Marathon in the Desert

For my sixth marathon, I somehow got the brilliant idea that I would run the Amman Marathon. Because I had been working and traveling, I hadn’t trained at all, but was curious to find out about the “cold marathon.” Ironically, being untrained was the least of my worries and it was anything but cold.

Most marathons are in the autumn when it’s cooler and usually in the morning to avoid the noonday heat. Amman had planned to begin at 7:15, but it was 9:30 when it began. A harbinger. My running partner took a look at the organization and said “you know what? I’m just running the 10K – good luck.”

And so I was off alone dodging the incredible turnout for the Amman 10K, which was over 10,000. It was hot early and I was struck early by how few water stations there were. Other than the crowds, things went well for the first six miles, but I was worried about the water and the scarcity of food, Gatorade or anything with calories (2 Red Bull stations was it).

The 10K finished, and an isolated few (only 100 were in the marathon) continued down the long highway hill towards Marqa airport on an annoyingly uneven surface. Water stations were still sparse, so I would grab two bottles at a time and run double fisting. Through smog and past a sewage treatment plant I ran to the turnaround, which meant now that long hill down was now a long hill up. On the way back, I noticed locals were carrying off crates of water from the relief stations. That can’t be good, I thought.

At 21K was the halfway point and the beginning of the second loop. It was also the finish for the 10K and the professional marathon runners (who were just lapping me at that point). It looked grand - they would run into the old Roman amphitheatre, which was filled with people.

But I continued on to my second loop shirtless and exhausted at a little before noon, which hit 95 degrees. My nipple bandages had sweated off so I had to take off my shirt or else I would suffer serious chaffing. Ammanis clicked away and yelled things in Arabic at me as I searched for a water station. They had been dismantled, but the locals would hand me their half-finished waters, peace be upon them. There were no energy stations either on the second loop and I had only drunk two cups of Red Bull on the first loop. Thankfully, a car drove up the road around kilometer 28 and handed me some bananas. I love you. Seriously, I love you.

Again, I went down the road to Marqa airport passing empty stations, but, again thankfully, a few kids with half-finished waters kept me alive. At the turn around (kilometer 35), I was completely spent. So, for the last leg, I ran until my calves’ cramps forced me to stop and walked until the pain subsided. By kilometer 40, there was no running at all and I was simply trying to not pass out from heat and dehydration. Dizzy and ill, I ridiculously asked people at kilometer 42 in mixed English-Arabic “wein finish line?”

Around a corner, it was there. I was greeted by a crowd of fifty Jordanians with a medal and, more importantly, a bottle of water. The amphitheatre was empty. Whatever party they had was long gone. And for the next 45 minutes, I sat in the shade and waited for my consciousness to return

Iraq II

I saw a bit more of Iraq this time. Site after site, I met with hundreds and hundreds of Peruvians and Ugandans. Who knew that I’d use my Spanish so much in the middle of Baghdad? Their presence all seemed normal to the people working there and managing the program. But, in truth there were many things that were seriously wrong and it was so obvious to the outsider.Funny how when things get too close, they get out of focus again. I would love to say more, but the work may be the biggest deal of my career so far.

After sixteen days of working twelve-hour days without a day off, I returned home to Amman. I need to stare at a wall for a while.