On the flip side it’s been breathtaking getting out and realizing that I’ve been taking nature for granted. It’s a gift to have your mind wander. It’s a gift to roam over mossy earth. I ran out over the Oakland hills this morning to see a blanket of clouds glowing through the sunlight and pouring out over the hills into the Bay. I both wished I had my camera with me and was glad I didn’t.

It’s been generally drizzly here for the past week or so, which is a blessing and a curse. I’ve felt self-conscious since arriving, noticing that nobody here runs, and I wonder if I’m being too aggressive, pushing too fast when I dodge the passersbys. I’ve decided there is no better feeling than running with the rain slipping off your skin, hot breath hovering between your chest and your shirt while dodging cars and scooters and disapproving old ladies. It’s a powerful feeling, and a very living thing to be doing.

—

Everything’s concrete here, and my knees are feeling it. It’s not like it used to be, when my dad would run barefoot on the banks of the Xindian River in his boyhood hometown. Nowadays the whole deal is paved over with asphalt and tile and basketball courts, a veritable concrete jungle.

“Let’s go see the river” my Dad announces one day. On the day we are to go, preceding events yawn and billow and suddenly we can’t work the visit in.

One morning I decide to visit anyways and head out early, stepping out into brilliant sunlight (it’s been raining the whole week). I’m taking the roads, out behind fuzhoushan park, down keelung road, past treasure hill and on out to the bike paths by the river. It’s exhausting, and an hour later I’m there. The river is muddled, uninspiring; it cuts a wide swath and lies flat and unperturbed (lifeless, I decide). Cars and city noise roar over bridges, expressways. Concrete frames the landscape, creeping into the banks of the river and damming its tributaries.

I try to imagine my dad as a kid again, playing barefoot in glassy waters and catching fish in a carefree Huckleberry Finn–esque existence. Maybe I’m in the wrong place. Maybe he lived in an alternate space, time, and riverbank where the factories and skyscrapers haven’t yet grown and his toes sink into moist earth. Whatever it is, the sun is in my eyes and I want to go home.

There is no time for thinking now, but the mechanical slapslap of feet against pavement. I can sum up Murakami’s book: what does he think about when running? Nothing. Justin’s been reading more about running lately and letting me read his books. I realize that I enjoy how mechanical it is: I like the forward lean, the rhythmic labor of breathing, driving forward, but not too far forward lest you tumble (where?). I’ve been feeling more aggressive with my run form, enjoying the feeling of being fast and the brushing of warm rays on my back. It’s going to get me in trouble.

I lean into the whoopsiedaisy turn lane and find that will be occupied in three-two-one but thankfully I reel back in and thank my lucky stars. A wandering Kia once leaned into me and gently lay my bike down in the bike lane. I am happy to report I didn’t go down with it, but wondered in a few panicked moments if people would do their better thinking laying down.

With much sighing, a flock of photons once barreled into the earth in a lazy arc, leaving tendrils of dirt-dust in its wake. The sun bathed us in a lemonade glow in the evening–I tried to catch it in the viewfinder, but decided to let the moment stand silent, solemn by my side, the way you would imagine you would feel in one of those movie-moments pregnant with meaning, voiced by a steel guitar. On the way back from Portland I imagined just that, feeling like our car was the only one in the world, leaning into thin slices of daylight. I caught myself singing along to the stereo, and at that moment thought that we should drive to the world’s edge, then go some more.

It was a really bad idea.

But I think I finally realized what Psalm 63 means:

God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

Running in the sun with the heat unbearably invading every pore, I think I’m viscerally experiencing what it’s like to seek to crave the shade, to be inexorably drawn to it, to seek shelter. It’s quite something to have nothing on your mind but the thought of water, to feel your body on the verge of crumbling until you can get yourself to a fountain and drink deeply and unashamedly.

I experienced today what it meant to know and thirst and crave the living God that much as if life itself depended on it. That’s how I want to live.

–

Another big THANK YOU to all of you who had been instrumental in encouraging me to press on in my training for this event. This event was like no other I’ve ever been to.

It struck me on race day what a fraternal sport running is; everybody’s in it together. So when we all gathered up at the starting line, strangers were giving each other pep talks, finishers walked back on the course to encourage stragglers, and a good bunch of three runners stopped running completely to come to my aid after I graciously faceplanted with a cramped calf.

So the weeks before, I’d been sidelined a bit with a knee injury (tendonitis in my left knee). Therefore, I’d been running only gym workouts for a good two weeks before race day. No long, extended distances, which led me to doubt my readiness on race day.

Typical marathon workouts encourage you to run four or five 20+ mile workouts in your training routine prior to racing. I had been averaging 13-14mi on my long runs in the months prior, so I was about six miles short of being a truly prepared runner.

Still–when the starting gun blew, I found myself in this huge sea of people. It was pretty amazing, this sheer number of crazies like me getting out there to run on a chilly morning. I also noticed some stomach pain; perhaps from the weird PowerBar formula I took an hour before.

The Golden Gate was WAY windier than I’d expected, not doing much for my stomach. I ended up pacing behind guys with big muscles. I don’t know why I did; maybe I just assumed they knew what they were doing. I took the first half pretty easy: I ran a 2:03 split (a 9:25/mi pace).

I started to get a bit more into race mentality on the second half. I got it into my mind to break 4 hours, so I knew I had to catch the 2:00 pacer girl (these are runners who guarantee a certain running pace). So the second half was very much a race to catch up to and pass as many people as possible.

People I remember remembering: Big Guy with Big Muscles in a Cutoff Shirt, 2:00 Pacer Girl, Girl in Blue Shirt Who I Couldn’t Pass The Last Six Miles, and Tony the Popular Guy in a Purple Shirt (everybody he passed was like “Go, Tony!” or “Hey, Tony!” to which he’d throw up a peace sign and a million-watt grin).

