Dubai Marathon kicked my ass

I ran my first marathon in 2010.

It was in San Diego as the course took runners through quaint public parks, around metropolitan stadiums and concert venues and then zigzagged through the downtown area, where it ended at a water park just outside of the city.

I documented all the shenanigans for the Virgin Islands Daily News

It was a 'Rock N Roll marathon', which meant there was a different musical act set up at each mile marker to keep runners entertained and energized. Live bands, DJs, performers and they even had a little girl playing the violin.

The Dubai Marathon had none of that.

Listen, I don't want to be one of those people that writes a bad review about an event on some blog just because he was grossly unsatisfied by the final product. Who really reads blogs anyway?

But in all seriousness, the course for the Dubai Marathon is essentially a point and back route, which means you basically run straight down a road for about 12 miles, turn around and then run back down that very same road. Yawn...

There was no music. There was no cheering.

Just a steady score of gawking day laborers, who loved to record all the action on their circa 1998 mobile phones as the sun came up on another day in Dubai.

Full disclosure: I was not a Top 10 finisher. Not even close. This race kicked my ass.

It took me more than five hours to complete the 42.2-kilometre (26.2 mile) run. But by the time I crossed the line, believe it or not: there was no water left for the runners. I even walked into the medical tent in search of some fluids. Still, no dice.

I'm sorry but it was just a pretty poorly-run event. The execution was not there.

Luckily, I had a great support staff with me. My wife Miranda was the best cheerleader in the city that day; my friend Anique was a solider and ran with me for the first half of the race; and my brother-in-law Kyle was the photographer.

Together, they provided a huge lift for me. More than they will ever know. On top of that, they took me to McDonald's after the race.

So after a full morning of running punishment on the asphalt of Dubai, it felt good to head back to Abu Dhabi. After all, I had bigger fish to fry. Less than 24 hours after crossing the marathon finish line, I found myself in the Abu Dhabi International Airport about to board a plane for Thailand.

Indeed, no rest for the weary...

Celebration champagne, anyone?

I was consumed with sports page layouts this week when a fellow Yank from the newsroom, Steve, approached me with a trivia question.

"You know what today is?" he asked.

"Tax day, yeah, haven't tackled that pickle just quite yet," I barked back without taking my eyes off the computer monitor. I've tapped my father, a former CPA in a past life, for US tax help but the U.S. Virgin Islands play by their own rules. We'll see what happens.

"No, man. Today marks four months for us," said Steve, who sat next to me during our 13-hour flight to Abu Dhabi.

Right away, I looked to him like he was going to hand me a glass of champagne. He did not. But it forced me to briefly reflect on the past 1/3 of a year in my life.

How could I have lapsed on such a monumental landmark? You know why? Because it's really not a big deal.

Don't get me wrong: I love people but why do so many of us put so much stock into meaningless anniversaries based around how long they have lived in a certain place? In the islands, you see and hear about it constantly. I'm sure it's no different in the sand box. Like when people mention how long they have lived here or there, it's as if they now deserve a cookie for the accomplishment.

"Today marks 8 months, three weeks and two days since I moved to (blah, blah, blah)..."

I can't remember my own phone number much less the mundane dates that are littered throughout my scattered past. I guess my thoughts are elsewhere these days...

Like what it felt like when I left my office in the Middle East late at night this week just before wire reports came in about a terrorism bomb attack at the Boston Marathon.

Or what was going on in my head when the plants in our apartment started to violently shake yesterday while my fiance and I prepared a late lunch. The biggest earth quake to hit these parts in over 50 years dominated my thoughts and left me with one conclusion: these are strange times, indeed. What's next?

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am much more concerned with the present and the future compared to the past. If I'm hiking a mountain, give me a set of binoculars so I can scout the peak. If I look back down to see how far I've already walked, it will just make me nauseous.

But if you hand me a glass of champagne, I will never decline. That's a promise.