BEIJING, China - I hauled myself out of bed at 6 a.m. Sunday to set out for something I'd never done before–run a race in the Beijing marathon.

I’ve been prepping for this day, on and off, for three months since I signed up to run 9.6K as part of the 2009 Beijing International Marathon, the full length of which is a little more than 42 kilometers.

My 58-year-old body seemed fit enough to run the distance, but I woke up with pinching pain on my left knee. For one brief moment, I thought that was a good reason to back out.

I decided to go and run. I had my muesli and banana, took a painkiller and proceeded to Tiananmen Square. Nearly 30,000 people, professionals and amateurs, had gathered there for the 29-year-old annual event. Foreigners paid $100 to register; Chinese paid 150 yuan ($22). Everyone gets a packet, including a runner's bag and bib, an official T-shirt and a certificate of participation.

At the starting line, some came in groups — high school and college students, factory workers, corporate employees, and members of runners’ club from various parts of China. Others came alone or with running buddies. Many joined to challenge themselves. Others, like the nine Chinese nuns from Henan province, run to support charity. Several runners wore distinctive T-shirts emblazoned with company logos ("Bimbo" Bread stands out) and uplifting message (the Obama slogan “Yes We Can” was eye-catching, if a bit tired).

I can too, I thought, as I jogged past Chairman Mao’s portrait soon after the start. Forty minutes and four kilometers later, however, my energy and enthusiasm started to flag. I puffed and winced, as I watched rabbit-like runners overtake me and deflated stragglers fall off behind me. Can I go on for five more Ks?

Just as I was losing confidence, I noticed an elderly man in red shirt, red shorts and blue sneakers, running just ahead of me. I sidled up and politely asked his age. "I’m 76,” he says, smiling.

Zhang Lianqi, it turns out, is a running aficionado. "I've been joining long-distance runs in Beijing since 1956," he recalls, keeping a slow but steady pace. “Once, I finished 37th.” He retired from his transistor-factory job 16 years ago but still jogs two to three kilometers three times a week.

That explains Zhang’s good form. "I've gained a bit of weight but I can still run," he quips. Along the way, he served as my mentor and inspiration. “Let’s not run in the middle of the street,” he suggests, so we avoid runners who are too fast or too slow. He took out two squares of chocolate from a yellow plastic bag and handed me one. “Don’t swallow, just let it melt in your mouth.” Soon, we passed 6K!

Impetuously, I picked up speed, inspired by periodic cheers ("Persistence means victory!") from onlookers and volunteers who’d lined the streets. “Pace yourself,” Zhang warned me. “Don’t run too fast.” Badly dehydrated, I fetched a bottle of water from a volunteer. “Don’t drink too much,” he says. “Just sip.” His most telling unsolicited advice involved attire. “Next time wear running shorts,” he admonished me. “Sweatpants drag you down.” Like a tour guide, he narrated a bit of history of Diaoyutai, as we ran past China's state guest house. He probably just wished to distract me. By the time he finished his spiel, we were only 600 meters away from our goal.

Literally shoulder to shoulder, we crossed the 9.6K finish line. As we posed for souvenir pictures and exchanged phone numbers, I felt especially exhilarated to have found in Mr. Zhang a running companion, a mentor and another Beijing friend. I am glad he pushed me to the finish line.

It's funny the stuff which is meant to impress. It was widely reported the honor guard at this year's national day parade in Beijing would be goose stepping at exactly 116 paces every minute.

I tried to count to make sure, but couldn't keep up. To do this they trained for six months. And it was pretty impressive, in a North Korean/Cold War era kind of way.

One strange note, according to leader of the honor guard, to be chosen, the soldiers needed to have "big" eyes, double eye lids, measure 1.88 meters tall and from the top of their belt buckle to the ground had to be 1.2m. To be honest such detail escaped me on the day.

It was also impressive to watch the columns of tanks and missiles roll through the heart of Beijing – the new technology we were told again and again was all "made in China". Perhaps given the history of recent product recalls from this country that may help U.S. military planners rest a little easier.

But possibly most impressive of all wasn't on show, the improvements in the daily life of hundreds of millions Chinese people.

Since the end of the tumultuous era of Mao Ze Dong the economy has boomed. People here are eating better, living longer and have the kind of life their parents wouldn't dream of.

But Beijing was so intent on keeping today's celebrations to the hand picked elite few, it deployed a security operation which was a none too subtle reminder that this country is still run by a one party authoritarian regime.

