Milo 33rd Finals: War Dance

Posted on October 15, 2009 | 2 comments

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.

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Unchartered Water

Posted on October 9, 2009 | 1 comment

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.

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Fortitude

Posted on September 16, 2009 | 5 comments

I crossed the line clocking 1 hour 58 minutes in a wet but pleasurable Ayala Mall Eco-Dash 21K event.  It was a very good negative split run allowing me to finish strong and still have juices left for the next stage of the day’s plan.  My training program called me to run 32K after weeks of build up.  By many accounts, I would be threading the zone of the dreaded “wall”.

The sky was carpeted with white, gray clouds.  Four kilometers after the start of the race, heavy rains had fallen and the wind howled across the rooftops like a thousand keening mourners.  The rain has longed stopped its downpour yet the threat of more was thick in the air.  The road was wet and fraught with puddles.  Parts of the cemented sidewalk were covered with slimy slippery moss made greener by the flowing water.  Runners were still crossing the line in exuberance with the drenched experience.

The chosen route was just on the streets around BHS.  7th Ave, 30th St, 11th Ave, and 26th St formed a boring 1.6km (1 mile) square.  I wanted to be within hearing distance to the festivities; it could be lonely out there in this weather.  After a quick rest and hydration, I began, or rather, continued my run.  It was a dragging start.  My legs and feet were like shackled to an iron ball.  It took me half a kilometer before settling to my easy pace.

After 3 kilometers (24th Km), I felt that I already ran for hours over and above my race time.  Eight more kilometers and it seemed a very, very long distance.  Before reaching the fourth kilometer, muscle pain started creeping at the back of my left shoulder.  I tried shaking it off to no avail.  I slowed down and the pain slowly went away.  Then both my knees started to ache.  It was not a sudden pain.  It was a twinge that made its presence felt slowly but surely.

At the fifth kilometer (26th Km), my ankles started to hurt and the shoulder pain returned forcing me to further slow down.  Hunger pangs clawed my innards.  It was six kilometers more, surely a short distance.  But on the contrary, it seemed daunting, I wanted to stop.  “Four loops to go, four loops to go” I psyched myself.  I can hear the Eco-Dash host announcing the winner of the 5Km race female category.

I just nailed another kilometer (27th Km) as I turned to 30th St from 7th Ave.  What I saw was a 400 meter inclined stretch to 11th Ave.  The road truly has a slight gradient but under normal circumstances, it could be considered as flat.  Running 30th St at my labored condition was like climbing Bayani St.  When I reached 11th Ave, my thighs were throbbing like an angry cat.

It was a battle between good and evil within my mind.  One side wanted me to rest a bit, to walk or even stop.  The other side harried me to go on, to continue and complete the day’s goal.  It was a mental effort for me to always choose the latter.

“I can do it…one more kilometer…one more corner…one more street lamp” became my litany as I toiled through the pavement.  Completing 8 kilometers (29th Km), I was energized by the thought of hitting 30 kilometers.  I felt adrenaline seeping through my system.  I felt nimble and ran faster.  I did not notice I was breathing hard reaching the 30th kilometer.  Somehow, it was a delight achieving this milestone.  Then, the good and evil debate surged again into my wits.

“Surely, you can rest now”
“No, there’s 2Km more”
“What’s 2Km from 30Km, it’s just a speck, its irrelevant!”
“You must finish this.  Your mission is incomplete!”
“You might injure yourself, you’re in pain, and you’re tired”
“Just 2 more kilometers man, just a little more”
“You must rest. Stop! Stop! Stop!
“Finish it.  Go! Go! Go!”

With a rictus snarl, I continued running.  The aches were all over.  Shoulder, thighs, knees, ankles, all screaming for justice.  I stooped and bowed looking at my shoes pounding the pavement.  I could not bear looking ahead where the distance mocked and teased.  Serendra buildings on my left looked like faces with hollow eyes watching my folly.  The noise from the festivities has stopped.  When did it stop? It was a very long 2Km distance that I have run.

I finally reached the 32nd kilometer after an eternity.  It felt like a heavy burden was unloaded from my back.  I inhaled deeply and exhaled in great relief.  I felt very light and lively.  I did not stop running.  I felt I could do more.  I pushed for another 400 meters both as a reward for achieving and punishment for faltering.

I knew, a marathon would be twice the challenge and tenfold more difficult.  I need more training.  I need more mileage.  I need more fortitude.

