What do you do when you and a good mate are transplanted from Europe and based, for the moment, in Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok respectively? Go up to visit him. What do you do when the two of you usually do something active when together, i.e. run along the Amstel whenever you pop by to Amsterdam? Do something athletic. And what would this friend suggest in this exotic locale? A vertical marathon.
Now, neither I nor Dr J have done a vertical marathon before. It is an annual thing at the Banyan Tree
Bangkok apparently. Usually, we go up the Banyan Tree to Moon Bar for drinks on
the rooftop. This time, we were supposed to, erm, use human power in place of
mechanical power.
Without much thought
or research, I signed up. This was 5 days before the event. The next day, the
day before my flight, I decided to read up on it. This is what I discovered:
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| And this is why you should do research before committing |
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17th
edition
-
8 November
2015
-
Race up
all 61 floors
-
1,093
steps
And of course, my male bravado and I set our
sights on ‘time to beat: 6 minutes 35 seconds.’
And of course, there was a clear absence of
training. Mornings, after breakfast, we’d talk about the need to train. After
lunch, we’d talk about training, after a swim (which counts! We do laps!) and chill
by the pool with the looming Banyan Tree Bangkok tower just in front of us.
Come evening, we’d have drinks with friends, who thought us daft for doing
this, and again, realize our clear absence of training.
So, the Friday before, after lunch and a swim,
we decided we seriously needed to train. Now, our residence is just about 35 floors. We could not start from ground, due to security,
so we side-stepped a few floors, and a confused-looking cleaner, and started
from the 14th floor.
-
First 10
floors: Yay!
-
Next 5
floors: Come on, Dr, get those long legs working
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Last 6
floors: Why did we sprint on the first 10?
With our Friday lesson
learnt, we decided to try again on Saturday, after lunch. We paced ourselves
properly, kept a steady rhythm and timed ourselves. Just under 5 minutes for 20
floors. Yeap, doable. We found our pace, knew our strengths and aimed for 15
minutes to reach the top.
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| The Navigator and Dr J, all smiles and grins: but will we smile after 1,093 steps? |
Come Sunday morning,
we were excited. We woke up early, got semi-ready, walked down the street to
the Banyan Tree and got our kit. Naturally, we wondered who the insane man was
who did the entire thing in 6 minutes and 35 seconds. I looked around and I saw
a Slavic looking fellow, in full triathlon gear. I pointed him out to Dr J. We
agreed: it had to be him.
So, come the
‘countdown,’ we had a brass band playing to get us in the mood. Some people
were clearly excited. Some people were nervous. Some had GoPros strapped on
them. Some were colour coded. Some had no clue at all. We were in the latter.
One hiccup came up: Dr
J and I were in different classes. I was in the 20 – 39 class, he in the above
40, despite him just reaching that pivotal ‘change in age class.’ We were
hoping to race up together to keep our pace and support the other. We tried,
and I delayed my entry to the start line, to be the last in my group and him
the first in his.
It almost worked. A race warden saw me, so
I got slotted in a group before. We wished each other luck as I just took it in
stride while my fellow racers were all geared up. First thing in my mind: pace.
Pace. PACE, YOU FOOL. I also, naturally, targeted and numbered my competitors (and
yes in the blink of an eye, I turned from casual indifferent observer into a Type
A Top Gun jet pilot).
GO! Went the warden.
*Beep* went the buzzer. Zoom went the racers. WHOA went my head.
We ran past the brass
band. I had to restrain and keep a steady pace as Bloke A – E sprinted. G – I
decided to keep a steady pace. If only the brass band had a bag-pipe, I would
be in heaven. There is something about the haunting deep melody of the sheep’s
gut which stirs something deep down. But, alas, this brass band would do.
We ran past the lobby
I knew well. We ran up a side entrance to an emergency exit I didn’t know exist.
And so it began, up the stairs. You could hear the pitter patter of shoes,
huffing and puffing and deep breaths. I had concerns over ventilation, but the
sight of large fans blowing in to the shaft allayed my fears.
There were regular
drink stops, and by the 5th floor, I saw people clamouring for a
drink. I went on, not wanting a distraction. I was not to drink until I reached
the rooftop. Preferably, I wanted a vodka martini. I stayed close to the center
of the shaft, imagining my body a well-oiled machine, as I used my legs to
propel me up, my hands on my thighs if needed for an added push, and fighting
the urge to use the handrail.
By the 10th
floor, a few of Blokes A – E were already slowing down. One already stopped. A
few flights more, another was using the handrail for leverage. A few more, one
was standing at a drinks stand, clearly wondering what he got himself in to.
By the 30th
floor, I heard the dread of all dreads: someone vomiting. Woe befall me if I
dare step on it.
By the 40th
floor, the last few of Blokes A – E, including some of the runners ahead of me,
were either slowing down, walking up, hauling themselves up or sitting on the
floor, catching their breath. Random guys looked dejected or outright out of
their elements.
Truth be told, the
closer I got to the 50th floor, the faster I went. There were less
people now, and those at the top clearly had the summit in mind. So I picked up
the pace, in anticipation for the top floor, in full knowledge and with
autopilot on, that once on the top floor lift lobby, I had two more terraces
and mezzanines to contend with.
And then, there it
was! I saw the light, literally, as I approached the doors to the terrace.
There before me was Bangkok in all her glory: Silom by my feet, the Thai sky
ahead, Surya shining his rays on all. For a brief moment, I slowed down to
savour, before realizing ‘NO! GET GOING!’
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| Shiny medal, sunny day, clear vistas of Bangkok: good combo |
The last few steps,
and there the finish line. It was quiet-ish. A giant cartoon mascot was urging
me on, as was a very cheery cheerleader. I crossed the line with a hop, a
scotch and a grin as I got my medal. I actually could go for another round!
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| The obligatory selfie after crossing the finishing line. It filled up fast. |
With drink in hand, I
looked around. A few of the guys were in their adrenaline high. I knew how they
felt: I was in it. A few others looked knackered, while a few more were on the
ground, exhausted beyond belief.
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| But this bloke takes the cake: GoPro attached to his person the whole time. |
I roamed around,
admiring the view I am accustomed to viewing with martini in hand. Done with
the view, I went back to the finish line to wait for Dr J. Not long after, I
saw him, and we congratulated ourselves at the top. Of course, we had to do the
obligatory selfie to post on social media: our subtle way of guilting our
friends who chose to lay in on a Sunday morning instead of running up to a
rooftop bar.
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| Squinting, thanks to the sun, but still all smiles: all that is missing is a vodka martini and a gin + tonic |
What did we win? Apart
from a medal, bragging rights: we earned our drinks at Vertigo and Moon Bar no.
We ran up the Banyan Tree Bangkok where most sane people would use the lift.
And they say running
doesn’t bring you anywhere.
Our final time: me at
10 minutes 59 seconds, at 44/158 for my category. Dr J came in at 12 minutes 20
seconds, and 43/98 for his category. Would we do it again? I’ll let you know.
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| Somehow, not as fulfilling without using the stairs up 61 floors. |
2 weeks later, I took
the elevator for an evening drink.
Oh, who beat 6’35”? Mr
Slavic Triathlete.
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