The wind was born in the dim morning at the middle of South China Sea. The clash of hot and cold fronts forces the air to gather and move swiftly to the East where pressure was lower. The wind carried salty sea spray as it entered one of the finest natural harbors in the world, the Manila Bay. The wind moved and passed through the rocky islands of Corregidor, Caballo and El Fraile Islands swirling and bringing along dust and small rocks. It drew near to the reclaimed area where decay and refuse becomes dense. Hitting the breakwater, the wind presented a salty, sandy, refreshing sea breeze washing the faces of eager runners at the back of the behemoth structure of the MOA. It was another morning of anticipation. Runners stretched, jumped, talked or simply stare at the sea waiting patiently for the start of the race. Remnants of yersternight revelry were evident. Last night was a night to delight the heart. The morning was a morning to strengthen the heart.
The familiar “Phak” of the starting gun reverberated in the air. I was determined to beat my Bull Run time, so immediately I launched into quick strides zigzagging through mills of bodies. Only after the first kilometer were I able to find space and settled to a stable pace. I came abreast a group of men, more looking like a basketball squad doing warm ups rather than running buddies churning distances. They were talking and laughing making fun of everything they see. “Pare, simula pa lang pagod na ko, buhatin mo ko”… “Sakay ka na lang ng jeep hanggang CCP”… “Di, tago ka na lang dyan sa may poste, tapos sabay ka ulit pagbalik namin”, “Dapat binili mong sapatos, yung may gulong at ilaw”. Their humor was contagious. I would have loved to join the conversation and throw in a line or two but I’m a man on a mission, I reminded myself.
At the second kilometer at the wide Macapagal Ave, I checked my trusty cellphone-turned-timer. I was pacing around 5.5 minutes per kilometer. That was fast for me and became nervous. I might be pushing myself too far. While deep in thought, a pick up truck traveling in the opposite direction and carrying a number of people at its back slowed beside the run lane. The people at the back started cheering the runners. “Woohooohooo, yeow, yoew, yoew” they cried. A half-man-half-woman even stood and started dancing both hands waving in the air, hips gyrating wildly, eyes rolling and tongue lolling like a tired dog. That put an amused smile to the joggers, a rare treat. People at this part of the world seemed crazier.
Approaching fourth kilometer, at the PICC, coach Rio passed me. He was already wearing a straw around his neck and he was dashing like a gazelle. His conspicuous looks did not escape the wonderment of the on-lookers. “May foreigner na kasali”…, “Kenyan ata, ang lakas e”… “Si Manny Pacquiao yan, naka-wig!” I want to roll down the grass and laugh. Filipino humor at its best.
I was making good time as I was about to make my second loop of the CCP-PICC-Sofitel block when a marshal was frantically waving her hands at me. She was pointing me towards Macapagal Ave. “Isa pa kong loop” I shouted. “No, 10K ka, kanan na! Kanan na!” I slowed down confused. I had memorized the map by heart and I couldn’t be wrong. “Isa pa”…”Kanan na!” I was skeptical and I wanted to show her the map that I don’t have, I want to shake her witless. And from her looks, she wants to kick my butt black and blue for being stubborn. There was no humor etched in her face but I know I was in one. I obeyed her with a sour knot in my stomach. I could only conclude that the route has been changed. That’s odd. I have planted the map in my head and had a mental mark on each kilometer so that I can manage my pace. Now, my distance-sense would go topsy-turvy and would be pacing blindly.
I appreciated the levelness and smoothness of the road. Not even a small gradient, it’s simply flat. I could feel no strain or stress to the leg muscles. With my distance-sense disoriented, I don’t have an idea of my running pace. But I believe I’m pacing faster than my usual race speed, thanks to the even pavement. Approaching a gas station, I saw runners ahead of me cutting corners. They were going through the station instead of the road. I followed and heard the gas boys mocking the runners, not loudly, “Boss, gas o diesel… windshield, langis, brake fluid.. picture picture”. I can’t help but shake my head and smile. Perhaps, I’ll also be doing the same had I’ve been there. Another dimension of Filipino humor. This was turning out to be an amusing run.
A hundred more road turns and the finish line was at sight. I crossed the line and looked at the timer: 55”09’. What!!! I looked at my phone-timer, it read 55”14’. I was stunned. I was expecting a much faster time, a stronger ending. I just beat my Bull Run time by mere seconds. I should be happy, right? Ok, how about a little happy? No, I was unsatisfied. I should have been ahead by minutes. I was better trained this time; I was mentally prepared; I know I was pacing faster; and the road is flat like a pancake. It was like a bucket of cold water was dunked to my head. What went wrong? The answer eluded me. I was baffled.
The wind blew from the sea but there was no coolness this time. It soiled the limbs with dust, damped the face with humid sprays and left a sickly sweet scent.
