The Article in PR Magazine

Itaewon Found


Last time, I spoke of Itaewon lost. Well, “I once was lost...” and then I went to the desert. I recently entered the Sahara Race, representing Itaewon (& Korea) while raising money for the Orphan Activity Fund in the hardest race on Earth.

Why now? – “Why Not?”
In the midst of this worldwide financial crisis, failing economies and fears of global depression, I say, “Go on vacation!” Worrying won’t help and working for money that may not be worth anything in the near future seemed futile, so I decided to spend some while it still had value – and value I got.

The Sahara Race
“I do this to inspire others and to inspire myself, to test my mettle and discover the path at my feet.”

My brief adventure took me through the Sahara on a 250km self-sustained foot race through the sand and heat of an ancient land. Toting a 12kg pack, 150 competitors (14 from Korea) began deep in the Egyptian desert at the Farafra Oasis and finished in front of the great Pyramids of Giza. Known as one of the most challenging endurance events in the world, the Sahara Race was to become my Journey of the Soul.

There are no cell phones, no showers, just tents, sand, sky and 150 other crazy, interesting and remarkable competitors. I wondered, will the desert offer us the chance to forget… to forget troubles and to focus on something more primal, more substantive – sustenance and survival, man vs. nature, to see something ancient and lasting that will, in retrospect at least, make us truly appreciate life, however brief and fleeting the journey may be.

The Charity
“If I’m going to go through hell, someone might as well benefit from it.”


Every journey begins with one step… and my first one was on an endeavor to earn for others, to adventure so that others might have a chance to do so, to run for a cause. It took some doing, but I finally found the right charity and set up a foundation to sponsor outdoor education for Korean orphans. Through Youth in Nature and the Paju YMCA, we established the Orphan Activity Fund and Motorola Korea graciously offered to donate $2500. OK, that taken care of, now I have to train – What?! It starts next week?


The March towards Madness

“If I can do this, I can do anything!”

Day One through Four – the Marathon Daze (average 38km per day)

The hurried flapping of colors flying, thirty flags representing the competitors’ countries, marked the moment as we embarked on this insanity. Overtaken by adrenaline and the horde bursting forth under the green banner, a standard that would become our jade oracle and a more welcome sight than any lush oasis could offer, we spilled down the sandy hill, diving in with determined effort and stretched our legs across the open expanse of the Hamada Trail leading to the great rocks that studded the landscape some 300km west of Cairo.


The leaders sped across the open sands and disappeared amid the pillars of beige and cream stone rising above the constant sands. The rest of us mere mortals followed in sandy footsteps and met our match in the desert heat. The white desert spread out before us with no end in sight and no shade for respite. As we bore the heat, blisters and aching muscles, so began the journey within, a philosophical experiment in a distance unimaginable, forcing ourselves along, step-by-step and overcoming the frequent and profound desire to quit. Each day ended worn and weary, yet morning came and the new stage began, so I ran.




Day Five – the Black Desert March (100.2km)


Having never attempted more than 42km in a day (already tight with aching joints, feet full of taped-up blisters, and black toenails), I could not fathom what lay ahead, so I bowed my head and just began. Feeling unexpectedly good, I raced ahead one stage at a time with no thought of saving energy for the next, thinking, “I’ll rest when I’m dead!” The miles somehow slipped away and I didn’t slow down till I met my muse some 53km later. The siren’s song sung… the next stage would be my downfall. I stumbled past the pink banners at 65km speaking incoherently and collapsed in exhaustion. Carried into the tent, I spilled onto the floor and drifted in a daze much less than sleep for 3 hours, rose refreshed, gnawed jerky, triaged blisters and started off alone into the dark night.

The final hours were lonesome along the plateau, and as the last stage spilled down into the sandy valley below, I trudged on in a kind of half sleep. Finishing in the early morning, cursing the sand and swearing I’d never do anything so stupid again. (I’m now planning my next race.)

The Aftermath
“Midway this way of life we're bound upon / I woke to find myself in a dark wood / Where the right road was wholly lost and gone.”

