And the winner is…………… A Black Guy.

Thank god. It’s over. Three hours and seventeen minutes. Not of pain- that’d be lying. The last thirty minutes was very painful. The rest I found surprisingly enjoyable. It was probably just the dehydration making me delusional. However, despite the positive outlook, you can rest assured that I’ll be running no more than 10km for the rest of my time in Korea.

The following bullet points are an outlook on the marathon experience:

• The worst part of the marathon, believe me, is the first half an hour after you finish. I was a maze of confusion and my legs were thoroughly confused as to what the hell had just happened. I tried to stretch, but could feel nothing. I wanted to collapse on the floor, but couldn’t bend my legs for fear of cramp. Add to that the fact that I felt like I needed to throw up, at a time when taking on as much food as possible was vital. Paradise.
•  The race is surprisingly easier than the training. With tens of thousands of people around you and the race-day adrenaline, it’s much easier to keep going than training solo in the snow at -17 degrees Celsius. Though, I did miss the rabid dogs and suited up businessmen chasing me.

• I used more Vaseline in the race preparation than I ever did in my bedroom as a teenager. I owe a lot to its lubricating qualities that my thighs are not currently the colour of Heinz Cream of Tomato Soup right now.

• People will pay to see you suffer. I’ve raised £767.90 so far, with more to come (apparently). The donators have been from various continents, and have been fantastic support. When family and friends have poured their hard earned cash into your cause, then you can’t help but feel duty bound to repay them with a top performance on the day. And some of you weren’t half generous! Also, that Tom O’Rourke chap who donated £150- what an outstanding Samaritan he is…

• In anticipation of the big day, I invested an entire morning last week to create the perfect ‘Marathon Playlist’ for the race. It was truly awesome- just a load of angry metal and rap. Loud and offensive stuff. Designed to piss me off. Race day arrives. Forgot to sync it to my iPod.

• My race day preparation consisted of listening to Ricky Gervais Podcasts and ingesting a large proportion of fifteen quid’s worth of goodies I’d purchased from a “Paris Croissant” bakery the night before. So, amongst all of the ultra-serious Koreans who were stretching and whatnot, there was a white man guffawing while eating bread. The Kenyan guy who won it did exactly the same thing- trust me.

• There were more laughs to follow- early on in the race, several Koreans had obviously prepared better than me and were skipping off into one particular side alley to relieve their little Generals of duty. This alley happened to be slightly uphill. The result was a river of piss.

• I nearly missed the transit van to put all my spare clothes in due to a half an hour wait for a pre-run dump. It was a risk I had to take- I don’t think Koreans would have been as accommodating to a river of chocolate brownies.

• I’m too fast to capture on camera. I had my photographer friends there, ready to capture the big moment as I entered Jamsil Olympic Stadium for my big finish. What I have instead is a photo of me from behind with a cartoon elephant on my back.

• The winners, unsurprisingly, were of African origin. It got me thinking… Paula Radcliffe is a medical marvel. Apart from her, can you think of another white person who’s won a marathon?!?

• Somehow, I have acquired pain on the top of my feet. Sports-scientists amongst you- discuss…

• What did I do after the marathon? I hopped on the subway to go find a public bath house so I could chill out with naked Korean men for the afternoon. This was coupled with a sports massage that involved the guy standing on my hamstrings. Bliss.

• Korean people are very considerate when you’re clearly in a lot of pain. When I hopped on the subway post-race, I had high hopes for a seat. But no, the ajumas (married Korean women) clearly deserved the seats as they’re not the young whippersnappers us marathon types are.

• This sentiment extended to the bus ride. The bus was so cramped that I had to stand next to the entrance door the whole way. When the driver stopped at the subsequent bus stops he would gesture frantically for me to get out of the way and utter some nonsense in tongues at me. I responded ever so politely with “Well, where the f**k am I supposed to go?” He would eventually give up and just open the doors anyway, squishing me against the windscreen. I heart Korea.

