Singapore Marathon: Swept Away

It was a cloudy and humid day break at Esplanade.  The scant breeze passing over Singapore River on my left was warm and damp.  A street cleaner was busy washing and sweeping the park’s walkway.  Four ladies were on the middle of their Tai Chi form as I passed below the Bridge going towards the theater.  A bus load of tourists was climbing the access stairs to the top of the Bridge clicking their cameras left and right.  One of them even took a shot at me while I slowly passed their group.  A couple of runners were also trying out the heat of the morning sweating profusely.

It was the day before the great race and I was running easy to feel out the area.   It would be my first running anniversary.  I could not help being transported back to memory lane when I first started to join a road race…

I was wearing a plain white cotton shirt and basketball shoes.  In my hand was my cellphone to be used as 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…

Minutes before the start, adrenaline rushed through my system.  My senses were ultra-heightened.  I could see the distinct blades of the grass, smelled 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 puffing and huffing as I approached the finish line.  My shoulders were cramping and I could feel strain in my calf and toes.  My shirt, heavy with sweat and water, was starting to hurt my neck and 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 was in a high while seeping water and holding a bag full of freebies with the finisher tee hanging over my shoulder listening to the awarding program.  Such a great feeling completing a race…  I would join more.  And I’ll strive for my first full marathon a year hence… in Singapore…

The plan coming to fruition, only it would be my 2nd marathon after QCIM.  I thought I could best my first try.  I was feeling good and so far, my experience has been great.  I was still musing over the claiming of the race kit.  It was only a 5-minute affair from queuing, collecting of the pack and testing of the chip.  Talk about efficiencies! And the expo was filled with relevant items…

Reaching Raffles Avenfue, I was pulled out of my reverie when I observed numerous conspicuous signs notifying motorist of road closure and rerouting schemes during race day.  I learned that the signs was put up more than a week before and could be found all over the race course.  We could also do this at home and prevent or minimize snarling traffic and angry motorists. I reached the grounds of Singapore Flyer, a humongous Ferris Wheel that seemed to reach the sky.  It was an expansive road bereft of vehicle beside the river.  More joggers were in the area.  The 40th kilometer marker was already there as well as some small tents, tables and tarpaulins.  Here I made a U-turn and returned to the park to complete my 20 minute easy run.  Singapore, so far, has marked a first-rate impression.  I was in high spirits and hoping race day would live up to expectations.

Race day. I stationed myself at the head of the second pen somewhere in the middle of the Esplanade Bridge.  It was still dark and starless.  Singapore River sparkled on both sides and lights from tall buildings defined the cityscape.  In Manila, this time, the sky would already be blue-black as light slowly seeps in.  The Bridge was like a giant bee hive where almost 15-17 thousand full marathon runners happily, impatiently awaited the start of the race.  On the sides were 30+ thousand more runners waiting for their turn.  The air was humid and warm.  It would have been cold and fresh back in Manila.  The host was counting down the minutes…

“…4 minutes… 3 minutes… 2 minutes…” then total silence.  The loud buzz softened to a low pitch mumbled like a shy bass singer.  Then way in front, there was movement… bobbing of heads going backwards towards us like a ripple extending from the source of disturbance.  And then we were moving, slowly and accelerating like being swept away by tidal wave pulling everyone in its path.  It took more than 4 minutes before I could cross the starting mat.  And then we were running full pace despite the crowd.  Shoulder to shoulder I ran with Singaporeans, Americans, Europeans, Asians, everyone passionate runners.  There was a sense of camaraderie on the air.  Everyone was smiling and giving greetings, delighted to be part of the event.

Barely reaching the first kilometer, the lead runners, Kenyans, were already on the other side of the road, their 3rd kilometer, completing the first loop swiftly like a pack of wolves on a hunt.  This early, they have piled quite a big distance from the trailing runners.

