Aaron - 1, Dead Sea Ultra Marathon - 0
Participant #847 ran his first officially timed, internationally recognized half marathon on Friday, April 15, 2005, with a time of (approx.) 91 minutes (official results and time soon).
Pre-race
The day started out early; we woke up at 5am, so that we could be out of the door by 5:30. From Dr. Ibrahim’s house in Amman we went to the main starting location, where we would then get a bus to our race’s starting point. We left from there on our "half-marathon" bus at 6:15, just before the "Ultra Marathon" (50k) got underway, beginning an exciting 28k drive. The anticipation on the bus was apparent. To my right were some European-looking, well-fed old men in jeans – obviously not runners. In the seats head of me were some young, gaunt Jordanians in short shorts and racing jerseys – obviously trained athletes. The apparent dynamic was unmistakable.
As we descended into the valley, the bus driver turned on the radio and the Jordanian runners ahead of me broke into song – clapping and singing jubilantly. Their excitement was at once contagious and comforting. Upon reaching our starting point (just past the 22km marker) the busses emptied and a crowd of us rushed to the bushes to empty our bladders (as runners are prone to do). After some time of milling around, stretching and warming up, we gathered at the line. The wait was excruciating, as we couldn’t start until the other busses (for the 10k) had passed us. But, the mood was entirely different than it would be for a traditional 5 or 8k race. Rather than a sense of urgency, the situation was very calm. There was a camaraderie among us at the line, no matter how transparent or fleeting, as if we were brothers and sisters embarking on a journey together – an anonymous camaraderie of shared intentions.
Kickin’ It
Then, BANG, the race was underway. Those who were not well trained, or were merely too naive, took off in a flash, while the old masters of marathons-past relied on their learned wisdom and held back. After about the first 5k things began to level out, as positions were more or less established and the rabbits died off.
The descent was very nice; the abrupt valley walls, painted in pastels and peppered with small shrubs, grew around us with each stride. My pace remained consistent with my goals and I quickly settled in for the long haul, replenishing myself occasionally with cups of water or a cool, wet sponge.
With about 14k left we reached a turning point in the race as we emptied onto the valley floor, veered left and proceeded towards the sea. The site of the sea in the distance was encouraging, although the race was really just beginning (you could say the honeymoon was almost over). The arid desert air and ever-increasing temperature hits you hard. You say to yourself “oh, I’ve done about 13k in 50:00 or so. I’m in great shape.” But your lactaid threshold can creep up on you faster than you think. No. Luckily, it was not this time yet. Shortly, we were beginning to merge with the 10k crew, passing those who enrolled in the race just to walk (a silent majority in the 10k). After steadily running 12k, few can make a pretty face (except, maybe, for Eric Wright), a fact made obvious by the odd looks of those who have never had the desire to push themselves to their limits (walkers...). But, you waste little energy concerning yourself with such matters in the heat of a race.
The next 5k blurred by until around the 4k (remaining) marker, when the shortcomings of my conditioning began to become apparent. The rolling valley floor in addition to the onset of a lumbering gait made the last 3k require some true mental and physical effort. But, as all harriers must, I kept on keepin’ on. I was shortly accompanied by a fellow white-faced "englezzie" who cordially said "hey" to me and when I asked "how’s it going?" said "not too bad" and proceeded to pass me. At this point, it doesn’t really matter, and I concede one more place with little contest.
Reflection and the Spiritual Aspect of Running
Amidst the crowd of curious walkers and the clicking of (quasi-)professional photographers (who lined the whole route, taking pictures of half-marathoners, marathoners and ultra-ers) the combination of muscle fatigue, exhausting sunshine and dopamine on the brain leads to what some call "runners high" – the free and legal euphoric that has been exploited by addicts of the open road for centuries. At this point, you could care less how much your calves may be cramping, or how you might have considered just pissing your pants around the 14k mark instead of stopping. You are just existing; kicking your own ass as you "Race to the Lowest Point on Earth," asking yourself "how the hell did I end up here" and loving every minute of it.
Post-race
I crossed the finish line, marked by a large arch of balloons, in just over 90 minutes and was greeted with a medal (all half-marathoners, marathoners and ultra-ers got one) and a small bottle of water. I passed through the finishing tent, where they recorded my number and time, and I emptied out into the post-race area. I was the first person finished from our group (naturally...) and so I hung around, stretched my aching muscles and kept moving to keep from cramping up. The runners of the marathon (who started about 1:10 before us) trickled in and the tents filled with shade- and chair-seeking athletes, tending to their wounds and recovering from their exhausting trek. The first ultra-marathoner came running in shortly, amidst cheers of celebration and excitement. He carried an Iraqi flag with pride as he ran through the finish line. It appeared as if he could continue for another 50k with little effort. I looked on in admiration and respect.