• Ten weeks of training- that’s all I needed. Well, eight actually. I spent one week side-lined by a cold of man-sized proportions. Another week was spent unable to walk due to severely bruised big toes, which caused my big right toenail to fall off. The left one looks likely to follow suit…

•  “The wall” is not nearly half as bad as people make out. Sure, I was running on empty for the last 7km, but your body is far tougher than your brain gives it credit for. Despite my hamstrings’ best efforts to halt me by way of cramping, I smashed through the exhaustion with a combination of angry metal, testicular determination and tiger blood.

• Would I prepare better next time? Actually give myself the recommended twenty-five weeks of training? Probably… not. I loathed all ten weeks of the training. Why would I want to put myself through an extra fifteen weeks of it?!? I’m happy to rely on mental grit, pure willpower and Charlie Sheen. Training is for Kenyans…

Pink Floyd were wrong about "The Wall" -There's no way in hell I feel 'Comfortably Numb'...

So, a training update for you all.

With only five weeks to go until the goliath of all fitness tests comes around, I’ve upped my training regimen. What started out as a challenge I was looking forward to conquering with relative ease, has now turned into a dark cloud of dread.

Why? Well, for starters, I only gave myself about ten weeks to train. Check any marathon training plan and you’ll see it’s mapped out for twenty-five weeks. So, I making up lost time- and it’s taking a great toll on my body. I’ve encountered no end of roadblocks which have stunted my already ridiculously too short training plan.

First, as you already know from my last entry, there was the excruciating pain on the bottom of my right foot that I acquired after about a week into training- just a few eight mile runs. So, I had to take about a week off to let the agony subside, and wait for my super-duper new running shoes to arrive. (Incidentally, they’ve actually done the trick!)

After that, I decided to take my training to the slopes and do a weekend of skiing to let loose. I should’ve kept to the roads as the old crap-tastic rental ski boots left me with a black right big toe. This, once more, left me with about the walking ability of Stephen Hawking. When I decided to cut said nail, to see if I could get closer look at the damage underneath, a whole mess of red and white fluid erupted all over everywhere and left the nail a nice yellow colour. R.I.P.

I had to get back to training, and hard. So, I took the new shoes out, in the belief that they would caress my feet and all would be great in the world again. After an hour, they left my heels, ankles and soles bloodied and blistered. Money well spent. (Note: we’ve since developed a close bond, and they’ve agreed to be nice).

Next up, if you think England is bad for snow right now, you don’t realise how lucky you are. I’ve been doing all the aforementioned training in the white stuff, Rocky IV style. But I don’t have Paulie to motivate me, just inconsiderate Koreans blocking the path, and dogs (so small they might as well be cats) chasing me. At least Paris Hilton has the courtesy to put hers in a handbag…

Yesterday, actually, I had a Forest Gump episode on my run with only three miles or so to go. I overtook a Korean businessman who was walking along in front of me. About five seconds later he began to, in full suit and tie, start jogging behind me for about the next ten minutes. In the film, it was perhaps inspiring. In real life, it’s ever so slightly creepy. But actually, it worked. Before I overtook him, I was praying for the end. After, I spent the last part of my run thinking “Must… not… let… Jackie Chan… overtake… me…” Come the actual thing, there’s gonna be hundreds of them- I’ll be just fine, then.

I’m still not finished, though. The final impingement upon my efforts is still bothering me right now. All the intense training has weakened my body and left me susceptible to disease. As I write this, I’m delirious on account of Man Flu. As, if running half marathons as mere training wasn’t sapping enough, I now have no energy and a constant headache to motivate me to the finish line.

But don’t worry guys, I’m staying positive.

There are plenty of things to look forward to this year- sex trainers are top of my list right now.

Welcome- to 2012. This is sure to be the most culturally devoid entry you’ll ever see. There’s literally nothing even remotely related to Korean culture here. It’s not that they haven’t offended me greatly, or defied logic yet again- I just have other things on my mind right now. You could look at this with an optimistic mind-set and conclude that it’ll be free of racism. Well, I hate to spoil those pleasant thoughts- but it’s not. Don’t look surprised.