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Masters 15K: The Spirit of St. Michael

Posted on September 10, 2009 | 4 comments

Prologue

Botak 10-miler at UP.   JI and I just crossed the finish line and we were walking towards the Bald Runner booth to watch the passing of those who were still running and to wait for our friends.  BR was there and he was promoting the upcoming Masters 15K Run. He was discretely enticing people whose faces seemingly have the semblance of a “Master” to join the event.

“Are you joining the Masters Run?” BR asked me softly.
“I’m a year short of the age requirement. But I heard there will be beer, I would like to join” I replied.
“Next year, then, when you’re a little older.” He said grinning.
“Can I bribe you with something to let me in?” I jested.
BR shook his head and laughed it off.

“Oh wait, my wife is… my wife is… her age is…, let’s just say she’s honestly eligible.  I can be her pacer.” I eagerly said.
BR smiled, “Now that’s ok… but…”, he seemed to be unsure to drop the bomb.
“But what?“ I asked impatiently.
“You can’t have beer.  Only official runners can have beer…”
“Injustice!” I cried.
“…though your wife can hand over her ration to you,” he said impishly.
“Whew, that’ll do, that’ll do.” I was relieved.

In a fortnight, I will be joining the Masters Run – part pacer, part bandit, part party-crasher (Yeah! I’m a sucker for free beer!)

———-

Thick, gray clouds covered the still dark skies when my wife and I arrived. Heavy rains carpeted the parade grounds of Camp Aguinaldo. We stepped out of the car into inches of rainwater and mud. It was a depressing sight. We huddled together, shivering like wet kittens as we made our way to the Grandstand wondering if the race will push through.

It was a totally different mood in the Grandstand. There was a buzz of excitement and anticipation, a beehive of seasoned run addicts. It was infectious, our perspective changed dramatically. Runners were gearing, stretching and idly chatting. Laughter and talks of age and beer could be heard here and there. We met our friend JI and we talked of the who’s who of the sport present in the event.

The race was delayed due to precautionary measures. Darkness and wet road are sure recipes for accidents. The program started with a prayer and the national anthem. That felt very right. I thought, other races should follow this practice. In his welcome remarks, BR’s first words were an apology for the delays due to safety reasons. Then he gave a background and history of Fort Aguinaldo. He expressed the need to bring the military and civilian closer together through this and subsequent races. It was also a race made for the ownership and enjoyment of the seniors. He was happy to announce that the event was made possible without corporate sponsors. Most of the resources were donated wholeheartedly by fellow runners, a “labor of love”. It was a race organized by runners, helped by runners and would be made successful by runners. Lastly, BR recognized the donors and volunteers calling them one by one.

Light has replaced darkness and the rain was reduced to a drizzle when the runners assembled in the parade ground. Thick clouds still covered the skies precursor to more rain to come. It was an odd hundred pairs of shoes that started pounding the roads of Camp Aguinaldo as the starting gun was fired.

My wife and I started at the rear of the pack running with a slow pace. The rain has virtually stopped but it would take a while to raise the body to the right temperature in the cold. We were only ahead of two ladies who seemed to plan running a healthy pace throughout. We were glad to begin running downhill towards Gate 2 to warm up easily. Between the 2nd and 3rd kilometer, we were warmed up and began to catch-up with other runners. It was a rolling terrain; gentle climbs and descent like smooth sand dunes in a wind-blown desert. We noticed that turning points were manned by no-nonsense soldiers in ponchos and bush hats. Who would dare to cheat? After Gate 5, we passed the first water station with courteous marshals. It was a long table lined with palm-size cups filled with either water or Gatorade – just perfect for a big gulp.

The most difficult part of the course was on the Daza Park Area-Francisco Ave, between the 4th and 5th kilometer. Just on the other side of the wall from White Plains, the inclines were steeper. And there was even a part where the road was flooded with flowing water like a sinuous stream; and there’s no way through but to get the shoes soaked. We negotiated the climbs with short bicycle steps pulled by shuffling arms. On the downhills, we recovered our pace breathing deeply. The air was conspicuously clean and cool.

Gate 6 onwards going back to the Grandstand, the course was generally flat. There were vehicles entering Gate 6 from Santolan but the drivers were cautious while passing the runners, slowing carefully. Our pace became steady taking pleasure in the serenity and greenery of the surrounding. The sun was up but broad nimbus clouds kept it from shining through. It was like having a medium tint spread across the skies.

