Full Moon

A bad day in the office; falling yields, machine breakdowns, a very angry client, it was a war zone!  Emotions were raw and voices were high.  Civility went down the drain and rationality thrown in the trash can.  I got out late and fuming, I was ready to chew rocks for dinner.  The night was cold and empty as I entered the car and drove off.

I have reached the northbound lane of the South Luzon Expressway (SLEX) and I was still reviewing the events of the day.  It was really bad.  I mused over the things that should have been said and the things that must have been done and felt very heavy and wanting.  Over and over, the scene repeated in the deep recesses of my mind which made me very tired and weary.  I needed a release.  I could not go home like this.

Amidst the pale light of vehicles in the opposite direction, I became aware of the clear evening sky.  Stars filled the heavens like the canvass of Van Gogh.  Then there’s the moon over the rice fields of Carmona – low, round, bright and enticing.  It was a good night to vanquish the demons that seemed to follow my wake, a good night to refresh, a good night to run and sweat it out.  I quickly exited to Carmona tollway and headed for the nearby market to park.  In no time I was geared and running.

Reaching a crossroad, I weighed my options.  To the left was Timbao, a backdoor to a technopark with moderate traffic.  The right leads to the main road, a busy artery going back to SLEX or Southwoods.  The road straight ahead was unknown to me.  It was well paved and lighted but bereft of movement.  No cars, no people, just road.  I could not see farther because of a bend some hundred meters away.  I could see the moon just beyond the trees in that direction.  I favored going left but seemed to be pulled straight like a bug hypnotized by the searing light.

The unknown… at night. I don’t know if it was an insatiable curiosity or misplaced seduction or mere wanderlust that pushed me to run straight ahead but there I went like a lone knight hunting for a dragon.  As I clear the bend, a wide rice paddy greeted me on the right side of the road.  On the left were sparse wooden houses with yellow lights.  The moon bathed the green rice field just weeks from turning into a golden carpet.  I passed people, some near a house, others walking in the other direction, all of them looking at me in askance.  Children playing stopped and openly stared at my passing.  I must have looked like an alien!  I realized I was an odd man in such neighborhood with my technical shirt, reflectorized shoes, fancy watch and … running at such an unholy hour.

On my fourth kilometer, I came upon a cemetery on the right.  More fields and fenced lots overgrown with tall grass were on the left side.  The cemetery was not eerie.  It was quite small and walled.  Inside were a few gravestones on a well-manicured lawn.  On one side was a “hotel” type grave where the dead were laid in small cubbyholes.  Some hundred of meters passed the cemetery, I entered a newly built subdivision with the moon on my back.  The clubhouse was immediately after the gate and beyond was barren lots and half-completed structures.  The site was more haunting than the cemetery.  Unfinished houses with dark windows and darker doorless entrance lined in one side like sentries with hollow eyes and mouth.  A dog barked somewhere beyond an unlighted building and strange rustling sounds seemed to come out of nowhere just beside the road.  Before reaching the fifth kilometer, I decided to turn back lest my fancy overwhelmed my sanity.

I was facing the moon and it seemed rounder, larger and brighter.  I could see its scar -  sometimes black, sometimes blue.  So stark.  I again passed by the cemetery and reached the vast rice field now on my left.  The bright moon was illuminating the countryside like a beacon.  Somewhere on the far side of the field, was a small pool where moonlight reflected a thousand ripples of sparkle competing with the twinkle of the stars above.  The stalk and leaves of the rice plants glossed, glittered and ebbed at my passing, colors changing from green to white to gray.

I spied on a woman and a man walking on the rice paddies.  The woman was leading the man by a couple of steps while the soft wind scattered their murmurs.  They looked like lovers, oh, I hope they were lovers because the moon and the stars and the wind demanded it.  The setting seemed to conspire to have lovers.  It was a picturesque sight worthy of a masterpiece by a painter depicting scenes from yesteryears when life was slow, simple and unadulterated.

I finished my run short of 10K.  But I was content.  I was like a new born babe.  I felt I was washed clean in heart and soul.  I was cleansed of the anger, weariness and false pride.  I was ready to go home.

Singapore Marathon: Swept Away

It was a cloudy and humid day break at Esplanade.  The scant breeze passing over Singapore River on my left was warm and damp.  A street cleaner was busy washing and sweeping the park’s walkway.  Four ladies were on the middle of their Tai Chi form as I passed below the Bridge going towards the theater.  A bus load of tourists was climbing the access stairs to the top of the Bridge clicking their cameras left and right.  One of them even took a shot at me while I slowly passed their group.  A couple of runners were also trying out the heat of the morning sweating profusely.

It was the day before the great race and I was running easy to feel out the area.   It would be my first running anniversary.  I could not help being transported back to memory lane when I first started to join a road race…

I was wearing a plain white cotton shirt and basketball shoes.  In my hand was my cellphone to be used as timer.  I was nervous as a cat in a dog kennel.  I was skeptical to walk to the assembly area like a groom grudgingly entering the church…

Minutes before the start, adrenaline rushed through my system.  My senses were ultra-heightened.  I could see the distinct blades of the grass, smelled the rotting sweetness of tree saps, heard every rustle of leaves shuffled by the soft wind.  My stomach was revolting and my bladders were screaming for justice…

I was puffing and huffing as I approached the finish line.  My shoulders were cramping and I could feel strain in my calf and toes.  My shirt, heavy with sweat and water, was starting to hurt my neck and nipples.  I noticed people clapping and cheering. I raised both hands in victory still holding my phone-cum-timer as I crossed the line…

I was in a high while seeping water and holding a bag full of freebies with the finisher tee hanging over my shoulder listening to the awarding program.  Such a great feeling completing a race…  I would join more.  And I’ll strive for my first full marathon a year hence… in Singapore…

