Angkor Wat Run

A few years ago, I began running. This is a simple statement, but given my history of athletic misadventures it is actually something I am really proud of. And after completing my first 10K here in Cambodia, I feel like I can now actually call myself a runner.

I grew up with a lot of encouragement from my dad to get involved in "physical activities," but my success in these activities is pretty funny in retrospect. In elementary school, I played kickball and one game, when it was my turn to step up to the plate, I kicked the ball and broke my ankle. That's right, from just kicking the ball. In high school, I joined the softball team and played as left-fielder. My coach was wise as this position saw little action, so I was safe most of the time. But one game, the opponent's batter hit a grounder to left and it was a my make-or-break moment. The ball tumbled toward me, I picked it up, wheeled back my arm and threw... but let go too late and the ball went straight into the dirt about 2 meters in front of me. The next week I changed positions, and became the "team manager," where my organizational skills were much more beneficial to the team. And running had long been the bane of my existence. Every year of elementary school, our class had to run a mile and I just couldn't make it. We had to make 4 laps around the school, each time dropping a clothespin in a bucket to help us keep track. By the time I was a 4th grader, I was so over this exercise and decided to casually drop two clothespins in at once to reduce my distance. However, when I huffed and puffed across the finish line, first among my classmates, the gym teacher knew something was up. I ended up having to do that 4th lap anyway.

For as long as I can remember, my dad had always been a runner. I never really understood the appeal; he would suit up in his running shorts, shirt and a hat, tie up his laces and set out, only to come back beet-red, sweaty and out-of-breath. But one exam period during university, I was stressed and remember him telling me to try going for a jog to work out some of the exam anxiety. I began doing slow laps around the track at McGill's gym and soon realized I could now actually make a full mile, slowly but surely. And beyond that, my dad was absolutely right. Whether it was the distraction of focusing on just moving my legs one in front of the other, or the rush of endorphins that came from this action, running was leaving me feeling clear-headed and exhilarated.

I began to run more consistently about two years ago. Again, the stress of graduate school combined with an uncertainty about finding a job after graduation led me back to running as a way to "sweat it out." I would rise early in the morning and jog about 1.5 miles through Brooklyn, and come back ready to face the day knowing that I had already accomplished something that, for me, was not easy. It was empowering in a way I hadn't expected.

Before I landed in Cambodia, several people had told me about an annual half-marathon that is held amidst the temples of Angkor Wat in Siem Reap. Feeling like I might be ready to push myself further, I made a resolution to run the 10K portion of this race. My goals were clear: 1) Try to run the whole thing and 2) Try to make it in under 1 hour. And it's fills my heart with joy to say that I accomplished both these goals.

The actual run was one of the most amazing things I've ever done. Everyone lined up outside the entrance to Angkor Wat, and as the starting call was made we all began to move forward as a group. It was early in the morning, the sun had just come up, and the air was cool and damp. I looked to my right to see this incredible temple aglow in the light, and in front of me were a sea of heads bobbing up and down and a jungle beyond. As each runner began to find their own pace, the density of the crowd lessened and I found myself hearing nothing but my breath, the breath of those around me, and the scattered but consistent beat of our feet hitting the road. As if running past the awesome presence of Angkor Wat wasn't enough, our path took us through the gate into Angkor Thom, around the intricate, beautiful temple of Bayon, and beyond.

In addition to the setting, the atmosphere of the race blew me away. The event and all the proceeds are to raise awareness and benefit landmine victims, and many of the 10K runners were amputees running with prosthetics. And they were darn good, whizzing past me time and time again. And as the first runners began to loop back and pass all the runners who trailed them, everyone who was still working towards the halfway mark would cheer and stretch out their hands to high-five and encourage those in the lead. It didn't feel like a race, it felt like this random event made up of people from around the world, and everyone had joined together to complete the run. And this was highlighted by the fact that everyone got a medal, which read: Angkor Wat Run Finisher.* Finishing was what was important.

I get it now, why my dad ran. I'm hooked as well, and it's totally worth being beet-red, sweat-soaked and out-of-breath. :)

* Sidenote: When I got back to my hotel with this medal around my neck, one of the hotel staff ran up to me and said, "You won! You won!" For a split second I thought about saying, "Yes, yes I did!" But ended up letting him know that every runner got one, and I was, sadly, not the winner.

** Credit to the amazing Lucinda (who finished the 3K while 8 months pregnant!) for the photos from the race.