We reached the usual assembly area still dark. Lights from lamp post lined the wide boulevards while lights from the buildings tops, tall and short, defined the cityscape. Sponsor tents in blue, green and white stood out near the stage where an announcer went through the opening program. People were already aplenty milling the streets and empty lots like a disturbed anthill. It was reminiscent of the Condura crowd. Festive and anticipating. Runners were looking forward to using a timing chip, not a first in the Philippines by some accounts, but still historic in nature.
We were again a little late, quite becoming a bad habit aggravated by parking disorder. Cars were not allowed to enter the area behind ROX, sending them in disarray. U-turn here, hazard there, overtake here, queue there, all in confusion. When we finally parked, I quickly geared up and ran to the corral leaving my wife still preparing. She’ll be running the 10K.
In the corral while trying to cram my stretches, I caught a word among the buzz of conversations. “Arabo!” I’m sure I was the one being referred to. I was donning my red Speedo cap. It has a cloth extending to the back of my neck. I have elicited a number of amusing comments with that cap. A few friends even described me as a “Hapon”, referring to what oldwives call Japanese soldiers during the war. That made me smile.
“Phak”, the runners happily started running while thumping their feet on the mat. “Toot-toot-toot”, the mat boomed as it acknowledged and recorded the passing of each runner. I had no noteworthy objective for this race. I just wanted to maintain a sub-2hour finish and enjoy running on a different course.
It was still dark when I started climbing the Kalayaan Bridge. Fernando Ayala and his pacer overtook me going up. De javu! Just like in the Mizuno Infinity Run, he and Coach Rio passed me near the same spot and I followed them throughout the race. I would do the same, I thought. So I maintained a decent distance. At the fifth kilometer, Fernando and company caught up with the Bald Runner. Light was already spreading revealing clear pale gray sky. BR then kept pace with them. I noticed that we were doing a sub-5 mpk pace.
The turn to Ayala Avenue was a refreshing site. Tall buildings left and right stood like armored sentries. Traffic crossing Ayala stood still to the dismay of the motorist. At 6.8km, Paseo de Roxas, we met the lead 21K runners on their return route. BR cheered mightily for the members of elite team. Their form and speed were admirable.
At the Ayala turn-around point, I felt something worrisome on my right foot. I shrugged it off hoping it would go away. After another kilometer, I could already feel signs of blisters developing on my right toes. I continued stubbornly with the ground-eating pace following Fernando and BR but I had the feeling of fear and uncertainty. It was like living under a crumbling cliff and had almost managed to convince myself it would never fall. Or at least until I finish the race.
But in the 10th kilometer, corner of Ayala and Buendia, the pain could not be ignored. I slowed down, walking to a water station. After taking a drink, I tried to adjust my laces and sock hoping it would ease the sensation. In every water station thereafter, I slowed, drank and adjust. I felt that it was the longest run I did in that Buendia stretch.
Kalayaan Bridge loomed before me. On the background was a clear sky with the sun just peeking behind a thin layer of cloud. And I was hurting badly. How ironic! The climb was a hard one. I took solace to the 10K runners trotting on the other direction. I knew some of them. At the top of the bridge, the lead 10K runners overtook me running like cheetahs on a hunt.
At the corner of 26th Street and 5th Avenue, I was ready to give up. My foot was throbbing in pain. How could such a trivial small area hurt the whole body so much? The pain was shooting up my legs, arms and shoulders. The side of my head was like being pricked by hundreds of small needles. I could stop this. I could go straight to the assembly area skipping the Lawton-Bayani loop. My first DNF. The weather was perfect, mocking me. The sun was already shining but its warmth was soft. I remembered my shades secured on my cap. I put it on as pride kicked in. I know I would need it. I will finish the race.
So I ran in pain near to tears that last 6 kilometers. I met Fernando as he came out of the Bayani Road, BR a few meters behind. I met friends and runners, JI, NH, Vener & Xty, Manny, Ronnie. I met office mates AT, RM, RC. I met famous faces TBR and Sen Pia. Some, I called by name, some, I waved. Hi five here, lo five there. But they could not see my teary eyes squinting in pain. My shades hid it all.
As I neared the finish line, my left foot was straining, perhaps for compensating the hurt on right foot. I could feel the flap of my cap waving in the air like a cape. I imagined myself like a wounded Arab legionnaire running to the safety of an oasis. My right foot burned! My eyes were like a dam ready to burst.
I crossed the mat 1hour 55 minutes… crying!
Postscript
In Botak-Paatibayan, the heat of the sun slowed me. I crossed the line eyes popping, nostrils flaring. In Run for Home, I was slowed down by blisters, stopped at water stations and crossed the finish in pain. But in these two races, I recorded my best times in the 21K (Garmin: 1.55).
On the contrary, Greenfields City Run and Milo 33rd Manila Elims, I ran strong. I felt good during those races. I even sprinted the last hundred meters like a race horse. Yet my time was relatively slower (Garmin: 1.57).
What does this tell me? My perceptive sense was topsy-turvy, my world was upside down or was my Garmin playing tricks on me? Perhaps in the next race, I’ll subject myself to even worse conditions, then maybe I would get a better time…