The plan coming to fruition, only it would be my 2nd marathon after QCIM.  I thought I could best my first try.  I was feeling good and so far, my experience has been great.  I was still musing over the claiming of the race kit.  It was only a 5-minute affair from queuing, collecting of the pack and testing of the chip.  Talk about efficiencies! And the expo was filled with relevant items…

Reaching Raffles Avenfue, I was pulled out of my reverie when I observed numerous conspicuous signs notifying motorist of road closure and rerouting schemes during race day.  I learned that the signs was put up more than a week before and could be found all over the race course.  We could also do this at home and prevent or minimize snarling traffic and angry motorists. I reached the grounds of Singapore Flyer, a humongous Ferris Wheel that seemed to reach the sky.  It was an expansive road bereft of vehicle beside the river.  More joggers were in the area.  The 40th kilometer marker was already there as well as some small tents, tables and tarpaulins.  Here I made a U-turn and returned to the park to complete my 20 minute easy run.  Singapore, so far, has marked a first-rate impression.  I was in high spirits and hoping race day would live up to expectations.

Race day. I stationed myself at the head of the second pen somewhere in the middle of the Esplanade Bridge.  It was still dark and starless.  Singapore River sparkled on both sides and lights from tall buildings defined the cityscape.  In Manila, this time, the sky would already be blue-black as light slowly seeps in.  The Bridge was like a giant bee hive where almost 15-17 thousand full marathon runners happily, impatiently awaited the start of the race.  On the sides were 30+ thousand more runners waiting for their turn.  The air was humid and warm.  It would have been cold and fresh back in Manila.  The host was counting down the minutes…

“…4 minutes… 3 minutes… 2 minutes…” then total silence.  The loud buzz softened to a low pitch mumbled like a shy bass singer.  Then way in front, there was movement… bobbing of heads going backwards towards us like a ripple extending from the source of disturbance.  And then we were moving, slowly and accelerating like being swept away by tidal wave pulling everyone in its path.  It took more than 4 minutes before I could cross the starting mat.  And then we were running full pace despite the crowd.  Shoulder to shoulder I ran with Singaporeans, Americans, Europeans, Asians, everyone passionate runners.  There was a sense of camaraderie on the air.  Everyone was smiling and giving greetings, delighted to be part of the event.

Barely reaching the first kilometer, the lead runners, Kenyans, were already on the other side of the road, their 3rd kilometer, completing the first loop swiftly like a pack of wolves on a hunt.  This early, they have piled quite a big distance from the trailing runners.

Trees laced with silver and blue lights lined the dark and quiet road.  Only the soft thud of running shoes and low mumble of passing runners disturbed the silence.  Tall buildings with hollow eyes and mouth eerily stared down at the slithering procession.  I was with a group running a sub-6 mpk pace.  Water stations with long tables manned by a battalion of servers and cheerers appeared at regular intervals.  “All the way, all the way…you can do it!” they cried while offering cups of water or waving big hand effigies.  The course took us around the city boulevards, highway and parks.  I reached the 10K mat at the hour.  By this time, light has just started to tint the cloudy skies.  It was 6:30 in the morning.

The 42Kers followed the East Coast Park Service Road where a man-made lake was centered complete with sandy beach, trees, camper tents and food stalls.  Between the 16th and 17th kilometer there was a rah-rah station composed of a band, cheerers and loud music.

“I got a feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a good good night!  I got a feeling, wooohhooo!…”

The large speakers beside the path emitted beats that thumped the chest and made the runners fleet-footed.  It was a very groovy party atmosphere that motivated us to push on.  I quickly reached the half-way U-turn then the 21K point at the second hour.  This time it was already full light.

Clouds covered the skies hiding the sun from its full glare.  I noticed that most runners were slowing down, walking and I was overtaking almost everyone I saw.  I made a mental check on my conditions feeling for signs of pain, strain or weariness.  My heart rate and breathing was also fine and I still felt strong that I confidently changed my plans and go for a sub-4 hrs finish.  I increased my pace a little to match my computation and delightedly charged.

The return route was on a narrow pathway along the beach.  Here, there were many local supporters by the side egging the runners.  They carried placards of encouragements with full genuine smiles in their faces.

“No walk zone”
“Do it for daddy!”
“Hey, my grandmother is ahead of you”
“Naked babe sunbathing ahead”

Hi-fives, lo-fives and even odd dance numbers greeted the runners.  Aid stations were still coming at regular intervals and aside from the water and electrolytes, liniment lotions were also provided.  I reached the 30K mat in 2 hours50 minutes.

Exiting the East Coast Park, the full marathoners were converged with the half marathon runners.  Back in the concrete jungle in the bright morning, the streets were packed with a sea of sky blue shirts.  There were no traffic, no horns honking, and no motorist raging.  In the middle of the melee at Stadium Boulevard, it was a pleasant surprise to bump to my wifey who was doing her 21K.  She was very surprised as well when I ran beside her and tried to nudge her.  She thought it was someone else.  After some meters of cheesy company, I ran ahead; a man on a mission.

I was running at a constant pace of 5:30mpk and counting the kilometers… 34…35…36… then disaster struck.  A sharp pain from my left hamstrings… then cramps on the left thigh… side stitches… in successive progression.  Just like in QCIM, the pain switch was turned-on suddenly without a warning at the 36th kilometer.  I tried to slow down, down and down until I finally gave in to walking.  My sweat went cold as I plodded on.  It raised odd goose bumps in such a humid warm weather.  Run half kilometer, walk 2 minutes had become my counting cycle.  I bid my sub-4hrs goodbye and willed myself to just best my QCIM time.  It became a sight-seeing tour as I run-walk along Kalang Road, Crawford Street, Republic Avenue where all runners from different categories converged like vegetables in a cook pot.  The cheerers were more intense at this stage.  “All the way, all the way…you can do it…don’t walk!” relentlessly and patiently.

