Distance news (1) 10^th December 1983

The Bangkok Post runs a sports personality poll and the votes accumulate over the year till the winner is eventually announced. Boxing is the big sport here, and we have a world champion at ‘international rules’ boxing aside from the thousands of Thai-style kick boxers. So it is not surprising that a boxer usually comes out top of the poll. But a runner is second just now and there are two other track and field stars in the top ten, as many as for any other sport; and the Thais held their first ever international invitation track meet here in November. There’s no chance that track and field will get to be more popular than boxing, even among readers of the top people’s paper. But it is a growing sport so there is some hope.

Track and field is growing, though, mainly because of a group of sprinters who have won medals in the Asian games several times in a row. The standards for real running are pretty poor. The national record for 10,000 meters was broken a month or so ago, at 32.30, and even that was done by an Englishman who is based here.

Among the reasons for the low standard is the fact that Bangkok is one of the world’s worst cities for running. Bangkok, I should explain, is the only real city in the country, the place where almost anything of any importance happens. Five million people live here and it often seems as if all of them have a car or two. The traffic is appalling! There is simply no chance of safely running anywhere on the main roads or in many of the minor roads after 7 am; there are few parks, and getting to them requires a major expedition.

So it is that at 5:30 each morning I stagger out of my front gate for the day’s run. As a way of learning to start slowly I have taken to using the first kilometre to shave (I finish up on the jog down). Then I stride off into the pre-dawn darkness, never quite sure what I will meet. There are usually a few other runners, or joggers, somewhere along the way, most of whom are probably boxers.

One nice thing about running here, especially before dawn, is that nobody makes the inane remarks we have to suffer in England. But there are hazards that take time to get used to: dogs asleep in the middle of the street, surrounded by the garbage they have dragged from its bin; the odd drunk coming home late from last night; crazy motor cyclists who like to see how high they can make you jump and who seem not to have heard of headlights. Then there are our famous Bangkok floods that put half the city under water from September till November. The water is a nuisance, the water snakes a worry and the unseen potholes a constant threat. And the wondering livestock. A few mornings ago I speeded up thinking a buffalo was after me, but looking back I realised it was a massage girl on her way home from work. I slowed down.

So even running in Bangkok can have its rewards, but in case you think I’m crazy to live here let me tell you sometime about the weekends at the coast. I know a beach five miles long where you can watch the sun come up, finish in time to avoid getting burned and swim in the sea to cool off.

Distance news (2) 5^th February 1984

Within three minutes of my first meeting with the local running community I learned that two of them were in the middle of a programme of anti-rabies shots. Dogs don’t usually bother runners here, but you don’t take any chances if one of them as much as touches you. In spite of that, and the traffic and all the other problems, road running is a rapidly growing sport. The city’s one and only park is full of runners on Thursday evenings and Saturday and Sunday mornings, weaving their way in and out of long lines of Thais and Chinese gracefully going through their martial arts routines. I usually see a few runners and joggers on my early morning runs, and occasionally you see them along the main roads in the morning rush hour, unbelievably, breathing in Bangkok’s 100 octane air.

And these people are serious, How else could there be a market for Nike shoes priced at £70 a pair at the top of the range? Twenty or thirty people enter the weekly Thursday evening road races in the park, alternately 5 km and 10 km, while perhaps another 40 or 50 jog around independently. Aside from these informal races, the last 12 months has seen a great upsurge in sponsored road races, massive affairs with over 1,000 runners each, and over 8,000 for a race organised by the local Nike company a few months before I came. A dozen or so Bangkok runners travelled to Hong Kong for the marathon this January.

I ran my first proper road race here two weeks ago, starting from the National Stadium and going 15 km through the busiest streets in the city. Arriving at the start, it was a relief to see an army of officials, although in fact the race was too organised, to the point where we were not allowed to warm up for fear of upsetting the marching band playing in the arena’s infield. Another surprise was the security system, where they checked us all into the stadium individually before the start. This was to reduce the risk of cheating, one of the biggest headaches for road race organisers over here: people simply hide in alleyways or behind bus shelters and join the race at the halfway point. You’ll see why when I tell you about the prizes. So the stadium was sealed 30 minutes before the start, 30 minutes of marching band music, speeches, releasing hundreds of balloons and, worst of all, standing still among 1,500 or so of the kind of runner who has more faith in embrocation than training. The temperature was 91 degrees.

I’ll leave you to imagine the start with 1,500 people on an eight-lane track, women in front, and all apparently believing the race would be won and lost in the first kilometre. Once on the road things were better. I had a police motor cyclist beside me most of the way and he would radio ahead to have one of his pals stop the traffic as we went through each intersection. He also radioed news of the race back to the stadium to keep the fans informed. This was traumatic for Sue, who half expected to hear over the PA that I had been creamed by a bus, something that seemed likely to me a couple of times. There were drinking stations and sponging stations, and a few startled Bangkokians staring, clapping and cheering from the sidewalks.

The race was the usual thing, five kms to sort everyone out then the rest of the way to grit your teeth and hang on with only my friendly cop for company, two guys unreachably far ahead and 1,000 or so others strung out all over the course, a few jumping surreptitiously in and out of taxis, others slapping on a little more of that evil-smelling embrocation and taking who knows what else to try to get a boost, grunting, prancing, chatting, shuffling burping and farting their way past the temples, monuments and open sewers of this great city. Then at last there was the relief of finding the final stretch from Victory Monument down to the National Stadium was shorter than I’d thought. I could pick up a little speed and begin to feel that racing fitness might not be far away.

So there it was, third place and 44 minutes for something less than 14 kms. For that I got a large plaque, a nice medal and a 14 inch colour TV that I carried with a slightly guilty chuckle past line after line of other runners waiting patiently for their certificates, lighting up their fags and no doubt thinking noble Buddhist thoughts about the importance of taking part without the slightest consideration of material gain.

(I wrote both these two pieces a few months after arriving in Bangkok in September 1983 and sent them back to the newsletter of my running club in Hull, UK)