Trees laced with silver and blue lights lined the dark and quiet road.  Only the soft thud of running shoes and low mumble of passing runners disturbed the silence.  Tall buildings with hollow eyes and mouth eerily stared down at the slithering procession.  I was with a group running a sub-6 mpk pace.  Water stations with long tables manned by a battalion of servers and cheerers appeared at regular intervals.  “All the way, all the way…you can do it!” they cried while offering cups of water or waving big hand effigies.  The course took us around the city boulevards, highway and parks.  I reached the 10K mat at the hour.  By this time, light has just started to tint the cloudy skies.  It was 6:30 in the morning.

The 42Kers followed the East Coast Park Service Road where a man-made lake was centered complete with sandy beach, trees, camper tents and food stalls.  Between the 16th and 17th kilometer there was a rah-rah station composed of a band, cheerers and loud music.

“I got a feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a good good night!  I got a feeling, wooohhooo!…”

The large speakers beside the path emitted beats that thumped the chest and made the runners fleet-footed.  It was a very groovy party atmosphere that motivated us to push on.  I quickly reached the half-way U-turn then the 21K point at the second hour.  This time it was already full light.

Clouds covered the skies hiding the sun from its full glare.  I noticed that most runners were slowing down, walking and I was overtaking almost everyone I saw.  I made a mental check on my conditions feeling for signs of pain, strain or weariness.  My heart rate and breathing was also fine and I still felt strong that I confidently changed my plans and go for a sub-4 hrs finish.  I increased my pace a little to match my computation and delightedly charged.

The return route was on a narrow pathway along the beach.  Here, there were many local supporters by the side egging the runners.  They carried placards of encouragements with full genuine smiles in their faces.

“No walk zone”
“Do it for daddy!”
“Hey, my grandmother is ahead of you”
“Naked babe sunbathing ahead”

Hi-fives, lo-fives and even odd dance numbers greeted the runners.  Aid stations were still coming at regular intervals and aside from the water and electrolytes, liniment lotions were also provided.  I reached the 30K mat in 2 hours50 minutes.

Exiting the East Coast Park, the full marathoners were converged with the half marathon runners.  Back in the concrete jungle in the bright morning, the streets were packed with a sea of sky blue shirts.  There were no traffic, no horns honking, and no motorist raging.  In the middle of the melee at Stadium Boulevard, it was a pleasant surprise to bump to my wifey who was doing her 21K.  She was very surprised as well when I ran beside her and tried to nudge her.  She thought it was someone else.  After some meters of cheesy company, I ran ahead; a man on a mission.

I was running at a constant pace of 5:30mpk and counting the kilometers… 34…35…36… then disaster struck.  A sharp pain from my left hamstrings… then cramps on the left thigh… side stitches… in successive progression.  Just like in QCIM, the pain switch was turned-on suddenly without a warning at the 36th kilometer.  I tried to slow down, down and down until I finally gave in to walking.  My sweat went cold as I plodded on.  It raised odd goose bumps in such a humid warm weather.  Run half kilometer, walk 2 minutes had become my counting cycle.  I bid my sub-4hrs goodbye and willed myself to just best my QCIM time.  It became a sight-seeing tour as I run-walk along Kalang Road, Crawford Street, Republic Avenue where all runners from different categories converged like vegetables in a cook pot.  The cheerers were more intense at this stage.  “All the way, all the way…you can do it…don’t walk!” relentlessly and patiently.

I passed the F1 Pit building, then the great Singapore Flyer at the 40th kilometer at the 4th hour.  The big structure mocked at me.  Just the day before, it was an easy run… now reduced to just completing the race in pain.  By that time, I was projecting two heights: 5’8” when I step on my right; 5’7” when I step on my left.

At the last water station, I drank gratefully but not gracefully.  Hanging there like a bunch of grapes on a windblown vine, I spilled nearly as much as I took.  Most people were walking here; a mass of wave sweeping anybody along its passing.  Upon reaching Esplanade Bridge, the festivities at the finish line nearby could already be heard.  People started to quicken their paces as the smell of the end drew near.  I made my best ignoring limp and pain rounding the last loop to City Hall.