I passed the F1 Pit building, then the great Singapore Flyer at the 40th kilometer at the 4th hour.  The big structure mocked at me.  Just the day before, it was an easy run… now reduced to just completing the race in pain.  By that time, I was projecting two heights: 5’8” when I step on my right; 5’7” when I step on my left.

At the last water station, I drank gratefully but not gracefully.  Hanging there like a bunch of grapes on a windblown vine, I spilled nearly as much as I took.  Most people were walking here; a mass of wave sweeping anybody along its passing.  Upon reaching Esplanade Bridge, the festivities at the finish line nearby could already be heard.  People started to quicken their paces as the smell of the end drew near.  I made my best ignoring limp and pain rounding the last loop to City Hall.

I crossed the finish line in 4:21:09 netting 4:18:05 raising my right fist in triumph and making a puny leap at the last mat.  I beat my QCIM time by 8 minutes.

As I claimed my medal and finisher’s tee, I reflected on a great experience this Singapore Marathon.  From start to finish: from race marketing and preparation to collection of race kit to the expo to crowd and vehicular traffic control to race conduct to claiming of medals and freebies, and even to deposit and claim of baggage, it was a demonstration of effectiveness and efficiency between organizers, community and government.

We could learn a lot from this!

The Winds of November

Wind born out of the heights of Antipolo rushed swiftly down to the lowlands passing through sleeping towns east of the metropolis. It crossed a mighty river who just recently wrought havoc and distress. The wind continued to flow along the city avenues and elevated roads made of steel bars, concrete and asphalt. In the heart of the wide expansive land of Bonifacio where a running event has just started, the wind blew strong and cold. It hit the masses of runners excitedly starting their day with the usual festive Sunday race. The wind was chilly producing shivers and goose bumps. Autumn was about to end and the big guns of October have fallen silent. Amidst the settling dust, runners were left gaping and wanting. The promise of excitement and triumphs were replaced by remarks of mediocrity and stories of horror. But November has come and brought new wind.

Timex Run. I was climbing Kalayaan Bridge when light started to invade the dark. The sky was slowly transforming from blue-black to light blue. At the top of the Bridge before the sharp decent to Buendia Avenue, I spied on the cityscape dotted with small lights from houses like tiny twinkling stars. The chill of the wind has lessened to a welcome cool breeze. At the foot of Bridge, I met the lead runner on the return route, a Kenyan running easily with two more Kenyans and a local (Alley Quisay) hot on his trail. Then the first of the water stations appeared and it was a sight to behold. Long tables with hundreds of cups grouped alternately with water and 100Plus. A setup long requested by runners and tenaciously drawn attention to by noted bloggers. Same water station arrangement would be found throughout the course at unbelievingly close intervals.

The sun was already shining brightly when I entered the Heritage Park. Somehow, the heat was not so hot even in the absence of the wind. The Park was still and quiet as if afraid to wake its residents. Sparse trees, neatly manicured lawn and the calm waters of a pond further highlighted the required serenity of the place. The soft woosh-woosh of running shoes from hundreds of odd feet discretely invaded the silence competing with the chirps and strange calls of birds. The two-kilometer run inside the Park was enough respite from the oft-used worn-out route.

Chasing my shadow

The last kilometers took an interesting detour around the entrance of the American Cemetery and Trion Towers. On the last turn, the sun was high on my back casting long shadows in front of me. I was running strongly

as I chased my shadow to the finish line with a new PR.

NB Power Run. The sun was already a third to its zenith floating like a molten ball above the thin clouds. We just passed the U-turn at C5 when,

JI, my companion suddenly attacked the long incline after Heritage. I was reluctant to go after him; I should be taking it easy being in taper mode but the thrill of the chase got me going. At the top, we paused to catch our breath and waited for our other companion, NH, to catch up. We would repeat the hill assault like madmen at Bayani Road exiting to

Lawton and at the dreaded long McKinley Hill. At each the peak, JI and I would stop, rest and chat idly like oldwives having coffee while waiting for NH. Runners that we overtook along the rise would look at us in askance as they passed us again. What are these two doing?

Like returning soldiers

JI and I were preparing to attack the hill along Essensa when suddenly, NH sprinted away like a boar chased by feral dogs. At the top, he roared in triumph, spent and wincing in pain. We finished the race side by side, waving to our friends like relieved soldiers coming home from a war.

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Two pristine races left runners in delight and full of hope. The winds of November have swept the dust of past disenchantment. Redemption was served cold.

Timex Run: The Greater Happiness

It was cold and dark when I started my pre-race run around BHS.  There were plenty of people coming out of a joint.  Their day has just ended when mine was just about to begin.  A number of them wore black; tight pants, short skirts, netted leggings, leather jackets.  Most faces were powdered and painted heavily.  Their smell was burnt cigarette.  As I passed them, some of them looked at me in askance and one of them even looked at her timepiece.  Time flies.  While they obviously had a groovy night, it was the runners’ time to party.

It was just past 4AM and preparations for the race were in a fast tempo.  Technicians were testing lights and sounds, constructors erecting part of the stage, policemen directing traffic.  My plan was to run 11K at marathon goal pace before racing 21K to complete the week’s mileage.  I was behind schedule on my training program and Singapore Marathon was fast approaching.

The chilly wind made it difficult to maintain pace.  My skin was damp where it should have been sweating profusely.  And knees, squeaking like rusty wheels, seemed unable to reach optimum fluidity.  Just over 3rd kilometer, people near the assembly area have swelled and work activities quickened in an increasing crescendo.  The late frolickers have gone replaced by eager runners.  7th Avenue had become a street gym filled with runners stretching and warming up.  The speakers began to crackle and the host started to chatter. That was a sign that the race was about to start and I was still far from target.  Time flies.

Another 3 kilometers, the 21K participants were already gathered and the warm-up dance underway.  I was breathing heavily.  Sweat finally trickled down my neck and back despite the still cold dawn.  I was afraid I exerted more effort than planned and not leaving enough for the race.  But the festivities were reaching fever pitch that I could not help but get carried away.

