Runnex 26th Open: A Memory of Light

Nostalgia gripped me as I parked the car.  The place was so familiar like a second home away from home.  I spent my glory college days in these grounds.  And this was where it started – my return romance with running.  Six months ago, December 2008, at Runnex 25th Executive Run, I was practically a greenhorn in the sport. Same organizer, same distance, same route…

Blink.  I was wearing a plain white cotton shirt and basketball shoes.  In my hand was a cellphone-turned-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.

…but the person has somewhat improved.  Wearing a cool dri-fit Adidas runner shirt, a light Asics racer shoes, a Garmin sports watch, I walked to the starting point with much more confidence and surety.

It was a good weather.  The mood was jovial.  The participants seemed few, most probably due to the three other races simultaneously happening within the day.  The announcer called the runners for the check-in to the starting line…

Blink.  Minutes before the start, adrenaline rushed through my system.  My senses were ultra-heightened.  I can see the distinct blades of the grass, smell 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 calm like an undisturbed pool of water as I waited for the start.  First to go were the wheelchair racers.  They were sent-off with runners, marshals, on-lookers, cheering and clapping.  It was an inspiring sight.  A couple of minutes later, the 10K participants were released.  I planned to have a sub-50 minutes finish, so I settled to a sub-5 minutes per kilometer pace.

Trees, shades and greeneries marked the route.  Joggers, picnickers, bikers, football players, frisbee throwers and even early-morning-lovers-holding-hands-while-walking-slowly dotted the area.  A balance of open areas, college buildings and historic structures back-dropped the setting…

Blink.  I was maintaining a conservative pace and I was wondering if I would overtake the runner in front of me.  I know I can do it but I was unsure and even shy to do so.  I glanced at the oblation.  It seemed to raise its eyebrows challenging me to go ahead.  It even threatened to go down its pedestal and kick me in the butt.  I was insane.

…I used the technique of marking and overtaking runners ahead of me.  Of course, there were others who used me as their targets and went ahead.  Near the finish, I was still running at a good effort when my Garmin alarmed marking the 10th kilometer.  It was 48.5 minutes.  But the finish was still hundreds of meters away.  So I kicked my pace faster…

Blink.  I was puffing and huffing as I approached the finish line.  My shoulders were cramping and I can feel strain in my calf and toes.  My shirt, heavy with sweat and water, was starting to hurt my 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 clocked 1 hour and 3 minutes.

…I crossed the finish line at 50 minutes.  The Garmin registered 10.45 kilometers.

After that race, 6 months ago, I was delighted joining that race.  It was like a light that suddenly illuminated a new path to a new lifestyle.  I have improved much, surpassing many targets, but there are much to learn, many more objectives to achieve, and more memories to cherish.  The journey continues.

PSE Bull Run: A day to celebrate

The usual festive scent of racing drifted in the air.  The waning dawn and cool winter temperature added to the feeling of anticipation.  It was the first race of the year and attendance was overwhelming.  The assembly area was packed with runners.  There were odd participants: contingencies from the Army and battalions of school boys and girls. The loudspeaker emitted the voice of a trying announcer while preparations were underway to start the race.  Signs and streamers of sponsors littered the venue.  I’ve recruited my wife to join and she was running the 3K event.  It was her first ever race but she was calm.  I could sense a feeling of wonder from her.  Perhaps wondering why and how a thousand bodies find pleasure and enjoyment in tiring themselves to death.  I hoped she would eventually be my willing and able lifetime running buddy.  Observing her discretely, I thought I will have my wishes.  My careful plans and moves were coming to sweet fruition.

I was listed in the 10K event with boss RM and colleague RC.  The three of us ran at the Runnex 25th Executive Classic a month before.  It was a story of exploits for me.  After over a decade and a half of absence, I finished just minutes over the hour mark ahead of my well-trained and well-equipped companions.  Somehow, that story has helped persuade other officemates to join the sport; BA and CT will be running their first race.  Together with OO, they were participants to the 5K event.  They were late, as expected.  RM had their race packs and was worried for them like a mother hen looking for missing chicks.  RC also had not arrived.  He probably lost his way again as in the previous race then would suddenly emerge at the head of the pack.  Hmmm, an eyebrow rising trend…

