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Skipper's Corner ... comes to you from Vietnam - October 27, 2006
Psychic Paul reads the game real good
Warmest regards to you all from the 4th country that ‘Skip Corn’ has reported from: England, Germany, France and now Vietnam where Dorchie is on a 6-week secondment with the Department for International Development. I shall provide a short travelogue to this fascinating country in a moment, but first a couple of quick observations about last weekend.
In Biblical terms it has been seven years of harvest since the fine six-stage squad from 1999 also placed fourth. (They were Freary, Hurst, Lobo, Evans, Miles and Barden). Paul Freary spoke to the media at length after that race. Here are some highlights of what he had to say:
“We are a little disappointed … we felt that we might have run a little quicker … but there is tremendous potential in this squad … so come on guys, let’s get back out there … the medals are waiting!”
Paul is either psychic or else he just ‘reads’ the game real good, because his prediction of medals has had a ring of truth to it. The podium has escaped us this time at Sutton Park though, but it puts the spotlight even more on the CC relays at Mansfield on November 4th. Bring it on!
Hanoi ... in a hurry
I flew out to Vietnam’s capital, Hanoi, to visit Dorchie last week. The flight to the stopover in Bangkok is an 11-hour grind, made worse for me by the sumo wrestler in the next seat, who took up a third of my seat as well. Pinned in like this, as a naturally jumpy character anyway, led me to go stir-fry crazy half-way through the flight and I decided to repeat the track work-out I’d done the day before … 24 by 400metres. I was onto lap 15 of the plane, having just pinged an immaculate split of 66 seconds, when I was frog-marched back to my seat by a stewardess who explained some of the passengers were becoming anxious – and dizzy – at my athletic feats.
Here are some brief observations on Hanoi: it is a very bustling, exciting, hot, humid, manic city in a hurry. The traffic situation is incredible – everything moving all the time – in all directions. Traffic lights purely there for decoration. Scooters outnumber cars ten to one. Crossing the roads is a lottery not for the fainthearted. Two rules, never look at the half-dozen scooters driving straight at you (that way you’ll be accepting 50% responsibility when they crash in to you), and never break your stride. If you just keep moving at a steady pace the vehicles will predict your movement and swerve around you. Falter and you’ll be squashed. I have seen three juicy collisions so far.
Our plush appartment building overlooks the old prison where 550 American POWs were held during the war. We had a look around it and saw the flying suit which US State Senator and presidential candidate John McCain was shot down in. He spent six years at the prison from 1967-73.
I have secured myself gainful employment by becoming a restaurant reviewer for a local tourist magazine called Pathfinder. My first report was chatty, full of statistics and breathtakingly ignorant. I also teach English for two-three hours a day to some of the Vietnamese workers in Dorch’s office.
The currency here is the Dong … one of which ain’t gonna buy you very much (regardless that everything here is around seven times cheaper than in England). I asked how much the bill was last night at dinner, and the friend we were with replied, “one million, four hundred and fifty four thousand, five hundred and fifty Dong.” (It came to under a fiver each, and that was a flash restaurant.)
Getting some training ... with a tough geezer.
I am getting some training done despite the 90 degree heat and higher humidity. Dorch’s boss (Phil) happens to be a Swansea Harrier from their glory days of the mid-1980s. He may be 54 now, but is still a real tough geezer with 35 marathons under his belt and 6 ultras. On Sunday we went on a two hour run which included a trek through the marshy swampland of the Red river. I was knee-deep in slime, but he’s one of those annoying runners who is able to just run over the top of mud and not sink straight into it. We ran through ghettos, along highways, through maize fields and along roads that were in the process of construction – no rest for the poor on a Sunday.
At one stage we came to wrought-iron gates of a posh housing estate. “We come through!” exclaimed Phil to the security guards. They shook their heads. “Ok – we go through hole in fence!” Phil said … taking me to a gap in the railings. As we squeezed through and trampled over a flower bed, Phil nodded in the direction of the guards, who were caressing the butts of their revolvers, and said, “I do hate it when people are silly like that.” I awaited the sound of gunfire but none came.
By the end of the run, I was a soaking, stinking wreck – two hours is the longest I’ve run since the Frankfurt Marathon two years ago, but it does perhaps spell the return for me to the marathon. My career has so far consisted of 14 marathons in 10 years (my debut came on April 18, 1994), with a couple of pearls, a couple of solid runs, and ten woeful botch jobs … Here’s to the next ten years – I can hardly wait.
See you all at Coulsdon on November 11th. I have a wedding that day, which also starts at 3pm, but as if that’s gonna stop me. If I turn up to the reception and coo to the bride, “I so enjoyed myself during the service,” I won’t be lying, will I?
