Milo 33rd Finals: War Dance

The onset of dawn was marked by the sound of thunderous drums booming out of tall speakers.  A call to arms!  The sound reverberated and seemed to thump every warrior’s chest.  Hearts throbbed and pumped more blood to the menacing beat of the rhythm.    Then the dancers in green and white rushed forward in an energetic fashion.  Feet stomping, thigh slapping, biceps flexing and complex gyration gracefully weaved in an intricate lace of choreography.  In the climax of the ritual, the dancers waved flags in the dark cold morning proud to lift the runner’s spirit and confidence.

The colors have been raised.  The Milo Marathon finalists, cream of the crop, the elite few prepared themselves for the send-off.  After they were ceremoniously released, they ran to the battlefield like seasoned warriors eager to defeat fiend and foe in a bloodlust.

As a spectator on the sides, I thought it was a delight to be sent off with a war dance.  Milo has made the innovation and once again proven itself to be a premier running event in the country.

I was itching and gnashing my teeth to join the marathoners in their melee.  But this was not my arena, not yet.  My first engagement was just around the corner and I couldn’t wait.

I was listed in the 10K event.  I thought I would treat this as a tempo training run.  I had few of such in my program mostly consisting of mid and long runs.  The 10k route was straight and fast.  But it was a great path framed by an old church, a hero’s monument, historical buildings and the grandeur of the sea.

The gun was fired by the good city mayor and hundreds, or maybe thousands of runners and walkers, crossed the timing mat.  The race used a timing chip, a technology sweeping the running events and gaining much popularity.  I ran throughout the race fast and evenly; the magic of the war dance still lingering in my system.  Even on the bridge climbs, I was able to maintain my pace.

I finished the race in 48 minutes and still felt strong.

It was a good result that further enhanced my confidence.  I thought I was ready; I hope and pray that I’m ready, for my maiden marathon.  And when I’m there, at the starting line, I will remember the war dance.

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.