Weblog for Andrew Biggs

Barack Obama in Khon Kaen

Posted in Daily Diary by Andrew Biggs on the December 15th, 2008

This Khon Kaen boy reminded me of Obama ... he said I wasn't the first one to tell him that.

Last Saturday I went to Khon Kaen and had a great time speaking to 400 Matthayom students who were there for a project by the Government Savings Bank. And in the second row in the auditorium, I saw a student who looked like Barack Obama! His name is Mongkol Changmai and he studies at Wat Klang School in Khon Kaen. I told him not to smile in this photo, because that’s when he really looks like Obama.

Maybe he will grow up to become Prime Minister of Thailand. He couldn’t be any worse than the ones we’ve seen lately.

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A quick trip to Surin

Posted in Daily Diary by Andrew Biggs on the December 12th, 2008

I just returned last night from a 4-day trip to Surin.

Life is strange. I woke up on Monday morning, thinking the day was going to be just another day in the sometimes interesting, sometimes tedious life of Andrew Biggs. I had no idea that at midnight that same day, I would be arriving in the city of Surin, 500 km away.

That’s because I heard news at 2 pm Monday that a very good friend of mine had had a stroke, and there was a 20 per cent chance of survival. I drove immediately to Surin last Monday night, and on Tuesday morning at 10.56 am, he passed away. I stayed in Surin for the funeral arrangements and then drove back, arriving in Bangkok last night.

Wow. Life is precious. It is here one second, then gone the next. To my beloved friend Coke, may you rest in peace. You brought so much joy and laughter to so many people, and we will miss you.

Tonight I fly to Khon Kaen and come back Sunday. At least I am getting to travel around a lot these days.

Have a wonderful weekend.

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Hotel California

Posted in Daily Diary by Andrew Biggs on the December 1st, 2008

For the second time this week, I have been asked what color shirt I will be wearing when I stand up on a stage and talk about … learning English.

I have lived in Thailand for 19 years, and this is the first week I have been asked what I will be wearing when I speak. No, it’s got nothing to do with my dress sense (not extremely sophisticated, I can tell you, but I do know how to dress politely, thank you). Instead, the organizers are worried. Will I be wearing a yellow shirt? Will I be wearing a red shirt? And, the most important of all: “Khun Andrew, please wear any color except for red and yellow … na ka? Na ka?”

You can “na ka” as many times as you like, but my answer was the same for both speaking engagements: “I will be wearing orange. Because that’s a combination of yellow and red.”

What amazes me is this; our whole beloved country is about to split apart in bloodshed and violence, and STILL we want to choose to wear red or yellow? Six months ago it was cute. Those opposing the government wore yellow, and they held those cute little clappers in the shape of hands. Wasn’t that adorable? And their enemies, the government supporters, started wearing red and carried clappers in the shape of feet. Now wasn’t that cute, too? How funny … and how very Thai.

But it aint funny no more.

There is nothing funny about a group of people overtaking an international airport and forcing 150,000 guests in our country to remain here as if they are in jail. We have become Hotel California … you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. But worse than that, we are the laughing stock of the world. And don’t even think that once the airport opens again, everything goes back to normal. What is “normal”? A healthy tourism industry? I would say we are two or three YEARS away from that.

What has happened to my beloved Thailand? Today we heard news that the yellow-shirts were coming here to Channel 3 to protest comments made by Sorrayut this morning on his TV show. Apparently he said something that wasn’t supportive of the PAD. Wait a minute. The PAD is calling for freedom and democracy. Well, isn’t free speech one of the most important aspects of democracy? Is it that the PAD is calling for free speech and democracy — unless the comments are negative ones about them?

Meanwhile the red shirts are gathering at the Giant Swing, adding more fuel to the chaotic fire, with men who should know better stirring up the masses with calls to fight. And still we have a Prime Minister who doesn’t understand that his resignation will make the yellow shirts pull out of Suvarnabhumi Airport. Does Somchai understand about making a sacrifice for the future of the country? If it means he has to go to get rid of the proestors at the airport, then he should go, at the very least temporarily.