BR was standing at the 7th kilometer greeting runners and giving clear instructions on the re-entry to the Grandstand. We were to pass the start/finish arch at the half-way mark. It was fraught with camera flashes and cheering people. We can’t help but smile to the happy egging faces. Just past the arch was a station lined with bananas, water, Gatorade and BEER. Yes, BEER! I was not surprised to see the marshals manning that station a little bit jolly and rosy-cheeked. That golden elixir inside a bottle covered with condensing droplets of water made my mouth drool. I refrained my shaking hands from swooping for a cup lest I abandon the race and join the frolic.

We run the second loop faster having been familiarized with the course and eager to finish the race. We crossed the line officially at 1 hour 28 minutes.

I went straight to the beer station and engrossed myself with the Spirit of Saint Michael. In no time, we were chatting and chortling with other participants while waiting for the last runners to cross. Everybody had smiles in their faces while holding their beer bottles or icicle sticks; in most cases, one in each hand. It was an atmosphere that lent itself to easy friendship and camaraderie. I was even trading stories and shoulder slaps with a stranger like a long time acquaintance forgetting to introduce ourselves to one another. Well, I guess, that was how alcohol loosened tongues and do away with formalities and niceties.

The last finishers, the two ladies we were with at the start, finally reached the arch in just a little over than 2 hours with big smiles in their faces to the delight of all.

The awarding ceremony followed immediately and it was attended by all.  That was another unique element of this event. I observed that everybody listened and cheered as the winners were announced and the closing statements were said. My wife was fortunate to win 2nd runner up in her age category.

I was light-headed and nimble when we started to move towards the car to leave. Rain started to fall but this time, our spirits were not dampened and we left in utter delight.

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Shoe Review: Asics GEL-Nimbus 11

Posted on August 26, 2009 | 3 comments

Prologue

I was in the middle of a workout one sunny June morning when I stepped on something sticky. Bubble gum! I stopped and tried to rub it out on the grass to no avail. So, I got a stick, removed my shoe and started picking out the gum. It was only then that I noticed the condition of the outsole.  It has thinned considerably and the edges at the heel side were worn out.  I bought the shoes, Asics Gel-Bandito, last February and it has logged over 900 kilometers using it in training and races under heat and rain whether day or night. I knew that I would need a new pair very soon.

It was early August when a family friend arrived from his visit to the US.  We met him and he

Asics 045

brought with him a package long awaited.   After chit-chat, that seemed to have lasted hours, I finally laid my itching fingers on the shoe box.  I opened the lid, and there it was, my new Asics GEL-Nimbus 11.  I got one of the shoes out and smelled it with gusto.  Hmmm, nothing beats the smell of a new, unworn shoe!

Looks. I scrutinized every nook and corners. The workmanship was excellent. No smudges, no loose threads, edges trimmed without excesses. It does not have a handsome look, rather, it looked very mean. It must be the color – it was a combination of black, silver and onyx. There are other colors available – the “tisoy” types which most probably are more appealing to the eyes.

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Fit. I put on the shoes and immediately, I felt very tall, I thought my head would brush the ceiling. Layers of

cushioning materials contributed to that extra height. I tried to walk a

few meters and back. The fit was nice and very comfortable. I could feel room on the toe area and was able to make small toe sweeps. I jogged around the house and noticed that the midfoot was snugly held preventing any forward or backward slides. This could be one of the benefits of its unorthodox asymmetrical lacing system.

Break in. After a couple of days, the shoes first tasted the pavement during the Kenny Rogers Urbanite night race. I ran a pre-race 10K before pacing my wife in the 15K race. In both runs, the pace was easy. I had a comfortable run with the shoes, the cushioning system very distinct as compared to my old racer. No blisters, no foot aches, no cramps, no knee knocks. So far, so good.

I used the shoes in my subsequent workouts.  An easy 10K on the concrete roads of Southwoods, a 12K tempo night rendezvous at Filinvest, Alabang and a 10 miles Sunday race at UP.  I experienced the same comfy foot treatment. I also noticed that my feet did not heat up in the thick of the exercise unlike other shoes that I have tried. I thought the top open mesh design allowed adequate heat exchange.

Benchmark. The Bandito and the Nimbus 11 are of different classes, the former, a racer, while the latter, a trainer. Asics 047But I can’t help comparing both in terms of comfort and performance.

The Nimbus 11 is a far more comfortable shoe. The Nimbus 11’s cushioning and fit systems work in perfect unison bringing ease and stability to every foot strike.

On the downside, the Nimbus 11 is a heavy burden. The Bandito’s 223 grams is like a feather compared to the Nimbus 11’s 340 grams. In a fast pace workout, the weight drag is very palpable. In the Botak 10 miler, I missed my target 1:20 finish by a couple of minutes and the Nimbus 11 is one of the suspects among others. Furthermore, the Bandito’s lower sole profile makes the foot go closer to the ground which is preferable at high speeds. There is a bigger chance of a sprain injury on the Nimbus 11 in that aspect.

