One of the reasons we runners spend the money and make the effort to reach destinations such as Rome, the Great Wall of China, or -- for a group of 55 of us last November and December -- the amazing temples of the Angkor Wat jungle in Cambodia, is for those "we're not in Kansas" moments.

It might be while walking past fabled ruins of the Coliseum for the start of the Rome marathon, or while stretching out in the grass at the finish line of the London marathon and realizing what's looming over you is Buckingham Palace. The home-town marathon is special, but there's special and then there's special.

Those are two not-in-Kansas, certainly-not-in-Detroit moments I've had in the past. Both got topped in Cambodia, on a blacktop road cut through the jungles and past dozens of 1,000-year-old Buddhist and Hindu temples, not to mention elephants and scads of monkeys coming to roadside to spectate.

There was another spectator on the course, this one a human, who was cheering loudly, alternating laughter with screams of enthusiasm, waving his arms and jumping up and down near the midpoint of the first 13.1-mile loop.

I had been feeling sorry for myself. I'd flown halfway across the world to run a marathon, but for the last six days, the only racing I'd been doing was to the bathroom. I had gotten Ho Chi Minh's revenge in Saigon, first stop on a tour put on by Michigan women's running pioneer Kathy Loper.

Loper, who now lives in San Diego, became one of the first women to run the Boston Marathon in 1974. She set her PR of 2:58 the next year at Boston. Also in 1975, she founded the Paul Bunyan run in the Lake Huron tourist town of Oscoda; that race endures to this day.

At 61, Loper remains a formidable competitor. She runs all the races she leads tours to, both out of love for running and to see what goes right - and wrong - on race day. Today, she will finish in the top five in the half-marathon at Angkor Wat, in 1:53:10.

Her partners, Kurt and Sharon Bodmer, are avid runners and Hash House Harriers in San Diego. Kurt is a retired veteran of the tour business, and specialized in Asian destinations. It was his contacts that helped set up the first Loper tour to the Great Wall in 2001. He will break two hours at Angkor Wat half- this Sunday, and Sharon will break three.

The only things I'll break are my expectations. Like I said, the only running I'd been doing was to the bathroom. At least the projectile vomiting only lasted one afternoon and evening, but since then it's been grab a bite to eat, listen to my stomach gurgle and roil, then run, not walk, to the nearest commode.

The last sprint was 30 minutes before our race time, just before the dozen handcyclists -- all land-mine victims of the Pol Pot regime, riding crude chain-driven bikes, trikes or carts -- took off on their race to tumultuous applause.

(The day includes a 5K, 10K, half-marathon and, just for members of Loper's tour, a marathon, too; a benefit for land-mine victims, with more than 1,300 entrants, it is the country's largest running event.)

The course is marked every 5K, and as I approach the first split I see, I pray that somehow I've missed one. Let this be the 10K, please. Alas, it isn't. Though it's Nov. 30, it's 85 degrees down here near the equator, and the humidity is even higher.

My electrolytes are all screwed up. The wheels are falling off. The infamous marathon wall? Somebody screwed up and missed a digit; they put it at mile 2, not 20. A marathon today? Not a chance. There's no way in the world I'm going to be able to do the second lap.

Poor, poor, pitiful me. Or maybe not. There, to the left as I go around a bend, is the joyous, laughing, cheering spectator. After I go by, I peek back and he's jumped into the road alongside another runner, running next to him, screaming encouragement.

Except he's not running on feet - he's a land-mine victim, too, and attached to the stumps of both legs, blown off above his knees, are thick cloth-wrapped pads. But he's booking along on those stumps, eyes crinkled with joy, happy to be out there rooting us on.

I was feeling sorry for myself? Telling myself this was going to be a death march? The wheels may have fallen off, but I'm still a guy with two legs and feet, and not a real care in the world when it comes down to it. I'm in one of the most-amazing places in the world, and my last week has been one round of adventure followed by feast followed by adventure.

So quit whining and keep running. Or, think happy thoughts about the adventures of the last few days. ~~~

Last April, my wife, Kathleen, and I had just sent off for our visas to China for Loper's tour to the Great Wall marathon over Memorial Day weekend, when word came that the tour had been canceled because of SARS.

Our first trip to Asia and some animal virus decides to mutate to a form deadly to humans?

So, we took Kathy up on her offer to reschedule an Asian trip to November: this time for 11 days in Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand, including the 8th annual Angkor Wat Half-Marathon.

Kathy, hoping to talk event organizers into having an official marathon -- the distance being the bread and butter for tour operators taking runners to exotic overseas locales -- got permission this year for members of her 55-member group to run two loops of the 13.1-mile course if they chose.

They could run the marathon distance, though their times wouldn't be recorded, and perhaps an official marathon eventually would be added to the day's events.

My wife and I flew out of Toronto. Most of the tour group flew out of California. We all arrived in Hong Kong Sunday, Nov. 23, then caught connecting flights to Saigon, officially known as Ho Chi Minh City but still referred to commonly by its former name.

That Sunday afternoon included a Hash run in a village an hour outside the outskirts of Saigon, far from the usual bicycle, motorscooter and motorcycle frenzy of the city.