And please, don’t make yourself stupid by asking me “Which side do you support?” It is beyond that now. Don’t treat me like I am an idiot; I am too intelligent to think that supporting one of those sides is going to be the best for the future of Thailand. If you truly love Thailand, you should not be wearing yellor or red. We are past that. It was cute six months ago but it is deadly now. It doesn’t matter if you hate or support the government. Let’s stop this madness. Somchai, resign. PAD, get out of the airport.

And as for the politicians, maybe you DO need to take a good look at yourselves and ask if you are in it for your own pocket or the country. If your pocket wins, then your actions are worse than overtaking an international airport.

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Marathon Man

Posted in Daily Diary by Andrew Biggs on the November 26th, 2008

As I sit down to write this you may be surprised … or repulsed … to learn I have only seven toenails remaining on my feet, with two of those on the way out.
After finishing writing this story I will stand up and, like a crotchety centenarian, hobble slowly and unsteadily away from my desk. Oh, and my inner thighs are the same color as the shirts of those cheering for the government and the return of Taksin Shinawatra.
And still I feel on top of the world.
On Sunday November 23, 2008, I joined the 48,000 runners who took part in the Bangkok Marathon, which started outside the Grand Palace and ended right back there again after a journey on the elevated expressway which didn’t require a car. At this point we must farewell approximately 44,000 of those runners since they merely participated in the shorters runs of 2.5 km, 5 km and 10 km. Did you notice the inclusion of the world “merely” in that last sentence? See how elitist I have become in the space of 24 hours?
I was never a runner. I always thought marathoners were a skinny bunch of joyless, determined-looking people. And there was no way in the world I could run 42 km.
As I grew older, and more joyless and determined looking myself, I started to change my mind. What if, just once, I ran a marathon? The idea was so daunting, so unreachable and outrageous, I decided to do it.
Six months ago I picked up a book aptly titled “The Non-Runner’s Marathon Guide”. With my new book, new running shoes, and a house not that far from the 5-km track at Rama 9 Park, I proudly announced to the world I was going to run the Bangkok Marathon.
“You’re a bloody idiot,” my boss, Mr Brian Marcar at BEC-Tero, said to me.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said any number of my western friends.
“Aren’t you too fat to run a marathon?” said just about every Thai I knew, stranger and friend, in their own inimitable brazen yet well-meaning style. And the best response of all: “Oh really? Do you have health insurance? I work for AIA. I can offer you a policy that would provide 2 million Baht to your next of kin, no questions asked.”
The first morning I arrived at the park to do my first run, I ran exactly two kilometres in 18 minutes and had to stop in order to prevent a heart attack and a windfall for my next of kin. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
I work in — and on — Thai television, and I am the only person who actually looks smaller on TV. Every day of my life I am accosted by a Thai who breaks into one of those gorgeous smiles and informs me, as if I’ve never heard it before: “Wow! You’re so fat in real life!” This is devastating for somebody like myself who suffers from an acute lack of self esteem, and now I was going to train six months for a marathon, and I didn’t want people recognizing me. So I did an ingenious thing. I bought myself dark glasses, donned a cap, and pulled it right down over my eyes. And on that first morning I set off, a lone figure at sunrise, jogging around the expansive Rama 9 Park in complete anonymity.
“Oh look, there’s Andrew Biggs,” three people shouted as they passed me. “Doesn’t he look fat in real life?”
Very early in the training I was joined by Annie, my Thai-American friend who works for the BBC in Bangkok. “I’ll run the marathon with you,” she said chirpily, as can only be spoken by somebody who has never attempted such a feat before. We managed to meet on many Sunday mornings for the long runs.
Strange things happened in those first few months.
The running slowly became an addiction. Yes I have an obsessive-compulsive personality and took to the running the same way I might have taken to crack had I accidentally picked up “The Non-User’s Heroin Guide” at Kinokuniya. But my legs got stronger, my backside firmer, and my trousers easier to wear.
Yet it’s interesting how negative our well-meaning friends can be. “Oh, be careful of your knees,” one or two — or was it 20 — people told me when they heard of my running. I immediately fled to GNC where I bought ridiculously overpriced knee pills, which allegedly built up the gel in my knees. Eew, whatever. And if I bought two bottles I could join the GNC Club and get incredible discounts on future GNC products and — look, just hand over the single bottle will you?