Asics 043

Verdict. The US$125 Nimbus 11 is a well-cushioned neutral shoe and I could imagine myself loving the comfort it provides during training especially on long runs. While I mentioned that the likely injury for this shoe are the ankles, on the other hand, the calf, knees and upper limbs are well protected from reflected shockwaves of a foot strike. I would still use my Bandito for races up to 21K particularly when running for PR.

Epilogue

I was trying both shoes in a speed workout. I used the Nimbus 11 for the warm up rounds then changed to the Bandito for the interval runs. I was not surprised to see faster splits. I concluded that the Nimbus 11 was a worthy purchase for the purpose it was made. I have no doubts that the shoes were built to last. The Bandito has logged a total of 1,063 kilometers and looking at its state, I thought I could still squeeze a couple of hundreds more! They really built these shoes tough and strong. I would still be looking for a racer someday when I finally decommission the Bandito. Perhaps, I’ll get another Bandito. The Asics Piranha SP2 and Gel-Hyperspeed3 looked very promising as well.

Asics 041

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KR Urbanite: Boiling Point

Posted on August 18, 2009 | 3 comments

We were approaching the big tents where race kits were being distributed when we noticed the long lines.  My wife and I took a deep breath and prepared ourselves for a long wait.  But when we entered the premises, there was neither line nor attendant at the “C” area.  The queue was on the “P-Z” and it was a tense atmosphere.  A quiet buzz was emanating from the people waiting for their turn.

We were skeptical that we asked a distraught looking guy manning the “D” table if the “C” kits were available.
“Yes, its there” he said pointing at the empty table while looking at us blankly.  He really looked lost.
“Can you assist us?” I asked.  He blinked and realizing he has no customer, he whispered in the affirmative.

In the background, a raised voice can be heard.  The buzzing was getting louder.  Fortunately for us, our kits were there and we were off after less than 5 minutes.  The overwrought tent was like a kettle ready to blow its top when we left.

These are birth pains for the organizers.  New concept, new technology and new processes were sliding on the knife-edge of acceptance and rejection.  The organizers should learn and adapt fast.  Patience seemed to be in short supply this rainy season.

Days after the distribution of kits, complaints and frustrations exploded in the web. And the maelstrom was not over until the race started and it looked like it will spill over after the race.

We arrived early and got a parking on a vacant lot beside our usual spot.  The area was full of people.  Runners in black, in orange and in yellow dominated the festive atmosphere.  I was scheduled for a long run, and I planned to burn 10K before the race.  Then at the race, I’ll be pacing my wife for her first 15K.

I did a couple of loops around BHS then went to the McKinley Hills for my pre-race run.  I was soiled due to the settling dust and smoke from vehicular emissions at Lawton Ave.  But I hardly noticed because I was focusing on the feel of my new Asics Gel-Nimbus 11.  This run and the race later would be a break-in moment for the new kicks.  So far, so good.

I finished my run with enough time to prepare for our first night race.  I changed my jersey to the yellow “iamninoy” shirt.  We would be showing our support for the cause in this run.  We went to the corral to wait out the start.  It was humid and uncomfortably warm.  The situation was not helped by the single strong light source that seemed to be focusing heat to the corral and trying to burn the participants to cinders.

The corral was filling and the temperature further rising.  After much wait and some kind of dancing on the stage, Mark Nelson finally fired the gun.  Thousands of souls passed through the blaring mat and the race was on.

I let my wife pace our run.  We both knew that she lacked training mileage for this race but she’s not the one to back down.  When she put her mind on something, she was as hard as cold hammered iron.

I already felt the heat, too much heat after just a few hundreds of meters.  On the first water station, I disregarded the cups.  I asked for the bottle.  And not just any bottle, I asked for 1 liter bottle.  I drank plenty and frequently poured water over my head, face and neck along the route.  At Lawton Avenue, traffic froze to the annoyance of the motorists.   Horns blaring, the drivers were at the edge.

Turning to Bayani Road, we were greeted by darkness.  The fear of hidden potholes, rocks or other obstacles made us nervous.  I frequently checked her condition asking her how she felt.  But she bore down on the road like a silent silken avalanche, icy and inexorable.

Entering Heritage Park was a new experience.  It was like being transported in another world, a surreal one.  Pleasant to run but shivering despite the heat.  Was it fear of the silent dead?  Or for what the night could reveal that the day hides?  If it was not for the company of hundreds of other runners, it would have been a world record breaking run.

