"So, do you guys wanna score tonight??" I was cringing at how the two DJ/Hosts were painstakingly wading their way through innuendo-laden copy. "Who wants to score with (Name of fun male host) ?"
(Awkward silence)
Not as awkward as the look on the face of the old lady in the back though. And while the overbaked wordplay on the theme wasn't exactly resonating with the crowd, the product at hand seemed to have loads of potential. Enter the SCORE CARD, an intriguing sports lifestyle discount card that would make you forget all about your SM Advantage Card (admit it, you have one tucked in somewhere)
Infinitely cooler than your Mercury Drug Suki card.
The venue was chic nightspot Fiama (where I constantly evade drunken teens at 5am en route to Sunday Morning MOA races), Lots of beautiful, sporty people abound with a cool indie band playing in the background; it really didn't take a rocket scientist to ascertain where they were positioning this card to.
I'm getting too old for this.
The beautiful people of the athletic world abound, like these Frisbee gals.
Do you wanna SCORE? The premise is relatively simple. Introduced into the country by promotions group Sports Media Asia, the card is touted to be the "Ultimate Athlete's Sidekick". Once you get past the hyperbole, what you really get is a discount card that is specifically targeted towards the recreational or serious athlete. You get cool discounts and perks at all sorts of establishments that encompass nearly the entire sports spectrum.Gear, nutrition, shoes, food, yoga, spas - name it, they've got it.
Cool indie band helped set the overall vibe
Pretty Score Card people with guests
Multimedia affair Of course, given the propensity of athletes to be injured, they also threw in free P20,000 insurance coverage to boot just in case you blow out your ITB or chip your brand new nail polish (apparently, this phenomenon happens more often that I had imagined). You just need to register your Score Card at www.sportsmedia.com.ph to validate the whole thing.
My Where's Wally shot :P Sports-minded altruism is apparently also one of the focal points championed by the company. And from what I understood, they will be allocating a certain percentage of the proceeds from card sales to help athletes and sports groups raise funds for training, equipment, etc. for their competitions. So have a worthy cause? Tell them all about it!
Score Card head honcho explaining stuff.
And to cap it all off, it's not like its some lame card you shuck away in your wallet. It's actually an ergonomic, eye-catching piece that would make you the envy of your running buds. Just wearing it would... .change you. Look at these photos to see what I mean.
Geeky looking loser guy with no Score Card
Cool Score-Card toting dude.
Amazing isn't it? So what are you waiting for? Grab your Score Card today. Visit their site at www.sportsmedia.com.ph if you're interested.
Thanks by the way to Doc Marvin Opulencia for the presser pictures, I shamelessly stole them from your photo blog smirk. :P
Bootsie had a rather harrowing experience yesterday afternoon, and now he’s quietly licking his paws, but he’s fine. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun fooled us into thinking that the snow might disappear in the near future, the birds were chirping, and the dog walkers were doing laps in the neighbourhood. Our front yard for the Boo, is full of exciting trees, shrubs, scents, and birds, the only thing is it’s not fenced, so he is only out there when we are right there with him. The back yard is just plain lawn, no trees, no shrubs, no where to hide. Most of the time he is content to just explore around the house, but there are moments when he decides to take off immediately. And you think I would learn from the last few times, but no…
So there I was again, wandering the neighbours yard, can of cat food in hand, banging the spoon on the tin, I even knocked on the neighbours door. No answer, their garage door was wide open, the large black dog who poops on my lawn was no where to be seen. She is a nice dog, but she does like to bark at the Boo whenever she see’s him, even if Boo is safe in our backyard. This went on for a half hour, I knew in my heart that Bootsie is fine, he wasn’t lost, he just likes to hang out like a teenager, and he would return when he decided it was time. When we lived in the condo, he was always outside, and it’s a adjustment for him now that he is indoors more often. My husband began to help me call him, we wandered around our front lawn, constantly checking the neighbours backyard for the dog, and for the Boo. Suddenly there was a loud woof, and the big black dog bounded out the back door. Unfortunately Bootsie was in the neighbours back yard trapped between the chain link fence that separates our properties.
Bootsie ran as fast as he could towards the fence, and freedom but couldn’t climb because it was chain link, so he decided to escape up the large fir tree that was there. I was in the front yard and it took me a minute or so to get over the fence, during which time I ripped my only good pair of yoga pants. The dog woofed, and barked very pleased with this new, chase the cat game. Bootsie 8 feet up the tree, and starting to climb higher, furious, and terrified, meowed, and I managed to grab him just before he went any higher. I am over 6 feet tall, and that day I really appreciated my height.
