From that moment on, she had found her reason to run.
The drinks were finished, and the others joined them to head to a hotel near the seaside. As they drove, Ding Zhitong couldn’t shake the feeling that Li Jiaxin’s expression seemed off. He wondered if I had witnessed the scene on the beach earlier.
To distract herself, Ding spent the entire ride discussing work with Li. She reviewed the data and materials they’d gathered over the past few days, asking for his thoughts and discussing what else they needed. Tomorrow would be their final stop in Vietnam before returning to Ho Chi Minh City to visit LT’s headquarters. Generally, merger and acquisition projects had a much lower success rate than IPOs, yet writing the investment materials was more challenging. Often, they’d work tirelessly only to end up empty-handed. At least this task would keep their minds occupied and prevent any potential issues.
Upon reaching the hotel, the three of them checked in and retired to their respective rooms.
After finishing her evening routine, Ding emerged from the bathroom to find a message from Gan Yang: “Meet downstairs at 5 AM tomorrow.”
“So early?” she replied.
He called immediately to explain, “It’ll be sunny tomorrow. Any later and it’ll be too hot. Don’t tell me you can’t get up.”
Thinking of Li Jiaxin in the next room, Ding decided an early start might be best. She steeled herself and set an alarm for 4:50 AM.
Gan Yang added wistfully, “I should’ve been running the Shanghai Marathon tomorrow…”
“You got in?” Ding was surprised, then deeply regretful, though she knew entries couldn’t be transferred.
He laughed and asked, “Did you apply too?”
“Didn’t get in,” Ding admitted.
Gan Yang sighed, “Ah you should’ve told me earlier.”
“You had a charity entry?” Ding teased. She’d considered it too—the entry fee plus donation totaled 3,000 yuan. She’d hesitated briefly, and at that moment, all 500 slots had vanished.
To her surprise, he corrected her, “It was a sponsor entry.”
Ding scoffed inwardly, thinking, “Of course, money talks.”
After a pause, Gan Yang spoke again, “Next year, let’s go to New York together.”
“What for?” Ding asked, feigning ignorance.
“To run the New York Marathon,” he replied.
Ding didn’t answer directly, instead asking, “Have you run any marathons since then?”
“No,” Gan Yang answered, “I haven’t run any since.”
“I see. You went to Myanmar, right? How was it?” Ding swiftly changed the subject, remembering he’d mentioned it in Hanoi.
Gan Yang followed her lead, dropping the New York topic. “It was a coincidence. I happened to be in Myanmar in 2013 when Yangon held its first marathon. I never expected my first full marathon would be there.”
Ding put him on speakerphone and listened while responding to emails she’d neglected that afternoon.
Gan Yang explained that marathons in Southeast Asia typically start before dawn, racing to finish before the sun rises and temperatures soar.
The starting point was the Thuwunna National Stadium, built with Chinese aid in 1982. At the sound of the starting gun, runners set off into the dim streets, illuminated only by streetlights. The roads were empty save for a few stray dogs, awake early and roaming freely. Bewildered by the unusual commotion, some watched curiously while others joined the runners for short stretches.
The course passed the Yangon Customs House, the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, and the Kheng Hock Keong Temple—a Mazu shrine built by Fujianese immigrants during the Xianfeng Emperor’s reign in the Qing Dynasty. The temple’s lanterns were still lit, and inside, Mazu shared space with Guan Yu and Baosheng Dadi Wu Fen.
Gan Yang recalled stories from his childhood about Baosheng Dadi and Mazu’s magical duel, where even their hats were blown off. These two Hokkien deities were typically rivals who couldn’t share a temple, but abroad, they coexisted like foreign students sticking together.
Ding chuckled at this, urging him to continue.
Around 6 AM, as dawn broke, the sound of chanting drifted from nearby monasteries. Only then could runners see the crows perched densely on power lines—incarnations of Mahakala, a Tibetan Buddhist protector deity, revered in Myanmar as cows are in India.
After sunrise, the heat intensified, with temperatures soaring to 36-37°C. The 10K race had long since finished, and there was no half-marathon option. Few full marathon runners remained, their silhouettes scattered along the course. Their hair looked freshly drenched, shirts alternating between wet and dry, crusted with salt. Sunscreen visibly melted off faces and necks.
“What about you?” Ding asked.
Gan Yang laughed self-deprecatingly, “I was the same, of course. I thought I must be crazy to race here!”
The ideal temperature for marathon running is 15°C, but Southeast Asia easily doubles that, with high humidity to boot. He’d heard that the Singapore Marathon was considered the world’s most grueling. Though he hadn’t run it, he was certain Yangon was far worse. Singapore’s race starts after sunset, running through the night with ample supplies. In Yangon, beyond the heat and humidity, aid stations offered only water, with limited sports drinks and bananas. There weren’t even cooling sponges available.
Ding was astounded, knowing that even well-supplied races often saw runners collapse. But thinking of Gan Yang, she felt a twinge of schadenfreude, asking, “So how did you manage to finish?”
“Just kept putting one foot in front of the other,” Gan Yang replied, recalling Murakami’s words. Yet, Yangon had its charms.
The small city meant a winding course along the riverbank, perfectly avoiding the city center. With few cars on the road, organizers hadn’t even bothered to close streets or mark the course.
Monks in saffron robes carrying alms bowls often passed by. Locals out shopping cheered and applauded, while children sat along curbs watching the spectacle. Near Inya Lake, the course transformed into a trail through dense tropical forest, giving the city marathon a trail running feel.
Partly due to this unique atmosphere and partly from fear of the heat, he maintained a high cadence throughout, finishing in 2 hours and 58 minutes. He received a nickel medal inscribed with “Yangon, 42.195 kilometers.”