I barely completed 8 kilometers when the race was about to begin.  I rushed to my parked car and got my bib and timing chip.  With hands shaking, I grabbed the hydration belt and cap.  I was crossing the street to the corral when the gun fired.  I charged to the starting mat and weaved behind the pack.  Having thoroughly warmed up, I was running hard.

The course took us to the familiar route of 26th Street, Rizal Drive, to Kalayaan flyover.  At the top of the Bridge, the sky was still dark and small lights dotted the cityscape like tiny twinkling stars.  The chill has lessened to a welcome cool breeze.  I was pacing way above the planned marathon goal pace, so I admonished myself to slow down lest I ran out of juice.  I found myself following a foreign woman with hair of spun gold and eyes the color of clear morning sky.

At the foot of Kalayaan Bridge, we met the lead runner, a Kenyan running easily with two more Kenyans and a local (Alley Quisay) hot on his trail.   Since QCIM, these Kenyans have been topping the local races and it seemed that they would be a main fixture.  This could be both good and bad for the local sport.

The first of the water stations appeared and it was a sight to behold.  Long tables with hundreds of cups grouped alternately with water and 100Plus.  Wow, this should make BR proud.  Runners passed easily without queuing or crowding.

After the U-turn at the 5th kilometer area, the woman I was following stepped up the speed.  I decided to follow her lead but ready to fall back anytime I sense pain or fatigue.  We reached the Kalayaan Bridge and climbed it without breaking stride.  As we cleared the Bridge, light was already spreading across the cloudless sky.  The sun has not shown its face but I knew it would be shining through.

As we entered Lawton Ave, we met for the second time the lead 21K runner.  This time he was alone.  There were no trailers in sight with 3 kilometers left and he was still running with effortless ease.  It would be another kilometer before we met the next pack, Alley Quisay leading two Kenyans.   Alley was giving all his best.  His face was a little contorted and there was an edge on his intent eyes.  He looked like he was ready to chew rocks!

The sun was at its full glare when we loped down Bayani Road and to the Heritage Park.  The Park was a welcome rendezvous like a meeting of old friends.  The Park was a habitat for numerous species of bird.  During the RUNew event, I remembered numerous sighting.  As before, Zebra Doves and Fork-Tailed Swifts were abundant.  There were also Brown Shrikes and Pied Trillers, if I identified it correctly.  While marveling on the birds and the well-manicured lawns, I lost my golden-haired pacer.  Muscle fatigue has caught up down my legs and I slowed down.

I maintained an easy pace negotiating the Bayani Road uphills and the remaining kilometers nursing my leg pains.  The short detour at the Old Lawton Road round the entrance of the American Cemetery and Trion Towers was a refreshing diversion.

On the last turn, the sun was high on my back casting long shadows in front of me.  I chased my shadow until I crossed the line clocking 1:51:49, a new PR.  Unplanned and unexpected but delighted nonetheless.

The conduct of the race was pristine from start to end.  Even the overused route was made interesting.  It was exciting to experience how runners were treated like kings and queens.  But the greater excitement was the Pacquiao-Cotto fight after the race.  No other event can grind the country to a halt suspending it in time and space.  I even heard in the grapevine that Father Sinnoit was released by the bandits because the latter wanted to focus in viewing the bout.  Such was the unifying power of Pacquiao.  I wonder if running could ever be a unifying force for the country.  That would be a greater happiness.

Adidas KOTR: Running Boom

As I watched the 21K runners took off, a strong cool breeze brushed my face sending goose bumps down my arms.  It was a cold morning, a sign of the changing season.  The sun has not shown its face but it was already bright.  It was a beautiful day to run.

I was listed in the 10K event, my first run after my first marathon at QCIM the week before.  I planned to run easy, a recovery run of sorts.  I was still feeling the weariness down my legs and ankles.

The atmosphere was more than festive.  Attendance was magnificent.  The 10K starting area was a squeeze.  Runners were standing shoulder to shoulder in their yellow; ocean of people wearing the prized singlet.  I was chatting with friends when I caught something that the announcer said: “…10K registered the most number of runners, 7,600…” Did I hear it right?  7,600 10K runners!  He could have meant all runners including the 21Ks and the 5Ks.  But that would still be a formidable number.  Beyond the absolutes, 10Ks was far more than the 5Ks.  Does this signify more serious runners joining road races?  Aside from the regulars and those doing their recoveries (like me), there must have been a number who have improved and upgraded from lower distances.

“Phak!” the bang of the starting gun woke me out of my stupor.  I was positioned third from the front and it took a long while for me to cross the starting arch.  I was steadily overtaking runners despite the tight, close spaces.  I should be running easy but I felt light and nimble like a butterfly, I could not stop running at a faster pace than planned.  It took over 3 kilometers, and after passing the Kalayaan Bridge, before packets of spaces could be found.  It was too dense!

After the U-turn, the 10K runners converged with the mid pack of the 21K runners, again crowding the lane.  I continued my progress and was surprised by my form.  I was running strong with sub-5mpk pace.  At the top of the Kalayaan Bridge, I looked back and was astounded but what I saw.  Buendia, as far as the eye could see, was like covered with yellow carpet.  Unbroken line of humanity moving in both directions filled the street.  It was a fabulous spectacle.  Perhaps the announcer was right.  Concrete evidence was before me: thousands of 10K and 21K runners in a solid expression of human solidarity.

The runners thinned to normality along the Bridge enabling a freer run.  I ran faster on the final kilometers like a tireless horse and crossed the line with 49+ minutes on the clock.

I was quite happy with my unexpected performance.  But I was more awed by the turnout of serious runners.  With races like this and the likes of Milo and Condura, I hope the country, someday, would be propelled to host one of the greater races of the region.