Poor baby, his claws are all bleeding, his pride is hurt, and I am sure that he is sore today. After all he has never climbed more then three feet up a tree, and hung on for so long. So this time there was a happy ending to Bootsie’s most un-excellent adventure, and I guess we need to start a Bootsie land in the fenced backyard for him as soon as we can.
Cold hands, warm heart. Rush last steps to home. Winter chill settles on skin.
Rough branched pussy willows, blossoms so soft. Gathered from the ditch…precious winter gift. I'm the first. This time. Oh dear… Birds of a feather flutter startled. Once again, the look… Mental note, make noise first. Breath exhale, deep, winter yoga, no rush. Relax. Steel key rasps, knob squeaks. Door glides, bringing. Fresh air clinging, as it rides to warmth.
Sun glows through windows once again. Missed, beloved, stay longer, come more often. Bring meringues if you would, please. Snow cover, winter rolls over again in it's bed. Toes cold, tongue tasting. Lips sweet. Mocha, how I love thee…
Let me count the ways. Deep, dark chocolate secrets wafting from a cup. Coffee rich, vibrant, depths inside, withholding tales. Birds gathered, seed flying, big trees hiding. Cat watching, tail twitching, inside's the place to be. Mocha overtaking fresh air, hands heavy with cup. Creamy, dreamy, scented love of sugar.
Sun lowering, mountains glowering. Fog returns from it's shopping trip. Cloaked Eagles cluck in annoyance. Perched like Christmas tree toppers up high. Day, giving back to dark soon. Pink meringue, gooey treasure, crispy crunch. Cat batting at sprinkles on floor. Caffeine rush, sugar high.
Virtuous reward for cold walk. Winter waves from the fields… Pink meringue disappears, bits and pieces, sun behind a cloud. Coffee drunk to the dregs. Meringue a memory. Cat hungry, birds fed. Sun down, fog in. My world, Wednesday… He of the fur, and I of the coffee, sit and dream of dinner.
Her: I dreamt of spring last night, it felt so real, I was so eager for it to happen. It was early morning, birds were warming up their singing voices, the sun had started to climb the side of the mountains. Not content to lay in bed, I left the soft breathing, the gentle luxury of sleep. Him: I woke to empty morning blankets on my side of the bed, stretched, blissful yoga legs shaking slightly. Soft snores not mine, gently waft through the beams of dust floating on the air. I leave with no regard, if he isn’t up maybe the other one is. Moving with purpose, single minded, p adding downstairs sleepy eyed, take the stairs two at a time, I have no cares other then the rumble in my stomach. I awoke from a dream, of green grass, birds singing, sunlight and warm pavement on my feet. A noise downstairs makes me hesitate to move forward.
Her: In my dream gardening clothes hung with gentle wrinkles, my hair unbrushed. The absence of sparkling crystals hanging on branches meant it hadn’t rained, and I’m caught staring at the sun, it beckoned me outside. Him: Slinking into the kitchen, wobbly with hunger, rubbing against the doorway, she doesn’t notice me, her face a movie screen echoing a inner daydream. I keep my gaze on her, willing her to turn, “look at me” I silently project. I watch as she fumbles to open the door, don’t, it’s not time, look at me. Her: In my dreams carrying s eed packets and garden trowel I pass through the door into the back garden. Kneeling I gratefully run my hand through the freshly turned soil, packets of seed carelessly dumped onto the earth a colourful pile of soon to be granted wishes. I dreamt that I buried them like treasure, flowers yet to be discovered. I stood up and walked through the newly grown grass as dewdrops clung to my feet begging for a ride.
It felt so real, I was there in the garden, in the morning sunshine, and then… The startled quail flock forward rising as one when the click of the door latch surprises them this early. The pheasant clucks disapprovingly as he makes for the safety of the shed’s rooftop. The shock of bare feet touching the cold floor of the kitchen waking me from a morning slumber of sunny days and warming soil. I t was only a winter’s wishful dream of spring. Frozen icicles hang like exclamation marks from the roofline, snow covering the garden mounded lumps is our winter reality. The cold air, oh so cold on my bare feet, makes me shiver with regret.
Bootsie meows for food, purring around my cold ankles. He must have woken up when I started to sleep walk downstairs. I wonder if he dreams of spring like I do?
It’s the new year, and it’s time to dream, to think, to wonder. Inspiration can be found in so many places, books, magazines, blogs. I dream of a gated garden, beautifully aged wood, white washed, and weathered. With soft pink rambling roses gracefully arching as they practice their yoga. The thorns are retracted so they do not scratch the cats as they parade on the top of the fence. The cats pacing makes them look like trapeze artists, as their well fed tummies wobble back and forth when they stop to playfully swat at a bee. The sun dapples the trees feet, the breeze is soft, and warm. The promise of a life lived, loved, and still to come.