Somehow, standing there along the parade route, I couldn't help but think, wouldn't this have been a better day if the people of China were allowed to take part in some kind of festive celebration, minus the military hardware?

It would have been a much better image for an overseas audience than the tanks and nuclear capable ICBM's - years of hard work by Chinese diplomats talking about their country's peaceful rise may just have been undone by 66 minute long parade of some of the most destructive weapons on the planet.

Beijing, beautiful one day, polluted the next, and the next, and the next...

I guess I filed the story about Beijing's blue skies a little too soon. 

It is true the city has had a record run of blue sky days. It is true the pollution levels had been coming down... But since that story went to air, the old grey haze is back. Sods law.

In fact the US embassy air monitoring station which tracks the smallest and most hazardous pollution says the air on Thursday was "very unhealthy" and at times "hazardous". To be fair it's just one station, and not indicative of the entire city, but at least it gives you an idea.

This could be just a bump on the road, or maybe its an unwelcome sign China's economy is picking up steam.

Some brokers will tell you the color of China's sky is a better economic indicator than the share market or the governemt's statistics.

I was told recently that some of the smaller steel works have now fired up again because prices have steadily risen.

If this is true, then maybe unhealthy air is a good measure of the health of the economy, and sadly it seems they're inversely related.

YANGSHAN ISLAND, China – As the countdown began, my producer Jo Kent sighed. "This might be the most anticipated anti-climax ever." Clouds threatened to ruin the longest total solar eclipse of the 21st century, until the very last minute.

After much deliberation and intense consultation with eclipse chasers across Shanghai, we decided to post ourselves on Yangshan Island, a suburb of Shanghai. The chasers heading in this direction were very convincing. On the island, they said we'd have a lower chance of clouds and city pollution. And hundreds of them were going there. It was hard not to get swept up in the group mentality.

But by the time we arrived, it was raining. Not just raining, but thundering and lightning. I went to bed listening to thunder claps, petrified that we would miss out on the eclipse of my lifetime (and also my first ever).

Despite a dream that the heavens miraculously cleared, we woke to cloudy skies. Dark, cloudy skies. Still, the crowds there said we should stick it out.

In the elevator, one man told me: "I'm renewing my belief in God right now."

After all, the total eclipse itself wasn't happening for another couple of hours. Charles Fulco, a middle-school astronomy teacher from New York, confidently claimed he would stay optimistic until the end.

Personally, it was difficult to keep doubt from "clouding" my mind. I knew I had to stay positive for our viewers. After all, there's nothing compelling about a correspondent predicting the worst over and over again.

I was trying to put on a happy face for my next live shot when I heard "oohs” and “ahhs" in the background.

I was so flustered, I forgot to put on my eclipse glasses before I looked up. A partial eclipse was shining down on us all like a gift from Mother Nature.

The rush was undeniable. I was amazed, shocked, and most of all, relieved, that we had something to show the world.

Clouds quickly swooped in, completely eliminating any chance of seeing totality - that treasured moment when the sun is completely hidden behind the moon and its outer atmosphere (the "corona") is visible like a halo around the moon's shadow.

Nonetheless, Yangshan Island was swiftly shrouded in darkness. I mean, it happened in minutes and suddenly we were all pitched into black. The air grew cold. Hundreds of dragonflies that had been swarming for hours disappeared.

I was reporting the entire time, but wished I could take a breath and soak in this awesome, haunting feeling. The sun had literally vanished in midday.

And just as the skies started to brighten again, the clouds relented one last time. We saw another flash of light at the end of totality. It looked like a crescent moon in an evening sky, but in fact it was a sliver of the sun - the sun rising for the second time at the end of one of the most unnatural-seeming natural wonders.

Of course, there were a lot of disappointed eclipse watchers who'd traveled thousands of miles, spent thousands of dollars, to see this from beginning to end.

But these fleeting glimpses were enough for me. Our days of eclipse chasing - the cynicism, the science, the insanity of gambling to see the solar system in action - was exhilarating, even though we only witnessed a slice of astronomical glory.

SHANGHAI, China - Charles Fulco, a middle school astronomy teacher, never thought he would come to China.

But his passion for one of nature’s grandest spectacles compelled him to travel 7,000 miles from New York to Shanghai, to watch the longest total solar eclipse of the century.

"I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it," says Fulco. “The last one I saw was 10 years ago and it’s like it happened yesterday."