So I guess, as you read this, that ninety per cent of you have already given up/never actually tried in the first place with your New Year’s resolutions. Well, I only made one. And I’m sticking to it. Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook will undoubtedly know that I’m running the Seoul Marathon in March.

My reasons? Well, it’s the type of thing I’ve always said I could do quite easily- running long distance has never really ever troubled me. I have a signature technique that I’ve coined ‘The Gear’ – it involves me setting my pace early on and being able to maintain said pace for as long as I desire, without ever tiring or being out of breath- it’s pretty much human cruise control. “The wall” doesn’t even exist in my world. Coming soon in March 2012- Tom O’Rourke goes to an all-you-can-eat buffet of words.

More importantly, though, it gives me a chance to raise money for a worthy cause- Alhzeimer’s Society. My family have been directly affected by dementia and, as the money I raise will go towards helping other families through it, it was a no brainer as to which charity to choose. Why put myself through the punishment of twenty six odd miles just for self-satisfaction? I have plenty of that already.

So, how’s my training going so far? Well, it’s going fantastic. According to my iPod Nano, I ran a half marathon in sixty-five minutes on Wednesday- just seven minutes shy of the world record. Not bad- for a non-Kenyan. And I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of my iPod’s ‘built in accelerometer’…

However, such astounding pace has come at a price. The morning after, I woke up to a weird throbbing/tingling on the bottom of my right foot, which has meant I’ve had the walking ability of a Korean businessman under the influence of soju. Doctors would, obviously, advise me to rest it and such nonsense- but with only eight weeks to go, such advice is obviously meant to be ignored. Plus, if I didn’t run, I’d have time to write another blog- nobody wants that.

Instead, I have my own solution and theories, acquired through the findings of the wise people at Google search engine. The culprit for my pain is, obviously, my running shoes- my Nike Frees are simply not up to the task. So, I’m doing exactly what Nike wants me to do, and switching to their Lunar Eclipse models- according to a totally neutral statement from their website, they’ll bless me with “a plush, bouncy ride when running those miles.” As sexual as it sounds, I’m a believer.

So, now we’ve done with the resolution portion of this blog, I must tell you about the great start I’ve had to the New Year. So far, my Xbox has broken on me- twice. Also, my schedule has changed so I’ve been dumped with an extra class and three extra hours on my (previously nice) Monday timetable. Turns out that the Mayan calendar was right after all.

Let’s address Microsoft and their malfunctioning man’s toy first. When, I returned from snowboarding on January 1^st, I thought I’d dabble in a spot of FIFA after an absence from the game of a month or two. I figured I deserved a bit of finger exercise after the amount of falling over and looking cool I’d done during the weekend.

Well, Bill Gate’s brainchild saw red after I decided to obey the ‘system update’ message I was presented with when turning on the machine. On its self-initiated restart, the power light flashed three life threatening blinks of death. This is more commonly known as the Red Ring of Death to people who consider socialising a Saturday night spent playing Call of Duty online, with their ‘friends’. Bonus points if you wear one of the headsets.

So, I then resorted to the trusty ‘Craigslist’ website and enlisted the help of a repairman who offered to fix it for £45. Fair enough, I thought- a price worth paying to avoid doing anything productive during my evenings.

 When it was delivered to my apartment this Friday, I unwrapped it like a child on Christmas day, and plugged it in. Lo and behold, the red lights had been replaced with an emerald shimmer that prompted an outcry of “F**k yeah!” Just like on Christmas mornings from back in the days when my presents didn’t have a logo of a half-eaten apple on them.

Fast forward to a couple hours before writing this blog. I thought that I’d spend the afternoon brushing up on my FIFA skills as, while I beat my flatmate on Friday, it was not the complete and utter massacre that I’d been expecting.