QCIM: Hard road to perdition

“Drip, drop, drip, drop” I can hear the echo of the water drops from an incompletely closed faucet.  I was lying in bed staring at the dark plastered ceiling.  I did not have the will to stand up and tighten the loose valve.  “Tick, tock, tick, tock” the clock hanging on the wall was an overwhelming sound from the encompassing silence.   Only hours before the start of my first marathon, and I could not sleep.  My wife beside me was in a sound slumber, her chest rising and falling evenly.  She will be having her first half-marathon and she was sleeping like a baby.  I was not so relaxed then during my first half-marathon at the Condura Run.  Just like then, I was nervous as hell.  As time quickly passed, somehow, I doze lightly, a dreamless passage broken by the sudden blaring of the alarm clock.  How many hours had passed?  Or was it just mere minutes? It doesn’t matter, it was time.

After quickly preparing, we sped off, some 45 kilometers to QC Hall.  Almost the same distance that I would run that day, I mused.  It was a festive atmosphere with the Kenyan delegates highly conspicuous.  I positioned myself in the middle of the corral as the runners were asked to check-in.  Butterflies were fluttering in my stomach.  I was very nervous.  It was the same sensation when I first joined road race last December at Runnex Executive 25th.  I took solace that there were a number of first time marathoners excitedly waiting to start.  I closed my eyes and remembered the previous week Milo Marathon preceded by a war dance that perked my spirits.  I remembered the drums, the forms and the waving flags.  And then it began.

After so much fanfare, the starting gun fired in the air.  It was still dark and starless as the marathoners were released.  The vastness of the empty circular road added to the oppressiveness of the hour.   Escorts, cheerers and other runners noisily marked the send-off.  The first five kilometers took us inside UP then returned back to Commonwealth.  I maintained a 6:15-6:30 mpk pace to warm up.  It was a very familiar road yet eerie in such an unholy time.  Arrays of streetlamps provided pools of light illuminating the streets. Giant, old, gnarled trees lining the avenue posted like sentinels and seemed ready to grab and drab trespassers.  As we exit to Commonwealth Avenue, at the 5th kilometer marker, someone shouted “37K na lang!” And so it began.

Commonwealth Avenue was a hard concrete road.  I felt its effect on the limbs during the reconnaissance run a fortnight ago.  I prepared for this by opting to wear my heavier but more cushioned Asics Nimbus 11.  I also forced myself to run on midfoot and strike on bended knees.  The road was wide and the rolls were long and steep like traversing hills after hills.  I increased my pace to 5:50-6 mpk.  At km 10 as the course made a short detour towards Batasan, the 21K front runners, a couple of Kenyans running like cheetahs on a hunt in the savannah overtook me.  On-lookers were awed with “ooohs” and “ahhhs” following the trail of the pair.  I caught up with the 4:30 pacers led by Hardcore’s Jonel and Lester.  I decided to run behind them.  After all, my target was to finish in the area between 4.5 to 5 hours.  Steady as it goes.

Light was spreading along the cloud-covered sky as we passed Litex area where there were lots of people, some watching, and some cheering.  Most of them with amazement and perplexity curved in their faces, perhaps on the discovery of the supposedly busy street filled with handsome and beautiful runners instead of monstrous and hideous smoke-belching vehicles.  As we reach the access road to La Mesa Ecopark near the 16th kilometer, the pacers slowed and stopped depositing their personal gears, cap and shades to their support vehicle.  It was announced at the start of the race that such items were not allowed inside the park.  I continued running ahead to the park’s entrance maintaining pace.  Anticipation mounted.

The La Mesa Ecopark was a come-on to the participants and a much desired portion of the route.  It is a watershed and the primary source of water to Metro Manila.  It has 2,000 hectares of forest; the only woodland in Metro Manila.  The smooth asphalt road framed by trees and the huge body of water was a welcome respite to the concrete jungle.  The waters were calm stretching to far hinterlands.  I could sit there all day mesmerized by its serenity.  Somehow, I drifted away from the pace group not knowing whether I sped up or they slowed down.  Most probably the former and I found myself running with just a couple of runners.  They were consuming energy bars.  I have not tried those power gels and wondered how it would affect my run.  The route out of the park was an unyielding uphill.  A number of instances, when I thought that a downhill around a curve was imminent, another uphill loomed.  I was glad that no one took away my hydration belt and other personal effects as warned earlier such that I had water and electrolytes for those 3-4 kilometers of challenging climbs.  The exit of the park abruptly ended the tranquility to the hustle and bustle of the Metro.  Chaos waited.

I was running a little over 2 hours as I passed the half-way mark in the midst of a traffic jam filled with buses, jeepneys, trikes and smoke, smoke and more smoke.  We had to share the hard paved streets with the vehicles around SM Fairview back to Commonwealth.  The marshals and police did a great job protecting the runners and ensuring their safety.  One of the marshals even blocked testy motorist putting motorcycle, limbs and bone into harm’s way eliciting torrents of curses and threats.  The roads were downhill to almost level until Commonwealth Avenue.  I was pacing 5:30-5:40 mpk until I was greeted by an incline as I re-entered Commonwealth Avenue.  Not for the faint of heart.

The rolling hills of Commonwealth Avenue were now mountain high.  It was mind-boggling how a tectonic movement could have occurred in a span of an hour or so.  After topping a mountain, the next higher peak would emerge into view that would really put to question the resolve even of the strongest.  It was a continuous ascent and descent like a roller coaster ride.  Water supply was thinning out.  The few that I could grab, I doused it over my head.  Along Litex, the road had become a play ground to children and living room to the adults.   It was however a welcome relief that some of them would cheer, do high and low fives and even offered morsels.  Unexpected turn.

