Airspeed Run: Foiled Again!

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.

Power Run: Of humor and perplexity

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.