I crossed the finish line in 4:21:09 netting 4:18:05 raising my right fist in triumph and making a puny leap at the last mat.  I beat my QCIM time by 8 minutes.

As I claimed my medal and finisher’s tee, I reflected on a great experience this Singapore Marathon.  From start to finish: from race marketing and preparation to collection of race kit to the expo to crowd and vehicular traffic control to race conduct to claiming of medals and freebies, and even to deposit and claim of baggage, it was a demonstration of effectiveness and efficiency between organizers, community and government.

We could learn a lot from this!

QCIM: Hard road to perdition

“Drip, drop, drip, drop” I can hear the echo of the water drops from an incompletely closed faucet.  I was lying in bed staring at the dark plastered ceiling.  I did not have the will to stand up and tighten the loose valve.  “Tick, tock, tick, tock” the clock hanging on the wall was an overwhelming sound from the encompassing silence.   Only hours before the start of my first marathon, and I could not sleep.  My wife beside me was in a sound slumber, her chest rising and falling evenly.  She will be having her first half-marathon and she was sleeping like a baby.  I was not so relaxed then during my first half-marathon at the Condura Run.  Just like then, I was nervous as hell.  As time quickly passed, somehow, I doze lightly, a dreamless passage broken by the sudden blaring of the alarm clock.  How many hours had passed?  Or was it just mere minutes? It doesn’t matter, it was time.

After quickly preparing, we sped off, some 45 kilometers to QC Hall.  Almost the same distance that I would run that day, I mused.  It was a festive atmosphere with the Kenyan delegates highly conspicuous.  I positioned myself in the middle of the corral as the runners were asked to check-in.  Butterflies were fluttering in my stomach.  I was very nervous.  It was the same sensation when I first joined road race last December at Runnex Executive 25th.  I took solace that there were a number of first time marathoners excitedly waiting to start.  I closed my eyes and remembered the previous week Milo Marathon preceded by a war dance that perked my spirits.  I remembered the drums, the forms and the waving flags.  And then it began.

After so much fanfare, the starting gun fired in the air.  It was still dark and starless as the marathoners were released.  The vastness of the empty circular road added to the oppressiveness of the hour.   Escorts, cheerers and other runners noisily marked the send-off.  The first five kilometers took us inside UP then returned back to Commonwealth.  I maintained a 6:15-6:30 mpk pace to warm up.  It was a very familiar road yet eerie in such an unholy time.  Arrays of streetlamps provided pools of light illuminating the streets. Giant, old, gnarled trees lining the avenue posted like sentinels and seemed ready to grab and drab trespassers.  As we exit to Commonwealth Avenue, at the 5th kilometer marker, someone shouted “37K na lang!” And so it began.

Commonwealth Avenue was a hard concrete road.  I felt its effect on the limbs during the reconnaissance run a fortnight ago.  I prepared for this by opting to wear my heavier but more cushioned Asics Nimbus 11.  I also forced myself to run on midfoot and strike on bended knees.  The road was wide and the rolls were long and steep like traversing hills after hills.  I increased my pace to 5:50-6 mpk.  At km 10 as the course made a short detour towards Batasan, the 21K front runners, a couple of Kenyans running like cheetahs on a hunt in the savannah overtook me.  On-lookers were awed with “ooohs” and “ahhhs” following the trail of the pair.  I caught up with the 4:30 pacers led by Hardcore’s Jonel and Lester.  I decided to run behind them.  After all, my target was to finish in the area between 4.5 to 5 hours.  Steady as it goes.

