Eurasia:
http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/Lindabear78/EurasiaIstanbulMarathon

The question wasn’t if we would finish the Eurasia Marathon, it was if we would even start.  Bryce signed us up online and we each paid a whopping 10 ytl (about $8) for which we got t-shirts (cotton, but hey, $8), medals, and promised gift bags with food at the end.  So yeah, we were in, we were definitely supposed to start.

So we did what we could to prepare ourselves.  All the week prior both of us had been sick.  Bryce was suffering from a chest cold complete with a serious cough.  I had a sore throat and body aches.  Although we both put out the effort, neither of us were able to get in a decent run.  Each time I went out, I felt rundown and weak.  More often than not, my running gave way to long, long walks instead.  And Bryce’s leg, the one that gave him so much trouble at Boston, was bothering him again.  Yet by Saturday, at least I felt rockin’.  I felt almost human on my run on Friday and took it easy on Saturday so my legs felt right.  I knew all I needed was this race to start feeling my usual self again. 

We spent Saturday wandering aimlessly around some of the local towns.  We carbed up on simit and mezes (like tapas, only Turkish) of roasted eggplant, salca and dolmathes.  Someone advised me that shots are even better at hydrating than beer the night before a race, so we skipped the Efes (not sad about that considering I have not developed a taste for fermented pancake syrup) and decided on raki.  Raki is a licorice flavored spirit, similar to ouzo.  It’s a clear liquid poured over a little ice with water added.  Once the water hits the liquor, it turns cloudy, almost milky.  I slept so well that night.

Except, and here is where the questions of whether we were going to start begin, I was a little worried about the time.  Turkey does daylight savings time too.  There was a huge debate among all the teachers on campus as to whether to change the clocks Sunday morning or Sunday night.  Race started at 9:00 AM and we were to catch a service bus provided by the school at 7:45.  There was a general consensus to change our clocks Sunday morning; however I was paranoid we were wrong and would miss the bus in the morning.  Bryce changed his clock and set his alarm.  I slept with my watch on and about a couple of hours before we were to wake up, I started looking at it to see the time.  Not exactly sure what I thought that would solve since I wasn’t going to get up any earlier than I needed, but somehow it soothed my nerves.  Around 5:30 I was wide awake, but continued to lay there and listened to the morning call to prayer trying to relax and not worry about missing the service bus.

Which was the other question—were we even on the list for the service bus?  The Koc School provides the teachers with service buses to various places throughout the week.  There’s one to the grocery store, one to the market in Kurtkoy, one to the mall, etc.  One was set up for the marathon.  Bryce and I were the only ones signed up for the full race, but there was also an 8K and 15K and many of the teachers were going to walk.  It’s a holiday weekend in Turkey and these races are set up mostly as fun runs for the community.  Well, really, it’s more of a social event than an actual race.  People stop along the way, pose for pictures, hang out in the park, maybe go to a café for some cay and a smoke.  It’s a race, but who’s in a hurry?  Whoever organized the bus used Bryce (the apparent expert since he was running the full marathon) as a consultant to determine what time we should leave in order to get there at a decent time.  However, despite his expert status, when he got the email listing who was on the bus, we were on stand by.  What?  Stand by?  What the hell?  Another morning we’d been unlucky enough to be on stand by for the bus going into Kadikoy which was so full we didn’t make it on.  We had to settle for public transport which is not exactly the speediest way to get any where.  Needless to say, we were worried.  If we didn’t get on this service bus, there was no way we could get there on time.  The night before we saw the revised list and we were among the definites, yet this fact didn’t prevent the numerous nightmares I had that night about being shoved off the bus by the teachers and standing there watching its tail lights as it drove away without me. 

We made it on the bus.  We set the time right, got up at the right time and made it on time to sit in a comfortable seat on the way to Istanbul.  I should have been calm, right?  Not quite yet.  Until I got to the start line, I wasn’t going to be without a little anxiety.  There was still the chance of traffic or an inept bus driver.  Stories started to fly around the bus about how there was one time they were made to walk an hour to the start line or how they had to run two miles to get there.  Not making me feel very good about our chances.  Thankfully, the bus driver knew where to go and drove us to within blocks of the start.