In September I went to the States. In Los Angeles I ran from Highland Ave??— a block or two from Melrose — all the way to Santa Monica. It was an 18 km run smack bang through the middle of LA. Rodeo Drive, MTV headquarters, the Yahoo building — I ran past it all. The next week I was back in Bangkok for the Thailand Open and I ran 23 km.
One Sunday afternoon Annie and I ran 25 kilometres. Dear Reader, have you ever won the lottery? That’s how I felt at the end of it. Don’t even ask me how I felt at km 19 or 20, when I would have cheerfully sold my soul to the Devil for a gin and tonic and poolside deckchair at Laguna, Phuket. But the feeling at the end, as I fought back nature’s desire for me to pass out, was amazing.
In October I ran 30 km, six times around Rama 9 Park in pouring, driving rain. I was still getting the comments as people sailed past me, usually just two words: “Wai mai?” which can be roughly translated as “Are you okay? Are you up to this?” One morning a stout Thai man in way-too-tight-fitting running pants ran past me and shouted out: “Look how fat you’ve become!” I resisted the urge to shout back “And look at you! You’re shaped like a milk bottle!” but instead smiled and upped my speed, overtaking him and his all-too-revealing flabby buttocks, and despite his intentions to keep up with me, I left my assailant somewhere in the carpark near the entrance. Yay! Chalk one up for the fat farang!
My last scheduled really long run was three weeks before the marathon and Annie, curse her, was in the States covering the presidential election. Sick of Rama 9 Park, I ended up in Suphan Buri where I found a brand new highway that wasn’t yet opened. It was a bad run. In retrospect I may have just “hit the wall” after four hours thanks to no proper food that day and driving fatigue. But it was a terrible experience, all alone on dark unlit country roads, and a sinking feeling that I was fooling myself that somebody like me could run a marathon. I mean, I couldn’t even do 30! And I was thinking of doing 42??
With 10 days to go, two major incidents nearly caused me to drop out of the race.
1. I realized I hadn’t applied for the race. This is the Standard Chartered Bangkok Marathon, so I called the Sukhumvit Soi 20 branch.
“The what?” the woman who answered the phone at the branch answered.
“The Bangkok Marathon. You know … the one you sponsor?” I said, slightly testily, but not enough for the slightly clueless Standard Chartered teller to hear. Then she asked me to wait as she put the phone down and shrieked: “DOES ANYONE HERE KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT SOME RACE WE’RE SPONSORING?”
Clearly she hadn’t been travelling down Sukhumvit Road of late, where 101 banners proudly proclaiming the STANDARD CHARTERED BANGKOK MARATHON were plastered on the skytrain pillars. It took three employees for me to be given the number of the Thai Runners Association, which I telephoned immediately.
“Oh yes, applications are still open for all runs except the 42 km full marathon,” a helpful woman explained. “Which one were you wanting to apply for, kha?”
The evil demon that sits on my left shoulder giggled and clapped his hands excitedly. “Great! Now we don’t have to go through with this madness!” Before I could even say “oh okay thanks well maybe next year bye”, the woman very kindly said: “If you can get down here by today we can still process your application.” The angel on my right shoulder sang to the heavens, my demon slunk down despondently, and I quickly despatched one of my work experience students to the Thai Runners Association.
2. “Whatever you do, don’t even think about buying a new pair of shoes a week out from the race,” my little bible of marathon running sternly advised. So what did I do? You guessed it. Fearing that my beloved well-worn blue New Balance runners were all run out, I went and bought a new pair the Saturday before the race.
By Monday my feet were blistered and aching.
It was such a stupid thing to do. What was I thinking? Six days out from the longest run of my life and I was limping. Depression kicked in.
By Wednesday I was seriously thinking about quitting. I stopped all training. I was a man of inner turmoil, distant and unhappy, haunted by dreams of failure all because my feet were red and bruised and battered by brand new New Balances.
Incredibly, my feet cleared up on the Saturday. The Bangkok Marathon starts at 2 am Sunday. Yes, that’s right, 2 am. “Make sure you get a good night’s sleep prior to the race,” aforesaid marathon tome sternly dictates in the chapter entitled “Marathon Day”. This was difficult since 2 am is about the time I am in the deepest of REM and coming out of it around, say 8 am, which is when I am supposed to be finishing the marathon. In short, I had to give up a night’s sleep to run 42 km. Maybe I would die from sleep deprivation … maybe I would fall asleep during the race … maybe I would dream the whole damn thing.
I foolishly decided that I could jump into bed at 6 pm, wake at 11 pm and go to the marathon refreshed after a five-hour sleep.
Dream on, Andrew.
In fact there wasn’t any dreaming at all. I lay in bed, adrenalin shooting through aforesaid GNC gelled knees, unable to sleep a wink. 6 pm turned into 7, which turned into 8, which turned into 9, which …
