As we left the Holiday Inn in the beautiful town of Ponce, Puerto Rico, heading for the nearby town of Coamo, my thoughts were racing. Did I have my race number? Did I bring my gel? How would I fare in this brutal race in this heat?

I had arrived in Puerto Rico early this year, and had 4 days to adjust to the climate. Wanda, her husband Bill, Enid and I had acclimatized by hanging out at the beach, drinking beers, relaxing, shopping, and sightseeing. We even managed to squeeze in a few runs in the early morning, running through the beautiful botanical gardens. I was worried, however, because I was suffering with the heat, during our 3-mile runs. How would I feel in a half marathon in the afternoon sun at 4:30 in the afternoon? Although my training had been adequate, most of the long runs I’d run were in the extreme cold of the New York Winter, with temperatures in the teens. Wanda, Enid and I had even run 12 miles to the Cloisters and back in temperatures of 2 degrees.

As we exited the “autopista” at the Coamo exit, it looked like clear sailing into the town. No traffic was to be seen. However, as we turned the bend, it was clear I was mistaken. It seemed like there is only one road into Coamo, and everyone wanted to get into town before us. Bumper to bumper traffic kept us moving at a snail’s pace, and impatient drivers, passing in the oncoming lane, and driving on the grass to the right of the road only compounded the problem. After about 1 1/2 hours of traffic, we finally entered the town, and parked the car in a shopping center parking lot about 1/2 mile from the stadium, which served as a holding area for the runners, as well as the finish of the race.

The scene was chaos, as usual, with hundreds of vendors selling souvenirs, thousands of people milling around, and enjoying themselves in the festive atmosphere, and hundreds of motorcyclists weaving in and out of the traffic-stalled cars. We made our way to the stadium to wait for the start of the race, and pick up our numbers. We looked for water to hydrate ourselves before the race start, but there was none to be found.

After about 3 hours of waiting in the stadium, we were informed that the buses had arrived to bring us to the race start, about 3 miles away. We packed into the cheese buses and took off for the race start area. We held on tightly as the bus rocked and rolled through the crowd packed road, with horns blaring, and sirens wailing all the way. When we arrived, we were ushered out of the bus and up onto a hillside, where there was a huge shelter for the runners to hang out and await the start. It was very nice and quiet here, compared to the craziness of the town. There were bathrooms, plenty of bottled water, and about 20 massage therapists to help soothe and loosen tired muscles. I waited on line, and within less than a minute, I was guided over to a young man, who massaged my tendonitis-plagued knee with Bengay (one of the race sponsors). It was a really nice addition to the race, to be treated so specially after all the craziness and commotion of the past couple of hours.

After awhile, we began to see some of the international class runners warming up, and we knew the race was to start shortly. Wanda and Enid were sitting down relaxing, but I was too nervous, and jogging around the area with the other runners calmed my nerves a bit. We wandered down to the race start with the others, and I took a position about 10 rows from the front. There we met Bill Smith, Fernando Ruiz and a few runners from the Bronx Road Runners. We wished each other good luck, and then I focused in on the race itself It’s surprising how I can be surrounded by hundreds of people at the start of a race, and yet feel aloof, concentrating on the sound of the starting gun.

The plan was that Enid, Wanda and I would run the first 6 miles together, and then, once we got to the “Ajoguillo hill”, all bets were off. The gun started, and we followed the stampede down the road to Coamo. The road was lined with people, elbow to elbow, cheering us on. With horns honking sirens blowing, we seemed to be carried along by the energy of the crowd. BUT the sun was hot, and beat down on me, reminding me how unused to the heat I was. I tried to stay with Enid and Wanda, but I had the urge to go ahead, and I had to remind myself to take it easy, or I would be in trouble later on. I kept looking back, and adjusting my pace to stay with my teammates. It was a constant battle in my head. It’s funny how the mind remains competitive, as we get older, but the body can’t quite keep the pace. A lesson that I unfortunately always forget.