What I didn’t expect was how hard The Wall would hit me at the 19 mile mark. We were exiting Golden Gate Park when my body told me, “Andrew, I think I’m done running” and started Cramping Mode, which I hadn’t really counted on.
The next seven miles were the Longest hour of my life, and it was essentially a lot of awkward running sprinkled with some intermittent cramps in my foot, my calf and my hamstring. They’d usually take turns, just to keep it interesting. My mind didn’t quite appreciate it. Spectators just laughted.

What I don’t get is why I didn’t get it in my mind to stop and take the time to stretch. I guess I was too doggone set on beating 4 hours, so I’d be running through cramps (my body’s obvious way of signaling me to stop). It helped that 2:00 Pacer Girl was in striking distance, keeping me on pace for better or worse.

So it completely befuddles me that despite these cramps and a fall that I’d run my second half faster than the first: 1:58 (at a respectable 9:13/mi pace). What in the world happened there? No idea.

But let’s just say that one of the greatest feelings in the world (well.. it’s pretty up there) is crossing that finish line and just feeling your body scream for joy of Being Done. And is that food on those tables over there? Yeah, I’ll be over there.

Major props to Tony for finishing his half marathon in style and being a great help in IJM fundraising. Of course, Sarah was as patient and amazing as ever in trucking our weary bodies all around SF that morning and afternoon.

All in all, a wonderful feeling, this marathon thing. Really, I’m not crazy. I just like the feeling of moving forward, the inexorable draw toward the finish line and the charge to persevere.

There’s talk of running more races in the fall. Anybody interested?

A Smorgasbord of Pain!

(More on Flickr, of course)

What a feeling: running in a huge sea of people, making conversation with strangers, wondering what their stories are.

What a feeling: crossing the Golden Gate bridge at 7 in the morning, the wind blowing you about and the North Bay illuminated by shafts of light running through the clouds. The eucalyptus trees frame the coast perfectly and insulate you from the seaside gusts.

What a feeling: high-fiving strangers, gulping down energy drinks and carb gel at random intervals. A random Trojan warrior shows up here and there running in full armor.

What a feeling: running through cramps over the last 8 miles, your face contorted in every possible way (and ruining all of your photographs), your mind turned to mush and all higher-level mind faculties shut down, leaving you to just run and breathe and ignore the pain.

What a feeling: cramping up and faceplanting a mile from the finish and having three guys come to your help. One of them offers you salt tablets, his energy drink and runs with you a short distance making sure you’re all right.

What a feeling: feeding off the energy of thousands, people running with various disabilities, running for causes. You bump into a few other runners with IJM t-shirts and you swap stories.

What a feeling: tears forming in your eyes; you wonder if it’s because of the pain or if you’re just really that emotional.

–

To be continued–more thoughts and photos to come!

I’m excited, no doubt. Tony and I are going to run this race and we are going to finish strong.

Some pre-marathon thoughts:

• I need to be hydrating constantly today and into tonight so my body has enough fluids to start the race.
• I’ve been eating lots of carbs lately–wheat bread and pasta and noodles and such. I won’t be overdoing the carb-loading tonight.
• Note to self: no fibers today. Roughage = digestive tract activity = really bad on race day.
• I’m visualizing the course and watching course videos. Also checking out the map and making mental notes.
• When will I hit The Wall? What are my strategies to get through it? I have no idea.
• San Francisco is beautiful. I am stoked.

I just found out that my friend Alvin is the lead cyclist on my wave–how cool is that?!

Fundraising update!

Today is the LAST DAY of fundraising for the International Justice Mission! To-date, we’ve raised over $650 — great job, everyone! Let’s make good on the goal of $1000. Find out how we’re doing, or just go donate now! »

Again, if you’re interested, keep up to date on my pre– and post-race thoughts in my Twitter feed.

The modern-day slave trade

Last semester, a few friends of mine taught a DeCal course on “The Modern Slave Trade”. I had the privilege of attending one of their sessions on modern-day sex trafficking, its roots and how it rears its ugly head today. On that day and through some subsequent research, I learned:

• Women and children of little-to-no-education are the most common victims of the slave trade.
• There are 1.2 million child sex slaves, according to UNICEF. That’s just the children.
• The sex trade depends on visibility. Thus, one solution is simple: prosecute hard, drive it underground and starve it.
• It could start with kidnapping: drugged food or drinks. It could start with deception: a promise of a better job in another city.
• Deception is key: you could be tricked by somebody you trust.
• Victims often become perpetrators in this twisted world
• Slavery can be fought with education

In the course of that session, we watched an NBC Dateline episode that sent a crew with a hidden camera along with IJM investigators to bust a sex trafficking operation in Cambodia. A brief summary of that episode:

Why I care

I was feeling all sorts of things after watching the video: shock, utter disgust and anger. I think what particularly riles me about this issue is the utter helplessness of the victims and the cruelty of the perpetrators. What is even more disgusting is how rampant human trafficking is today (it’s in our own backyard, for heaven’s sakes: Raj Properties, anybody?).

The heartless exploitation of another human being is something that we should hate with a passion. We should despise it, condemn it, get all riled-up when we hear of it. But we can’t stay there; we need to do something about it.

There’s more to come

I haven’t told you yet how I plan to fundraise for this cause. There’s some plan to do some online fundraising, as well as some sort of word-of-mouth work I’d love to have you involved in. I hope to continue writing to further flesh out my thoughts and feelings about this heavy topic.

But I’ll open this up for discussion: what are your thoughts about human trafficking?