Thankfully I got an hour’s sleep from 10 to 11 pm. I got up, showered, packed my Standard Chartered bag full of my necessities — ibuprofen, vaseline, bananas, and six bottles of Gatorade. As I ran out the door I scrawled a quick will — In the event of sudden death all my money goes to charity. Give it to Father Joe. Andrew Biggs” — shoved it into my safe and ran into the darkness.
By 1 am I had picked up Annie and we were sitting in Saranrom Park opposite the Grand Palace. This is normally home to male prostitutes who lurk in the shadows waiting for customers. They must have thought all their Christmases had come at once when a couple of hundred sleek young men started drifting into the park that night. Their excitement must have turned to unadulterated terror when they realized none of them was there for any physical acitivity in the dark, other than running of course. As our numbers swelled to thousands, they must have thmeselves run a mile — a paltry distance by any marathoner’s reckoning.
Annie and I unpacked our bags and started stuffing ourselves with bananas and Gatorade. It was all part of the master plan to be so carbo-loaded we would never hit the dreaded wall. “Hitting the wall” is when your body runs our of carbs, usually around km 30 or so, and you are consumed by fatigue. There are stories of people’s legs seizing up … of runners breaking down and crying … of grown men and women losing control of their bowels and limping across the finish line leaving a trail of — oh but never mind. It’s a scary kind of thing for any runner, let alone two innocent, petrified marathon rookies like us.
“Another banana?” Annie asked. “No thanks, I think 4 is enough,” I said. “On the other hand, I can’t lose control of my bowels if there are going to be photographers at the end of the race,” and in went banana number 5.
I popped an ibuprofen to prevent muscle inflammation. In the darkness I rubbed in vaseline. There are three places you rub this stuff — on your feet, between your legs, and on your nipples. Meanwhile camaraderie was building between total strangers who were brought together for this event.
“My wife didn’t want me to run this event, so just before I left home she made love to me, thinking it would wear me out. It didn’t,” he said with a laugh.
“Did we really need to hear that?” whispered Annie.
By 1.50 am, we and another few thousand runners were at the starting line. The Grand Palace looked magnificent against the night sky. The Royal Crematorium, where HRH Princess Galayani Vadhana had been farewelled only seven days before, glittered majestically nearby.
And all around, happy smiling Thais, telling me how fat I looked in real life and was I up to running 42 kilometres? Wai mai? For the first time in two weeks, I felt good. I was wearing my tried and true blue old shoes, having relegated the new ones to the back of my cupboard, and my feet felt fine.
And when we heard the siren go off at 2 am, the race was on.
Annie and I stayed together for the first 3 kilometres. After running over the Phras Pin Klao Bridge, which looked ominous but really was not that difficult, she started to run ahead of me. “Slow down!” I shouted, but Annie was having none of that. I knew she would tire quickly and I’d meet her somewhere around km 20, because the book told us to run slowly to conserve energy for later in the race. I fantasized my waggling a finger at her as I sailed past her crumpled figure on the side of the road, announcing “I told you so!”
Suddenly we were on the elevated expressway to Phuttamonthon, running in the middle of the night with a cool breeze and sliver of a moon. A large pack of runners behind me was laughing and joking. Everybody was very encouraging.
“Andrew Biggs! Running with us? Wow! And to think you’re this big and you can run! Do you think you can make it? Wai mai?”
At around km 5 a man wearing glasses came up beside me. This was the real joy of the race; meeting total strangers while running, having conversations, then saying goodbye as they either (in my case) ran ahead or lagged behind. The bespectacled man was Lek, who worked at the Thai Journalists Association.
The party atmosphere of the marathon dissipated around km 15, at the very end of the elevated expressway, as we turned to run back towards the Grand Palace. As fatigue kicked in, the jokes and loud conversations dried up, and runners started concentrating on the great race, and we were plunged into silence.
Still no sign of Annie.
By km 24 we were back at Central Pinklao and Pata Department Store. “Don’t Give Up!” screamed a Wall Street English Institute billboard. “I won’t!” I screamed back. I was joined by a young man who told me how it was normal to feel good at this stage but “wait until you get to km 30. That’s when you get cramps and your legs seize up and you’re in agony.” I didn’t need to hear that; as if public diarrhea was a bad enough prospect, but now my legs would be seizing up too?
At km 26 I saw a sight I would never forget. “Move to the left!” shouted officials as the elite runners passed us. They had set off after us, at 3.30 am, and suddenly, here was a group of 10 or so Kenyan runners, black as the night, running in a tight pack, with just the sound of their feet; they looked beautiful, frightening, powerful and scarily focussed all at the same time.
