Miles of Trials

　　I consi der myself a runner. I’ve completed dozens of 5-km and 10-km events， stretching back to a time when I still hadn’tshed all of my baby teeth. Before moving to China three yearsago， as my life became busier and my stresses multiplied， Iused running as my crutch - embarking on long， slow tears toclear my head and enter a sort of meditation.

　　In this way， inadvertently， my conditioning improved， and I began not just finishing in the races I entered， but competing.

　　I won some， placed in others， and slowly but steadilyimproved my times. After finishing a half marathon four yearsago in New Orleans and thinking “that wasn’t so bad，” therewas only one frontier left： a full marathon.

　　The difficulty ahead of me was forbidding， however： I wasmoving to Beijing.

　　That meant a near deathblow for my training. If I wantedvariety and hoped to escape a few well-worn paths in parksand inside campuses， I would have to putter along car-chokedhighways， dodge throngs of people， and endure throat-singingsmog. Running inside on a treadmill was OK， but only forthe first hour or so， before it became intolerably boring.Still， I pushed ahead， and formed the habit of waking upwith the sun to beat the morning crowds and run a few lapsaround my corner of Beijing. I joined a running group andstepped up my training. I was going to finish a marathon， theonly question was where.

　　A few of my Chinese friends told me about the XiamenMarathon， a well-respected January run in China’sbeautiful southern port city. The climate is perfect， theyassured me， and the race well organized. So， withoutgiving it much thought， I registered online， and bookeda plane ticket from Beijing to Xiamen.

　　When my plane lifted off from Beijing， I looked downon a landscape frozen in ice and dusted with snow.

　　Dropping down in Xiamen， the ocean sparkled， and thehills surrounding the city were lush green. The temperaturedifference， I noticed as I grabbed my luggage andstood in queue for a taxi， was dramatic - I took off myjacket and wished I was wearing shorts instead of jeans.

　　The marathon was as promised. It was well organized，the route was gorgeous， with the pale blue oceanin sight most of the time. What struck me most， though，was the support I received from thousands of localswho stood near the path and shouted words of encouragement，“jia you， jia you， kuai pao！” Some broughtbananas or water to pass out to the runners. Othersdressed up in costumes and gave high-fives. Even theowner of the hostel I was staying at made a cardboardsign that said， “Nick， you are the best，” and waved it atme as I passed.

　　As I strode through the homestretch， my legs rubber and mywillpower exhausted， it was these cheers that gave me the fuel Ineeded to cross the finish line in just more than three hours.

　　Most runners will tell you that you always remember yourfirst marathon. You remember the hours of training leading upto it， the nervous waiting before the starting gun， and the jolt ofecstasy you feel as you cross the finish and realize that you canfinally stop running. You remember the post-marathon meal andthe next-day soreness that makes getting out of bed an exercisein torture.

　　Since that Xiamen Marathon two years ago， I have finishedtwo more Chinese marathons - in Beijing and in a southern watertown called Wuxi， Jiangsu Province. Each of these was memorablein its own right. The Beijing event started under Mao’s famousportrait in Tiananmen Square and wound around some of thecity’s most famous landmarks. The Wuxi run stretched aroundscenic portions of Taihu Lake， China’s third largest freshwaterlake. Some of our most vocal supporters were surprised fishermenwaving to us from their boats.

　　But， no matter how many marathons I run in the future， nonewill match my first experience running along the ocean in Xiamen.

　　It was， and remains， one of my fondest memories of livingin China.