I was doing a 5:40-5:50 mpk pace running strong when I reached the 36th kilometer.  Suddenly my calves hardened.  Then my thighs strained and side stitches appeared in quick successions.  Just like that, as if a pain switch was turned-on nonchalantly.  Despite my easy rhythmic breathing and leveled pulse (~160bpm), I was forced to slow down.  Time seemed to compress and stretch out, both at once. My body felt as if I ran for days.  People seemed to move as though floating in jelly.  Did I hit the dreaded “wall”? It couldn’t be.  My notion of the “wall” is that it would stun me immobile and there’s nothing I could do but wait for rescue.  But I was still running, I was still moving.  I tried to run faster but my feet were heavy as if shackles restrained it.  I was dismayed and helpless.  I felt fear, rank and raw as a festering wound.  If this was a lesser race, 15K or 21K, a DNF would have been an easy decision.  But much has been invested, 36 kilometers of it!  What irony, the finish line was at sight, albeit a route to North Avenue, and I was there almost giving up.  I was reduced to a run-walk pattern.  I did a cycle of 500 meters run and 1 minute walk.  I dare not walk more lest my feet totally give up.  It was the longest and most excruciating 5K.  At the 41st kilometer marker, I summoned all my strength to run all the way to the finish.  It was a great lift when small children ran with me until the circular road egging me to go on.  It was like an escort of cherubins.   Heaven-sent!

The finish line slowly appeared at the curve just meters ahead of me.  My wife was there waiting for me in the sidelines with a big smile in her face.  I leapt for joy as I crossed the mat punching the air with clenched fist.  I clocked 4 hours 27 minutes.

It was mixed feelings as I walked towards the assembly area.  I was happy that I reached my target time but disappointed on what happened in the final kilometers.  In the depths of my reverie, I was surprised that a lady was in front of me, out of the blue handing me a certificate and putting medal around my neck…a medal.  I was not a sucker for medals but the symbolism of it hit me.  It only began to sink in, I completed a marathon!  I have done it, my first.  Yes, I have done it!  At last, I smiled.  Nothing else matter.

Epilogue
My wife and I were walking on a nice pathway with stone seats by the side going to the parking lot at QC Hall with the QC monument at our background.  We were both limping and dragging our feet like old couples.  She finished her 21K but experienced cramps.  We were holding on to each other supporting one another afraid to let go lest we fall, stumble and unable to get up.

“Why are we doing this?”
“The answer is irrelevant; we will still be doing it!”
“You drive.”
“No, you drive.”
“I’m sleeping…”
“I’m hungry…”

Milo 33rd Finals: War Dance

The onset of dawn was marked by the sound of thunderous drums booming out of tall speakers.  A call to arms!  The sound reverberated and seemed to thump every warrior’s chest.  Hearts throbbed and pumped more blood to the menacing beat of the rhythm.    Then the dancers in green and white rushed forward in an energetic fashion.  Feet stomping, thigh slapping, biceps flexing and complex gyration gracefully weaved in an intricate lace of choreography.  In the climax of the ritual, the dancers waved flags in the dark cold morning proud to lift the runner’s spirit and confidence.

The colors have been raised.  The Milo Marathon finalists, cream of the crop, the elite few prepared themselves for the send-off.  After they were ceremoniously released, they ran to the battlefield like seasoned warriors eager to defeat fiend and foe in a bloodlust.

As a spectator on the sides, I thought it was a delight to be sent off with a war dance.  Milo has made the innovation and once again proven itself to be a premier running event in the country.

I was itching and gnashing my teeth to join the marathoners in their melee.  But this was not my arena, not yet.  My first engagement was just around the corner and I couldn’t wait.

I was listed in the 10K event.  I thought I would treat this as a tempo training run.  I had few of such in my program mostly consisting of mid and long runs.  The 10k route was straight and fast.  But it was a great path framed by an old church, a hero’s monument, historical buildings and the grandeur of the sea.

The gun was fired by the good city mayor and hundreds, or maybe thousands of runners and walkers, crossed the timing mat.  The race used a timing chip, a technology sweeping the running events and gaining much popularity.  I ran throughout the race fast and evenly; the magic of the war dance still lingering in my system.  Even on the bridge climbs, I was able to maintain my pace.

I finished the race in 48 minutes and still felt strong.

It was a good result that further enhanced my confidence.  I thought I was ready; I hope and pray that I’m ready, for my maiden marathon.  And when I’m there, at the starting line, I will remember the war dance.

Unchartered Water

Summer solstice has ended and the season is at the thick of autumnal equinox, where the length of night evens out with the length of day.  It was 6PM in the evening and it was already dark as night can be.  A few weeks back, bright light still suffused this part of the world at this hour.  Lights from arrays of streetlamps made pools of dim glow along the pavement.  It had drizzled a while ago and pockets of dark clouds hovered just below the skyline.    The road was slightly damp and a soft wind was blowing.  It was cool and it was a good evening to run.

I was preparing for an easy run both to keep my body tuned and to uplift my spirits.  Whew, people’s suffering has not ended two weeks after the wake of typhoon “Ondoy”.  Their miseries and tragedies were more than enough to put anyone down and mull over one’s mortality.

I was in taper mode after 12 weeks of training for my first 42K.  I had waded into unfamiliar waters.  The week before Ondoy’s madness, I reached, for the first time, over 70km mileage and 75km on the week after.  Last week, I went over 80kms culminating with a reconnaissance run (organized by Jazzrunner) on the actual route.  That was more than twice my usual weekly mileage.  And I could not explain my body response to the increase in intensity.  Sometimes I felt so good and conditioned but other times I felt tired and spent.  The sensation ebbed from one to the other without pattern like an erratic heart seizure.  Did I overtrain?

I started my run on the usual route on the road around Palms Country Club.  After two rounds, sweat broke out profusely despite the wind.  While running, I played in my mind over and over my goals for the race.  Can I do 4.5 hours or target 5 hours?  Will I go negative splits or even-paced?  Or perhaps join one of the pace groups?

