My Saipan Marathon

Most people who have become a part of my life in the last year or so have come along with me as I went from a life of cigarette smoking and late night fun to swimming, biking, and early morning runs—the latter of which is the most difficult.

This past weekend I joined the international crowd of competitors who challenged the inaugural Saipan Marathon. It was one heck of a journey.

In January 2005, I competed in my first half marathon when the Marianas Visitors Authority hosted the 24th running of the event. It was a challenge to say the least, but I was able to fight off the pain, the cramps, and the involuntary flexing of my feet to finish the race.

It was an incredible feeling when I crossed the finish line, and while I found it a bit difficult to control my emotions, I managed to keep control of my faculties amidst my celebratory bliss.

More recently, I had the privilege of traveling to the southernmost island in the Commonwealth for a multi-tasking trip as a reporter and a runner in the 9th Annual Rota Half Marathon back in October.

I had not been training for a couple of months and the combination of food and frolic had taken its toll on my fitness as my waistline swelled like Saipan Lagoon during high tide, but I was still able to finish two and a half hours after the start.

That marked the point where I returned to the training trail, and three months later I was ready to try something new to both Saipan and myself—the inaugural Saipan Marathon.

Things were a little bit different this time around as the distance was doubled and the mental battle was going to be a long drawn out fight to the finish.

Since the Rota Half I had already dropped more than 15 lbs. and incorporated a healthy balance of running into my training diet that included many early morning runs from the Hyatt to Marpi through the rain.

Heading into the race I felt confident that I could finish, but every now and again the reality of running 26.2 miles along the spine of Saipan in one shot settled in. I sat in on just about all of the planning meetings, and after seeing the names of all of the island’s top runners that entered the race, I knew that I would be spending plenty of time running by myself—and not ahead of the pack either.

Since I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to have a running partner, I decided to don my heart rate monitor to help maintain a steady pace. This way I could see if I needed to slow down to take a rest or if I needed to get my lazy behind in gear.

Running alone wasn’t my only concern. Before the start of the race, there was some uncertainty as to whether or not there would be enough sports drink made available to the runners along the course. I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t have to worry about the run out to Marpi and back because the sun was going to be beneath the ocean at that time, so rather than hope that my needs would be satisfied on the southern half of the course, I took action.

As I drove north from my residence, I strategically placed four bottles of PowerAde and two packets of gel on the course. The cones that provided a safe haven for the runners along Beach Road also served as an orange covered oasis for me along the way.

I also had a ringer waiting for me with three more gel packets near the Garapan fire station, so my supply was all set for the race.

As the clock neared 3:30am, NMA officials gathered all 41 nocturnal runners close to the starting line and gave us a sobering one minute warning. I wasn’t completely sure how I was going to start the race, but I found out in a hurry when Louis Wabol blew the horn to signify commencement.

I let slip a “Woo hoo” and took off east bound down Micro Beach Road toward the traffic signal with a purpose. In my training runs to Marpi, my heart rate took a while to pick up, and by the time I got to Middle Road, I was pumping about the 120 bpm range and climbing until I hit the mid-160s on my way north.

Not this morning. By the time I even reached the fire station I was a ball of adrenaline pumping fire as a glance at the monitor showed my heart rate was all the way up to 143 bmp.

I felt great and figured that I was just all wound up because it was race day, and once I reached my target range I settled in for the long haul north. I was far from the first-place pace blazed by eventual winner Stuart Smith, but I was among the faster starters for the first couple of miles before Yosh Gabaldon, Chris Fryling, Nate Hawley, and Jack Kabriel caught me near the Capitol Hill intersection.

We talked and joked a bit as I stuck with them through Tanapag, but I felt tired, and a look at the monitor showed that I was in the mid-170s so I bid them a fond adieu and backed off until I was back home in the 160s.

Not long after that I was passed by another convoy of runners as Fred Camacho, Butch Sublemente, Mieko Motoyoshi, and top women’s finisher Monica Yamaguchi caught me. Fred jokingly asked me if I wanted any company, but I told him that their company was a little too fast for me.

All four of them were accomplished athletes with a history of strong runs, and I knew that I was way out of my league. That was about the time I figured that I may have been going too fast for too long, but I was looking at my monitor and I was right in line with all of my training, so I shrugged it off and plodded on.

Eventually more people caught up to me and passed me by, but I stayed true to my training rates, and when I reached the turn around in Marpi I was almost 10 minutes faster than the practice sessions.