As Dante so aptly intoned, I too had been adrift in life… my spirit lost, it somehow found its way through the lone and level sands of the deep desert. In the end, the desert made me appreciate everything: showers, refrigerators, coffee shops, and most of all home! Itaewon was often on my mind and always in my heart. After all, Itaewon is more than just a place, more than a hangout or a home, it’s something inside the heart, and though I miss my family back in the US, there’s no place that I’d rather be now than in the holiday spirit of home, of Itaewon.

I welcome all of you, in fact I challenge you to prepare for and do something that scares you.
As the Holiday season and time of giving nears, Please give to the Orphan Activity Fund – contact the writer at peter@thewritersink.com for details.

Flashback

Flashback


The nights of dread and mornings of anticipation have all faded in memory – the experience was ridiculously difficult, but somehow thoroughly compelling. In the world’s most punishing desert, the key to success was the people – the energy and enthusiasm they brought, the camaraderie, the stories and the smiles.

Without the others, there would be no race, no reason to continue trudging though the desert, to bear the heat and the slippery sand. The supportive souls that volunteered became my inspiration for overcoming every obstacle, stage by stage, and the participants were to bring out the best in me.


Every soul there was supportive of everyone else, giving advice and assistance and willing to wait or even lend a hand. People finished together, crossing the line hand-in-hand.

And beyond the friends I made, the images and emotions, the touch and the taste of the Sahara will stay in my memory for years to come… maybe for a lifetime. The images were many and though not so varied, full of color – as Ireland is colored with a thousand hues of green, the desert was a symphony of beige and brown, with taupe and tan dominating the diving dunes and jutting rocks of the landscape, the little pink flags to guide our way, the great pink banners that signified the station posted at varying distances as man made oases doling out shares of water & shade, joy & support.





I will remember:
• The khaki crunch of the crusted surface giving way and sliding out from under weary knees
• The indisputable importance of water and the beauty of a rainbow face-spray
• The slippery stare into the desert air
• The midday sun, the night’s chill
• The quiet deep of the desert night


In the Tao Te Ching it says:
To experience without abstraction is to sense the world;
To experience with abstraction is to know the world.

So was my experience with or without abstraction? I couldn’t quite say for sure. I suppose that at some points it was one and some the other, but the moments of inspiration and of madness will not quickly fade.

In honor of the experience, I have penned an ode to the tune of our desert theme song, “A Horse with no Name.”

The Song
A Race of Some Fame


On the first part of my journey,
I was focused on the road ahead,
I dove down the dune and shot for the moon
I ran until I was red
The first thing I saw made me stumble in awe
And the sky was cloudless above
The heat was hot and the sand was soft
By the end of the day I was dead.


I’ve been through the desert on a race of some fame
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert, you can run for your name
Cause there aint no one to tell you you’re insane
La, la, la, la-la-la-la, la, la, la, la

After two days in the desert sun,
My skin began to turn red
After three days of the desert run,
The heat it got to my head
The story is told of a man so bold
To see how far he could tread
He stepped through the heat that blistered his feet
And all his clothes he then shed…

I’ve been through the desert on a race of some fame
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert, you can run for your name
Cause there aint no one to tell you you’re insane
La, la, la, la-la-la-la, la, la, la, la


After seven days in the desert sun,
My legs they ceased to run
I started to slow and came to know
That the something had changed in me
Through hot rays, and hard days
There had been highs and lows
But as the story goes
My journey had come to a close


I’ve been through the desert on a race of some fame
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert, you can run for your name
Cause there aint no one to tell you you’re insane
La, la, la, la-la-la-la, la, la, la, la

Day Seven – The Pyramid Sprint

Day Seven – the Pyramid Sprint (the 5.2km)
Stage 6 on 1 November - 5.2 km


We arrived in Cairo at 11am and re-donned our packs (much lighter now) for the last leg of the desert race. The final sprint up to the finish line was so quickly over it seemed incongruous to the effort of the previous five days and a bit anti-climactic with everyone’s thoughts on the shower at the hotel.