We hit the first real hill at about 3 miles, and I was not feeling as strong as I usually do, so I adjusted my pace, and kept plugging. Through the town, the crowd cheered us on from both sides of the road, waving and yelling as we went by. When we got to the stadium, I looked back and saw Enid running to the other side of the road to drop off her hat and sunglasses with Wanda’s Husband Bill, He had a camera in his hand, but I’d already passed him, and I don’t run backwards in a half marathon. It’s weird how I perceive things when I’m tired. Sometimes I don’t exactly feel the tiredness, but it presents itself in other ways. Every time I looked ahead, it seemed like there was another hill to be climbed. Having run this race at least 7 times before, I knew the course was hilly, but these hills seemed more daunting. They seemed steeper and longer, and in places that they hadn’t been before. I stopped to take water many times along the way, and filled my water bottle at least 3 more times, aside from the water I was taking and drinking.

At about mile 5 I looked back to see Enid with a crimson face. She didn’t look well, but Wanda was out of sight. I gave Enid some cold Water that I’d taken. She said that Wanda had dropped back. I continued to run with Enid until we saw the “Ajoguillo hill” in the distance. I then picked up my pace, and said goodbye, and took off for the hill. It looked threatening, and so steep; the way the roller coaster feels when you’re going up slowly. All I could see in the distance was runners struggling and water cups strewn about, and of course spectators lining every inch of the way. I forced myself up and up, committed to not walking, and as badly as I felt, I was keeping pace with the runners ahead, and passing some, ever so slowly. The hill kept going and going, with false flats, that made me feel tired, because it looked flat compared to the rest of the hill, and I was struggling, but I was really still going uphill. I stopped at about 8 miles and took some cold water, and put a few ice cubes in my hat. It was a strange sensation, to be suffering from the heat, while my head was freezing.

I continued to push on, passing runners who were either walking, or running with that dazed look on their faces. I knew that expression too well. That’s when the body is on automatic pilot, and the mind is somewhere out in space. Every time I thought I’d reached the summit of the hill, there was yet another section around the bend that got even steeper. The amazing thing was that there were still people on the side of the road, almost elbow-to-elbow, offering words of encouragement, but they sounded far away, in another world.

At last I crested the hill, and attempted to use gravity on my side, but my aching quads would turn over as fast as I wanted them to. Little kids on the side of the road held out their hands for a high five, but I didn’t have enough energy, and I was afraid I would lose my momentum. I had tunnel vision now, and was looking only straight ahead. I was looking for the church in the distance. I knew that when I got to the church, it was almost over. As I crested each hill, I looked for the church, but it wasn’t there. All I saw was another hill. “How cruel, who moved the church”, I thought. The sun had set by now, and I was beginning to get chilled, as I plodded along out of sheer stubbornness.

Finally, the church appeared in the distance, like a mirage. I remembered when this used to be the finish of the race, but now I had about a mile to go. It began to get dark, as I approached the stadium. “How weird”, I thought, to start in the hottest part of the day, and finish in the dark of night. The music and the people gave me the extra energy I needed to get myself to the stadium. As I rounded the turn, and headed up hill to the entrance of the stadium I heard “Go Dennis”. I looked up and saw no one. “Go Dennis, Looking good” I heard, and looked up again and saw Bill Smith’s sister, Victoria, and Adrian cheering me on. That gave me the energy to pick up my pace for the last 200 yards to the finish. I crossed the line, and had a beautiful medal placed around my neck. I went straight for the medical tent to get some ice for my knee, where I met Bill Bills, who congratulated me for my efforts. As I sat in the medical tent, I saw Wanda come in, followed by Enid a minutes later. I was amazed at Wanda’s effort, because I knew that she had been behind Enid at mile 5.

I went over to congratulate the two of them, and as I was talking to Wanda, I noticed her lips getting pale and her eyes glazing over. She began to get dizzy, and we had to escort her to the medical tent, where she was given water, and an orange by the expert medical staff, and was back to her old self in a few minutes. It reminded me of how I’d finished this race on a few occasions, and how many of our VCTC runners finished this race in the medical tent.

Yes, it was finally over. Now we could relax. This is a brutal race. You train in the cold of winter and race in the heat of summer. The hills are unforgiving, as is the sun. You lose a few toenails, and gain a few blisters. You can’t walk properly for a few days after the race. You’re body is beat up. It’s noisy and crowded. It’s an effort just to get to the race. You get sick from the smell of barbeque, as you’re running in the heat close to oxygen debt. It starts in the heat of day, and ends in the coolness of night. After a few days of summer sun, you have to return to the winter in New York. Would I return to do this all again? You Bet! It’s a beautiful race! I love it! It’s a survival race. It lets you know what you’re made of.

Dennis Burns, February, 2004