Another Chinese runner who finished around the same time told him he’d been running for years, completing races across China and neighboring countries. He said it was impressive for Gan Yang to break 3 hours in his first marathon.
Gan Yang thanked him, knowing only he understood the long journey from Ithaca to this moment.
Back in China, he met with Zeng Junjie again.
The chubby man looked at him in surprise, saying, “Huh, you seem to have reverted… No, you’re different from when you first returned from America… Unlike me, I get winded just walking a few steps now. I think even my wife finds me too fat.”
Gan Yang laughed, “Why don’t you run with me? The Yangon Marathon even has Burmese cheerleaders. Let’s go together next year.”
Zeng Junjie considered it but ultimately shook his head, “NAh running sounds too painful… I’ll pass.”
However, Gan Yang didn’t return to Myanmar the following year either.
By 2014, he found himself in Cambodia, participating in the Khmer Empire Marathon that August. Despite its grand name, the first half of the course resembled the outskirts of a city. The second half, though, lived up to its title, winding through the Angkor Thom.
This time, his performance declined, finishing at 3:22. The reasons were twofold: a thunderstorm that left his shoes waterlogged, and frequent stops to take photos. Though he had been in Cambodia for a while and visited Angkor Wat and Bayon Temple several times, experiencing them during the race felt different. It was like stepping into “Tomb Raider” or “Temple Run.”
Concluding his story, he said, “All right, it’s 11 PM. Time to sleep.”
Ding Zhitong was engrossed but bid him goodnight decisively.
That night, she dreamed of “Tomb Raider” and “Temple Run,” repeatedly sprinting, leaping, and jumping from heights. When her alarm woke her, she checked her sleep tracker, surprised to see she’d had two hours of deep sleep.
Her phone buzzed again. It was Gan Yang with a weather report: “It’s 5 AM in Ho Chi Minh City. Temperature: 23°C, Humidity: 71%.”
She chuckled at his professionalism, donned her quick-dry shirt and shorts, and laced up her running shoes. Downstairs, Gan Yang was already waiting.
Ding greeted him with a simple “Morning,” completed her stretches under the eaves, then started running down the steps.
Gan Yang followed, initially trying to match her pace. Once on the road, he realized she could easily keep up with him.
They ran through the seaside town to a lake, covering exactly six kilometers according to their phones.
The sun had risen high in the cloudless blue sky. They sat in the shade, drinking water. Gan Yang looked at her admiringly, “Not bad at all…”
Ding finally revealed, “I ran the Hong Kong Marathon 10K in 2013, the half in 2014, and my first full in 2015.”
She couldn’t hide her pride.
Gan Yang looked away, smiling softly, both surprised and pleased. Then he asked, “What was your time?”
Ding shook her head, “Can’t compare to yours.”
Gan Yang teased, “Did you finish just before they closed the course? Over seven hours?”
Ding mumbled reluctantly, “5:31.”
Gan Yang laughed.
Ding retorted, “At least I finished, unlike some people.”
She was referencing the past. Gan Yang buried his head between his knees, laughing. Ding watched him, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
She pushed the thought aside and began recounting her first full marathon, every detail still vivid in her memory.
With experience from the 10K and half marathon, plus consistent long-distance training, she had been confident about finishing in 2015. On race day, she completed the first half in 1:40, better than her previous times. She thought she could finish the full marathon in under 3:50.
But as the saying goes in running circles, the marathon truly begins after 20 kilometers.
Sure enough, at the 22-kilometer mark, her thigh cramped severely. She had to stop and stretch by the roadside. After a brief rest, she tried to continue but only managed 200-300 meters before another violent spasm hit. This pattern of running and stopping continued.
A fellow runner offered to stay with her, but she politely declined, not wanting to hinder their performance.
By the 30-kilometer point, four and a half hours had passed. Elderly runners from senior jogging clubs began overtaking her. Soon, she was surrounded only by those who stopped at every aid station to drink water, eat an energy bar, and post on social media.
Hong Kong’s small size meant a six-hour cut-off time for the full marathon. At her current pace, she feared the finish line would be dismantled before she arrived. She almost gave up, resigned to alternating between jogging and walking with man-eating energy bars, inching towards the finish.
When she finally reached the end, organizers were already taking down the banners. Only a few bags remained at the bag check, but she managed to receive her finisher’s medal.
The man who had been with her said, “I’m dying. I’m never running a full marathon again.”
Her legs were immobile, but as she looked back at the long road she’d traveled, she thought, “I’ll be back next year.”
“Did you keep running the Hong Kong Marathon after that?” Gan Yang asked.
Ding shook her head, answering honestly, “I’ve run in Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Suzhou too.”
2016, 2017, 2018 – one marathon each year. In 2018, she didn’t get drawn for the Shanghai Marathon.
“And you’ve been doing CrossFit,” Gan Yang observed.
“Yes, because of that cramping incident. I felt my strength and endurance weren’t enough, but I couldn’t do long-distance runs often,” Ding explained, then paused, realizing, “How did you know I’ve been training specifically?”
“I can tell…” Gan Yang replied, leaving it at that.
Preparing for a marathon requires running 150 to 200 kilometers per month for at least six months. To improve one’s time, even more distance is necessary. Ding’s intense work schedule plus marathon training, consumed all her free time. He understood because his situation was similar.
For a moment, they both fell silent. A gentle breeze carried the pleasant scent of lake water, rustling the tree shadows.
“It wasn’t because of you,” Ding spoke first, then realizing it wasn’t quite accurate, rephrased, “Maybe it was at first, but not later.”
Just like during that Hong Kong Marathon when she cramped, alternating between running and walking slowly towards the finish line, she had been thinking about the pattern her therapist mentioned. Perhaps it was from that moment that she found her reason to run.