Unfortunately, Mother Nature may have something very disappointing in store for him. Yes, forecasters in Shanghai are predicting rain.

The weather on the day of an eclipse is always a gamble, and it’s frustrating too. As the CNN team sent to Shanghai to cover the big event, we’re just as desperate to find a hole in the clouds as eclipse-chasers from around the world. We don’t want to miss it either.

So, we’ve consulted the experts, multiple tour groups, all with different strategies about how to beat the clouds. We've heard words like "air convection," "cloud count" and "land temperature" thrown around.

Fulco’s team is headed to Yangshan Island off the coast of Shanghai. The theory: The closer you are to a large body of water, the less dense cloud cover will be.

But others say being locked on an island is dangerous. The most important thing is mobility. So a group of MIT and Princeton alumni have chosen a spot on the Chinese mainland, along a manmade lake.

Yet a third group of 260 Americans with Sky and Telescope Magazine, are too difficult to keep up with. They seem to change their plans by the hour, determined to move in any direction last-minute, to ensure their view is not obscured. They are entertaining both coastal and inland options. When last we talked to them, they said would make their final decision after an intense discussion at dinner.

We’ve been warned about this kind of behavior. Veteran eclipse-chasers say if you change your plans too much, you risk missing the eclipse altogether.

Nevertheless, anxiety lingers as much as anticipation.

We’ve neared our final decision, but you’ll have to watch us live tomorrow morning (Shanghai time) to find out where we landed.

(CNN) – He has all the hallmarks of the real Michael: The slim frame, well-powdered face hidden under a cocked hat, dark glasses, and the delicate swagger. He's a little shy too. 

"I'm grateful that my parents gave me this face," he says quietly.

29-year-old Wang Jie is China's most famous Michael Jackson impersonator. He told us to just call him "WJ."

WJ says he discovered MJ when he was a teenager and fell in love with his dance moves.

"I realized I looked like my idol by accident," says Wang. "So step by step, with a lot of hard work and study, I made it on stage. Now he's a part of my life."

Wang had no idea he would someday make a living from his looks. He has since appeared on Chinese TV shows and won contests.

I first saw Wang as he sauntered in with his "agent" to meet our crew. WJ quickly drew perplexed but fascinated Chinese crowds. If the real Michael Jackson hadn't just passed away, they might have thought it was really him.

It's when he started dancing that I really had to do a double take. Wang strutted and snapped his hips as if he'd learned from Jackson himself.

The real Michael Jackson never performed in China, but he's loved here nonetheless. Members of the official Michael Jackson Fan Club (yes, there is one in China) even rented a hotel room so they can watch his funeral broadcast live on CNN.

"I miss Michael Jackson even more. I adore him even more," said one die-hard fan.

"There are impersonators of Michael Jackson everywhere but I think they can only try to imitate him, never overtake him."

Jackson's music was some of the first Western music widely available in China. His rise to stardom coincided with China's opening up to the world. So, to the Chinese, he symbolized what was out there.

To this day, he still has a huge Chinese following. Clearly, through WJ and MJ fans throughout China, Jackson's music lives on.

HONG KONG, China - No compulsory drug testing in schools. Free Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo. End corruption in the property sector. Give Hong Kong universal suffrage in 2012. Include domestic workers in minimum wage legislation. Save a radio station from government ownership.

The demands from the crowd at Victoria Park in Hong Kong on July 1 were many. I had been sent to the park for the second time in a month to cover an anniversary – this time the handover of the city by Britain to China in 1997.

I did not know what to expect –- would it be a parade, a march or a protest? - but did not have to look far to find out. People approached me on some issues, while I – intrigued by the many multi-colored banners, stickers, T-shirts and activists jockeying about with megaphones and collection boxes – approached others.

“First of July is the day for Hong Kong people to speak out what they want!” said Cindy Leung, 52, who came from three hours away to join the protest with her husband. “Different groups, different aims; actually we group together to demonstrate.”

Leung supports universal suffrage in Hong Kong for 2012 – a date pushed back by the government last year to 2017. She was upset with the fact that they could not elect their own leader.

“For many years, Hong Kong people, we were just concerned about our living standard, maybe money, but after 1989 (Tiananmen Square crackdown) we put our concern on to our country, and after 1997 (Hong Kong handed over to China) we put our concern on to our own place. Yeah, that’s good, we improve.”