The good news was that I felt great, and it was an easy run back to Garapan with the wind at my back. The temperature remained cool (by local standards), my body felt great, and the sun was still tucked beneath the Philippine Sea—everything was going well at the halfway point.

I met my messenger across the street from the fire station and was ready for the journey to the Pacific Islands Club and back. Running through streets of Garapan’s party district was a treat, but I knew that I had to hustle as far south as possible before the sunrise so I stepped it up a notch.

My goal was to reach Microl Toyota before the sky became light blue, a feat which I accomplished, but I might have spent a little more gas in doing so. The closer I got to the next aid station in front of Kentucky Fried Chicken in Chalan Kanoa, the more and more I began to ache.

I was not out of breath, but as the sun began to rise, so too did the temperature. My body was asking me to take a break along the way, and fought the pain in my feet until I almost fell due to cramping near the 19th mile.

I walked off the pain in my legs, but my dogs were barking. It was going to hurt whether I opted to walk or run, so I began to trot south—something that began easier when I saw my friends running north towards me.

Yosh ran by, then Chris, and Nate, Fred, and basically everyone else who passed me under the stars. When I got to the Mobil station in Chalan Piao, Faheem Ebrahim said “The turnaround is just around the corner,” which perked me up a bit. I knew where it as, but the support was great.

When I made it to the aid station at Hopwood Junior High School the pain in my feet was almost unbearable, and I kept thinking about the Kaike Triathlon, and how I bowed out of that race 4km shy of the finish line.

At that point there was still roughly eight miles to go, and I was unsure if I could take the abuse that long. The only thing I knew for sure was that it felt like crap to not finish in Japan and that I didn’t want to have that happen here too. The last thing that I wanted was to start a pattern of DNFs.

Not long after I saw Mieko and Lewie Tenorio suffering the effects of a long run and the hot sun. They were walking painfully, something that I knew all too well. We exchanged well wishes and continued on, and I fought the urge to walk until I reached the PIC.

When I got close to the final turn around point I could hear Dennis Tababa in the distance, “Is that Brad?”

I raised my arms ala Rocky Balboa, and my pals at the aid station let out a cheer that helped my run upright to the pylons. I grabbed a bunch of sports drink, doused myself with water, thanked them for their support, and headed north toward the finish—just 10km to go.

It was anything but easy. I set goals for myself along the way. “Just make it to Hopwood,” “Try to make it to Townhouse,” “Make it to that telephone pole.”

There were a string of small goals along the way that eventually melded into one. By the time I made it to the final 5km point, I was so focused on keeping my feet moving that I couldn’t feel my feet at all.

As I ran towards Garapan I was transfixed on the ground six feet in front of me, and was elated to see the aid station manned by the Garapan G-Rollers’ near the 13 Fishermen Memorial. It was great to see those guys there, and before I left I smiled and told them, “I’m about to finish my first marathon.”

Starting again hurt a bit, but it was only about a mile and a half or so to go, so I plugged on a bit faster. The cramps were there but it was a bit easier to ignore them because it was all about to be over soon.

“Boom-Boom-Boom,” went my feet past the Garapan Fishing Base, and there was no stopping because I could see the traffic signal down the street by the Hard Rock Café. Sweet relief was a mile away, and more than that—completion.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna finish this thing,” I thought as I ran through the intersection. I was choked up for a moment when I thought about it, but it quickly went away.

The same thing happened when I ran past Tony Roma’s, but it was a little more intense this time. I stared at the ground, careful not to trip over my feet when I rounded the corner at the fire station for the final stretch.

I could see the finish line—it was right there. All I had to do was make it to the end of the street. A smile hit my face and I was instantly choked up again. This time I couldn’t shake it.

When I reached the Café at the Park tears began to fall from the corners of my eyes, and they came in greater frequency with every additional step toward the archway. By the time I passed the driveway to the Hyatt I could hardly see. I had passed from falling tears into full on crying. I could hear people cheering and shouting but it was all a great blur as I crossed the finish line—eyes closed.

I put my face in my hands and began sobbing tears of joy uncontrollably. “I did it. I did it,” was all I could manage to say in my muffled crying voice.

Looking back at my finish a couple of days later, I still can’t explain what came over me. All I can do is offer that it was an incredibly emotional experience—one without compare.

Were it not for the amount of volunteers along the course and there dedication to the runners, I am sure that few would have been able to complete the journey—and those who would have surely would have feel much the worse in doing so.

Thanks go out to all of the selfless individuals who sacrificed their sleep and their morning to ensure the safety of all of the participants, as well as to the organizers who spent countless hours planning a race without receiving a penny in return for their efforts.