Still not quite safe.  We couldn’t leave any of our stuff on the service bus because it wasn’t going to be the exact bus to pick us up so we had to find the “luggage” buses to drop off our bag of clothes for after the race.  Bryce found one and ran to see if we could put our bag on it to which we were told no.  They made some hand motions and said a few things that even though it was in English, it still made no sense to us.  Starting to get a little panicked.  15 minutes to start time and where the hell do we put our huge bag?  Franticly, we ran down towards the start trying to come up with options that were all implausible.  I even offered to let Bryce run while I sat the whole thing out (probably crying quietly curled up in a ball somewhere).  But Bryce saw buses ahead of us and started to run.  It was a good warm up for him.  He found a bus and we were rid of the bag!  Now, I needed a port a potty….  Or the bush I had to settle for.  Whatever, I just wanted to start the damn race.

It was crazy.  There were people everywhere and it didn’t look like any of them were there to run anything.  Many of them were in jeans and street shoes and either carrying Turkish flags or wearing them like capes.  We pushed our way forward to try to find people who looked like they were there to run and did right about the time the gun went off.  Success!  We started!

For the first few kilometers, the marathon is in Asia.  The course goes onto the bridge which crosses the Bosphorus River.  It’s about 1.5K long and at about halfway over, we stepped onto a red line declaring the fact we were crossing into Europe.  Two continents in the first 15 minutes, not bad, not bad. 

Since I’ve been in Turkey, what running I’ve done has been almost all up hill.  No matter where I turn leaving the Koc School campus, I can’t avoid the multitude of and massive hills.  My butt is so tired.  So after I crossed the bridge and saw the hill ahead of me, all I could do is heave a sigh of resignation as I hit yet another hill and thought: “oh my Turkish running life.”  I swear it was the longest hill ever.  I never thought it would end and neither did my legs nor my poor ass.  The 15K and the marathon started together, but separated about the time we crossed the bridge.  The courses came back together at the hill so not only did I have to contend with climbing, but the crowd was now thicker and more difficult to traverse.  Still, with resignation I managed and got to the top and was rewarded with lots of little down hills.  Woohoo!

We ran through the town and I saw much of what Bryce and I have wandered through numerous times now.  Much like at the beginning of the race, I didn’t see any port a potties and now I knew I would not be able to find a private bush.  But what I did know is that there are many little coffee shops around and one of them would have a bathroom.  I saw a Starbucks, but skipped it and waited until I saw a Gloria Jean (which is like a Turkish Starbucks only, if you can imagine, more expensive.  I’m talking 9 bucks for a mocha).  I ran inside and pleaded, “Tuvalet?”  The barista blinked at me and then started and pointed around the corner.  Relief.    

Back outside, feeling much better, I bumped along and started to rather enjoy myself.  This was the first significant run I’ve had since Munich and the best feeling one since before then.  All week long I was craving this since I knew my body was just looking for its fix.  The feeling kicking in, I began to notice more of what was around me.  The town was covered in Turkish and Istanbul flags.  I was wearing my iPod so couldn’t hear the crowd, but I could tell they were cheering us on.  The 15K and marathon separated again, going in different directions.  The marathon crossed another bridge and then followed along the Marmara Sea coastline for a long out and back.  We ran under aqueducts; saw some of the Old Wall of Constantinople; ran by a castle and several mosques.  We heard church bells and listened to the call to prayer.  It was certainly unique. 

I was nearing 11 or 12 miles when I saw the leaders already coming back and approaching miles 17 or 18.  My watch said 1:38.  This race is very dichotomous.  On the one hand, a large number of the people who try to run have no idea what they are getting into.  A lot of them only want to cross the big bridge and sign up for the marathon without realizing its difficulty.  By mile 9 I saw people walking completely worn out.  A few miles later I saw people sitting on the side of the road taking their shoes off and fanning their feet.  There’s a decent drop out rate.  On the other hand, it’s a fast course and a championship with over a million dollars in total prize money and awarding prizes up to 25th place ($400).  Therefore, there’s a huge elite runner turn out.  Of the approximately 600 who finished, almost 100 of them came in under three hours with the winning time being 2:10.  It was incredible to witness these runners for only the few moments I did.  A while later I saw Bryce who still looked strong and saw me too.  It was so fun to see him out there and gave me a burst of energy.

Shortly thereafter I gained a new shadow.  I started passing some guy who just wasn’t having it.  Every time I tried, he sped up and got ahead of me.  Then he’d slow significantly and so, keeping my steady pace, I’d start to pass again.  Once I’d get ahead of him and he’d speed up again and follow me until he was right next to me.  And I mean right next to me.  I could feel his unwelcome body heat and it was giving me the creeps.  He was Turkish so I couldn’t tell him to get off me.  I tried to wave him off but he only shrugged his shoulders and sustained his pattern.  It was obvious he couldn’t keep a consistent pace and that eventually he would fade, but after ten minutes I was so aggravated.  I lost him for 30 seconds at an aid station, but he found me again and continued breathing down my neck.  When he started cutting me off and knocked into my arm, I lost all patience and yelled a profanity as loud as I could, scaring him in the process and then I took off as fast as I could muster.  I think he was too shocked to pursue me again. 