The 10K runners were called to their places.  I left my wife to the 3K assembly area and gave her my best wishes.  RC remained at the 5K area waiting impatiently.  I positioned myself in the middle of the thickening corral while the announcer exasperatedly tried to entertain the anxiously waiting racers.  JI greeted me as he walked towards the front of the dense pack.  He’s my old running chum during college years.  He cheered me at the Runnex and helped me prepare for this race.  I also saw NH, another college-days comrade.  He was at the Yakult 10 miler while JI and I were at the Runnex.  We gaily greeted each other and promised to talk after the race.  He was also moving forward.  By ethics, runners going strong were positioned at the front.  People were now shoulder-to-shoulder like cows herded inside a holding pen.  Fresh air seemed to be sucked down replaced by deep summer heat shimmering in the stillness.  The smell from hundreds of stomach permeated.  The announcer continued to irritate the ear.  Impatience and annoyance filled the atmosphere, a bad combination.

Finally, the minute countdown to start was announced with the arrival of a lady senator-runner.  That cheered the mob, oh, I mean the crowd.  I switched my Sony-Ericsson W800i to lap timer mode and held it tightly.  My pre-race ritual began involuntarily.  Bile started to rise threatening to empty my stomach.  Heart menacingly pounded the chest shaking the whole body.  Teary eyes almost bursting dam of water.  I wanted to snarl!

It was not the familiar “Pak!” of the gun that was heard but a “Clang! Clang!” of a bell that opened the floodgates that poured out people running finally out of the claustrophobic confines.  I commenced at a slow to moderate pace.  Many overtook me like a mad dash pursued by unseen horror.  After the stoplight, a number of male runners took advantage of a wall behind some trees and relieved themselves of their swelling bladders.  “Traitors!”

At the first kilometer point, I checked my phone-turned-stopwatch and it counted 6.5minutes.  Good pace!  I was going for a negative split to achieve my personal goal.  I came abreast a runner pushing the stroller of his disabled son.  I gave the boy a smile as I passed.  “Kudos to you, man!” I quietly murmured.

At the second kilometer, I took my water ration.  At that point I was searching for a pacer.  I saw a fair lady way ahead of me who seemed to have the same speed as I did.  I trotted quickly to catch up and matched her stride for stride inconspicuously.  Her black jersey and shorts further underlined her light skin and pretty face.  She wore a serious expression, a lady on a mission.  She was perspiring profusely but seemed to have an even breathing.  A perfect pacer indeed, steady stride, nice form and pleasant to look at.  What else would I have gazed at?  The scenery was not really enticing: stone houses, makeshift stores, small establishments and onlookers eyeing the lady that I was following.  I stayed with her for the next kilometers.  During that time, I started to appreciate my new ASICS Gel Bandito.  At the Runnex, I have on a NIKE basketball shoes that resulted in days of sore muscles, weeks of hurting knees and an ugly black big toenail that would probably last for months.  The ASICS was cool to the feet.   With the NIKE, my feet were like on top of a furnace.  The strike to the ground was also superior allowing easier rolling of the instep.  “It’s running shoes against basketball shoes, moron, why don’t you try to play hoops with the ASICS!” I chided myself.  One thing that I failed to discern was the advantage of a lighter weight.  The ASICS was half as heavy as the NIKE but I barely made out the difference at the thick of the run.  “Does a few ounces really make a difference?” I wondered.

Passing the fifth kilometer on the return route began the most challenging portion.  Aside from dodging cars, jeepneys and blaring motorcycles competing with the runners for road space, there was a long upward slope.  It was also time to increase my pace.  I obliged for a water stop and jogged to the foot of the slope while psyching myself of glories to gain and princess to rescue.  I could sense adrenaline rushing, and felt my face heating.  My back and arms felt icy.  As if with their own minds, my innards reacted to my dark plan.  My stomach complained of stiffness, my head paced in circles like a nervous groom and my kidneys were shouting for justice. At the base of the slope, I summoned my friend courage and started pumping more energy to my system.  I said my silent thanks and goodbyes to my pretty pacer and quicken my strides.  My thighs were straining as I battled the slope relentlessly.  I passed many runners and some dogs and cats.  At the top of the slope, my chest was pounding and my ears were throbbing.  It’s a flat path forward but another slope was on the far end.  So little time to recover and no time for water, I pushed on.