Light was spreading along the cloud-covered sky as we passed Litex area where there were lots of people, some watching, and some cheering.  Most of them with amazement and perplexity curved in their faces, perhaps on the discovery of the supposedly busy street filled with handsome and beautiful runners instead of monstrous and hideous smoke-belching vehicles.  As we reach the access road to La Mesa Ecopark near the 16th kilometer, the pacers slowed and stopped depositing their personal gears, cap and shades to their support vehicle.  It was announced at the start of the race that such items were not allowed inside the park.  I continued running ahead to the park’s entrance maintaining pace.  Anticipation mounted.

The La Mesa Ecopark was a come-on to the participants and a much desired portion of the route.  It is a watershed and the primary source of water to Metro Manila.  It has 2,000 hectares of forest; the only woodland in Metro Manila.  The smooth asphalt road framed by trees and the huge body of water was a welcome respite to the concrete jungle.  The waters were calm stretching to far hinterlands.  I could sit there all day mesmerized by its serenity.  Somehow, I drifted away from the pace group not knowing whether I sped up or they slowed down.  Most probably the former and I found myself running with just a couple of runners.  They were consuming energy bars.  I have not tried those power gels and wondered how it would affect my run.  The route out of the park was an unyielding uphill.  A number of instances, when I thought that a downhill around a curve was imminent, another uphill loomed.  I was glad that no one took away my hydration belt and other personal effects as warned earlier such that I had water and electrolytes for those 3-4 kilometers of challenging climbs.  The exit of the park abruptly ended the tranquility to the hustle and bustle of the Metro.  Chaos waited.

I was running a little over 2 hours as I passed the half-way mark in the midst of a traffic jam filled with buses, jeepneys, trikes and smoke, smoke and more smoke.  We had to share the hard paved streets with the vehicles around SM Fairview back to Commonwealth.  The marshals and police did a great job protecting the runners and ensuring their safety.  One of the marshals even blocked testy motorist putting motorcycle, limbs and bone into harm’s way eliciting torrents of curses and threats.  The roads were downhill to almost level until Commonwealth Avenue.  I was pacing 5:30-5:40 mpk until I was greeted by an incline as I re-entered Commonwealth Avenue.  Not for the faint of heart.

The rolling hills of Commonwealth Avenue were now mountain high.  It was mind-boggling how a tectonic movement could have occurred in a span of an hour or so.  After topping a mountain, the next higher peak would emerge into view that would really put to question the resolve even of the strongest.  It was a continuous ascent and descent like a roller coaster ride.  Water supply was thinning out.  The few that I could grab, I doused it over my head.  Along Litex, the road had become a play ground to children and living room to the adults.   It was however a welcome relief that some of them would cheer, do high and low fives and even offered morsels.  Unexpected turn.

I was doing a 5:40-5:50 mpk pace running strong when I reached the 36th kilometer.  Suddenly my calves hardened.  Then my thighs strained and side stitches appeared in quick successions.  Just like that, as if a pain switch was turned-on nonchalantly.  Despite my easy rhythmic breathing and leveled pulse (~160bpm), I was forced to slow down.  Time seemed to compress and stretch out, both at once. My body felt as if I ran for days.  People seemed to move as though floating in jelly.  Did I hit the dreaded “wall”? It couldn’t be.  My notion of the “wall” is that it would stun me immobile and there’s nothing I could do but wait for rescue.  But I was still running, I was still moving.  I tried to run faster but my feet were heavy as if shackles restrained it.  I was dismayed and helpless.  I felt fear, rank and raw as a festering wound.  If this was a lesser race, 15K or 21K, a DNF would have been an easy decision.  But much has been invested, 36 kilometers of it!  What irony, the finish line was at sight, albeit a route to North Avenue, and I was there almost giving up.  I was reduced to a run-walk pattern.  I did a cycle of 500 meters run and 1 minute walk.  I dare not walk more lest my feet totally give up.  It was the longest and most excruciating 5K.  At the 41st kilometer marker, I summoned all my strength to run all the way to the finish.  It was a great lift when small children ran with me until the circular road egging me to go on.  It was like an escort of cherubins.   Heaven-sent!