I changed course and trot to the road going to Filinvest Mall.  Glaring lights from a driving range to my left illuminated the area while the packed Manong’s restaurant beside it provided the merry, rowdy noise from its patrons.  I passed the stately Vivant and Aspen Towers to my right with parked cars along the road and elegantly uniformed guards manning the gates.  My thoughts wandered on the running gears to wear.  Definitely, I’ll be using the Asics Nimbus 11 for my footwear.  Its thick comfortable cushioning will help with the shocks of the hard cemented surface of the course.  I haven’t decided on the jersey between Nike Fit and the Adidas ClimaCool.

Just before reaching Filinvest Mall, I made a U-turn and went back turning right to the street before Manong’s.  This street is seldom used by vehicles.  I passed beside the length of the golf driving range spying on the golfers practicing their swings.  “Tick!” as the club hit the sweet spot sending the balls hundreds of yards forward.  Ball pickers on the other end of the range, protected by iron cage on their back scooped the balls from the green.  Sometimes a flying ball will struck the cage and makes a loud sound, “Clang!”  I would start on a pasta diet days before the race.  I usually cook my pasta, so I thought about recipes.  Red sauce, oil-based, pesto, no, not the white ones.  How about a little classy in one or two occasions to break the monotone: Vologne, Putanesca and so on.

I passed Parque España condominium to my left and was approaching Commerce Avenue across South Super Market.  I made a U-turn and retraced my route back to Palms Country Club.  A lap gone and nothing have been firmed.  A couple of laps more and I would be more involved hoping to put some order to my still disarrayed mind while sweet sweat rolled down my forehead under the cool soft wind.

I’m like a sailor voyaging into the far and the unknown.  Are my provisions enough?  Will the storm god let me pass?  Will I be devoured by the monster Scylla or be sucked by the whirlpools of Charybdis?  Or perhaps fall at World’s End?  This is my maiden full marathon.  This is uncharted water.

Fortitude

I crossed the line clocking 1 hour 58 minutes in a wet but pleasurable Ayala Mall Eco-Dash 21K event.  It was a very good negative split run allowing me to finish strong and still have juices left for the next stage of the day’s plan.  My training program called me to run 32K after weeks of build up.  By many accounts, I would be threading the zone of the dreaded “wall”.

The sky was carpeted with white, gray clouds.  Four kilometers after the start of the race, heavy rains had fallen and the wind howled across the rooftops like a thousand keening mourners.  The rain has longed stopped its downpour yet the threat of more was thick in the air.  The road was wet and fraught with puddles.  Parts of the cemented sidewalk were covered with slimy slippery moss made greener by the flowing water.  Runners were still crossing the line in exuberance with the drenched experience.

The chosen route was just on the streets around BHS.  7th Ave, 30th St, 11th Ave, and 26th St formed a boring 1.6km (1 mile) square.  I wanted to be within hearing distance to the festivities; it could be lonely out there in this weather.  After a quick rest and hydration, I began, or rather, continued my run.  It was a dragging start.  My legs and feet were like shackled to an iron ball.  It took me half a kilometer before settling to my easy pace.

After 3 kilometers (24th Km), I felt that I already ran for hours over and above my race time.  Eight more kilometers and it seemed a very, very long distance.  Before reaching the fourth kilometer, muscle pain started creeping at the back of my left shoulder.  I tried shaking it off to no avail.  I slowed down and the pain slowly went away.  Then both my knees started to ache.  It was not a sudden pain.  It was a twinge that made its presence felt slowly but surely.

At the fifth kilometer (26th Km), my ankles started to hurt and the shoulder pain returned forcing me to further slow down.  Hunger pangs clawed my innards.  It was six kilometers more, surely a short distance.  But on the contrary, it seemed daunting, I wanted to stop.  “Four loops to go, four loops to go” I psyched myself.  I can hear the Eco-Dash host announcing the winner of the 5Km race female category.

I just nailed another kilometer (27th Km) as I turned to 30th St from 7th Ave.  What I saw was a 400 meter inclined stretch to 11th Ave.  The road truly has a slight gradient but under normal circumstances, it could be considered as flat.  Running 30th St at my labored condition was like climbing Bayani St.  When I reached 11th Ave, my thighs were throbbing like an angry cat.

It was a battle between good and evil within my mind.  One side wanted me to rest a bit, to walk or even stop.  The other side harried me to go on, to continue and complete the day’s goal.  It was a mental effort for me to always choose the latter.

“I can do it…one more kilometer…one more corner…one more street lamp” became my litany as I toiled through the pavement.  Completing 8 kilometers (29th Km), I was energized by the thought of hitting 30 kilometers.  I felt adrenaline seeping through my system.  I felt nimble and ran faster.  I did not notice I was breathing hard reaching the 30th kilometer.  Somehow, it was a delight achieving this milestone.  Then, the good and evil debate surged again into my wits.

“Surely, you can rest now”
“No, there’s 2Km more”
“What’s 2Km from 30Km, it’s just a speck, its irrelevant!”
“You must finish this.  Your mission is incomplete!”
“You might injure yourself, you’re in pain, and you’re tired”
“Just 2 more kilometers man, just a little more”
“You must rest. Stop! Stop! Stop!
“Finish it.  Go! Go! Go!”

With a rictus snarl, I continued running.  The aches were all over.  Shoulder, thighs, knees, ankles, all screaming for justice.  I stooped and bowed looking at my shoes pounding the pavement.  I could not bear looking ahead where the distance mocked and teased.  Serendra buildings on my left looked like faces with hollow eyes watching my folly.  The noise from the festivities has stopped.  When did it stop? It was a very long 2Km distance that I have run.

I finally reached the 32nd kilometer after an eternity.  It felt like a heavy burden was unloaded from my back.  I inhaled deeply and exhaled in great relief.  I felt very light and lively.  I did not stop running.  I felt I could do more.  I pushed for another 400 meters both as a reward for achieving and punishment for faltering.

I knew, a marathon would be twice the challenge and tenfold more difficult.  I need more training.  I need more mileage.  I need more fortitude.