By km 28 I was hurting. I dropped back 20 metres behind Lek and I feared losing him. Then a woman in red came running up beside me. She was 69 years old, had started running marathons at 55, and had run 48 of them??— FORTY-EIGHT in the last 14 years. “My husband thinks I’m mad,” she said. “Well see you.” And she tore off into the night towards the Chaophraya and the rising sun, giving me the boost I so sorely needed.
Just before 6 am the sun began to rise, and I was approaching the Rama 8 bridge. We were about to hit km 30, and I had caught up with my new best friend Lek. Fatigue was now really knocking on my front door, but I kept myself going by chanting to myself: “Feeling good, feeling strong, I love to run, I love to run.” Try saying that to the rhythm of your feet. It truly works.
Every two km I chugged down Gatorade after Gatorade at the pit stops, and when there was watermelon on offer, I ate two pieces in a row. It was the first time in my life I could actually feel the sugar hit my stomach and dissipate throughout my body.
A friend of Lek’s suddenly ran past us. “You’re running with Andrew Biggs?”
“Yeah,” he shouted back. “If I had been alone, I would have been walking 10 km ago!” That nearly floored me. Here I was, thinking the same thing about him. We were both inadvertantly dragging each other along.
A beautiful sunrise across the Rama 8 Bridge, but now I was into the 30s and my legs were starting to??… hurt. Still I didn’t stop. Past Vimanmek Mansion??… past Chitrlada Palace??… at Dusit Zoo the guy whose wife had legally raped him eight hours prior appeared. “I saw your woman friend. She’s about a kilometre ahead of you,” he said. Annie! Oh my goodness, I had forgotten about her. Was she okay?
By km 34 I was hurting so much I started laughing out loud. I passed many casualities; guys massaging wretched leg muscles, an ambulance sending a devastated runner to the finish line, a teenager cursing his bloated feet that wouldn’t allow him to run any more. Would I be next?
Km 36, and the tiny tiny bridges across the canals on the streets were more painful and difficult than that big bloody Pra Pin Klao Monster at km 1. I kept up my laughing. Then suddenly we were joined by the thousands of runners doing the 10 km run. Oh God, how we loved them! A hundred runners came up to say hello, taking photos as we ran, shaking my hand, blown away by the fact that I was running the full marathon and yes, amazed I was so big and fat and would I make it to the end. “Wai mai?” they asked but it was just what I needed.
The last three kilometres, as we veered off from those 10 km runners, and the torture returned; did the organizers make a mistake and actually make us run 6 km instead of 3? Time seemed to slow down, and as we passed Sanam Luang my shoelace started to come undone. “Lek!” I screamed, as if he was my best friend I’d known for years. “I gotta do up my shoelace!”
As I tried to bend over I felt like I was going to collapse. “Are you okay? Do you want me to tie it for you?” Lek asked. Think about that, dear reader. Do you want me to tie it for you? Was there ever a more beautiful offer made in the history of mankind?
For those last three kilometres, I prayed to five deities to help me. My Thai readers will understand. “Phraya Krut??… Phra Mae Toranee??… Luang Phor Sothorn??… Phra Phutta Chinnarat??… Phor Khun Ramkhamhaeng??… please, please, get behind me and give me a push. Please.”
And you must believe me. They did.
For the rest of my life I will never forget rounding the corner of the Grand Palace and seeing the finish line in sight. We ran across the finish line outside the Grand Palace with hundreds of people cheering us, taking photos, and a man on the loudspeaker welcoming us there.
And there was Annie! She’d never stopped either, coming in at 5 hours and 37 minutes. In the hustle and bustle of photos and congratulations, I lost Lek and a gold medal was thrust into my hand.
I had been running non-stop for six hours. I had finished. I was a marathoner.
“Congratulations, Khun Andrew!” an executive from Standard Chartered said to me seconds after crossing the line, shaking my hand and beaming. “Look how fat you are now!”
The marathon has changed me in so many ways. First, I never want to see a bottle of Gatorade again in my life. Ever. It was Gatorade that got me through those final 10 kms, but you can have too much of a good thing. Offer me a vodka and orange if I come to visit you, not a lemon Gatorade even if it has a splash of vodka in it.
Second, this experience made me look at my body in a completely different way and I will never, ever, look down on myself again. I am in awe of the remarkable machine that is the human body.
And finally, I have a new outlook on life which has lasted way after the natural high of the event.
“You know, I’m very proud of what you achieved,” my boss Brian Marcar said to me the day after the race. I have progressed from “bloody idiot” to a source of pride. I feel I can conquer anything now, which is probably a good feeling to have given the current world economic climate. I don’t care how difficult the situation, there will always be a way out.
Oh, and if you ever see me running around Rama 9 Park, you don’t need to tell me I look bigger in real life. And yes, I am up to it. Wai krab.

