It was full light when we reached the parking area near the starting line. The rising sun pushed its crimson edge above the horizon and cast long shadows down the street. It was past 5:30 in the morning. Gone were the crescent moon and the cool wind that marked the starts of previous races. It’s the heart of summer solstice.
We barely had time to stretch before the call to race was announced by Coach Rio. That found me jumping up and down twisting left and right like a dog in heat in the corral as the countdown started. There seemed to be lesser runners participating. I saw less familiar faces among them. Perhaps, attendance was divided among no less than three race events happening that day. One of which was the daunting 102Km Bataan Ultramarathon.
My objective was to break the 50 minute time of the 10K. This was a flat and fast circuit, it should be possible. I was mentally and physically pumped up.
Flicker. Power Run. A couple of months back. In the same venue, and in the same elevated state of mind and body, I was gearing for a 52-minute 10K finish, an improvement from my Bull Run 55minutes.
“Phak!” came the sweet sound of the starting gun. I immediately launched to a 5min/km ground-eating pace. A first time attempt, an ambitious one as well, I was confident. I usually start at 6.5min/km. I appreciated being in front of the pack, not among the firsts, but ahead of the main body. More real estate, none of those tiring zigzags, a lot of personal space. Past the 2nd kilometer, the sun was declaring its presence. Sweat broke out early and I was almost soaked by the 4th kilometer. I enjoyed a smile on the thought that I had maintained my pace without the huffs and puffs. On the 5th kilometer, I checked my watch and it read 25++ minutes.
Flicker. Power Run. It was somewhere between 4th and 5th kilometers when there was confusion on the race route. I had memorized the map and made a mental mark of each kilometer to help me compute my pace (My gadget that time was only a cellphone-turned-timer). Instead of a supposedly second round on the CCP-PICC-Sofitel loop, the runners were directed to return to the MOA loops. My pace strategy went topsy-turvy.
6th and 7th kilometers, I marked and overtook runners. My pride was swelling like a proud rooster. My pace increased to just a little faster than the 5min/km slowing only during turns and grabbing straw. There were other faster runners on a negative split and they overtook me easily. I spied on one of them and admired his form and his ease to speed up at this juncture of the race. It seemed that only seconds had passed and he was out of my sight. Perhaps, he was being chased by unseen Furies. On the 8th kilometer, fatigue cropped out of its ugly head. It hit my right shoulder and it was unyieldingly burdensome no matter how I shook and shouted at it. I slowed down but kept my pace oscillating at 5min/km. Pride was keeping me steadfast.
Flicker. Power Run. I grabbed a Pokari bottle of water at the last kilometers of the race. Unable to open it, I handed it to a traffic aide and continued running annoyed. I had no objective idea that time if I was speeding or slowing. At the gas station, I remembered being amused by gasoline boys mocking the runners. None of those now, I thought I missed the humor.
9th kilometer and my breathing was labored, my throat was parched like cracked mud. My right shoulder was like an iron anchor dragging me down. There was pain there but the weight was the pestering concern. I passed a street leading to the finish line, just mere meters, but the route required to round a block. Hmmm, maybe nobody’s watching… My watch read 44++minutes. I commanded my feet to give all it got but my heart was already tops and was begging for reprieve. Last 500 meters, I was panting loudly and I could also feel the strain in my chest. But I just kept on with my eyes squinting, almost close. My watch suddenly beeped. It has reached 10 kilometers, 49++ minutes but the finish line was still around a corner. Oh, no! With my last ounce of strength, I ran to the finish line clocking 51 minutes near to vomiting and a little unsteady. The watch reported 10.35 kilometers.
Flicker. Power Run. Last stretch to the finish line as I turned a corner. I lengthen my strides proud of an imminent new PR. When I crossed the finish line, the official clock read 55”09’. I looked at my phone-timer, it read 55”14’. What! I missed my 52” target! How? Why? I just beat my Bull Run by mere seconds. After much whining, I learned that the distance covered was 10.3 kilometers and attributed my failure to that.
De Javu! I beat my 10K PR by 2 minutes but I missed my objective. Unsatisfied, I was about to whine and blame whoever, whatever. But…. sigh!… an official 10K race is a 10K race whether it’s 9.7Km long or 10.3Km long… that is to be accepted. I resigned; no one or nothing should be faulted but me. Sigh! Foiled again! Only at MOA had my plans rendered futile. MOA had twice spurned me. This is now personal, MOA and moi. There will be a day of reckoning!
The sun rose above the building and it smiled some more. Temperature rising, the heat was maddening.