The aid stations were cute.  Wary of what might be provided, I opted to wear my Camelback and after I saw the first aid station, I felt my decision was justified.  It was flats of water bottles carried in on wheel barrows and carts.  The next aid stations had little cups of water with aluminum foil covers, like you get on airplanes.  They also gave out huge sponges.  One man followed me for a bit when I refused one trying to convince me to take it.  Don’t know why he thought I needed it so badly.  Maybe I stunk?  There wasn’t any energy drinks and instead of energy bars or gels, they gave out apple slices and wrapped sugar cubes.  Later, when I told one the teachers about the provisions, she asked, “What are you?  Horses?”
I found someone from the US who turned out to be another teacher at another school in town.  His name was Charles and he was from LA.  We ran together for maybe 30 or 40 minutes and we both welcomed the company and English chatter.  He was also kind enough to understand my sad stomach and helped me try to find some nice comfortable bushes.  He took the opportunity to walk for a while as I did my business.  I tried to hide myself as best I could, but my success was minimal.  I looked up and saw two police officers pointing and laughing.  Not my proudest moment.
I caught up to Charles who faded just after the 27K mark.  I told him I’d try to find him later then was quickly approached by another man who wanted to speak English with me.  However, this time he was Turkish and hoping to practice his skills.  This was not easy.  I was tired and wanting to concentrate on finishing.  His accent was thick and while he was so polite and obviously very sweet, after about 10 minutes of “I’m sorry?” “What?” “Pardon?” I finally indicated to him that I wanted to listen to my music.  I put my ear buds in thinking our conversation would cease, but he was persistent and started asking me about my musical tastes.  Oy.  Soon, he faded too so I was finally able to listen and find my groove again.
I’m a huge Fenerbahce Football fan now.  Okay, so I’ve only been to one game, but I learned very swiftly people here are passionate about their football.  I bought a jersey and decided to run in it.  Best decision of the day.  I had so many people cheering me on: “Fener! Fener!” they’d yell and point or pump their fists with huge grins on their faces.  Every now and then I’d see a group of men ahead of me standing on the side lines.  They’d be quiet until one would spot me and then they’d burst into loud jolly yelling.  Some of them went so far as to break out into their team chants.  Loved it.  So as I got closer and closer to the finish and the crowds on the side got thicker and thicker, the cheering got louder for me.  My grin grew which only encouraged more cheering.  It was so symbiotic.  I was happy, they were happy.  Such love.  Football is love.  I learned later from Bryce that the crowds had otherwise been sparse and silent and it felt eerie when what few people were there simply stared at him as he ran by.  At first I thought the lack of cheering for him was because of his lack of a jersey, but then I remembered how fast he is and figured he was just there too early for the crowds to have shown up.  See, being fast isn’t always a good thing.

The last few kilometers were swarmed with people, few of whom were there to see the marathon.  I’m not sure most of them even realized there was a race that day.  They were milling around, going about their daily business, catching the ferries, doing some shopping.  At one busy intersection a policeman was standing on a corner.  I made eye contact with him and pointed ahead of me to the crowd of people walking back and forth over the street.  Understanding my meaning, he yelled a few things at the people and they rapidly cleared a path for me. 

My favorite point of the race had to be when three young boys started running with me.  They jumped out onto the street, got ahead of me and looked like they were going as fast as they could.  They were laughing and yelling to each other and looking back at me to see if I could keep up.  They were quick, it was tough, but I laughed along with them and kept going until they faded to the sidelines.  That gave me enough steam to finish strong.
I was handed a bag as I crossed the line which held my medal and some food.  Bryce found me right away, giving credit to my screamin’ Fenerbahce jersey and replaced the non-vegan items in my bag with two scrumptious simit.  Before we left the finish area, I was approached by two guys who wanted their pictures taken with me.  I obliged, laughing that I was a photo-op and a spectacle.  One of them said something rousing about Fenerbahce and then kissed the sleeve of my jersey.  Bryce asked me later if I’d been running with them.  Nope, I didn’t see them at all until they got their pictures.  Football is love.  I shook hands with a couple of people I did run with and we were on our way up another (oh my Turkish running life) hill to the bus home.  We started and oh yeah, we finished.
Next up…Athens!