The bulk of the leaders, minus the phenomenal Ryan Sands went off course and ran an extra couple of kilometers. That fiasco aside, the course up to the pyramids was filled with trash and bad smells. (For one of the biggest tourist destinations on the planet, I was shocked that the government did nothing to clean it up.)



The medals were presented as we crossed the finish line, but it was the beer and pizza awaiting us that got us up that last embankment.







Here are my final stats:

Place Name Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 7 Overall
56/157 Liptak Peter N. 05:13:24 05:35:47 06:19:00 06:09:20 20:12:05 00:32:50 44:02:26


And those of my Korean compatriots:




Back at the Movenpick, there was more trouble. The hotel decided to sell our rooms (which had been reserved and paid for a year in advance) to members of a Saudi Prince’s party. So they summarily put us three to a room and the staff of Racing the Planet, were nowhere to be found, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Most competitors acquiesced and quickly found roommates. After finding the room, we realized that there was only one bed, to which they would add a cot. Not feeling particularly amenable with the situation, I waited with others for a free room and let the other two get settled. A few drinks and a few hours later, I continued to get the run around and finally dove in the pool. In the end, I had a room with one of the volunteers.

Man, what a difference a shower and a shave make! Do I clean up well, or what?



In the aftermath, we began the revelry, which was to last well into the night. The final surprise came only moments before goodbyes, something ended and something had begun. Nothing ventured, nothing won!

Day Six – The Long Laze

Day Six – The Long Laze (a day in camp)
31st of October - 0.0 miles


Having finished, I found it unsettling to be still, and could neither lie down, nor rest. I wandered stiff and awkward around the camp, aimlessly looking for someone to commiserate with. I found the internet tent open and checked email. A message from mom and I started to well up. After a good emotional cry, I was able to hobble back to the tent and rest for a couple of hours.

Everyone was up by 8, the sun already steaming up the stench in the tent. Rest was not a big part of the equation – It was to be a day of socializing with a hint of lazy celebration in what we have just accomplished – at least it felt as if we should rejoice.




We wandered around, shared stories, and learned how others had fared during the long night. We greeted the latecomers as they came in through the morning and into the afternoon.





And when the locals came around with bread, chips and soda for sale, the feast began. I had no Egyptian money with me, but the others in the tent bought food for the group. In fact, much of the camp was doing it. I knew it was against the rules, but having finished 250km in 5 days (the last 5k held back for the seventh day), we felt that the race was done and began the party.



The day ended with gifts of paper, pencils and Frisbees for the local children, and a Bedouin honey cake for all. The chairs and tables gone, everyone gravitated towards their tents and again went to bed early. I decided to sleep under the stars with Anna, Alex and Andreas as it was the last chance to see the Milky Way in all its glory before the trip back into Cairo at 4am. (One of the other Korean competitors caught a deadly scorpion only 30 meters away from where we slept in the open sand.)

Day Five – A Body in Motion

Day Five – A Body in Motion (The Black Desert March)
30th of October - 100.2km / 62.6 miles

Pray for rocks! Sand sucks the life from your feet.

I begin today with a thought and a recitation of a poem about a place all too distant in time, location and environment. The poem recalls a wistful moment amid a snowy landscape, but the last two lines are as appropriate here as any that might be said: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.” (Robert Frost’s Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening)


Having never attempted more than 42km in a day and already tight with aching muscles, feet full of taped-up blisters, and black toenails, I couldn’t fathom what lay ahead, so I bowed my head and just began. Feeling surprisingly good, I raced ahead one stage at a time with no thought of saving energy for the next, only to end sooner – thinking, “I’ll rest when I’m dead!” – the tortoise may beat the hare in the end, but it’ll have to be the hare for now.


