‘It is an ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way,’ says psychologist Rollo May, but getting lost isn’t a good strategy for a marathon, especially one in the tropics, and on Saturday 2nd December I couldn’t sleep until 2 o’clock on Sunday morning , my legs twitching and my mind pacing the 42.195km that I would face before dawn. 
Over the last 16 weeks, I have been more disciplined in my physical routine than ever before in my life. I used Hal Higdon’s excellent Intermediate II training schedule to run just under 900km around Beijing, Singapore, Liverpool, Chicago, Frohen le Grande, Canterbury and Ulaan Batur, the lion’s share of the last 150km on the treadmill in Beijing to avoid the pollution. Every day I have taken fish oil and multivitamin tablets, and aimed to consume 10 gms of protein for every 10kg of body weight. During a marathon I calculated that I would burn about 4,500 calories; twice the daily amount of a 39 year old male. The week before the race I took to eating meals every 2 hours and was accused of being a glutton by my friends one evening as I ploughed through a pizza and a lasagne, before requesting dessert. “What is success?” Robert Holden asks in his excellent book, ‘Success Intelligence’, and this question is one that I focused on. The mental preparation for the marathon became an ever larger part of the race, as part of my DNA is the British tendency to be negative about one’s own capacity for success. I wrote down and declared my goal of 3:55 and visualised crossing the finish line and being calm and present the entire way, to control the panic that happens when I lose my way. I thought about when my legs would complain, and practiced breathing to calm my lungs which had been my main weakness. I dedicated the run to my 5 nieces in England, and sent out a sponsorship form for the Singapore Children’s Society – I wanted to change how I approach challenges, and determined that this would be a solo run but not a solitary journey. At 4:30 a.m. I caught a lift with Ken, a captain in the Ghurka regiment, and some 20 other Ghurkha’s for which the marathon, half and 10km were regular training runs, which put my own endeavour into perspective. In Pen 2, as number 5069, I stood with Ken, just behind the elite runners at 5:45 am bathed in floodlights and the smell of deep heat under the predawn tropical sky, one of some 6,588 marathon runners, and felt a little of what it must be like to go into battle. Strangers shook hands, and wished each other well, knowing ultimately that for all the talk of ‘no man left behind’ this was a personal trial that each of us would have to face – essentially one of asking the mind to keep control over the body over a distance first conceived as an Olympic event in 1896. 
The first 5km were easy, I hardly broke into a sweat, the adrenaline was so high and the energy of all the other runners was infectious. I thought Ken, a fit 35 year old Scotsman, and I were doing well to cover 5km in 25 minutes, but reality struck when we saw the elite runners coming back at us coasting past the 10km mark. Dehydration was my biggest fear, as it makes you sleepy, gives you cramps, and is easy to get in 28°C temperatures. Standard Chartered did a superb job of ensuring water stations every 1.5km and Ken and I had decided to take on water at every stop, even if it compromised our time. At 10km I heard Ken’s breathing become heavy, and he urged me to move forward, his earlier injuries slowing him down. At 21km I had run for 1:52:17 which put me on track for 3:45 if I could maintain the pace, and with the dawn came light but mercifully an overcast sky which meant the gods were favouring us with cooler temperatures. The early pack had started to thin and I ran alongside the 4 hour pace setters, although sure that we were ahead of the pace at 25km. It was at about 27km at 2:27:03 that my mind and body started to have a debate about the sense of running due east towards the airport to Bedok pier, knowing we had to run another 14km due west. It was at this point that I started to focus on Lilly, Alice, Camille, Elea and Clara, who all had no idea that their uncle was perhaps ill advisedly pacing the east coast parkway while they were tucked up in their beds in England. Somehow, carrying them in my heart gave me strength, I kissed my family signet ring and visualised my declared time of 3:55. In "Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell, I read that the optimal heart beat for performance is in the 140-145 beats/minute range, and that at 160-175 our physiology reaches into the primeval resources reserved for fight or flight. I had experienced this in training, when prolonged training at 170-180 beats/minute brought tunnel vision, a sensation of an electric current surging through the main muscles, and an aggression of the kind that was explored in the movie ‘The Incredible Hulk.’ At 35km I had that sensation. I was pacing on track for 3:40 and ran alongside a young lad from Cornwall named Tom, who was also committed to 4:00 finish. As Tom flagged, I had the choice of companionship or challenge. At 37km I chose the latter. Head down, taking on water and glucose, I lost the desire to chat to the few other runners and headed for the last 5km picking up speed and entering the zone where the body has to be the complete servant of the mind. 
38 km. I ran alone. Left foot..right foot..left foot..breath..where is water..I can make it..4:00..hope..nieces…love..airport run in Mongolia..go for more..press on..sleep. ..tarmac air..ignore everything..one step..one breath..hot..tarmac fumes..Christ where is the end….sitting for a minute won’t hurt..not an option…a dogs leg under a bridge at Kallang takes me away..don’t panic..control..arms tight..knees up…pride... 41km..well wishers that’s nice…Esplanade concert hall…get out of the way…panic..where to…steps…confusing…panic…46mins…where next…follow her…must pass her..there..the line…music…crowds…dig deep, push on…one chance…sprint now…too early…no now…16 weeks…one chance…go.go.go..cruise…speed… feeling…sailing…so smooth…beautiful…bliss…all the way…finished…who has my legs..magic…elation…thank God. I am in the zone. 3:50:21 ‘The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven,’ wrote John Milton. The same is true of a marathon. Man zou – this week I was forced to take my own advice. NOTES: 1. Winner : Amos Tirop Matui successfully defended his title in a time of 2:14:59 2. My time placed me 275th in a field of 6,588 3. Some S$2,000 was raised for the Children’s Society of Singapore. 4. Malcolm Gladwell's studies of men in police and army conditions, as described in "Blink", illustrate the need to slow the heart rate to ensure proper cognition and avoid further violence.
