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.

Jaime FlorCruz, far right, joins Zhang Lianqi, center, and another runner at the finish line.

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.

BEIJING, China - Many Chinese seem to support the Chinese antiques collector who made a successful bid for two 18th century bronze sculptures - and then refused to pay for them.

Cai Mingchao says the sculptures should be returned to the country for free.

Cai Mingchao last week made the $40 million bid on the two fountainheads that were part of Christie's auction of Yves Saint Laurent's collection - but has since said he will not pay up, claiming the sculptures were looted from China and should be returned to the country for free.

In a poll on Sina.com, more than 74 percent of the 327,444 respondents supported Cai. Asked if it was worthwhile for Chinese to bid for the sculptures, more than 84 percent answered: "no, they should be returned gratis."

Cai's move prompted many comments in cyberspace. Many hailed him as a "patriotic Chinese bidder," while others considered him crafty.

"The result is that French people have been hoodwinked by Chinese!" gloated one blogger identified as PzKpfw-VI. "Together, we bamboozled them!!!"

But others weren't so sure. "If he didn't pay for it, won't it be hard to get the bronzes?" said one blogger identified as ljjiang.

One blogger from Chongqing questioned fellow compatriots who lionized Cai.

"Resorting to cheating to resolve this issue - let me ask where will we hide our face? By resorting to cheating, did we resolve the issue? Did we get back the relics?"

Even if the two pieces were recovered, the Chongqing blogger wrote, they would be carved with two marks of humiliation: "One is 19th century, when we were weak and small, the other is 21st century, because a small handful of people were so short-sighted!"

What do you think of Cai's move?

BEIJING, China – Yesterday was just not a good day to be a journalist in China.  Producers at the CNN International weather show wanted to do stories on how transportation is affected by bad weather. They asked the Beijing bureau to find this out: what is China doing to ensure safe and unimpeded train travel?

After all, China had a bad experience last spring, when heavy, protracted snowstorms paralyzed the rail system in south China and stranded millions of anxious travelers. We thought it would be good to highlight China's efforts to learn from that experience. The Chinese must be quite eager to tell this story, we thought.

Not really. By phone and fax, our intrepid news assistant Yang Yuli, placed a request to the Ministry of Railways (MOR) for an interview and news shoot. Ideally, she said politely, we wished to do that the following week. It's a good opportunity for China to share its experience and knowledge, she said as she appealed to MOR's office of international affairs.

The ministry is very, very busy lately, she was cautioned, but they would consider our request.

Five days later, Yuli phoned to follow up. MOR is simply too busy and the lead time is just too short. Could they give us a definite "yes" or "no"? We were told to keep waiting.

Meantime, same day, another story idea came up. How about doing a story on Wu Yulu, a farmer in suburban Beijing who is said to have built robots in his spare time? Wu did not finish high school but he has reportedly built 26 robots from scrap metal and bearings. Among them, a human-shaped automaton that pulls a rickshaw for six hours on a single electric charge.

Wu may not get a Nobel Prize nomination for his efforts, but I thought his story was so colorful it merited a closer look.  In some ways, I thought, his story showed Chinese ingenuity and resourcefulness.

Beijing bureau producer Judy Kwon tracked down Wu's home phone. His wife answered. Wu is too busy, she said, and Judy should talk to her, instead. Judy explained why we wished to interview Wu and what kind of story we wished to do, but Wu's wife interrupted to ask if there would be any "laogong fee" (service fee). No, Judy explained, as a company policy we do not pay nor accept payment for interviews or stories. No deal then, Wu's wife said curtly. Four members of the family rely on Wu so they need financial support. Judy kept pushing, saying we don't pay, but this could be a good opportunity for Wu to get international exposure. Does that mean no payment, no interview?

Long pause ...

This time, we got a quick and firm answer.

No-go on Wu Yulu.  No-go on the train story.

Bill Clinton this week presided over the Clinton Global Initiative (CGI) summit in Asia, the first such meeting overseas. "We decided to come to Hong Kong because of the region's leadership and capacity to make a difference on major issues of our time," he told an audience of 400 elite politicians, business leaders and celebrities like Jet Li and Michelle Yeoh.

Clinton with Singapore's elder statesman Lee Kuan Yew.