Our pace deteriorated as we negotiated the return route of Bayani.  The long incline was insufferable.  We downed more bottles of water.  The heat and dust were again invading our concentration.

Back at Lawton Avenue, the boiling point has been breached.  Chaos.  Drivers were openly cursing the runners.  Shouts and the car horns were blaring incessantly.  The road Marshals were braving the torrents patiently.  Fumes from the stranded vehicle further exacerbated the heat.

It was a respite turning to McKinley Hills escaping the madness.  My wife was visibly spent but she kept her pace.  I watched her as she dragged her feet.  Sweat and water rivulets were poring down her neck.  Her hair fell to her shoulders like waterfalls of night.  I forced her to walk the inclines of the return route of McKinley.

“Let’s walk the climbs.  Reserve your energies on the flats” I told her.  She acquiesced reluctantly.

Back to Lawton Avenue, back to chaos, we ran with all of our remaining energy.  We skipped the last water station and overtook many.   We went faster as we reached 5th Avenue anticipating the sweet embrace of the finish line.

Lights, music, happy faces and a carnival of sorts hailed us as we approached the end.  Mark Nelson was wooing the crowd as we crossed the mat at 1 hour 48 minutes.  We were relieved, my wife was glad and I was proud.

Commentary:
On other times, I would have drawn a clear line between runners and vehicles.  I would have shouted “Runners are kings of the road”.  This time, I empathized with the trapped drivers.  It was an unholy hour and most of them were probably tired, on their way home or to a meeting, and to be caught in an unexpected quagmire.  As the sport evolve and flourish, I hope someday, we find an out-of-the box harmonious way of sharing the roads with the motorists.  It may be difficult and quite a challenge for different situations but as our community grows, as our power and influence increase, we should start thinking of taking responsibility on how we affect other sectors for the betterment of our passion.

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Frogs and Fireflies

Posted on August 12, 2009 | 1 comment

I was sitting in my office chair looking outside through a glass wall to see the weather. The rain had stopped but the fast moving gray clouds threatened another downpour. Two hours to go before I check out and have my early evening run. I was hoping that the rain would not fall further. I really don’t mind if the rain fell while I was in the middle of the run, I would have welcomed it, but if it poured before my run, well, that’s another issue altogether.

The clock ticked. Seconds passed… minutes… hours…, the sky held the rain like a dam of clouds holding water almost to its breaking point. The light was fading when I drove 5 minutes to my running ground at the foot of Palms Country Club.

Palms Country Club sits on top of a hill like a fortress overlooking the cityscape of Alabang. It is circled by a 1.1 km of well-paved and well-lighted wide asphalt road on its feet. The road is a combination of an incline, downhill and flats which make it a well-rounded circuit.

I parked near the back entrance of the Club. It is the only segment of the road where cars were allowed to park. The road was still wet from the rain. The moist asphalt reflected light from the street lamps making it looked like ebony, dark and shiny. The breeze held that delicate balance between cool and warm.

I planned to run ten rounds tempo (11K) traversing the route in a counter-clockwise direction. The night sky was starless and there was a hint of rain. The first 400 meters of the run took me uphill towards the main entrance of the Club then downhill until the last gate of Palms Pointe. Palms Pointe is an exclusive subdivision across the Club. A few vehicles passed this way in and out of the Club and subdivision.

The next 400 meters was a long flat winding road. This was an eerie section. The road was deserted. The Country Club stood high to the left buffered by a creek and an empty lot overgrown by grasses. To the right was a dark open space with sparse trees. Further right, RITM was visible nestled on a cliff. No vehicle passed here. The wind howled and swayed the treetops but it does not seem to reach the ground. Silence prevailed, it was deafening. I could imagine grotesque disfigurement lurking on the dark sides. I continued running shutting my over imaginative mind.

As I ran the soulless road, I saw a large frog in the middle of the road like a fat king, sitting on its throne. It was steady, unmoving and almost invisible on the clammy road, watching me pass. It was as if it was daring me to do something stupid.

“Hey froggy. Maybe if I kiss you, you’ll turn into a beautiful princess”.

I imagined the frog replying, “Not a chance boy, if I’m just bigger, I’ll gobble you up”

There were more frogs down the road, big and small. All of them looking at me suspiciously as I passed by.

At the end of the flat, the road curved to a crossroad. To the left will bring me back to where I started. To the right is the way to RITM. There is an uphill portion there that could rival McKinley. But the road was unlighted and more haunting than the one I passed.