“Among us, we got something to say, to speak out, to express.” See more photos of protests

And speak out they did. There were young people, parents toting children in their arms, students and the elderly (Since I arrived here in 2007 I have always been impressed by the number of senior citizens I see marching through the streets of Hong Kong in support of one cause or another – especially during the searing heat, which on this day reached 32 degrees Celsius).

As I looked around at the thousands of people, I realized once again – just like with the Tiananmen vigil – that this is the one place in China where these types of protests can happen freely. When I covered the vigil, I met a girl from southern China who told me there was one line in her textbook about the Tiananmen crackdown, and that her history teacher told students about it – but only outside the classroom walls.

She said in Hong Kong she could find books about Tiananmen and learn about the country’s dark chapter, and she wanted to join the vigil because it might be the only time she could.

Mak Yin Ting, chairwoman of the Hong Kong Journalists’ Association, whose organization was collecting signatures for the release of the dissident Liu, echoed those comments.

“If China cannot remain open, Hong Kong as part of the special administrative region of China, it may be affected, too. That’s why the self-censorship of Hong Kong became more serious after the handover,” she said. “You can see the interaction between the two places. So that’s why I say asking for the release of Liu Xiaobo is also a very important message and the meaning behind is that we are angry with the suppression of freedom of expression in China.

“Opposing the suppression of the freedom of expression in China also helps to maintain the freedom of expression in Hong Kong.”

Leonard So, a 21-year-old originally from Hong Kong who has spent 10 years living in New Zealand, painted his body white to support freedom of expression in Hong Kong.

"My main purpose is to support the Hong Kong people to hold on to freedom and democracy while they still have it," he said. "We got to hold on to it and speak what we want to speak while we have freedom."

I had wondered since I moved to Hong Kong from Puerto Rico (a U.S. territory with strong activism) whether or not people here were concerned about democratic freedoms or what issues they were passionate about.

What I found on this day was, yes, there does seem to be quite a few who have something to say on issues they feel strongly about – and I was fortunate to learn about them.

HONG KONG, China - When Michael Jackson first announced he would be doing 10 shows in July – his “This Is It” concerts – in London starting on July 8, I thought the opportunity to see him live was too good to pass up.

OK, so he was 50 years old and maybe not at his prime - and suppose he cancels?

But I’d like to think I would have tried to see Elvis if he were giving what was billed as his “last concert” back in the 1970s. That wouldn’t have been possible for me, since I was three when the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll died.

So this was my chance to see the King of Pop.

I registered for the Michael Jackson presale in March, and when the sale window arrived a week later I tried to get four – then three – then two – then, OK, one, just one ticket – please!  I played a Michael Jackson CD hoping it could help my purchase sail through, given that my previous attempts had crashed because of the system overload.

As if trying to alleviate the frustration for many Michael Jackson fans, an email arrived from AEG with the subject line: “Michael Jackson Presale – Keep Trying!” And try I did until I got through with a single ticket for Sunday July 12, the third concert.

I was going!

My seat was Section BK 417, Row Q, Seat 850 at The O2.

I even bought a ticket to the “This is It! Michael Jackson: The Aftershow” party.

(Total cost, with service charges: 88 British pounds or US $145.)

By the next day, 40 shows had been added through next year, with special hospitality packages offered to include champagne and red carpet VIP check-in on arrival, DJ and entertainment, goody bag and souvenir tour laminate, parking and Thames Clipper tickets and pre-show and after-show parties.

In May, two months after purchasing the concert ticket and one week after buying my plane ticket from Hong Kong to London, I got a “Dear Customer” letter from Ticketmaster/AEG Live that the opening four shows, including July 12, were rescheduled. The first concert on July 8 would be bumped to July 13, while the others, including mine, were bumped to the end of his concert engagement – next March.

The reason given, along with apologies, was to “meet the challenges presented by such a large and technically complex concert.” The rescheduling coincided with rumors that week that Jackson was being treated for skin cancer.

Last Monday, I got another email from AEG Live, with the subject line, “Michael Jackson – Urgent Reminder,” that the July 12 concert has been rescheduled to March 3.

No email from AEG Live came on the day of his death three days later, however. That would not come until Saturday, with subject line, “Michael Jackson – The O2 – Cancellation Information (Please Do Not Reply).” It offered AEG’s condolences to Jackson’s family and friends and noted that full ticket refund information would be given soon.