I had decided to take Carlos’ advice on my stride and attempt to run normally, not stretching out my feet and trying to run ‘flat’ as I had before. This seemed to work quite well, and the sand on the plateaus was better-packed and even a bit rocky to aid in the speed. I pulled up to one friend and then another, but my energy and enthusiasm wouldn’t let me slow down to pace with them, so I pulled ahead. By the first checkpoint I was miraculously in second place (bearing in mind that the top 25 runners had a late start – 10am to our 8am).

Then shortly into the second stage, the front runner faltered and we ran together for a bit. We talked about how odd it felt to be in front and not have tracks to follow or other runners to sight on. Then he slowed and said, “now you’re in the front.” It felt good, no great! I knew that the best runners would pass in a few hours, but being in “the lead” was a thrill, somehow giving me more energy.


I came into the second, then third, then forth checkpoints still in front. I felt unstoppable, invincible at times and then variously hit by lows. I was pushed along merely by the fact that I was in front… I felt that I had to hold on as long as I could. And when I’d slow and walk, I’d look behind and see Eberhard (a 58 year old German who has finished Badwaters 5 times, and Marathon de Sable 7 times) just behind. He trailed me endlessly, following like a hunter, I still had some rabbit in me and was able to stay ahead for a time, he’d pass me with his steady pace on the flats, but somehow I’d burst past him on the sandy hills as he had trouble slipping in the deep sand. We had switched to a game of cat and mouse. Soon, I was to pass the gauntlet, allowing him and two others to out-step me.


The miles somehow slipped away and I didn’t slow down till I met a muse some 53km later. The siren’s song sung… the next stage would be my downfall. I stumbled past the pink banners speaking incoherently and collapsed in exhaustion (65km 9:59:59 7th place). Carried into the tent, I spilled onto the floor and drifted in a daze much less than sleep for 3 hours, rose refreshed (at least enough to get my spirit back for as I heard the voice of the people overtaking me, I nearly lost hope and debated quitting), ate beef jerky, triaged blisters and started off alone into the dark night just after taking a couple of minutes to give Simone, who had just arrived and seemed in need, a back massage.

I listened to music in the dark and focused on stretching my legs and keeping my stride swift and steady. I felt somehow pure, my body purged of pollution and cleansed by my rest; I felt awake and alive like I had not felt for many years before, stopping from time to time to shut off my headlamp and look at the stars. The word amazing, just couldn't capture it, nor remarkable; I think some combination of surprising, mind-bending, surreal and astounding might come close. I would stagger along in the deep dark of it, but half looking up and half squinting to see the rocky road ahead, fearful of a twisted ankle or a stumble and a roll down one of the steep embankments, I would be forced to return to my reliance on the light, but those short stumbles would stay in my mind for a long while… I so miss the stars.

The remaining hours were lonesome along the plateau without any other competitors in sight, and with the final 14km stage spilling down into the sandy valley below I trudged on in a kind of half sleep. I managed to pass a few more people along the way, but could never get a run going. This last 14km was easily the most frustrating of the entire race. Every time it seemed as if it should be near the end, the course would stretch out again, it was profound, deep of sand and hilly as hell. My toes crumpled against the wall of sand that had found its way through the pores in my shoes, making them so sore that they felt like there was no nail or even skin to protect them; my legs aching with the joints so swollen I didn’t want to look; the bottoms of my feet twinging with every step as the blisters on my insteps had grown together to make pools of pain.


Finishing in the early morning at 4am (20:12:05), I cursed the sand and Pierre, the course designer, swearing I’d never do anything so stupid again. (I’m now foolishly planning my next race.)

Day Four – Snowy Landscape

Day Four – Snowy Landscape (The Spring to Nowhere)
29th of October - 38.9km / 24.3 miles

The Tale of the Water Bottle and the Solar Plexus…

The dawning day – another 7am start, so up at 5 and an attempt at a dim-lit breakfast. The descriptions of today’s four stages are Difficult, Difficult, Difficult, and Difficult. Oh Joy! The bag was less full and slightly lighter today, but this was not a benefit as, without the volume, the Racing the Planet backpack couldn’t be sufficiently tightened around the waist so the water bottle on my front pack was hitting me squarely in the solar plexus – thump, thump, thump! I adjusted the straps again and again as I ran, trying to get a handle on it. I hardly noticed the surroundings as I struggled through the pain. I remember little – think I blocked it out.