Red Bull (one of the big sponsors of the events) representatives were everywhere, pushing their syrup-y product like so many drug dealers do. They were providing free drinks as a major promotional drive. I steered clear (Red Bull grosses me out). I wandered amidst the other runners (who were in various states of post-race recovery) for some time until my dad and Dr. Ibrahim finished (at just over 2 hours for their half-marathon).
The Beach
When everyone was done and we had all regrouped (including all the students that Dr. Ibrahim had brought from Mu’tah University) we headed down to the Dead Sea to swim and sit and relax. We sat around for a little bit and then I headed down to the sea for a dip. The Dead Sea is pretty incredible. The salt content is so high in the water that it is nearly impossible to sink (unless you are forced under). By just laying down in the water the buoyancy makes your body float, with no effort whatsoever – good for post-race relaxation. So, I floated for a little bit. The gentle breeze over the water was cool, and the salt on my skin seemed to rejuvenate my aching muscles, at least temporarily. Then, as I floated, the salt water began to wash over my chest – not good. I (foolishly) made no preparations before the race, such as band aids or Vaseline, and the salt stung my sore nipples like crazy. Ugh. I got out and rinsed off in the showers on the beach. The cleansing water was welcomed.
Dr. Ibrahim had arranged for lunch, so we just hung out on the beach, in the shade of a small palm tree, until it arrived. There were nearly 60 students from the University that participated in the event, which was just great. Many had never run in a race before and nearly all of them had no prior training, but they all took part for the (truly) once-in-a-lifetime experience. Two of the Mu’tah girls got first and third overall in the 10k, and one of the boys got first overall in the 10k – quite an accomplishment for them personally and to promote participation for next year’s event at the University. Following their awards and recognition, we sat on the beach and ate our food. The students celebrated their accomplishment(s) with some music (singing songs and clapping with the aid of a drummer) and everyone had a good time as the afternoon came to a close. And that was it. No problem. I had raced to the lowest point on earth – easy (mostly).
Pre-race
The day started out early; we woke up at 5am, so that we could be out of the door by 5:30. From Dr. Ibrahim’s house in Amman we went to the main starting location, where we would then get a bus to our race’s starting point. We left from there on our "half-marathon" bus at 6:15, just before the "Ultra Marathon" (50k) got underway, beginning an exciting 28k drive. The anticipation on the bus was apparent. To my right were some European-looking, well-fed old men in jeans – obviously not runners. In the seats head of me were some young, gaunt Jordanians in short shorts and racing jerseys – obviously trained athletes. The apparent dynamic was unmistakable.
As we descended into the valley, the bus driver turned on the radio and the Jordanian runners ahead of me broke into song – clapping and singing jubilantly. Their excitement was at once contagious and comforting. Upon reaching our starting point (just past the 22km marker) the busses emptied and a crowd of us rushed to the bushes to empty our bladders (as runners are prone to do). After some time of milling around, stretching and warming up, we gathered at the line. The wait was excruciating, as we couldn’t start until the other busses (for the 10k) had passed us. But, the mood was entirely different than it would be for a traditional 5 or 8k race. Rather than a sense of urgency, the situation was very calm. There was a camaraderie among us at the line, no matter how transparent or fleeting, as if we were brothers and sisters embarking on a journey together – an anonymous camaraderie of shared intentions.
Kickin’ It
Then, BANG, the race was underway. Those who were not well trained, or were merely too naive, took off in a flash, while the old masters of marathons-past relied on their learned wisdom and held back. After about the first 5k things began to level out, as positions were more or less established and the rabbits died off.
The descent was very nice; the abrupt valley walls, painted in pastels and peppered with small shrubs, grew around us with each stride. My pace remained consistent with my goals and I quickly settled in for the long haul, replenishing myself occasionally with cups of water or a cool, wet sponge.