Emerging to the main street, Lawton Ave, I was almost out of breath.  I was puffing heavily through both mouth and nose.  My throat was parched.  I checked my phone cum timer; it was 20 minutes before the hour mark.  I reverted to my pre-slope-battle pace to allow myself to recover.  Upon reaching the McKinley Hill intersection, over 7 minutes had passed and I resumed my ground-eating run.  I was determined to beat the hour mark.  My aim was hindered by the increasing number of runners on the return route.  At this juncture, there was a mixture of 10K, 5K, 3K participants and fun run walkers to boot.  I was like a drunken driver crisscrossing the street in a slow traffic.  There was even an instance where I have to plough through interlinked walkers who seemed to barricade the road.

The last few hundred of meters encouraged faster pace short of sprinting.  It was a downward slope then a flat one.  I refrained to look at my phone-a-la-timer as I accepted the invitation to speed up.  I could see the corner where upon turning, the finish line would be just a few more huffs.  Faster.  I could smell success.  Just a little more.  I felt like a warrior slaying the 60 minute beast.  Go, go go! At the turn, I was met by a grim sight. Whoa! There were long lines of runners waiting to cross the line.  Chaos! I almost stopped, confused on where to go.  What the… A man directed me to the shorter 10K line.  Sigh… I reached the end of the 10K queue somewhere in the middle of the turning point and finish line.  Whew!  I stopped my timer; it read 55 min 37 seconds.  I’ve done it! But why did I get this feeling of constipation?

I saw my wife beside the official clock.  Oh, there’s the clock, I bet only a few noticed.  She was shouting 55.3 minutes with a broad smile in her radiant face.  I could tell she had a fine race and enjoying herself with the jovial atmosphere.  It took over 5 minutes before I reached the finish line.  My wife met me there.  CT and OO were also there smiling like knuckleheads.  They did not have their race number when they ran.  Both arrived late.  CT said he was just stepping out of his car when the starting bell clanged and he had to scramble wildly.  We were waiting for the whole gang to arrive.  RM and RC were still running, while BA could be roaming around.  I saw NH crossed the line later.  He was disgusted with the long queue.  Same complain can be heard from a number of lips like a bee swarm buzzing in agitation.

Even if my finish was quite anti-climactic, it was still a day of celebration.  I got my sub-1 hour finish, my wife and the boys had their first taste of a race and RC has ice-cold beers in his trunk.

The Price of Pride

The small holiday get-together of the once mountaineers were both nostalgic and sassy. It was an unholy hour; everybody has had their fill of food and booze. Christmas spirit was out and about complemented by the cool temperature. Infectious laughter from different tables of the watering hole can be heard. Songs and carols were jingling in the background. In our gathering, gossips and small talks drifted from small groups to whole group to small groups swinging back and forth with occasional slapping, giggling and jeering. At one time, I approached JI and engaged him in a conversation about the Runnex 25^th Executive Classic race held at UP Diliman the week before. JI was my running companion during our glory days. We represented our organization (UPLB mountaineers) in running events more than any other member. He returned to running years earlier than I did and he clocked 49 minutes in the last Runnex. He was complimenting me for a strong finish for a “beginner”. I was still ecstatic with my performance, finishing 63 minutes for the 10K run, despite almost 18 years of absence. I remembered extending my limits in that race giving way to pride and bravery. And the price I paid for that moment of recklessness was lingering sores in both muscles and bones. The whole week after the race, I was practically limping resembling a wounded dog after a brutal fight. It took more than half week before the muscle pain subsided, not yet gone, but much better. The big toe of my left foot was ugly black and throbbing; and both my knees were still hurting already a week since. JI said “the shoe was the culprit!” with full certainty; I ran with my Nike basketball shoes that race. “And lack of training!” I emphasized. We were planning the next event we were to join and he gave advice on the preparation. He also recommended gadgets that he was sure to help my cause. I was resolved to be serious in this sport. I agreed that I needed the proper tools and toys for this aim. But, first and foremost, I needed a new pair shoes…

Manny Pacqioao’s victory over Dela Hoya still hugged the headline while I, apart from the whole citizens of the nation, frantically search for the perfect footwear like a nocked arrow looking for a target. How the industry had evolved! Every manufacturer brandished their own unique technology with myriads of options to choose. The “Air”, the “Gel”, the “Wave”, the “Abzorb”, all of them complicated, all of them beautifully explained, all of them convincing! To the point of being silly, I decided to trust the shoes that have took my fancy way, way back during financially challenged times for the simple reason that I’m amused with their old commercial about its ability to protect an egg from breakage. The last issue was picking the right model and after more deep involvement, the task at hand was reduced to visiting the store and trying out the remaining two contenders. Like an arrow finding its target straight and true, I was content and delighted with the Asics Gel Bandito. When I stepped out the store, my pocket was way far lighter. The shopping bag not only contained the shoes but also a couple of cool dry-fit jerseys and a hot red Speedo shorts.