Beyond stage one, I started to get used to the thumping and find a rhythm. I concentrated on my footfalls, attempting to lay the foot soft on the sand, projecting it forward, skimming the surface and trying not to push off, as I would normally on pavement, so I wouldn’t sink deep and slip out. (Later that night, Carlos would tell me that my technique was too costly, so I changed my strategy for the long day, running normally.)

I kept pace with the Danes for a while, their banter and camaraderie infective and inspiring. They passed me sometime in the third stage long before the white mounds of stone and the sandy rise to the upcoming oasis. You could see the oasis from miles away, and the sight of it was deceiving. I suppose the desert is like the sea, the lack of landmarks makes things seem closer than they are.





The Third Checkpoint is the Charm
Finding myself still in the mid-thirties (place in the race), I came into checkpoint three with beautiful smiles of volunteers bearing water and an oasis of cartoon-like perfection. Stunning! I rested in the shade, partook of those welcome ratcheted mists from the heavens and ate.





Snowdrifts in the Desert

After collecting myself for the final 14km stage, I caught sight of Ricky just ahead and worked to catch up. We slogged along over the white rocks that looked like snowdrifts in the desert ahead and spilled out onto another vast and endless field of sand, deep and unforgiving on the aching legs. From here it was a thirsty and everlasting walk, hence the title for the day: “The Spring to Nowhere.”


Ricky and I stretched our legs across the sand, jogging then walking along this endless plateau dealing with each step as it came. My thoughts were of my mounting thirst and the sand in my shoes with the tender toes purple and swelling in the heat and pain. Somewhere around 10km in, we turned a corner and came over a dune. We could barely make out the white of the tents deep in the distance just beyond some pillars of stone at the foot of some rather impressive peaks, but that goal was to be far more elusive than we expected. These last few kilometers were an unimaginable grind, a taxing task of total irritation, a toil nothing short of an incitement to rebellion (ha! ha!). “OK, if I just finish today,” I thought, “I can rest and quit before the 100k day – after all, I’ll have finished four marathons in four days, in the desert… that’s enough isn’t it?” The justification for quitting, I made moment by moment as the thought of the next day’s distance would make me give up for sure. Just make it through today… when I finished, I wasn’t singing, but I was happy it was over.

The first part – “the training daze” was over, and there was only one day left to go. I felt confident that I could start, and allowed for the possibility that I could run for a while and if I felt sick or my knee (with 30% of the ACL left) hurt too much. I could stop and ride into camp. Though it might seem like a negative outlook to think about quitting, it was the most positive way for me to attack the problem that seemed so insurmountable. It allowed me to start, to assess and to continue. (6:09:20)

That night there was dancing, and a strange sort of elation ran through the camp – the day of atonement was close at hand, the four hard days of training complete, we just had one day of running remaining. Camp Mars they called it. With dunes rising above and great pillars of stone all around, it was at the same time harsh and beautiful!



I ambled around camp, and decided to climb above to attempt a yoga pose in the sand, take some pictures of the camp laid out below, and was inspired to a recitation of a Langston Hughes poem (the one that had inspired my world travels back at 21):

Tonight, I slept with a new sensation, on less of fear and more of accomplishment. I also am finding that my body has changed. I feel different, and not so tired, but somehow more young – if this is possible. I think it might be all the sweating and the 9 liters of water a day I’ve been drinking.

Tonight, I dance in dreams… gentile night, whirl, whirl!