With about 14k left we reached a turning point in the race as we emptied onto the valley floor, veered left and proceeded towards the sea. The site of the sea in the distance was encouraging, although the race was really just beginning (you could say the honeymoon was almost over). The arid desert air and ever-increasing temperature hits you hard. You say to yourself “oh, I’ve done about 13k in 50:00 or so. I’m in great shape.” But your lactaid threshold can creep up on you faster than you think. No. Luckily, it was not this time yet. Shortly, we were beginning to merge with the 10k crew, passing those who enrolled in the race just to walk (a silent majority in the 10k). After steadily running 12k, few can make a pretty face (except, maybe, for Eric Wright), a fact made obvious by the odd looks of those who have never had the desire to push themselves to their limits (walkers...). But, you waste little energy concerning yourself with such matters in the heat of a race.
The next 5k blurred by until around the 4k (remaining) marker, when the shortcomings of my conditioning began to become apparent. The rolling valley floor in addition to the onset of a lumbering gait made the last 3k require some true mental and physical effort. But, as all harriers must, I kept on keepin’ on. I was shortly accompanied by a fellow white-faced "englezzie" who cordially said "hey" to me and when I asked "how’s it going?" said "not too bad" and proceeded to pass me. At this point, it doesn’t really matter, and I concede one more place with little contest.
Reflection and the Spiritual Aspect of Running
Amidst the crowd of curious walkers and the clicking of (quasi-)professional photographers (who lined the whole route, taking pictures of half-marathoners, marathoners and ultra-ers) the combination of muscle fatigue, exhausting sunshine and dopamine on the brain leads to what some call "runners high" – the free and legal euphoric that has been exploited by addicts of the open road for centuries. At this point, you could care less how much your calves may be cramping, or how you might have considered just pissing your pants around the 14k mark instead of stopping. You are just existing; kicking your own ass as you "Race to the Lowest Point on Earth," asking yourself "how the hell did I end up here" and loving every minute of it.
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Post-race
I crossed the finish line, marked by a large arch of balloons, in just over 90 minutes and was greeted with a medal (all half-marathoners, marathoners and ultra-ers got one) and a small bottle of water. I passed through the finishing tent, where they recorded my number and time, and I emptied out into the post-race area. I was the first person finished from our group (naturally...) and so I hung around, stretched my aching muscles and kept moving to keep from cramping up. The runners of the marathon (who started about 1:10 before us) trickled in and the tents filled with shade- and chair-seeking athletes, tending to their wounds and recovering from their exhausting trek. The first ultra-marathoner came running in shortly, amidst cheers of celebration and excitement. He carried an Iraqi flag with pride as he ran through the finish line. It appeared as if he could continue for another 50k with little effort. I looked on in admiration and respect.
Red Bull (one of the big sponsors of the events) representatives were everywhere, pushing their syrup-y product like so many drug dealers do. They were providing free drinks as a major promotional drive. I steered clear (Red Bull grosses me out). I wandered amidst the other runners (who were in various states of post-race recovery) for some time until my dad and Dr. Ibrahim finished (at just over 2 hours for their half-marathon).
The Beach
When everyone was done and we had all regrouped (including all the students that Dr. Ibrahim had brought from Mu’tah University) we headed down to the Dead Sea to swim and sit and relax. We sat around for a little bit and then I headed down to the sea for a dip. The Dead Sea is pretty incredible. The salt content is so high in the water that it is nearly impossible to sink (unless you are forced under). By just laying down in the water the buoyancy makes your body float, with no effort whatsoever – good for post-race relaxation. So, I floated for a little bit. The gentle breeze over the water was cool, and the salt on my skin seemed to rejuvenate my aching muscles, at least temporarily. Then, as I floated, the salt water began to wash over my chest – not good. I (foolishly) made no preparations before the race, such as band aids or Vaseline, and the salt stung my sore nipples like crazy. Ugh. I got out and rinsed off in the showers on the beach. The cleansing water was welcomed.
|
|
|
Dr. Ibrahim had arranged for lunch, so we just hung out on the beach, in the shade of a small palm tree, until it arrived. There were nearly 60 students from the University that participated in the event, which was just great. Many had never run in a race before and nearly all of them had no prior training, but they all took part for the (truly) once-in-a-lifetime experience. Two of the Mu’tah girls got first and third overall in the 10k, and one of the boys got first overall in the 10k – quite an accomplishment for them personally and to promote participation for next year’s event at the University. Following their awards and recognition, we sat on the beach and ate our food. The students celebrated their accomplishment(s) with some music (singing songs and clapping with the aid of a drummer) and everyone had a good time as the afternoon came to a close. And that was it. No problem. I had raced to the lowest point on earth – easy (mostly).
posted by Aaron Berdanier at 11:04 PM Permalink