The finish line slowly appeared at the curve just meters ahead of me.  My wife was there waiting for me in the sidelines with a big smile in her face.  I leapt for joy as I crossed the mat punching the air with clenched fist.  I clocked 4 hours 27 minutes.

It was mixed feelings as I walked towards the assembly area.  I was happy that I reached my target time but disappointed on what happened in the final kilometers.  In the depths of my reverie, I was surprised that a lady was in front of me, out of the blue handing me a certificate and putting medal around my neck…a medal.  I was not a sucker for medals but the symbolism of it hit me.  It only began to sink in, I completed a marathon!  I have done it, my first.  Yes, I have done it!  At last, I smiled.  Nothing else matter.

Epilogue
My wife and I were walking on a nice pathway with stone seats by the side going to the parking lot at QC Hall with the QC monument at our background.  We were both limping and dragging our feet like old couples.  She finished her 21K but experienced cramps.  We were holding on to each other supporting one another afraid to let go lest we fall, stumble and unable to get up.

“Why are we doing this?”
“The answer is irrelevant; we will still be doing it!”
“You drive.”
“No, you drive.”
“I’m sleeping…”
“I’m hungry…”

Unchartered Water

Summer solstice has ended and the season is at the thick of autumnal equinox, where the length of night evens out with the length of day.  It was 6PM in the evening and it was already dark as night can be.  A few weeks back, bright light still suffused this part of the world at this hour.  Lights from arrays of streetlamps made pools of dim glow along the pavement.  It had drizzled a while ago and pockets of dark clouds hovered just below the skyline.    The road was slightly damp and a soft wind was blowing.  It was cool and it was a good evening to run.

I was preparing for an easy run both to keep my body tuned and to uplift my spirits.  Whew, people’s suffering has not ended two weeks after the wake of typhoon “Ondoy”.  Their miseries and tragedies were more than enough to put anyone down and mull over one’s mortality.

I was in taper mode after 12 weeks of training for my first 42K.  I had waded into unfamiliar waters.  The week before Ondoy’s madness, I reached, for the first time, over 70km mileage and 75km on the week after.  Last week, I went over 80kms culminating with a reconnaissance run (organized by Jazzrunner) on the actual route.  That was more than twice my usual weekly mileage.  And I could not explain my body response to the increase in intensity.  Sometimes I felt so good and conditioned but other times I felt tired and spent.  The sensation ebbed from one to the other without pattern like an erratic heart seizure.  Did I overtrain?

I started my run on the usual route on the road around Palms Country Club.  After two rounds, sweat broke out profusely despite the wind.  While running, I played in my mind over and over my goals for the race.  Can I do 4.5 hours or target 5 hours?  Will I go negative splits or even-paced?  Or perhaps join one of the pace groups?

I changed course and trot to the road going to Filinvest Mall.  Glaring lights from a driving range to my left illuminated the area while the packed Manong’s restaurant beside it provided the merry, rowdy noise from its patrons.  I passed the stately Vivant and Aspen Towers to my right with parked cars along the road and elegantly uniformed guards manning the gates.  My thoughts wandered on the running gears to wear.  Definitely, I’ll be using the Asics Nimbus 11 for my footwear.  Its thick comfortable cushioning will help with the shocks of the hard cemented surface of the course.  I haven’t decided on the jersey between Nike Fit and the Adidas ClimaCool.

Just before reaching Filinvest Mall, I made a U-turn and went back turning right to the street before Manong’s.  This street is seldom used by vehicles.  I passed beside the length of the golf driving range spying on the golfers practicing their swings.  “Tick!” as the club hit the sweet spot sending the balls hundreds of yards forward.  Ball pickers on the other end of the range, protected by iron cage on their back scooped the balls from the green.  Sometimes a flying ball will struck the cage and makes a loud sound, “Clang!”  I would start on a pasta diet days before the race.  I usually cook my pasta, so I thought about recipes.  Red sauce, oil-based, pesto, no, not the white ones.  How about a little classy in one or two occasions to break the monotone: Vologne, Putanesca and so on.