Discussions during the two-day meeting revolved around today's headlines (global financial meltdown, economic recession) and long-term problems (climate change, energy, public health and education.)

Yet another exercise in empty talk? The former U.S. president disagrees. "This meeting needs to be viewed as a verb, not a noun," he boomed, echoing the conference consensus. He praised the "new philanthropy in this part of the world" and called for "genuine partnership among the government, business and civil society". He urged people to open their hearts and wallets. "The current economic crisis is not an excuse to give less," he said.

At the end of the meeting, Clinton reported scores of charitable pledges in Asia worth $185 million going to manifod projects that will impact lives of 10 million people.

Up close, the former U.S. president remains a formidable politician and motivational speaker. He enthralled the audience with charisma, gravitas and gift of the gab, offering "tour d'horizon" ruminations on wide-ranging topics. On stage in Day 1, he exchanged witty remarks with Singapore's elder statesman Lee Kuan Yew conversing on climate change, the financial crisis, the role of governments and civil society and the status of women.

When Lee noted that many Asian women are now "refusing to be slaves of their husbands or in-laws", Clinton chuckled and mumbled, "God, if I could say that..." The audience applauded when the 85-yead-old Lee batted for women's rights. "It does not work if you educate the women and you don't give them equal job opportunities," he said. Nodding, Clinton surmised that the next day's headline will read: Lee Kuan Yew issues his "feminist manifesto".

Other consensus came out of panel discussions. I served as moderator of two panels. In one panel, we discussed how to respond to natural disasters and do a better job at relief and reconstruction. Panelists agreed on the importance of quick response, openness and transparency, and close cooperation between governments and civil society.

Hollywood kung-fu star Jet Li, who leads one of the first NGOs to help out when earthquake hit Sichuan last May, talked about philanthropy. Li leverages his star power to solicit donation. His formula: 1 person + 1 yuan/month = One Family, his charity group's name.

Why the altruism? "We are born naked and will die naked", Li explained in accented, rapid-fire English. "We need help to be born and will need help to die. Between birth and death, I want to help, give back. I am grateful to the guy who will push the button to start my cremation." Michelle Yeoh put it simply: "I do it because I could, and because I should."

Another consensus was, talk the talk and walk the walk. In the other panel I facilitated, a group of eco-warriors, NGO activists and business leaders passionately talked about how pollution and environmental degradation are posing health hazards to people across the region. Their prescription: Turn ideas into action.

Some addressed big issues, others specifics. Before you get into your car, advised a speaker from Shell, think twice if you really need to make the trip. While brushing teeth, counseled an eco-warrior, don't let the water tap running. Some delegates thumbed down the freezing temperature in the venue. Others frowned that participants are served bottled instead of dispensed drinking water.

Organizers did try to walk the walk. Timberland, a CGI in-kind donor, offered delegates a pair of eco-friendly boots made from recycled materials as corporate giveaways.

When not speaking on stage, the former president works the crowd, shaking hands, patting shoulders and posing for pictures.

"He looks at you in the eye as if you were the most important person in the room," gushes a local business executive. On the sidelines of the panel discussions, he met government officials, corporate CEOs and philanthropists, as he usually does. Now that president-elect Barack Obama has appointed Hillary Clinton as secretary of state, the ex-president may have to curtail such activities overseas to avoid potential conflicts of interest.

"For example," he explained in an exclusive interview with CNN's Anjali Rao, "if she is going to be secretary of state and I operate globally and I have people who contribute to these efforts globally, I think that it's important to make it totally transparent." Clinton has agreed to publicize the list of donors to his foundation and to CGI. To avoid even just the appearance of conflict of interest, conference participants think this could be the last CGI gathering overseas, at least as long as Hillary remains in charge of America's foreign affairs.

KASHGAR, China – It’s been nearly 10 years since I last visited Kashgar, a city of 3.8 million on the western frontier region of China. Its airport is now five times bigger and is now a gateway to six international destinations. It now boasts of paved six-lane roads, quite an improvement from the bumpy narrow dirt roads that we took during my previous four visits.

