Wind born out of the heights of Antipolo rushed swiftly down to the lowlands passing through sleeping towns east of the metropolis. It crossed a mighty river who just recently wrought havoc and distress. The wind continued to flow along the city avenues and elevated roads made of steel bars, concrete and asphalt. In the heart of the wide expansive land of Bonifacio where a running event has just started, the wind blew strong and cold. It hit the masses of runners excitedly starting their day with the usual festive Sunday race. The wind was chilly producing shivers and goose bumps. Autumn was about to end and the big guns of October have fallen silent. Amidst the settling dust, runners were left gaping and wanting. The promise of excitement and triumphs were replaced by remarks of mediocrity and stories of horror. But November has come and brought new wind.
Timex Run. I was climbing Kalayaan Bridge when light started to invade the dark. The sky was slowly transforming from blue-black to light blue. At the top of the Bridge before the sharp decent to Buendia Avenue, I spied on the cityscape dotted with small lights from houses like tiny twinkling stars. The chill of the wind has lessened to a welcome cool breeze. At the foot of Bridge, I met the lead runner on the return route, a Kenyan running easily with two more Kenyans and a local (Alley Quisay) hot on his trail. Then the first of the water stations appeared and it was a sight to behold. Long tables with hundreds of cups grouped alternately with water and 100Plus. A setup long requested by runners and tenaciously drawn attention to by noted bloggers. Same water station arrangement would be found throughout the course at unbelievingly close intervals.
The sun was already shining brightly when I entered the Heritage Park. Somehow, the heat was not so hot even in the absence of the wind. The Park was still and quiet as if afraid to wake its residents. Sparse trees, neatly manicured lawn and the calm waters of a pond further highlighted the required serenity of the place. The soft woosh-woosh of running shoes from hundreds of odd feet discretely invaded the silence competing with the chirps and strange calls of birds. The two-kilometer run inside the Park was enough respite from the oft-used worn-out route.
Chasing my shadow
The last kilometers took an interesting detour around the entrance of the American Cemetery and Trion Towers. On the last turn, the sun was high on my back casting long shadows in front of me. I was running strongly
as I chased my shadow to the finish line with a new PR.
NB Power Run. The sun was already a third to its zenith floating like a molten ball above the thin clouds. We just passed the U-turn at C5 when,
JI, my companion suddenly attacked the long incline after Heritage. I was reluctant to go after him; I should be taking it easy being in taper mode but the thrill of the chase got me going. At the top, we paused to catch our breath and waited for our other companion, NH, to catch up. We would repeat the hill assault like madmen at Bayani Road exiting to
Lawton and at the dreaded long McKinley Hill. At each the peak, JI and I would stop, rest and chat idly like oldwives having coffee while waiting for NH. Runners that we overtook along the rise would look at us in askance as they passed us again. What are these two doing?
Like returning soldiers
JI and I were preparing to attack the hill along Essensa when suddenly, NH sprinted away like a boar chased by feral dogs. At the top, he roared in triumph, spent and wincing in pain. We finished the race side by side, waving to our friends like relieved soldiers coming home from a war.
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Two pristine races left runners in delight and full of hope. The winds of November have swept the dust of past disenchantment. Redemption was served cold.
The Gleeman's Tale 