I passed Parque España condominium to my left and was approaching Commerce Avenue across South Super Market.  I made a U-turn and retraced my route back to Palms Country Club.  A lap gone and nothing have been firmed.  A couple of laps more and I would be more involved hoping to put some order to my still disarrayed mind while sweet sweat rolled down my forehead under the cool soft wind.

I’m like a sailor voyaging into the far and the unknown.  Are my provisions enough?  Will the storm god let me pass?  Will I be devoured by the monster Scylla or be sucked by the whirlpools of Charybdis?  Or perhaps fall at World’s End?  This is my maiden full marathon.  This is uncharted water.

Milo 33rd Manila Elims: The Envious

Rain was pelting as I ran the sidewalks of Roxas Blvd.  It was a thin curtain of water falling from the sky drenching my green Milo jersey.  Manila Bay at my right seemed like an agitated monster throwing angry waves to the breakwater.  That’s odd, it’s just a drizzle and there’s hardly any wind yet the sea was like heralding a storm.  It was my maiden marathon and only a couple of kilometers more to the finish.  I looked around and was surprised that I was running alone.  I thought I saw runners way back but it looked like they were left behind or vanished.  The avenue was busy with vehicles and only a few people braved the rain.  When I reached Luneta, I was still alone…

“Wake up, wake up.  We need to leave early.” my wife shook me out of my sleep.

It was a dream.

“Come on, parking will be terrible,” she continued to shake me.
“Ok, I’m awake.  Please prepare breakfast.” I replied groggily.

That was the second strange dream after I finally decided not to run the full marathon a week ago.  In the first dream, I was running lost.  Wearing a green jersey with blurred design, although I was sure it was a Milo singlet, I ran at Roxas, Buendia, to the Fort, to UP, to some unrecognized route until the dream shifted out to other dreams.

Driving towards the race site, I was still pondering on the decision to downgrade to a half.  I lacked training.  I lacked mileage.  That was it! Regret was a heavy burden. Too many plans and milestones went awry.  It could have been my very first marathon.  I could have breached my first 1000 kilometers.  And it could have been a fitting birthday gift.  Regrets!

We finally found a parking at Kalaw Street after circling around the area.  We were crossing Roxas Blvd towards the starting point when the 42K runners were released.  I watched them pass in front of us and my heart sank.  I could have been one of them, excited and determined.  I was gnashing my teeth.  I wanted to howl!

My wife patted my hands sensing my lament.  This would be her first competitive 10K after being sidelined for more than three months due to injury.

I concentrated on planning my 21K run to take away thoughts of despair.  I thought of being technical, a negative split.  This would be a first time and it would be useful experiencing it.  I would strictly run 6-6:30mpk on the first 10K then 5-5:15mpk on the last 11K hitting a sub-2 hours performance.

I met friends at the starting corral.  JI planned to run at a 5mpk pace throughout.  While NH would be on a relax 6:30-7mpk.  After the warm-up exercises and message from the race director, the familiar blare of the starting gun reverberated in the air.

It was still dark but daylight was slowly seeping in.  Light from colorful flower-like lamps lining the boulevard were enticing.  Manila Bay was a serene undisturbed gray with boats floating like fireflies.  The road was a sea of greens.  NH paced with me until the first flyover at Buendia.  Light has prevailed revealing a pale blue sky with few high clouds.  It would be hot.  NH fell behind at the foot of the bridge as he slowed down to his planned speed.