Masters 15K: The Spirit of St. Michael

Prologue

Botak 10-miler at UP.   JI and I just crossed the finish line and we were walking towards the Bald Runner booth to watch the passing of those who were still running and to wait for our friends.  BR was there and he was promoting the upcoming Masters 15K Run. He was discretely enticing people whose faces seemingly have the semblance of a “Master” to join the event.

“Are you joining the Masters Run?” BR asked me softly.
“I’m a year short of the age requirement. But I heard there will be beer, I would like to join” I replied.
“Next year, then, when you’re a little older.” He said grinning.
“Can I bribe you with something to let me in?” I jested.
BR shook his head and laughed it off.

“Oh wait, my wife is… my wife is… her age is…, let’s just say she’s honestly eligible.  I can be her pacer.” I eagerly said.
BR smiled, “Now that’s ok… but…”, he seemed to be unsure to drop the bomb.
“But what?“ I asked impatiently.
“You can’t have beer.  Only official runners can have beer…”
“Injustice!” I cried.
“…though your wife can hand over her ration to you,” he said impishly.
“Whew, that’ll do, that’ll do.” I was relieved.

In a fortnight, I will be joining the Masters Run – part pacer, part bandit, part party-crasher (Yeah! I’m a sucker for free beer!)

———-

Thick, gray clouds covered the still dark skies when my wife and I arrived. Heavy rains carpeted the parade grounds of Camp Aguinaldo. We stepped out of the car into inches of rainwater and mud. It was a depressing sight. We huddled together, shivering like wet kittens as we made our way to the Grandstand wondering if the race will push through.

It was a totally different mood in the Grandstand. There was a buzz of excitement and anticipation, a beehive of seasoned run addicts. It was infectious, our perspective changed dramatically. Runners were gearing, stretching and idly chatting. Laughter and talks of age and beer could be heard here and there. We met our friend JI and we talked of the who’s who of the sport present in the event.

The race was delayed due to precautionary measures. Darkness and wet road are sure recipes for accidents. The program started with a prayer and the national anthem. That felt very right. I thought, other races should follow this practice. In his welcome remarks, BR’s first words were an apology for the delays due to safety reasons. Then he gave a background and history of Fort Aguinaldo. He expressed the need to bring the military and civilian closer together through this and subsequent races. It was also a race made for the ownership and enjoyment of the seniors. He was happy to announce that the event was made possible without corporate sponsors. Most of the resources were donated wholeheartedly by fellow runners, a “labor of love”. It was a race organized by runners, helped by runners and would be made successful by runners. Lastly, BR recognized the donors and volunteers calling them one by one.

Light has replaced darkness and the rain was reduced to a drizzle when the runners assembled in the parade ground. Thick clouds still covered the skies precursor to more rain to come. It was an odd hundred pairs of shoes that started pounding the roads of Camp Aguinaldo as the starting gun was fired.

My wife and I started at the rear of the pack running with a slow pace. The rain has virtually stopped but it would take a while to raise the body to the right temperature in the cold. We were only ahead of two ladies who seemed to plan running a healthy pace throughout. We were glad to begin running downhill towards Gate 2 to warm up easily. Between the 2nd and 3rd kilometer, we were warmed up and began to catch-up with other runners. It was a rolling terrain; gentle climbs and descent like smooth sand dunes in a wind-blown desert. We noticed that turning points were manned by no-nonsense soldiers in ponchos and bush hats. Who would dare to cheat? After Gate 5, we passed the first water station with courteous marshals. It was a long table lined with palm-size cups filled with either water or Gatorade – just perfect for a big gulp.

The most difficult part of the course was on the Daza Park Area-Francisco Ave, between the 4th and 5th kilometer. Just on the other side of the wall from White Plains, the inclines were steeper. And there was even a part where the road was flooded with flowing water like a sinuous stream; and there’s no way through but to get the shoes soaked. We negotiated the climbs with short bicycle steps pulled by shuffling arms. On the downhills, we recovered our pace breathing deeply. The air was conspicuously clean and cool.

Gate 6 onwards going back to the Grandstand, the course was generally flat. There were vehicles entering Gate 6 from Santolan but the drivers were cautious while passing the runners, slowing carefully. Our pace became steady taking pleasure in the serenity and greenery of the surrounding. The sun was up but broad nimbus clouds kept it from shining through. It was like having a medium tint spread across the skies.

BR was standing at the 7th kilometer greeting runners and giving clear instructions on the re-entry to the Grandstand. We were to pass the start/finish arch at the half-way mark. It was fraught with camera flashes and cheering people. We can’t help but smile to the happy egging faces. Just past the arch was a station lined with bananas, water, Gatorade and BEER. Yes, BEER! I was not surprised to see the marshals manning that station a little bit jolly and rosy-cheeked. That golden elixir inside a bottle covered with condensing droplets of water made my mouth drool. I refrained my shaking hands from swooping for a cup lest I abandon the race and join the frolic.

We run the second loop faster having been familiarized with the course and eager to finish the race. We crossed the line officially at 1 hour 28 minutes.

I went straight to the beer station and engrossed myself with the Spirit of Saint Michael. In no time, we were chatting and chortling with other participants while waiting for the last runners to cross. Everybody had smiles in their faces while holding their beer bottles or icicle sticks; in most cases, one in each hand. It was an atmosphere that lent itself to easy friendship and camaraderie. I was even trading stories and shoulder slaps with a stranger like a long time acquaintance forgetting to introduce ourselves to one another. Well, I guess, that was how alcohol loosened tongues and do away with formalities and niceties.

The last finishers, the two ladies we were with at the start, finally reached the arch in just a little over than 2 hours with big smiles in their faces to the delight of all.

The awarding ceremony followed immediately and it was attended by all.  That was another unique element of this event. I observed that everybody listened and cheered as the winners were announced and the closing statements were said. My wife was fortunate to win 2nd runner up in her age category.

I was light-headed and nimble when we started to move towards the car to leave. Rain started to fall but this time, our spirits were not dampened and we left in utter delight.