At this section, there is a wooded area hedging the Club premises. I was surprised to see small twinkling lights bobbing up and down below the trees. Fireflies! Fireflies in the city! I stopped and watched the flashing beetles. These bugs use bioluminescence to attract mates or prey. It is uncommon or almost non-existent in the city because of pollution and habitat degradation. I was lucky to have encountered these little fairies.

I finished my run without the heavens crying. It was a delight to be accompanied by animated kings and fairies. The road I traveled was not so scary after all – it was enchanting!

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Run for Home: The Crying Arab

Posted on July 23, 2009 | 4 comments

We reached the usual assembly area still dark.  Lights from lamp post lined the wide boulevards while lights from the buildings tops, tall and short, defined the cityscape.  Sponsor tents in blue, green and white stood out near the stage where an announcer went through the opening program.  People were already aplenty milling the streets and empty lots like a disturbed anthill.  It was reminiscent of the Condura crowd.  Festive and anticipating.  Runners were looking forward to using a timing chip, not a first in the Philippines by some accounts, but still historic in nature.

We were again a little late, quite becoming a bad habit aggravated by parking disorder.  Cars were not allowed to enter the area behind ROX, sending them in disarray. U-turn here, hazard there, overtake here, queue there, all in confusion.  When we finally parked, I quickly geared up and ran to the corral leaving my wife still preparing.  She’ll be running the 10K.

In the corral while trying to cram my stretches, I caught a word among the buzz of conversations.  “Arabo!” I’m sure I was the one being referred to.  I was donning my red Speedo cap.  It has a cloth extending to the back of my neck.  I have elicited a number of amusing comments with that cap.  A few friends even described me as a “Hapon”, referring to what oldwives call Japanese soldiers during the war.  That made me smile.

“Phak”, the runners happily started running while thumping their feet on the mat.  “Toot-toot-toot”, the mat boomed as it acknowledged and recorded the passing of each runner.  I had no noteworthy objective for this race.  I just wanted to maintain a sub-2hour finish and enjoy running on a different course.

It was still dark when I started climbing the Kalayaan Bridge.  Fernando Ayala and his pacer overtook me going up.  De javu! Just like in the Mizuno Infinity Run, he and Coach Rio passed me near the same spot and I followed them throughout the race.  I would do the same, I thought.  So I maintained a decent distance.  At the fifth kilometer, Fernando and company caught up with the Bald Runner.  Light was already spreading revealing clear pale gray sky.  BR then kept pace with them.  I noticed that we were doing a sub-5 mpk pace.

The turn to Ayala Avenue was a refreshing site.  Tall buildings left and right stood like armored sentries.  Traffic crossing Ayala stood still to the dismay of the motorist.  At 6.8km, Paseo de Roxas, we met the lead 21K runners on their return route.  BR cheered mightily for the members of elite team.  Their form and speed were admirable.

At the Ayala turn-around point, I felt something worrisome on my right foot.  I shrugged it off hoping it would go away.  After another kilometer, I could already feel signs of blisters developing on my right toes.  I continued stubbornly with the ground-eating pace following Fernando and BR but I had the feeling of fear and uncertainty.  It was like living under a crumbling cliff and had almost managed to convince myself it would never fall.  Or at least until I finish the race.

But in the 10th kilometer, corner of Ayala and Buendia, the pain could not be ignored.  I slowed down, walking to a water station.  After taking a drink, I tried to adjust my laces and sock hoping it would ease the sensation.  In every water station thereafter, I slowed, drank and adjust.  I felt that it was the longest run I did in that Buendia stretch.

Kalayaan Bridge loomed before me.  On the background was a clear sky with the sun just peeking behind a thin layer of cloud.  And I was hurting badly.  How ironic! The climb was a hard one.  I took solace to the 10K runners trotting on the other direction.  I knew some of them.  At the top of the bridge, the lead 10K runners overtook me running like cheetahs on a hunt.

At the corner of 26th Street and 5th Avenue, I was ready to give up.  My foot was throbbing in pain.  How could such a trivial small area hurt the whole body so much?  The pain was shooting up my legs, arms and shoulders.  The side of my head was like being pricked by hundreds of small needles.  I could stop this.  I could go straight to the assembly area skipping the Lawton-Bayani loop.  My first DNF.  The weather was perfect, mocking me.  The sun was already shining but its warmth was soft.  I remembered my shades secured on my cap.  I put it on as pride kicked in.  I know I would need it.  I will finish the race.