This time I return to cover the Olympic torch relay. In the early morning of June 18 I watch a contingent of Kashgar students practice cheering the arrival of the Olympic torch in this mainly Muslim city. “Go China,” they chanted, on cue. “Go Beijing! … Go Kashgar!” How odd, I thought. Kashgar people are normally more spontaneous than this.

The torch’s arrival here is a reminder of China’s rule over this remote frontier region. China hopes to show that it is a nation of diverse cultures and ethnic groups.

And for Kashgar, it’s a chance to showcase their exotic culture to attract more tourists and investors. More than 80 percent of Kashgar’s 3.8 million people are Uighurs, a Turkic-speaking, traditionally Muslim ethnic group. Here East meets West, and communism coexists with Islam.

“By choosing Kashgar as a relay stop,” Kashgar’s parliament chief Zinet Emer tells me, ” the central government has given us tremendous importance.”

But this was a particularly sensitive leg of the relay, given the tensions between China and the disgruntled Uighurs– some of whom are seeking independence from Chinese rule.

Heavy security was in place to prevent protests during the torch run. The government banned all but carefully chosen members of the public. Twice, police meticulously checked us – journalists and our gear – just as they do at the airports. “We normally don’t do this,” Emer tells me. “But those (anti-China) groups overseas have thrown jabs at us so we must hit back with a big punch. We must safeguard everyone’s safety.”

More than 200 torchbearers took turns parading the torch through Kashgar’s main streets. Along the route, residents cheered them on, shouting pre-approved standard slogans. “Go, China!” … But we only witnessed the relay of the last seven torchbearers because authorities confined us to a designated press section on the sprawling People’s Square. There, the carefully planned pageantry ended with songs and dances, under the close watch of Chinese police.

As in my previous visits, Kashgar impressed me with its distinctive culture and endearing hospitality. But the extremely tight security today leaves a bad impression: it highlights the differences between the public face that China wants to present to the world, and the tense reality on the ground.

I wonder what it will be like when the Olympic torch relay reaches Beijing on August 6, two days before the start of the 2008 Olympics.

YINGXIU, China – When the earthquake hit China's Sichuan province on May 12, the epicenter looked like an apocalypse.

One of the most painful reminders of the devastation is the Xuankou Middle School.

To find out how people are coping, we drove into mountainous region of Wenchuan, the quake's epicenter.

We needed to drive through bucolic mountain villages which have sustained aftershocks and rock avalanches, so I braced for a rough ride.

To my surprise, 100-kilometer ride turned out to be relatively smooth. Traffic has started to move even though in a few sections boulders as big as a Mini Cooper still blocked one lane of the highways.

We did not encounter bureaucratic roadblocks either. In the past, Chinese authorities typically accosted and turned back foreign journalists trying to get in disaster areas. This time, it was green lights all the way, except at two police checkpoints leading into the worst hit areas. Both times, we showed our press passes and the police politely waved us through.

We witnessed organized chaos. Police directed traffic. Janitors swept the streets. Medics sprayed disinfectant. Convoys of military trucks moved in more troops and relief goods as ambulances moved out injured survivors from local clinics to city hospitals. In every other village we passed, we saw communities of survivors and relief workers striving to get Sichuan back on its feet.

The quake has dislocated lives of more than 30 million people, including five million who have lost their homes. Among them is Sun Lirong, a factory worker in Sichuan's Yingxiu township.

"When the quake hit, I ran out from our apartment building. I blacked out for a minute and panicked: Is my son safe? Are my husband and in-laws safe?" All survived the quake, but they have lost virtually everything, including their home. They evacuated to the home of relatives in the suburbs of Chengdu, Sichuan's capital city.

Today, Sun and her husband returned to Yingxiu to retrieve valuables buried under the rubble of what used to be their home in a collapsed four-story apartment building. Now she is heading back to their relative's home with three bags full of clothes, toys and pictures of their one-year-old son.

Sun and her husband, both 30 years old, used to work in a nearby cement factory. The factory is now totally destroyed and bankrupt, the couple jobless. "We hope to find odd jobs soon to take care of our son and three retired in-laws," says Sun.

But prospects of finding jobs look bleak. Local officials say they need to show ID cards and other supporting documents. "But we've lost all our papers and documents in the rubble," she frets. "How do we prove we are quake survivors?"

Wang is driving back home to an uncertain future.