On the second flyover, a runner planted himself in front of me.  He has the smell.  I tried to overtake him but he kept up.  I didn’t want to divert from my plan so I backed down.  He also slowed matching my strides.  Oh man, why do you have to choose me! I wouldn’t have mind, but he has the smell!  I tried to get as far as possible even slowing but the stink wafted in and out.  This went on passing the U-turn at the Coastal Mall back to the flyover.  It was still half-kilometer before the 10th when I had enough.  I cut short my split and started the fast pace.  The smelly man was surprised at my burst of speed.  He tried to pace but he could not keep up.  That put a smile on my face.

After crossing Taft Avenue going towards the second U-turn, I met the leading 21K runners.  Then after just a few moments, the leading 42K runners also passed.  Wow, these guys were eating the road.  The feeling of resentment returned.  42K… I could be somewhere back there, perhaps huffing it out at the Fort area…

The sun shone brightly at my back after I made the U-turn near Ayala Avenue.  I was grateful with my new red cap.  It has a cloth extending at its rear covering my nape protecting it from the heat.  The only hitch was that I looked like a World War 2 Japanese soldier.

Approaching Taft Avenue on a return route, I was overtaken by a lady runner.  She was being paced by an unregistered male.  He handed her a water bottle.  Then with another container, he poured water in her head.  She was doing a full marathon.  Despite my relatively fast pace, she still left me in her dust.  Gosh! She must be doing 4:30 mpk or less. A couple more 42Kers overtook me as I approached the turn to Roxas Blvd.

The last 3 kilometers seemed so close yet so far away.  It’s a straight line with only stoplights in the horizon.  The boardwalk was already packed with people.  People walking; people jogging; people dancing; people fishing.  I reached stoplight after excruciating stoplight.  It seemed without end.  Then the 1 km marker was deceiving.  My Garmin indicated the marker was off by as much as a kilometer.

Kilometer 0 was littered by people going in hundreds of directions.  It was quite a challenge negotiating through them.  At the last 500 meters as announced by a host, I made a last kick to the finish.

I crossed the line at 1 hour 57 minutes.

While searching for my wife in the midst of the festivities, I cannot help but watch the finishers crossing the 42K chutes.  Most raised their hands in triumph; some shouted for joy; one or two even tumbled down in fatigue.  I found no shame there.  All I saw were victory.  I could have been victorious too.

Epilogue
Roxas Blvd was already opened to motorist when we finished a long hearty breakfast with friends.  I was driving on that road near Buendia when I saw packets of runners still trying to make it to the finish.  It was past 11AM.  I was in awe and deep admiration for these strugglers.  Maybe, if I pursued my full marathon run, I could be one of those.  And perhaps, I would not have regretted it.

The Missing Link

The euphoria of finishing 21K, no, The Condura 21K still lingers like a cherished memory.  It’s been a great feat since returning/starting to run last December.  I still remembered musing then that a Half Marathon was only probable at mid-year.   But the allure of the Condura was irresistible.  It’s like the organizers has staged an effective, efficient and enchanting hypnosis.  This was evidenced by the multitude of newbies, first-timers, and virgins ecstatically braving the event.

So what’s next?  What’s to top the experience of Condura?  When and where to tell the next grand tale?

A faster 21K?   There’s something there, maybe an incremental satisfaction.  But not as much an adrenaline rush like jumping 10K or 15K to 21K, and we’re talking The Condura 21K.

A jump to 42K?  Ahhh, now we’re talking.  The journey from 5K to 10K to 15K to 21K is comprehensible.  But a 21K to 42K is mind-boggling!  It’s like a leap between two cliffs, the chasm of death waiting below.  The hardcores and the more industrious runners can do it in 14, 16 weeks or even less.  But for moderate runners like me, it is months or years away and lots and lots of extra rice.  Sigh!

Is there something in between?  Something more realistic in a relatively shorter time for the likes of me.  A bridge linking two cliffs, the 21K and the holy grail of running for most, the 42K.  Perhaps a 30K race… how about Three-Quarters-Marathon… or a Twenty-Miler?  On the other side of the world, the latter is not unheard of.

I can only wish, hope and pray…