Well, as I turned it on, another message popped up on the screen offering me yet another system update. I clearly hadn’t learnt my lesson, and duly obliged with my Xbox’s request. Upon the console restarting, the red light lights beamed out with pride yet again. That repair lasted about as long as Kerry Katona manages to stay thin for any one period of time.

So, that, in essence, is why you’ve got this blog early. Not in two months, as I’d planned. Because I’ve got nothing better to do. In an ideal world, I’d be 5-0 up against my flatmate right now…

A Korean Christmas- skiing, sickly sandwiches and the possibility of Civil War?

Hello there- here’s a late Christmas present. Far too much has happened since my last blog to cover it all. So, I will deliver the highlights to you, kind of like Match of the Day. How the hell my humour is supposed to measure up against the writers behind Gary Lineker’s comedic genius is beyond me.

Well, since I decided to begin with a football metaphor, it seems only logical that I should switch to footballing reality. At this point, I’ve now finished my first season for both my Saturday and Sunday teams.

First, my Saturday team- we started the season so brightly that I was soon declaring my belief that we would have an ‘Invincibles’ season and go unbeaten for the entire campaign. Instead, we performed more like a modern day Arsenal and crumbled at the end of the season. Still, we finished in second place- so it wasn’t a bad start. And I bagged three goals (from centre back) to accompany the respectable league finish. Add to that the fact that I was voted Best Newcomer and Player of the Season during our end of season awards bash, and I suppose I shouldn’t have thrown so many Mario Balotelli-esque tantrums when we lost a game. From this, I can take solitude in knowing that every goal conceded this season was not my fault- I’m, in essence, Thomas Vermaelen. If you didn’t get reference, you’re most likely a woman.

Now, on to my Sunday team – we fared much better. So, obviously, we won the league. However, it still wasn’t an ‘Invincibles’ affair- we faltered in the last game to deny ourselves that privilege. And, by my own admission, my displays were considerably less impressive. However, I still notched a goal- with my feet, for a change. Hello, Laurent Koscielny. *See the last sentence of the above paragraph*

Next up- the aforementioned awards bash. Both teams’ ‘ceremonies’ took place on the same night. At the same place. It was a night accompanied by copious amount of Jack Daniels and Vodka- in shot form. And Korean beer- in pitcher form. To summarise- the night culminated in me stealing the Sunday team’s league trophy and stumbling back to my girlfriend’s place at 4am, followed by a swift headache that lasted the majority of the next day.

The league trophy now resides in her apartment. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Screw that team- they didn’t give me any awards… Just lots of ‘penalty shots’ for ridiculous things such as being ‘a nice guy in person, but a vicious little bastard on Facebook’. I think you can clearly see I’ve learnt my lesson.

Now, as it’s the festive season, I will fill you in on how I spent mine. It was my first ever Xmas away from home, and first out of the country. That pairing has proved to be the catalyst for a Christmas that could not be further from the idealistic family gathering I’ve become accustomed to. See, while you were all munching on mince pies and watching Harry Potter in a comfy chair near a smouldering fireplace, I was ‘tearing it up’ on the slopes. But more on that later- the time has come to talk about Christmas food.

Now, while I’m sure your Christmas turkey was succulent and well worth the morning your mum/wife/girlfriend spent preparing it, I had a rather different culinary experience here in Asia. First of all, last Friday was my school’s Christmas ‘party’ day- the premise being that the day was a ‘cooking contest’ between the children. The fact that there’s no oven or stove in my school should quash any images of fine cuisine you momentarily pictured…

Well, what Christmas treats were we making then? Mince pies? Christmas Cakes? Pigs in blankets? Maybe a cheeky Xmas Pudding? Why, don’t be stupid- those aren’t Christmas classics at all. Surely you remember such delicacies like ‘Baguette Waffles’, ‘Fruit Sticks’ and, Santa’s favourite- ‘Ham, jam and apple sandwiches.’ And the Korean teachers were kind enough to delegate me the role of taste tester for the day.

Smashing people. Love them to bits.