Wang Guixian is not banking on much government help. The migrant worker from another Sichuan town had been working in one of Yingxiu's construction projects until the quake ruined everything.

Now the 46-year-old Wang has put all his belongings - pots and pans, clothes and a TV set - onto his motorcycle and is driving back home to an uncertain future.

"Later I'll try to find work in other cities," he says glumly. "It's too sad to stay here."

One of the most painful reminders of the devastation is the Xuankou Middle School –or what is left of it. Nestled at the foot of the Wolong mountain range, it prided itself of fine teachers and facilities dedicated to "raise the overall quality of education."

What used to be the best middle school in the region is now an empty shell of crumpled buildings. What used to be a dormitory is now a tumbled heap of rubble.

Scattered in the debris are tattered books, a basketball, and a pair-less shoe. More than 1,600 students used to be enrolled here. Only about 1,000 of them survived the quake.

It's not all deaths and despair. From the capital city of Chengdu to Wenchuan county, we see stoic Sichuan residents coping with extraordinary resilience and resourcefulness.

In and around the epicenter, they have started to clear debris and rebuild. Using government subsidies and private donations, they are building temporary housing double-time. Farmers are planting rice and other crops. Some factories are operating again and traders are back in business. Among those doing a brisk business are movers who, for a fee, help families relocate into temporary housing.

Life goes on in most neighborhoods. Some residents while away their time playing cards or mahjong. Others tune in to local television or radio broadcasts to catch up with the unusually extensive coverage of the disaster. Local programming is often interrupted by a segment called "Phone-in for Peace," which disseminate messages from relatives and friends of missing people.

A typical message goes: "Dear xxx, after you hear this message, please call xxx who is keen to know if you are okay." Mostly, they are voices of desperation. Sometimes, however, the program is punctuated by uplifting news.

"This is a message for xxx with mobile phone number xxx," goes one. "Your Mother has been found and she is safe!"

BEIJING, China – Tibetan demonstrators torching shops; vehicles on fire. Police troops in anti-riot gear clashing with protesters, firing live ammunition and tear gas. Many people injured, some perhaps killed. Reports were sketchy but soon it was clear: Tibet was in turmoil.

Tibetans throw stones at army vehicles in the capital Lhasa.

We’ve always found it extremely difficult to get accurate information and images from the Himalayan region.

Even without chaos, we can’t easily get into Tibet because China strictly controls our travel and reporting there. I went on a reporting trip to Tibet in 2003. That was only one of the two times CNN reporters were allowed into Tibet in 10 years.

We visited major monasteries, interviewed officials and monks, and got a good feel for the region — and the simmering ethnic tensions between the local Tibetans and the tens of thousands of Chinese migrants who have dominated trade and commerce there. Many Tibetans, we found out, deeply resented Chinese rule.

 How do we find out what’s going on?We don’t have a crew there and are not allowed to send one now. So we tap various sources, including residents and travelers in Lhasa. Using modern tools of communications, we gather dribs and drabs of eyewitness accounts from people who prefer to remain anonymous. "If you put it in Al-Jazeera terms, it is Gaza now," quips an overseas visitor.

 "It’s chaotic now, that’s all I can say," a young Tibetan told us over the phone while he was caught stranded inside an office building in central Lhasa.We also reached an exasperated young woman who had been beaten up by a mob of Tibetans apparently because she was an ethnic Han Chinese. "I am now in the hospital with bandage on my head," she whispered, sounding traumatized. "All is chaotic now," she said, wondering if and when she could get out of Lhasa.

Each time we made contact, we took steps to protect the identity of our eyes and ears. The news of the day was unpalatable to the Chinese censors, so most of CNN’s reports in the mainland were blacked out. Most Chinese seemed unaware of the chaos in Tibet. The local media blacked out the news, but there were loopholes, thanks to modern technology. Our intrepid researchers found one Chinese Weblog, a local version of Twitter, which collected and disseminated reports from citizen reporters who sent them in by SMS and Internet. It was impossible for us to independently verify the accuracy of these reports, but they gave us a sense of the mood in Lhasa."Netizen" reported seeing "troops wearing bullet-proof vests, walking behind armed personnel carriers moving in front of monasteries."