Frenzy? One of the highlights of our three days there was to drink the local Tiger beer after sunset on a second-floor patio bar overlooking one of the city's busiest intersections and watch the headlights of thousands of two-wheeled vehicles converging in streams from east, north, west and south.

The four streams drove through each other without the benefit of traffic lights or cops, without anyone stopping and without accident, incident or road rage. It seemed miraculous.

Tuesday we went by boat across and up the legendary Mekong Delta, stopping to have fruit and hear native music at one small island, then motoring up a muddy tributary to visit a honey farm.

Wednesday we flew to Siem Reap in Cambodia, arriving in time for an outdoor performance of song and dance and a meal of culinary excess at the five-star Grand Hotel D'Angkor.

Thursday, we made our first excursion to visit the temples, starting with the namesake temple Angkor Wat, constructed over a 30-year period in the 12th century and carved with astounding Khmer and Hindu art. We moved on to the huge Angkor Thom, a fortified royal city also of the 12th century, whose five majestic towers are synonymous with Cambodia.

Thursday being Thanksgiving, our hotel arranged to have turkey and stuffing for dinner.

Friday, it was back to the jungle, to the Banteay Srei Hindu Temple of the 10th century and the pyramid of Pre Rup. The afternoon was spent at market, where locally-mined sapphires and rubies could be had for a fraction of their cost in the U.S.

Saigon Hashers, in town for the half-marathon, organized another Hash Saturday afternoon for those not saving themselves for the next day's race, and then we pasta loaded poolside.

Not wanting to chance being too far from a bathroom, I passed on the hash.

~~~

I snapped a picture of our exuberant spectator as he ran alongside my fellow runner. I felt like crying, as if it was one of those sappy scenes in a movie you can't resist.

Around the next bend there were 200 villagers, most of them kids, some of them wizened old folks - the generation between is largely missing here, victims of Pol Pot's killing fields, some of the worst of which were in and around Siem Reap, just a few kilometers away - and they, too, were waving and screaming furiously.

There are only two other points I can think of in my 40 marathons that are reminiscent of this enthusiasm - coming off the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn during the New York City Marathon and high-fiving all the kids lined up on the curb, and running through the women of Wellesley back when they were allowed to stand in the street and funnel Boston marathoners into a single-file line.

The kids, all of whom have learned some English for selling souvenirs to the tourists who have flocked to Angkor Wat in the few years since it was cleared of landmines and the Khmer Rouge ended their killing, screamed out in unison at me: "You're No. 1! You're No. 1."

I stopped to take their picture. They found that incredibly cool. They yelled louder. Mugged for the camera. Waved.

"You're No. 1!"

"No, I'm No. 1 and a half," I yelled back, and they laughed like it was the funniest thing they ever heard.

I ran on, past monkeys and elephants, past many intricately-carved temples in various states of ruin or rebuilding, a couple of them with arches that tower right over the road, and our course goes right through.

Over and over kids screamed at me: "You're No. 1."

Bruce Kocka, 57, of Encinitas, Calif., really was No. 1, the first finisher of the first unofficial Angkor Wat full marathon. Owner of a wholesale health food and snack business, Kocka is a former surfer turned ultramarathoner and mountain climber. He did his first Western States 100-miler in June, finishing in 27:30, and put it on cruise control at Angkor Wat, sight-seeing his way to a time of 4:16.

Two others of the Loper tour did the second loop, too. A few others had planned to do it, but found the temptation of the finish line and the cold beer awaiting them in the Loper post-race party area too tempting to resist after loop No. 1.

Craig Chambers, 54, co-owner of the Phidippides running store in Encino, Calif., was the second marathoner, in 4:36, stopping along the second loop to recharge on Cokes at the park's refreshment stands.

"It was great fun. The second loop had a neat, old-time feel to it. You were alone out there. You didn't have contact with anyone. It was like in an ultra," said Chambers, a frequent ultra man who once had a five-year streak where he ran 13 miles from his home across the Santa Monica mountains to his store every morning, and 13 miles back each night.

Bill Dickey, another Golden State ultra legend - he's known for running his 50- and 100-milers in a white dress shirt - was the third and last marathoner, finishing in 5:50.

Dickey, who has run 200 ultras and 100 marathons, was scheduled to run a 50K in Richcrest, Calif., the day after he got back from Asia. He planned to arrive at the airport at midnight, drive straight to the race start, grab a few hours' sleep there, and then head out.

What do you know? I blew my big chance. I could have finished in the top five of an international marathon. I coulda been a contendah.

But, instead, I stop after the first loop, my time of 2:08 my slowest half-marathon by a wide margin. For the first time ever I walked during a half. Walked a lot.

It is technically a personal worst. But I've had too much fun to let the W word apply.

For information on upcoming tour events go to www.kathyloperevents.com. She led a tour to the Kilimanjaro Marathon in Africa in March, and leads groups to the Bali Marathon in April, the Great Wall of China Marathon in May and the Angkor Wat half-marathon in November. For Hashing aficionados, she and the Bodmers will lead a group to the huge Interhash in England this July. MR

Captions: A runner goes past one of the many Buddhist and hindu temples in the Angkor wat marathon and half-marathon in the jungles of Cambodia.

Caption2: Little kids high-five runners.