Running Seoul

I began running everyday, minus weekends, after my return from Beijing. I've been pushing myself to run further or faster on each occasion. In the past two weeks I've covered more kilometers than I have in the entire year preceding them; my current training schedule is arguably more intensive than it was during my peak days on the senior high cross-country team. My legs are crying out from the strain, but for the time being they continue to submit to my will, and I can feel my muscles adapting to the new status-quo.

Here's a rough approximation (thanks to Google maps) of the distances I ran since my return to Seoul: Oct. 6: 8 km; Oct. 7: 11 km; Oct. 8: 13 km; Oct. 9: 18 km; Oct 12: 18km; Oct 13: 10 km; Oct 14: 18km; Oct 15: 13 km

For those who know me, this will not come as a big surprise because I've always been a decent distance runner and I have the kind of body and metabolism that lends itself well to the sport. It runs in the family. My mother is a world-class swimmer for her age. My younger sister has been training for and competing in triathlons on a regular basis for years now. Even my dad can hike up a storm, despite his protruding middle (looks like he's tackling the bicycle too these days, judging by the pictures in my inbox). I may in fact be the laziest member of the Rhodes family, but I'm determined to regain some serious ground.

My ultimate goal is to run the Garden City Marathon next Spring, in my hometown of Victoria B.C. I've raced in the 10km event almost every year since grade 8, but completing the Marathon will be no small challenge. However, I would never do this if I didn't derive a measure of satisfaction and even pleasure from distance running- and for that I am thankful. It's the kind of activity which most people, even the relatively fit ones, would call a bore or a chore. For those who are out of shape, "torture" might be the first word that springs to mind. As for me, I find running to be elevating, rather than degrading. I can regulate my breathing and note the rhythms of my body with each stride. My senses gradually overwhelm me, creating a kind of cocoon for the riffraff of my mind- a safe haven for inarticulate regrets and desires to be released, and perhaps transmuted into something else entirely. It's exhilarating to discover just how far I can push my own body. To paraphrase an anonymous saying I read somewhere: "you find out that the person you thought you were is no match for the person you really are."

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Other than two functioning legs and a comfortable pair of shoes, it also helps to have a nice place to run. I've found a beautiful one now, albeit a little late in the game; my co-worker, Jessica, has already been tearing up the same trail for several months now. The rubber exercise track starts just down the road from my subway station exit, and extends south for miles along the east bank of a tributary of the Han River. As I follow the track, river on my right, I pass others engaged in their favorite brand of recreation: walking, running, biking, rollerblading. The long patches of waist-high reeds on my left are broken up at intervals by large asphalt courts, for people who want to play basketball or badminton, or just goof around. Some evenings these courts are full of Korean woman's aerobics groups doing car-wash moves to something I can only describe as Korean polka music. There are also the occasional open-air pop concerts on the opposite side of the river, Korean ballads being belted out from loudspeakers. I'm still without an MP3 player, and the music does provide a good running beat.

As I run, the river widens and the highways withdraw to either side. The towering appartment blocks, so familiar to me now, rise in full view behind them, like the columns of a massive cathedral with the roof blown off. The sky finally has room to breathe above the river, and I glimpse Seoul's impressive norther mountain ranges, silhouetted in the distance. Fall is in full swing: the air is crisp; the leaves are beginning to change their colors; and the river is reflecting the light of the setting sun. Though dusk is approaching, there are fishermen aplenty still sitting on the bank with their lines dangling. Some of them have little brush fires going for warmth, and the smoke from them occasionally drifts across my path. I hear a cry of "you're so handsome!" from a couple of giggly teenage girls passing me on their bikes. Every few kilometers, a giant digital clock on a high pole looms up ahead for all to see, making my watch redundant. On my way, I run beneath half a dozen congested overpasses and train tracks. Night descends, and the cars' headlights streaming by on either side become rivers of their own. The arched bridge spanning the river ahead is illuminated with pulsating coloured lights along its entire length, a mesmerizing electronic rainbow.

I run a few more clicks before taking a brief stretch break and heading for home. The cool breeze by the river feels good against the heat of my body. I can hardly see the clouds of gnats along the path, so a few of them end their short life in the watery corners of my eyes. I'll worry about removing them when I get home. My quadriceps throb with a dull ache the entire way back, but I tell them to pick up the pace. Brightly lit Korean signs jump out at me from the tops of buildings- “Seoul milk” egging me on to the finish line. When I finally reach my subway station, I slow down to walk off any remaining cramps. At home I devour a bag of mini mandarin oranges (available for 2 or 3 dollars from the back of a truck on the roadside in my neighborhood) or cut up one of the giant yellow pears that our school provided each of the teachers as our thanksgiving bonus.