking my picture:

Yeah, Steve you look confident now...

I hoped to run 10-minute miles, or just a touch better, and finish in an hour or a tick over. For the first half of the race, the road was so crowded it was practically impossible to negotiate around people, but I seemed to be doing okay: where they marked the end of the first kilometer, I was at exactly six minutes. Perfection. Then, at the 2K mark, I was at 10:15. (Wha'? Why, 2K?) That was my first hint that their measurements were fallible. It's also about then that I began to notice that it was getting, as my Grandpa Davis used to say, hot as the hinges.

The race was entirely unshaded and it was over 80 degrees (Fahrenheit... I think) and the air was typical downtown Seoul, thick, rich, and a great complement to a sandwich. But I kept on, feeling pretty good, keeping the pace up, on target (if I could only keep buggering on) for a 55-minute finish. The last few kilometers were rough, hot, and hotter, and my body was telling me to slack off, when I remembered what I'd told Hanbyel the week before when she was trying to finish her first 5K: "Sometimes you have to tell your body to shut up."

Finally, I crossed the line in 53:15, faster per mile than the 5K I ran six weeks ago (which is pretty darn unlikely). I realized that, according to the markers, I'd run the last kilometer ridiculously fast, so the course was obviously a little short, but even at 55 minutes (my best guess of a legit time), I was stunned: just six minutes slower than I last ran a 10K, 30 years and 25 pounds ago. Whew!

I took a little subway detour on the way home to go to my favorite bookstore (and possibly evade the manhunt still going on for me at that other subway stop) and finally made it home to relax and mainline ibuprofen for a little while...

...till it was time to head for the ballpark. I can reach Jamsil Stadium, where the Twins and Bears play their home games, in a half hour by bike, all along the path by the water. I met our principal, Ron, and his son Geoff outside the stadium, where Ron did me the favor of snapping this charming pic of me in my newly-won running shirt:

That's a giant baseball glove covered in grass, by the way. And a giant American covered in a newly-won t-shirt with a typically mangled Konglish phrase... am I fighting Korea? Is Korea fighting something? Is it a geopolitical statement?

And, to make a long, long story microscopically shorter, we had a nice time at the game, though neither team had their cheerleaders, which I believe is against federal law. Then I rode my bike home in the gloaming. Koreans, by the way, stay out of the midday heat, but by Jumpin' Jay Howdy, they come out after dark: kids on bikes and skates, ajummas walking purse dogs off the leash, couples strolling hand-in-hand, bikers, runners, half of everybody wearing black against a black background, all progressing on the left of the path, on the right, in the middle... but as you might guess, I made it home alive eventually, sore, exhausted, and happy... till I remembered I only had eight hours till the Monday morning alarm, barely enough time to marinate in ibuprofen so I could get out of bed in the morning.

Not negligible

Ever since the sinking of the RoK ship Cheonan, sane people have been keeping one eye on the news. The Koreas have, legally speaking, been at war for 59 years now, and certainly our friend Mr. Kim up there, moribund though he may be, is capable of a lot of strange stuff. I've thought all along, though, that (whoever gave the order to sink the ship), the North Korean regime isn't crazy enough to initiate their own self-destruction. I still think that, and the South has taken a more-than-reasonable approach; twenty million people (in Greater Seoul) make for a pretty big chip to risk. So I'm not too worried. But I am paying attention.

Still, The New York Times calls the risk of war "not neglibible". It's just possible that some yahoo on either side of the border might start shooting over nothing, and we know that the North's government is perfectly content with millions of its citizens' dying... I guess a lot rides on China, which seems to be saying it's not going to support any more craziness KJI tries to pull. To put it indelicately, apparently they would pull their hand out of the puppet's... well, you know.

I, like every American who's got two brain cells to rub together, am registered with the US Embassy. We all get monthly bulletins in our inboxes, and the Embassy will contact us toot-sweet if we need to bug out. (I just hope I don't get the same Jeep as Frank Burns.)