Day Three – Letting the Turtle out

Day Three – Letting the Turtle out (Sandy Field)
28th of October - 40.3 km / 25.2 miles



It’s hard to eat breakfast in the dark, in a hurry, trying to get ready for the effort ahead, but we dutifully rose at 5 am. Headlamps aloft, we ventured to the now stenchful toilet tents, artful boxes, once used for water now full of something entirely different, though no less natural – thank god for the early morning wind, however chill it might be. Then back in the tent for a quiet ruffle in search of food and out to the fire for hot water and a bit of talk, subdued and sleepy-eyed.




The hare might lose to the turtle, but I would transform. Well, today my strategy was not so effective. I lumbered a bit as I tried to catch my breath and find a rhythm but stomach problems whittled away at my determination. The long flat stretch of runnable desert had me nearly beat. I made it to the first station and got something for my unease, but it seemed that my turtle was determined to come out early. I’d attempt to run, but then the whittling would again begin. Here, I linked up with Eric Chang, of Australia, living in Hong Kong, but born in China (if memory serves). He helped me along in my momentary endeavors, as I did him… we would egg each other on. Walk for a bit, then count down: five, four, three, two, one, to feign a jog for a few minutes before quickly running out of steam. I suppose we had done well in the first part as we pulled into the second checkpoint in decent position – somewhere around 30? – the beautiful faces of the volunteers cheering us in.

“Would you like a spray?” A volunteer asked, “Would I…!” I responded with enthusiasm. And as the mist tickled my overheated skin, I closed my eyes and started to think of the sound of the spray: a ratcheted whir of pure delight. Just the sound gave me goose bumps! “Could you spray me again?”


The rest at the tent brought on a round of song as we searched for our theme for the day. “A Horse with no name,” I believe it was Ricky who said it. And suddenly, we broke out in chorus:
It was simple but somehow magical. Again, the joy arrived at stage two…

“No rest for the wicked!”



We started off again, Eric, Jung ha, and me, (and we stuck together like the glue I never had a chance to put on my nonexistent Racing the Planet gaitors) from the reprieve of the tent into the sandy field. “Sandy field” they called it! “Sandy f*cking field!!” It sounds like that Beatles song – Strawberry Fields Forever… Forever was right, but not as pleasant as the name sounds! It was somewhere in stage three – the forever of stage three – that desert delirium began to set in… the theme song still in our heads… the desert dancing before us, the mirages to the right and left, and sand smooth as silk, extending out as far as the eye could see. Oh it was beautiful all right, but dangerously so!


Somewhere along the path we found this tree, this single lonely tiny tree in the miles of empty desert. It was ruggedly stunning – a real survivor. Would we be so strong? I took a picture and gave it a moment to sink in…







“Aint no sunshine when she’s gone”


I recall the sun, but I also recall the blue of the sky, an azure amazing, clear and cloudless. Then I thought of all the cloudy rainy weekends that people around the world were complaining about and thought how lucky we were to have such nice weather – I told you delirium!! Singing as we ran then walked the highs and lows were like a rollercoaster of the spirit.
(The lows lower than you can imagine… full of self-doubt, depression, anger and physical pain, somehow attune to the feeling of lost love and just as dangerously unpredictable.)


Then after eons of sand, we came at last to the dunes, I was slow here and my companions were patient as I stopped to bare my aching feet and attempt the ascent in socks. The temporary reprieve from the cramped quarters of my trail shoes with their porous mesh to let air (no sand) in, helped for a bit, but the experiment failed as the blisters, black toenails and aching arches impelled me to once again don those bedeviled shoes.



A few dunes later, we arrived at the third tent, the final destination barely visible off in the distance. We started off, but our footfalls were too tired and close together and we lingered in our self-imposed misery. Yes, it was nice to get in – especially with my comrades close at hand, and yes I managed to smile, but no I don’t want to talk about it right now. (6:19:00 47th place)

After a rest, and in much better spirits, there was the climb to the top of the sand dune at the back of the camp. The sun setting, the whole camp came up for a picture and did the wave for the video camera before we turned to watch that great heat source fall. Something magical seemed to begin around that simple sight, the elation of an end, bright thoughts of a new beginning, fresh and full of joy.

The rest tonight would be perfection.