So I ran in pain near to tears that last 6 kilometers.  I met Fernando as he came out of the Bayani Road, BR a few meters behind.  I met friends and runners, JI, NH, Vener & Xty, Manny, Ronnie.  I met office mates AT, RM, RC.  I met famous faces TBR and Sen Pia.  Some, I called by name, some, I waved.  Hi five here, lo five there.  But they could not see my teary eyes squinting in pain.  My shades hid it all.

As I neared the finish line, my left foot was straining, perhaps for compensating the hurt on right foot. I could feel the flap of my cap waving in the air like a cape.  I imagined myself like a wounded Arab legionnaire running to the safety of an oasis.  My right foot burned!  My eyes were like a dam ready to burst.

I crossed the mat 1hour 55 minutes… crying!

Postscript
In Botak-Paatibayan, the heat of the sun slowed me.  I crossed the line eyes popping, nostrils flaring.  In Run for Home, I was slowed down by blisters, stopped at water stations and crossed the finish in pain.  But in these two races, I recorded my best times in the 21K (Garmin: 1.55).

On the contrary, Greenfields City Run and Milo 33rd Manila Elims, I ran strong.  I felt good during those races.  I even sprinted the last hundred meters like a race horse.  Yet my time was relatively slower (Garmin: 1.57).

What does this tell me? My perceptive sense was topsy-turvy, my world was upside down or was my Garmin playing tricks on me?  Perhaps in the next race, I’ll subject myself to even worse conditions, then maybe I would get a better time…

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Milo 33rd Manila Elims: The Envious

Posted on July 9, 2009 | 5 comments

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.

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The Mystery of the Man in Pain

Posted on July 1, 2009 | 10 comments

It was dawn yet light has prevailed early when I parked my car across the church. I was planning to have an easy 6-8 km run. Early joggers and walkers dotted the area. I was at Southwoods Ecocentrum, near Southwoods Exit, my training ground. The area was supposed to be developed into a themed destination that should have complimented Splash Island and Southwoods Golf and Country Club. But, it’s been years and there’s no sign of any construction. The roads, however, were done. Wide cemented avenues and sidewalks encircled vacant grass-filled lots. There were even surviving palm trees lining the boulevards. That was all and very few even remembered that the place has a name.

I was doing my warm-up lunges while enjoying the expansive view when I saw him. A man in his 60’s – tall, medium built, wearing navy blue shirt, black knee-length shorts, dark socks and black old-style Adidas shoes. He always wore dark. He wore no cap or timepiece. His skin was dark, a hue most likely caused by countless exposure to the sun. All signs of an old-time runner became him. It’s been a while since I last saw him but I knew exactly what to expect.

He was crossing a bridge from the other side of South Luzon Expressway. As he reached the church, he faced it and ran sideways doing the sign of the cross at a certain point. He resumed running forward once beyond the church. I was intently watching his face as he passed in front of me from across the street. It was a plain look, nothing extraordinary…waiting. Then his face contorted, eyes squinting, head slightly bowed and shoulders rising as if in extreme pain. Then it was gone like a passing spasm. He would repeat that hurting expression many more times in his run, I knew and have seen it many times before. What could be the matter with this man?

I cut short my warm-up and followed the man. Impulsive but nothing drastic, just following. He was pacing around 6.5-7min/km. Upon reaching Splash Island, he made a U-turn then followed the route towards San Pedro. San Pedro-Biñan boundary was just a kilometer ahead. The sun has not yet fully risen and more joggers were arriving along our path. It was a clear day. Inside San Pedro, Rosario Avenue, the main road was lined with trees shading our way. But its sidewalk was broken or invaded by tree roots and grasses here and there. Shops were preparing to open. The man I was following never broke his stride.

Before Southwoods Exit was opened, this was a sleepy, remote village with nothing but houses and tall grasses. The access road had made the street a major thoroughfare for private cars. Then business establishment sprouted like mushrooms. Laundry shop, meat shop, convenience store, bakery eateries, fruit stands and other oddities successfully prospered.

From time to time, I could see the man cringed in pain. We passed by Chrysanthemum Village, Calendola Village, Sampaguita Village and GSIS Village. He passed by the parish churches of Calendola and Sampaguita doing his sideway runs. Sampaguita Village was my neighborhood around 5 kilometers from Southwoods Exit. Then we reached Christ the King Parish. This parish was at the foot of a high hill. That hill was steeper than the incline of the Kalayaan Bridge, and it winded like a dreadful sickle. Tricycles and unkept vehicles would let out loud gnashing noise and tons of smoke climbing this road. When the man in pain passed by the parish church, I was praying that he does a U-turn to where we came instead of continuing up the hill. The man started to make the climb slowly. Oh no, you can’t be serious. Don’t do it man. I would rather carry you on my back. But there he went while I hesitated and thinking of turning around. Darn it! I began jog-walk-breath-deeply intervals negotiating that climb. I would have walked all the way but the man in pain might get too far for me to catch. It was over a kilometer of steep winding ascent ending at the highest point in San Pedro, South Peak. It was a laborious climb and countless times, I mirrored the pained expression of my quarry.