Meanwhile, it feels rather like being in a tornado or earthquake zone and keeping alert. What's shocked me is that I (the second-most egocentric person I know [no, I'm not implying that you are the most]) am most concerned about my students; I'm mostly thinking how tragic an invasion or rain of missiles would be for them. That's not like me at all. Or... maybe... it finally is. And that, for me, is the upside of the Cheonan crisis.

The die is cast

...I've registered for the Joongang Seoul Marathon on November 7. (Incidentally, I hope that the word "die" won't come up again in the context of the race.) I will be starting, and I hope finishing, at the Olympic Stadium along with 23,999 of my closest friends.

My running's generally going along really well, considering I just cannot lose even one of the twenty pounds I need to take off to alleviate the pounding on my creaky knees. On Sunday, I ran for a solid 75 minutes, the most I've done at once since I worked myself up to 90 for awhile on St. Augustine Beach several years ago. I'm comfortably cruising at 10 minutes per mile, which is pretty slow, but two years ago I was laboring to do a half-hour at 10 1/2 to 11 per.

I tried to get my cross-country kids to enter the Bada 5K this past Saturday; I picked that one particularly because most of the races are on Sundays and Ecllid has to be in church. I'd hoped that Buyoung, Laura, and my fellow teacher Susan Kim would enter, as they had a great time at the race a month before... Buyoung wasn't interested, Ecllid forgot to enter, Laura's mom didn't send the entry fee, and Susan registered but had been under the weather, so she didn't come.

That left Hanbyel, who was so upset a month ago when she hopped on the wrong bus and missed the race, and me. Getting to the race was a trip and a half: seventeen subways stops, a transfer, and a half-mile walk. The setting was beautiful though, right along the Han River, in the shadow of the National Assembly building on the overlooking hill:

There was a huge crowd, split among the marathoners, halfers, 10Kers, and 5Kers. An actual Korean road race is just like an American one, but the intro and the outro aren't. Beforehand, thousands of runners do mass stretches to K-pop songs and cheerleaders, and at the starting line, you're exhorted to rub the shoulders and then pound the back of the person standing in front of you. (More about the outro later.)

As to the race itself, it was really pleasant, nice and cool, though so crowded on the out-and-back course that it was hard to feel really free to run. Hanbyel was really nervous, never having run more than 20 minutes at a time before, that I thought I'd better toss my idea of running as strongly as I could and coach her through it. By the second half of the race, she was too winded to talk, but I kept chattering, trying to take her mind off her discomfort, and she made it, 35:12, running all the way. At the end of the race, she wanted to die, but within a few minutes she was positively glowing; you get such a feeling of accomplishment from a new personal best! For me, it feels good to be a coach--of sorts--again.

I'm truly proud of her, especially as the race came just ten hours after the school's performance night, when she performed with the Dance Club, played the flute with the orchestra, and did the Meryl Streep role in Mamma Mia.

Afterward, we sat down by the river for a bit and opened our post-race prize packages:

To the victors go the spoils: sticky bun, peanut butter crackers, medal, and 317 dead fish. (I wish I hadn't said "spoils".)


I think I'd rather have the usual bananas, bagels, and Gatorade from an American race. A nice lady took a picture, using Hanbyel's phone, of Hanbyel and me, but the phone seems to be hors de combat. If Hanbyel manages to send me the photo, I'll post it.

Anyway, there's another race on the same spot next Sunday, and I emailed the leader of the Seoul Flyers Club, asking him to enter me in the 10K (as he offered on their Facebook page), so I'll be stepping up my distance a little. Also, I'm going to be visiting family in California in a week and a half (!) and maybe I can find a race there. Anyway, the plan is to do a 10K, then a half-marathon, then the marathon I promised myself, back in 1969, that I'd do one day.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter the Joongang Seoul Marathon.