I had too many doubts about this marathon, too many fears. The timing was very wrong because we were moving house and there were circumstances that forced me to slow down. But there was one thing I was sure about, that I will finish. After all, there’s a cut-off time of 7.5 hours. Long enough to walk to the finish line.
September 2012
After enduring 14 hours of sleeping on the cold floor at the restaurant of mv Aqua Hercules, squeezed between a table and the wall, using my carry on luggage full of wine bottles as pillow and hugging my backpack tightly lest it gets stolen, I finally arrived at the small port of Corfu. My body was so swollen and tight that you can hear my bones cracking with every movement.
I was also starving. When I left Bari, I didn’t realize that I only had €15 left, which I spent on dinner of overcooked spaghetti, cola and a bottle of water.
Visited three countries with backpack and a carry-on luggage.
A 25-degree Mediterranean weather welcomed me and although the sky was covered with clusters of dark clouds, the sun was warm, peeking every now and then. It was still so much warmer than the 15-degree weather in Hamburg, where I left five days ago.
My journey was long and back-breaking. I was very tired and all I wanted to do was check in in my hotel, change into my bikinis and jump into the ocean.
I think I will never stop running. There will be days that I will be lazy, days when I wouldN’t want to lace up my running shoes, days that injuries will prevent me from pounding the road, but I will never stop running.
Barely five weeks after the very challenging Torshavn Marathon, here I am, with my husband, signing up for yet another 42,195 kilometres of unknown roads.
We’ve planned our trip to Japan for the Autumn holiday already last year. But those plans did not include running a marathon in Japan. Because Robin got so inspired by Jurgen, the 75-year German runner we met on the Faroe Islands, we decided, why not? While we are still young, able and enjoying the long distance runs, why not go on with it?
So we signed up for the Osaka Yodogawa Citizen Marathon in November. This is not the famed Osaka Marathon. I think this is a much smaller race (although small races in Japan are usually capped off at 7,000 participants). Information about this race is also hard to find. I think I only found one blog about this marathon and the registration page is in Japanese with one dedicated page for foreign runners. It might not be the idea of “small” we have in mind like in the Faroes, but we thought, that’ll do. Our goal is to just run and finish.
We’ve already started training two weeks ago, building up from the very beginning again, 2x 7kms during the week and endurance run in the weekends, first a 10km and then 14km yesterday. It is going very well although I think this will be quite a difficult training. We haven’t trained in the summer and based on this year’s experiences, the heat is perhaps our biggest nemesis. There’s just no way we can run in 25-degrees+ weather.
We have about 16 weeks to train. It’ll be 16 long weeks. And I am very excited.
August 2011, Marakkesh
In that big square, we are just spectators, spectators of a grand display of faith by thousands of Moroccans, garbed in black or white robes, praying intently, oblivious to the noise created by tourism in Marrakech.
I stand in awe, my ears follow the rhythm of the chants recited by the Imam from the great, unfamiliar Koran. My eyes get hypnotized by the faint glow of the Khoutobia. My mind tries to process the mesmerizing image of men and women bowing, praying and kissing the grand in unison. Rarely do I find peace in a noisy, public place but my soul was touched by an unexplainable serenity as I watch the last prayer in Jemaa el FIna.
I wondered, do Catholics have the same, deep faith? As atheist, will I ever again feel that same kind of peace without practicing any religion?
The chanting goes on, the cameras of the tourists keep on flicking, the cars keep on driving by, the busy capital did not stop for the prayers. No matter how much I wanted to stay until the end of the last prayer, I walk on. I feel that it was disrespectful to watch.
That was entry from my journal five years ago when I went to Morocco with a group of Filipinas for my annual, solo birthday trip. It was Ramadan and things didn’t go as planned.
To begin with, Kasbah du Toubkal, the hotel where I wanted to spend my birthday weekend, was fully booked. I couldn’t bear the oppressing summer heat. And finally the grumpiness of many people put me off, not to mention that we got ripped off several times.
Maybe I couldn’t blame them. It was Ramadan after all. I myself turn into a cantankerous bitch when I couldn’t have lunch. What more for people who don’t eat the whole day?
We couldn’t eat before lunch time because restaurants are often closed. At the hotel where we were staying, they wouldn’t even serve us coffee in the morning. An old man spat on my legs when I passed him. Maybe he thought my knee-length skirt was already too short. Even in the Argan oil cooperatives and the Berber houses that we visited as part of our tour package, the people weren’t so accommodating. I felt like we were intruders disturbing very solemn rituals.
Moroccans pray the last prayer of the day in Marrakesh.
The hunger and unfriendliness persistently annoyed us the whole day. But it was an entirely different story in the evening.
People become warmer, friendlier, especially at Jemaa El Fina where, during the day, we would be met by angry stares whenever we want to buy food or avail of any service. I especially enjoyed bantering with the hawkers selling us the most bizarre food (sheep brain anyone?) at the nigh market. Shops would be open until midnight, including cozy cafes. We spent balmy evenings sipping coffee and talking about our expat lives.
When my travel companions left, I decided to shorten my trip as well. I booked a flight back to Holland but in my heart I knew that I would be coming back, when the circumstances are more favourable to my touristic pursuits. And I did, three months after.