South Peak housed a convent-school complex and an upscale subdivision. The view here was magnificent. Far in the south was the grandiose of Mount Makiling. East lies the vast Laguna de Bay. North outlined the cityscape of Alabang. Connecting these waypoints was the long snake-like South Luzon Expressway. Thousands of houses, factories and low buildings nestled in between. There were joggers at the rotunda in the middle of the road. Thankfully, all paths were downwards at this point.

The man, despite of his pains, seemed tireless as he continued his journey. This time, it was a 2-3 kms of downward winding run. We passed by the tranquil San Pedro Public Memorial Park, another convent and San Pedro Exit. We crossed South Luzon Expressway through an overpass and passed the Alaska manufacturing plant and Pure Gold Supermarket. We were approaching a populated and busy district. My knees were wobbly when we reached “Manok ni San Pedro”, the boundary between Metro Manila and Laguna where a stone cast of a rooster acted as a sentinel.

The man in pain continued straight towards the direction of the plaza, the heart of San Pedro. It was a busy street plied by tricycles, jeepneys and push carts. The sun was already shining brightly and I was drenched with sweat. I felt that I was mugged.

The plaza was a typical Spanish-designed community. An open square in the middle surrounded by church, municipal hall, school and other pertinent establishment. Nearby was a market. This time, the man in pain entered the church, San Pedro Apostol, the main church of the province. I did not follow him. I was standing at the gate and staring at the door where he entered. Is this the end of the journey? I followed a priest! I let out a gush of breath and looked around the surrounding. It was filled with people and noise. I hardly noticed the vendor who was trying to interest me with her rice cakes.

As I turned to leave, the man in pain suddenly burst out of the church and ran passed me. He went into the direction of the market. It’s not yet over. With a loud sigh, I followed him. I could hardly run at the market. The road was a tangled mix of vehicle, people and dead animals being carted or carried inside the market. The sidewalk was occupied by hawkers crying their wares. The street was wet with overflowing canal water. Refuse and litter were everywhere. But the man in pain was undaunted. We run the length of the national road towards Pacita Complex, a conspicuous commercial area. The street was filled with jeepneys, buses, tricycles and street urchins. Smoke and dust filled the air making me choke more than once. The sun was high and was burning my back. It was the worst place to be a runner. When we reached Pacita Complex, I gave up. The man in pain was still running towards Biñan steadily, unabated while I stopped and watch him go. My Garmin registered over 15 kilometers of distance. It’s almost 2 hours of running and I was so tired and weary. I felt so grimy and burned. I can feel rough sand in my face, neck and limbs. My mouth was a parched desert and I didn’t even have a single centavo. I was miserable.

I got a tricycle to drive me to Southwoods where my car was parked with my drinks, wallet, towel and fresh shirt. I thought I could sleep despite the bumps, jerks and lurch of the damned carriage. It seemed forever before we reached our destination.

I had stretched, drunk, dried, changed clothes and was ready to go. I started the car when in the corner of my eyes I noticed a black speck from afar. It was the man in pain! I went out of the car to have a clearer view. And I was stupefied.

He was crossing the bridge from the other side of South Luzon Expressway. As he reached the church, he faced it and ran sideways doing the sign of the cross at a certain point. He resumed running forward once beyond the church. I was intently watching his face as he passed in front of me from across the street. It was a plain look, nothing extraordinary…waiting. Then his face contorted, eyes squinting, head slightly bowed and shoulders rising as if in extreme pain. Then it was gone like a passing spasm… No way! I must be dreaming! I knew my mouth was hanging open as he went towards Splash Island but I have no energy to shut it.

I had the mind to run to him and demand answers… but for what? Satisfy my curiosity? Assuage my bruised ego? Whatever it was, it would be selfish.

Whatever he was doing, it was beyond distance, beyond time, beyond speed or pace. Perhaps, running, to him has a deeper meaning. A sacrifice to strengthen the spirit or a test of faith or even an atonement of past sins. Whatever profound purpose he harbored, it transcends the elements, it transcends mortal health… it transcends pain.

I felt that I have trampled on sacred grounds. I drove home soiled inside.

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