By the time you have read this, a lot of us running denizens still haven't quite recovered from the shock of the untimely death of Remus Fuentes in the recently concluded Milo 21k Eliminations. Fingers have been pointed, tributes have been offered, politicians have requested for inquiries. Some naysayers have even went out on a limb in professing that the incident may spur the downfall of running in the country. While that's extremely far-fetched, it sure got a lot of people thinking, specially those of the too-much-too-soon breed (I was a prime specie btw). I mean, if an able-bodied, intermediate-level runner could tragically succumb so close to the finish line, does that mean all of us are at risk?
Hank Gathers was destined to be the #1 pick in the NBA, then without warning he collapsed and died on the hard court.
Given all the training we put in for these races, we obviously feel awesome. But is that a guarantee we'll all come home safe and sound? A study made in a top clinical journal stated that the risk of a runner succumbing to a heart attack during or after a race is roughly 1 in every 50,000. Another study, this time based on twenty years worth of research, says that 1 in 67,414 runners succumb to sudden death (representing 1 in 2,000,000 miles run). That means that marathon running is really no different from other daily activities.
But the deaths persist. The last one in Milo prior to this was in 2007, just before the boom that's why it barely garnered any media attention. But don't think this is an isolated case. Just last year, two runners died from the New York Marathon, and three runners tragically died at the Detroit Marathon (which pundits say is more of a coincidence than anything else).
So the question is...
Are these all just flukes, or a truly morbid reality of our sport?
Scary.
During that fateful race, I ran in the same 21k category as Remus. Was gunning for a sub 1:50 21k PR, but for some reason or another was terribly sluggish that day while pacing with TPB teammates Ace and Jixee. As I would only get to know later, we had a 100% humidity reading that day. I'd like to think that I'm in pretty good shape, but with the heat in play, at near the 18k mark my heart rate went into overdrive. Rapid, crazy heart thumping action so much to the point that I could feel the vibration already. Slight pain on my chest. Okay, maybe not so slight. I had to slow down. What the heck was happening to me? I took GU Roctane awhile back, but I've trained with it at tempo pace and no such effect. Was that the reason? Still no relief. My head was starting to hurt pretty bad. I can't breathe well. Oh no.
At just the exact time that I was about to completely panic and stop at the side of the road, the chest pains stopped. After composing myself gingerly (no pun intended) I finished the last 3k awash in cold sweat, the anxiety of the chest pains happening again nearly numbing me to a crawl. As I crossed the finish line, the disappointment of completely missing my target was dwarfed by the magnitude of that quick scare. What the hell just happened?
Who would have known the burning within?I shakily kept this incident to myself, partly in part to preserve my macho Gingerbread image. In all seriousness though, I was quite in denial. Antsy even. Actually, just writing about it right now is taking a lot of chutzpah. The whole incident was supposed to be locked away in that box that you keep in the far corner of your brain, never to be tapped into again... .
Until I got word that Remus passed away.
It suddenly dawned on me that this was a guy who ran the same race I did. Same category. With that little "incident", and all the internal histrionics that came with it, it seemed like I was just a hairline away. Really now, what was the difference between me and Remus? A bad break here or there and I could have easily been that person sprawled on the pavement. For someone who had finished a 102km Ultramarathon in 41 degree weather, this was like a quick reality check on my mortality. And it got me thinking paradoxically.
Do we really push ourselves that hard? Hard enough that it may one day cost us our lives?
But then again, if we don't push, how will we ever improve our times? If we don't "dig deep and give it your all when there is absolutely nothing left" (quoting Paul Tergat), how can we ever expect to keep on improving in this highly competitive sport of ours?
I have raced a decent debut duathlon and a record-setting 10k in the weeks hence with no incident.
But still it's always there, lying in the dark recesses of my subconscious. What if... . it happens again?
Because while flukes happen all the time... .
You never want that fluke to cost you your life.