Also, as if my taste buds hadn’t sampled enough December delights last week, my actual Christmas dinner consisted of takeaway pizza when I got back from skiing in the evening. It wasn’t even a chicken one. But don’t feel sorry for me- I went all out and treated myself to the best in the biz. Merry Christmas, courtesy of Domino’s.

While the food offerings for Crimbo were mightily depressing, the actual skiing weekend was a fantastic, if a tad strange, way to spend Christmas. Rather than sitting in front of the TV watching Xmas specials of sitcoms and movies (which you become overly enthused about, but then are left with a lingering feeling that they were better last time you watched them), I was taking in the view from the top of a mountain and speeding down the slopes, having a blast.

The resort I stayed in over the Xmas weekend was called Phoenix Park and, while it was considerably less extensive than the European resorts I’m used to, it was also considerably less busy. Which meant getting back up to the top took less time than it takes to decide what the hell use the ‘prize’ in your cracker will ever be.

Further to this, I made an astute observation about Korean people- they suddenly become really polite and patient on the slopes. Not that they’re complete a**holes in the middle of Seoul. No, no, no. I wouldn’t dare say such a thing…

From all the European resorts I’ve been to, I’m used to people who show about as much courtesy in queues for lifts as I would for people who wear beanie hats in gyms (I mean, seriously?!?). This being Korea, I expected that they would use their ski poles on my face to get ahead of me for a coveted place on the next chair lift.

However, they behaved in such a docile manner that I had look closely to check that they’d not gone the way of their Northern cousin’s leader. This was all before pushing past them to get said coveted seat on the next chair lift, of course.

On the subject of Kim Jong-Il’s death, you’d think that the South Koreans would be jumping for joy. But they aren’t.  Despite the country now being on high alert, no one here seems to be behaving any differently.  When I asked the Korean teachers about how they felt about it, they responded with “Meh.” I think that’s how he wanted to be remembered…

Other notable mentions about my trip definitely include my ‘company’ in my youth hostel room. I thought I’d struck lucky when I realised I was in an all British room. Then I found out one of them was Scottish. He seemed to think that the sole purpose of life was to drink any and all alcohol within a ten metre radius of him at the time. I suspect he was trying to appear ‘hard’ in front of the ladies in our party. Instead, he just looked like Jay from the Inbetweeners.

Then, there was the resident skinhead’s method of attracting a mate. I’ll give him this- it required balls. Literally. Stark naked the entire time. In fact, on entering the room, I was greeted by his meat and two veg- not quite the Christmas meal I had in mind…

Nevertheless, despite Korea’s best attempts to quash my Christmas traditions, I managed to salvage some of the spirit in my apartment. As I write, there’s a Christmas tree (that I found in a cupboard) erected by the sofa, adorned with tinsel and fairy lights. Even more fairy lights adorn the top of my walls. I don’t expect that they’ll return to the cupboard anytime soon. I imagine that they, along with my Christmas cards, will remain on display until April, when I leave. It’s not that I love Christmas that much and I’m fighting a battle to keep the joy alive here in Asia. In fact, I’m just lazy. And, the tree’s the only plant we’ve got in the apartment.

Finally, this weekend, I’ll return to the same slopes yet again. Hopefully there’ll be more people on skis, this time round, as I felt a bit outnumbered last weekend. People just seem to gravitate towards the snowboard, for some reason.

Over my many years of experience, I’ve developed a quite accurate portrait of ‘the snowboarder’. They always look like they know what they’re doing when they walk around carrying their board at the bottoms of the slopes. They also look far more ‘badass’ than I do with my pint-sized mini skis.  This sentiment extends to when they plant their junk on the chair lift and lasts all the way to the top, where they promptly tumble off the lift and land face first in the white stuff. This behaviour then continues all the way to the bottom of the slope, at five second intervals, while I zoom past them with far more balance, poise and skill. At which point, they take the board off and instantly become the coolest people on the mountain.

So, I guess I’ll be snowboarding this weekend, then.