More that just Skyscrapers: Hong Kong and my Half-Marathon

It is often said that you can only really know a city once you have run in it. If you wonder what kind of people say such things, the answer likely involves travelers who have suffered a cultural overdose that propelled them just outside their comfort zone, leaving them with a desperate need to share pseudo-philosophical thoughts of inspiration. Very likely, I am one of those people.

If I had to describe Hong Kong in one word, it would be "authentic". But I don't mean the sanitized, gift-wrapped version of the word found in travel brochures. Hong Kong’s roads and buildings lack the polished, soul-less perfection of its neighboring megacities. It is a city that has been used, lived in, and occasionally beaten up. It feels like a good pair of broken-in running shoes: scuffed, weathered, and entirely reliable. It just works.

I arrived on a late Friday afternoon. The Airport Express whisked me into the heart of the island just as the sun was surrendering to the colorful lights of the night. From there, a taxi plunged me into the rush-hour capillaries of the city. Everyone was vibrating with that specific Friday energy, this collective urge to stop working and start living. I chose a hotel in North Point, situated exactly where normal life happens amidst the towering skyscrapers. While many travelers crave "authenticity", the hotel’s reviews suggested that many were not actually prepared for the reality of finding it right at their doorstep.

North Point is a neighborhood that doesn't apologize for itself. The neighboring shops functioned as a local wet market, a sensory brawl of fruit, vegetables, fish, and meat. Walking by, you are immediately immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of a city that still eats real food. For those who have never seen a Hong Kong butcher, the experience is visceral: the chopping block is usually right at the front, a stage where the butcher performs surgery with a cleaver. I still remember my first sight of a market in Wong Tai Sin, where a pig's head hung on the wall with its tongue dangling next to it, a stoic reminder of the hard truths of the food chain.

Woven into this hustle were the tracks of the "Ding Ding" trams. These tall, impossibly thin double-deckers rattle between the high-rises like Victorian ghosts who refuse to acknowledge they’ve been dead for a century.

In Hong Kong, two things are valued a lot: Time and Space. Neither is to be wasterd. Stepping out of a shoebox-sized hotel room, where there is barely enough space to open a suitcase without performing a feat of gymnastics, and into the sensory whirlwind of the city can feel like the beginning of a Doctor Who episode. However, this time I found a spacious room, a minor luxury in a city where square footage is traded like gold bullion.

As soon as I dropped my bags, I was back out. I was a little too late for the ferry, so I placed my destiny in the hands of an app to find a bus to Kai Tak. This was a stark contrast to twenty years ago, in the pre-smartphone era, when "orientation" was a polite word for "guessing." I remember a friend once shoving me onto a green minibus and shouting instructions to a driver who looked like he’d last slept during the British Mandate. We zipped through the dark for an eternity and I could only hope the driver remembered I existed and where to drop me off. Today, the bus schedule is integrated into Google Maps, stripping away the terror of being lost but replacing it with the peculiar frustration of seeing exactly how late you are.

I arrived at the former Kai Tak Airport site, a rare patch of the city that looks like it was 3D-printed last week. I circled the massive new stadium looking for the marathon starter kit pickup. There were no signs. I spotted a few others carrying the official bags, but a cocktail of jetlag, male ego, and a subconscious desire to remain "lost" prevented me from asking for directions. Eventually, I discovered the truth: while I was searching the "Kai Tak Stadium", the pickup was at the "Kai Tak Arena" across the street. Whoever named these two adjacent locations so similarly clearly possessed a sense of humor that bordered on the sadistic.

The following day was the calm before the storm. I picked up my girlfriend from the airport and we spent the afternoon on the Island promenade. At dinner time, we entered a non-descript elevator at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway, a scene that felt like the pre-show to Disney’s Tower of Terror. We expected the Twilight Zone, instead, we were transported into the aromatic insides of an Indian restaurant hidden on the seventh floor of a different dimension.

After the race the following day, we played the role of the classic tourists. We navigated the Mid-Level escalators, got lost at the top, and eventually found our way to the Peak Tram. We did it all: the Star Ferry, the Avenue of Stars, Temple Street, and the glorious, steam-filled chaos of Dim Sum and Dai Pai Dongs. We met friends I hadn't seen in what felt like a small lifetime, yet we spoke as if we’d only been apart since yesterday.

But there was one more thing on the bucket list. Most people know Hong Kong as a vertical forest of glass, but there is another side. We headed for the "Dragon’s Back". Imagine a Chinese dragon: undulating, scaly, and winding, not the bulky European variety. The trail weaves through the hills, offering views of sleepy villages on one side and the crushing density of high-rises on the other. We should have started earlier. We finished just as the sky switched to "dark mode" at Big Wave Bay. If you’re picturing a romantic sunset over the water, let me disappoint you: the beach faces the wrong way. We were almost the last ones left in a coastal village that had already settled in for the night, cooling our feet in the sea before a minibus sped us along a dark cliffside road back to the bustling reality of the city.

One last ride on the "Ding Ding" brought us back to Central for a final look at the iconic night skyline from the Peak. Once again, I left Hong Kong with the feeling of having only just scraped the surface. There is a specific kind of magic here, a mixture of soot, steam, and ambition that ensures I will be drawn back.