The account is building and the bill for the pride continued to be paid.

Now, where do I get the Garmin…

Runnex 25th Executive Classic: A morning of triumphs

It was still dark when I arrived at the assembly area though light was slowly creeping in. The air was cool and crisp yet every now and then goose bumps dotted my exposed skin. My shirt was all white broken only by the pinned race bib displaying my number. I was wearing my favorite blue Speedo shorts and my versatile black Nike basketball shoes. This shoe I used in playing basketball (of course), futsal, badminton and even killing roaches. My precious gadget was the Sony Ericsson W800i which served as my timer and possibly to call for help in case something dire happened to me. It’s been 3 weeks and 20km since I returned to running after almost 18 years of absence and there I was, insanely registered for the 10km run. There was a 5km event, why did I not join that instead, I wondered. Pride, oh yes, “pride comes before a fall” so they say. This time the shiver did not come from the cold.

The stage was setup on the grassy space in front of the Music Hall. There were large speakers blaring music that seemed to energize the runners doing their warm-ups. Sponsor streamers wrapped the platform and hanged from the different booths on the right of the stage. The smell of excitement and anticipation was in the soft wind. Ladies and men wore shirts and sando of different cuts. There were a few blues and reds but these were drowned by whites and blacks. Clusters of people chatted idly while waiting for the program to start. The faces vary from smile to laughter to grimness to the determined. It was festive.

JI, a running companion during our UPLB days, found me and shouted “Hey you’re back!” and approached me clasping my shoulders. I said “Yeah, my boss forced me to run. He’s an officer here”. He’s fit and I learned that he’s been running for a long while and was in the sub-50 minute region for the 10K. I made a mental calculation, and concluded that in my condition, I might finish twice that time with luck, whew! As we parted, I met my boss, RM and his boss, AT among the crowd. RM was a regular runner but he’s in the wrong side of 50’s while AT was a tri-athlete and he’s near the golden age. I was ten years junior than AT and that should give me advantage, does it? I need something positive or I’ll bust. The two gave advises on the run and I was grateful. Same time, I was wondering where was my colleague RC, was he lost? RC started running only 6 months back and he has joined a number of races. I failed to notice that the program has started and the announcer was glorifying the sponsors and making well-thought jokes. I knew the start was near and bile started to rise. My heart was pounding like hell and I felt like emptying my stomach. What have I gotten myself into? This was a mistake!

It was already full light when we were asked to assemble. My nervousness was at its peak and I could feel adrenaline rushing through my veins. My senses were heightened. I could see the distinct blades of the grass; smelled smoke carried by the wind from afar and heard every conversation swirling around. “I can do this, stop acting like a fool”, I chided myself. I resolved to keep and maintain a respectable distance behind the bosses whatever the cost. Shocks! RC where the hell are you?