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Four more days and counting down

Posted in Daily Diary by Andrew Biggs on the November 19th, 2008

How is your life these days? Mine is fine. I have a new laptop PC for my work. It’s so tiny and weighs a quarter of my old, clunky one I’ve had for four years now. And I am working on a new TV show we hope to have ready for 2009.

But the truth is, I’m feeling a little nervous about the Bangkok Marathon which is coming up this Sunday. After a whole year of training, of ups and downs, of blisters and sore feet, I am finally doing what I promised I would do at the beginning of the year. I am running 42 km with my friend Annie, who works at the BBC here in Bangkok. We have been meeting very early Sunday mornings at Rama 9 Park and doing our long runs together. And now, finally, the big day is coming this Sunday.

I understand there are more than 40,000 people who are going to run this Sunday, but the vast majority are doing the 10 km. I am Runner number 3872 and one of the last ones to register … does that mean there are nearly 4,000 people running the full marathon? The race starts at 2 am … which means no sleep between Saturday and Sunday. I guess I will get in around 8 am, but I have to say I am doing it for the experience and my one goal is to FINISH. It has nothing to do with the time. I might have to walk. I might have to crawl. I may even have to roll … but I just gotta finish.

I have learnt so many things during this training. I have learnt how wonderful the human body is — normally we concentrate on our faults and stuff, but when you do long runs you gain a new respect for your body. I have learnt how to think positively, and to believe in myself, not to believe in negative thoughts.

Oh, and did I tell you? I have become a running bore, too. I used to only talk about learning English, but now all I can talk about are my feet, knees, hips and carbo-loading. Never mind. It’ll be all over by Sunday. The marathon, I mean. I hope to still be here Monday!

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Weblog for Andrew Biggs

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Barack Obama in Khon Kaen

A quick trip to Surin

Hotel California

Marathon Man

Four more days and counting down