Over the last 16 weeks, I have been more disciplined in my physical routine than ever before in my life. I used Hal Higdon’s excellent Intermediate II training schedule to run just under 900km around Beijing, Singapore, Liverpool, Chicago, Frohen le Grande, Canterbury and Ulaan Batur, the lion’s share of the last 150km on the treadmill in Beijing to avoid the pollution. Every day I have taken fish oil and multivitamin tablets, and aimed to consume 10 gms of protein for every 10kg of body weight. During a marathon I calculated that I would burn about 4,500 calories; twice the daily amount of a 39 year old male. The week before the race I took to eating meals every 2 hours and was accused of being a glutton by my friends one evening as I ploughed through a pizza and a lasagne, before requesting dessert. “What is success?” Robert Holden asks in his excellent book, ‘Success Intelligence’, and this question is one that I focused on. The mental preparation for the marathon became an ever larger part of the race, as part of my DNA is the British tendency to be negative about one’s own capacity for success. I wrote down and declared my goal of 3:55 and visualised crossing the finish line and being calm and present the entire way, to control the panic that happens when I lose my way. I thought about when my legs would complain, and practiced breathing to calm my lungs which had been my main weakness. I dedicated the run to my 5 nieces in England, and sent out a sponsorship form for the Singapore Children’s Society – I wanted to change how I approach challenges, and determined that this would be a solo run but not a solitary journey. At 4:30 a.m. I caught a lift with Ken, a captain in the Ghurka regiment, and some 20 other Ghurkha’s for which the marathon, half and 10km were regular training runs, which put my own endeavour into perspective. In Pen 2, as number 5069, I stood with Ken, just behind the elite runners at 5:45 am bathed in floodlights and the smell of deep heat under the predawn tropical sky, one of some 6,588 marathon runners, and felt a little of what it must be like to go into battle. Strangers shook hands, and wished each other well, knowing ultimately that for all the talk of ‘no man left behind’ this was a personal trial that each of us would have to face – essentially one of asking the mind to keep control over the body over a distance first conceived as an Olympic event in 1896. 
The first 5km were easy, I hardly broke into a sweat, the adrenaline was so high and the energy of all the other runners was infectious. I thought Ken, a fit 35 year old Scotsman, and I were doing well to cover 5km in 25 minutes, but reality struck when we saw the elite runners coming back at us coasting past the 10km mark. Dehydration was my biggest fear, as it makes you sleepy, gives you cramps, and is easy to get in 28°C temperatures. Standard Chartered did a superb job of ensuring water stations every 1.5km and Ken and I had decided to take on water at every stop, even if it compromised our time. At 10km I heard Ken’s breathing become heavy, and he urged me to move forward, his earlier injuries slowing him down. At 21km I had run for 1:52:17 which put me on track for 3:45 if I could maintain the pace, and with the dawn came light but mercifully an overcast sky which meant the gods were favouring us with cooler temperatures. The early pack had started to thin and I ran alongside the 4 hour pace setters, although sure that we were ahead of the pace at 25km. It was at about 27km at 2:27:03 that my mind and body started to have a debate about the sense of running due east towards the airport to Bedok pier, knowing we had to run another 14km due west. It was at this point that I started to focus on Lilly, Alice, Camille, Elea and Clara, who all had no idea that their uncle was perhaps ill advisedly pacing the east coast parkway while they were tucked up in their beds in England. Somehow, carrying them in my heart gave me strength, I kissed my family signet ring and visualised my declared time of 3:55. In "Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell, I read that the optimal heart beat for performance is in the 140-145 beats/minute range, and that at 160-175 our physiology reaches into the primeval resources reserved for fight or flight. I had experienced this in training, when prolonged training at 170-180 beats/minute brought tunnel vision, a sensation of an electric current surging through the main muscles, and an aggression of the kind that was explored in the movie ‘The Incredible Hulk.’ At 35km I had that sensation. I was pacing on track for 3:40 and ran alongside a young lad from Cornwall named Tom, who was also committed to 4:00 finish. As Tom flagged, I had the choice of companionship or challenge. At 37km I chose the latter. Head down, taking on water and glucose, I lost the desire to chat to the few other runners and headed for the last 5km picking up speed and entering the zone where the body has to be the complete servant of the mind. 
38 km. I ran alone. Left foot..right foot..left foot..breath..where is water..I can make it..4:00..hope..nieces…love..airport run in Mongolia..go for more..press on..sleep. ..tarmac air..ignore everything..one step..one breath..hot..tarmac fumes..Christ where is the end….sitting for a minute won’t hurt..not an option…a dogs leg under a bridge at Kallang takes me away..don’t panic..control..arms tight..knees up…pride... 41km..well wishers that’s nice…Esplanade concert hall…get out of the way…panic..where to…steps…confusing…panic…46mins…where next…follow her…must pass her..there..the line…music…crowds…dig deep, push on…one chance…sprint now…too early…no now…16 weeks…one chance…go.go.go..cruise…speed… feeling…sailing…so smooth…beautiful…bliss…all the way…finished…who has my legs..magic…elation…thank God. I am in the zone. 3:50:21 ‘The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven,’ wrote John Milton. The same is true of a marathon. Man zou – this week I was forced to take my own advice. NOTES: 1. Winner : Amos Tirop Matui successfully defended his title in a time of 2:14:59 2. My time placed me 275th in a field of 6,588 3. Some S$2,000 was raised for the Children’s Society of Singapore. 4. Malcolm Gladwell's studies of men in police and army conditions, as described in "Blink", illustrate the need to slow the heart rate to ensure proper cognition and avoid further violence.