Pak! The gun boomed and we started to run. RM was pacing us. Though we started somewhere near the back, there were many overtaking us. As we went down slope, I spied on the long procession forward like a snake wading in the waters. I thought it was a good pace since I was keeping up in the first kilometer without the fast huh, hah of labored breathing. Going to the second kilometer was a down slope and it was easy. I enjoyed the shade of the trees covering the road. There were kids playing soccer at the Sunken Garden as we passed it. In front of the Melchor Hall, there was a water station but I was not thirsty so I planned to skip it. AT, however coerced me to take a drink and lectured on the need to hydrate in every opportunity. Of course I believed and took my ration. Second and third kilometers passed and I was still near their tails, self-confidence began to swell at this point. Towards the fourth kilometer, AT started to widen the gap. I’m just behind RM and I thought that I can give more. I restrained myself worrying that I might overdo and waste my effort. In the middle of the fourth and fifth kilometer, I began to question the pace of RM and I was debating inside whether to overtake or just keep up. We were in front of the oblation and it seems that the statue had a challenging look directed towards me. Imagination! Perhaps my brain was losing blood. But there it was, mocking, if only it was not obliged to hold its stance, it would have went down and kicked me. Bullied, I did a bold, brave move. I passed RM and set to catch AT who was becoming smaller and smaller. I was now oozing with confidence and determination. At this point, there was no doubt in my mind that I can complete the race. I fixed AT on my sights like a target within the crosshair of a rifle. I can feel the rigid road in every step as I increased my pace. “I am speed, I am strong” I chanted inside my head. My breathing was harder but steady. Meters passed the sixth kilometer, I was breathing behind AT’s neck. He was surprised when he finally noticed me and exclaimed “You’re here!” I kept pace with him and again knew I can give more. On the seventh kilometer, he slowed for water and I continue forward passing him. Water makes me heavy I reasoned. That was pride! “Dangerous! Pride comes before a fall” a nagging whisper warned me. I know AT would try to catch me so I lengthen my strides. That was pride! I started to pass runners and at this point, I lost distinction between confidence and pride. On the eighth kilometer, someone shouted “Hey you!” it was RC. He was at a slow pace, nostrils flaring, and hands on his sides. “Hey you…I…I can’t slow… or stop, I’ll see you at the line” I muttered. I was gliding! I don’t care if its pride but I’m flying! Approaching the ninth kilometer, I was alone, almost alone. I started to feel strain on my toes and calf. There’s also tightening behind the shoulders. My shirt was heavy with sweat and water. Less than 500 meters from the finish, I again passed oblation. This time, it was steady as a rock as it should be, staring at the clear blue beautiful sky. As I near the finish line, I saw JI waiting cheering me with clenched fist raised high. I noticed people clapping as if I was a champ. I raised both hands in victory still holding my W800i as I crossed the line. I clocked an hour and three minutes. I made it with flying colors! This was a morning of triumphs!

A New Beginning

During my younger years, I fancied myself as an athlete. I played competitive sports like basketball, volleyball and football. I started enjoying running while doing warm-ups to the mentioned sports. I began liking it so much that I added running to my list where I think and hope I would excel. Running gave a different kind of pleasure. The continuous wish-wush of the shoes hitting the pavement was like a hypnotizing drone relaxing my senses. The unreeling rhythm of breathing gave a different intoxication that somehow made my head feel lighter. Sweats coming out of my pores were welcome water cleaning seemingly year-old grime. And the slow thump-thump of the heart ostensibly trying to escape the chest was like drums heralding the coming of something exciting.

After college, the run was conquered by the gulp. The gulp also hypnotized, oddly, such as seeing an utterly ugly face as a kissable pretty; its intoxication whirls the world like a never ending kaleidoscope; and the thump-thump comes from inside of the head like veins pulsating wildly near to explosion. It’s been as such for over a decade and a half. Out of nowhere, the animal called “middle age” and its companion “deteriorating health” slowly made its presence felt like a feral dog growling in the dark corner ready to pounce the unwary. That drove me to want to remember the almost forgotten.

The return to running was slow, agonizingly slow. It’s a story of “yes, tomorrow, I’ll start” and tomorrow came, “tomorrow na lang” and tomorrow came again… Until one uneventful November day, RC, an officemate told his forays in the “New Balance Power Race” held in Clark. He ran 25K with two other officemates. His face was triumph personified. His audiences, including me, were mystified but thrilled. Him, finished 25K? I told myself, I could be the one telling that story. I remembered a long, long, long time ago I completed 21K and also told the victorious story. And I remembered the feeling; feeling like triumph turned into flesh and blood; feeling like the hero out of a fairy tale movie… then tomorrow was no more… my jog that same night was truly refreshing. A week after my return to the road, my boss, RM and my colleague, RC invited me to join the upcoming Runnex 25th Executive Classic to be held at UP, Diliman. It’s interesting but I’m unsure. I just totaled a pathetic 6km since and less than two weeks more before that race. Perhaps, I’ll join them after the holidays, I told them. The Sunday before the Runnex race, I found myself lapping the UP academic oval. I still could barely complete a round without walking before the pounding in my ears threatened to burst. I was resting in front of the Music Hall when I noticed the Runnex registration booth. I forced myself to look away, but it’s like a beacon in a stormy night. It’s like hearing the irresistible Sirens singing of songs of longing, of returning, of belonging. I dragged my foot forward, dragged my tired foot away towards the man with both hand outstretched to its side looking in the clear sky. I thought I saw that man raised his eyebrows at me; my wits must be leaving me. My vision swirled, everything blurred and time stretched. When my sight cleared, I found myself holding a brown envelope, kapow! The man with both hand outstretched to its side looking in the sky seems to be chuckling at me this time. Oh heavens help me, I am insane!