My plane is still taking off this Friday. And I’m still going to be on it.

I haven’t gotten official information from AEG, but if it’s a choice between a refund or a commemorative ticket, I’ll take something tangible to remember Jackson by. I had wanted to see his last concert.

HONG KONG, China - Last week, I found myself lying in a coffin watching video images of my supposed demise. No, I am not entranced by the macabre. I was just one of the lucky few to get a sneak peak at the attractions of Hong Kong's newest theme park: a life-size Noah's Ark.

So what does a coffin have to do with a Biblical boat full of animals?

Organizers told us both are supposed to get visitors to reflect on their lives. Spencer Lu, the project director, said, in the story of Noah, a father (Noah) saves his family from pending doom (massive floods). He says his 450-foot long wooden replica aims to remind tourists of the importance of family values. Marketing family or "positive" values, as Lu likes to call them, helps to distinguish his park from others.

The coffin is the most obvious attraction geared to visitors unsure of the afterlife. Before climbing into the box, I was asked to think for 20 minutes about my life and draft my goals over the next five years. Once I had sorted out my life's plan, I was shut into the casket where a computer monitor flashed scenes of doctors hovering over me, darkness, pallbearers carrying my body to a cemetery, human skeletons, a piece of paper fluttering in the wind at, presumably, my grave.

For me, the experience was eerie but not life-altering (though it did make me think about changing my life insurance plan). Lu told me the ride is only for people ages 16 and up - no young children are allowed. I would suggest the claustrophobic skip the coffin adventure as well.

Lu insists that, despite the Judaeo-Christian origins of the story, the ark is not meant to be religious. He says visitors can have fun taking photos with the various animals (male and female) or take a spin around the learning centers for children (where they can marvel at the not-so-Biblical dinosaur skulls).

The park was funded by the Hong Kong government but is run by Sun Hung Kai Properties, a local developer whose leadership includes Christian evangelical billionaire Thomas Kwok.

The park hopes to attract half a million people a year and is targeting the Chinese. Visitors to the ark will bring profits to its creators and, perhaps, also bring them closer to their Creator.

Noah's Ark opened on May 25, 2009, in Hong Kong.

OLD BEICHUAN, China — The mourners were already gathering at 4 a.m. The government had declared old Beichuan open to the public for four days, yet a growing crowd of people were told to wait outside a steel gate manned by Peoples' Armed Police. "It's for your own safety," an officer told me. "We can't have you climbing around on the rubble in the dark".

By 7a.m., it was light. We did our first live shot in front of several hundred people, half an hour later the gates opened and the crowds pushed past police. The officer in charge wasn't happy and told us to move on, so we followed the crowd downhill towards old Beichuan.

Look at Wen-Chun Fan’s photos of Old Beichuan

I still vividly recall climbing around on the ruins of Beichuan, which was flattened in the Sichuan quake, a year ago. A pile of rubble seven stories high formed as the ground heaved and buildings across the street from one another slammed together. Smoke was still rising from smoldering fires burning under our feet and people were crying, digging and desperately shouting the names of their loved ones. And, there was that unmistakable, faintly sweet scent of death.

Now as I walked past the same rubble, the smell was of burning incense and the crackle of firecrackers echoing through the valley. Those who desperately searched for their loved ones back then now set up makeshift shrines along a police line. They burned paper money, paper clothes, even little paper houses.

Some buildings that were barely standing after the quake had been worn down by raging floodwaters released from the Tangjiashan "quake-lake" just upstream. Others stood half buried in mud from a huge landslide last September, but for the most part, old Beichuan was still as I remembered it: The huge, house-sized boulders shaken loose from the mountains above that came crashing down into six-story apartment blocks; a Volkswagen that somehow ended up in a tree; furniture in living rooms with only two walls left standing.

After two hours of walking with 100 kilograms of gear split between the three of us on the CNN team, we finally made it to a spot with a decent satellite signal. We did live shot after live shot from almost the exact same spot we broadcast from last year. The crowds kept on coming, it felt as if thousands, if not tens of thousands, had made the pilgrimage to old Beichuan today, some family members of those lost in the quake, others just tourists who wanted to have a look.

Our original plan of doing live broadcasts late into the evening was not to be. By 4:30 p.m., police were asking people to head back. Old Beichuan, at night, was not a safe place. As we started walking, a bright red spot in the crumbled cement caught my eye. It was a geranium flower growing out from the rubble of a collapsed house.