There are hills and hollyhocks in my gated garden, the hollyhocks act as if they are the reason for the picket fence to be holding it’s self so upright. But we know it is the green grass, and the wildflowers outside of the garden that lovingly hold up the fence. The veggies may say that they are the reason the garden is so lovely, with it’s raised beds, and beautiful gravel paths.
But it is the gate that will draw your eye. Antique, solid, and with a history of being wired, and repaired, it’s original galvanized metal painted so many times it is still chipping, and textured. The creaking sound it makes as we push it open an integral part of the experience of the garden. A soft welcome to new friends. So far I have only seen them in shops, but one day I will find my gate. And then I will have the gated garden of my dreams.
Thank you to all who have left such wonderful congratulations on the other day’s blog post regarding our new climate change, and need for long underwear due to our move to the Okanagan. Excited, rushed, looking forward to a new adventure, that’s us. Yes less then two weeks to go, [heart pounding but in a good way]. This is a new adventure, one that we have looked forward to for so long, can’t wait, we have all this packing to do, and the phone rings off the hook, so many arrangements being made. The Boo just sleeps through it all, nothing comes between him, and his nap time. I have gone out and purchased my snow boots, and my long underwear. Made of spun rayon, from bamboo, I can’t wait to give those babies a test drive. I don’t have a winter jacket, down here on the West Coast we don’t need heavy jackets for more then a week every other year or so. A good waterproof, all weather jacket, with a giant hood is much more practical in our rainy climate. You just throw on another fleecy, and maybe double up the yoga pants. [Take that Mr. Black’s, worst dressed list]. It’s snowing up in the Okanagan, cold baby cold! If you are wondering just how cold, take a look at the blog from my soon to be almost a neighbour, Carolynn from A Glowing Ember. She recently moved up to the Okanagan, and knows first hand how cold it is compared to here already. It’s going to be some climate change for us. All of my plants have been moved to a friends house, some we will pick up in the spring, and transplant them to their new yard… oh exciting, a garden, a house. And best of all, we are being transplanted, I can’t wait to start putting down roots.
I know i know. First article in over a month and I come up with a presser? Sucks eh? But no worries, my annual world tour (okay fine nationwide tour) is practically over and we will try to slog through the backlog of articles for your lunchtime enjoyment. But before that, let's tackle for today's menu the recent Vibram Five Fingers launch, held at the Metropolitan Club near Rockwell.
As I got there, I realized it won't be your typical launch. The beautiful people of mass media were there, and local distributor Barefootwear Inc. pulled out the stops in bringing VFF to the public consciousness. Old hands in the running community are pretty familiar with the brand as it had been used by enthusiasts for several years now, but this was the first time it was actually taking front and center on the big stage.
The main point of contention, well at least from my viewpoint, was to somehow to prove to the public that a seemingly novel item could play an integral role in one's everyday activities. To the skeptical mind, a typical query would dwell on how a piece of footwear that mimics having well, er, none at all provide enough support for intense athletic pursuits?
Is it, um, hard?
VFF's philosophy is predicated on the notion that wearing shoes is much akin to putting your foot in a cast. We've just been mind conditioned to wear them since birth, so we don't really notice it. The key word is to de-evolve in terms of how we approach our footwear, given that our caveman ancestors survived eons without them right? If you gave them a Gel Kayano, they would most probably try to whack some bear on the head with it.
The rest of the tribe did not exactly approve of Peach es' new "toy". In an attempt to showcase this theory, a multisport coach was brought to explain the theory behind the science, along with a quick demonstration.Well, supposedly that was the idea... . too bad the treadmill wouldn't work. In related news, the event manager was seen taking shots at the nearest bar right after.
Hey, is that a mini Shaolin pony? Highlight of the event was when VFF unveiled their "ambassadors" (for lack of a better term, I forgot what they were called exactly so sue me). These were all top athletes who espouse the use of VFF's in their respective disciplines. Among others, there was a yoga master (former model Corey Wills, who seemed to have lost a ton of weight from his yoga gig), a top surfer gal/commercial model, a Capoeira guru ( whom I recognized as one of the guys behind that cool Score Card we featured a few months back), and a kettlebell instructor who was channeling Gov. Arnie ( didn't know what kettlebell was before this presser, but throwing around a gigantic bowling ball with a handle seems like fun).
However, in spite of their star power it was two-time BDM vet and Team Endure buddy Ronald Declarador who stole the show with his Tagahlohg spiel amidst the sosyness . And why wouldn't he? He's the only guy to ever complete the Bataan 120 kilometer race! (sorry Reema Chanco, I couldn't resist.)
Idol Ronald hits the big time Seriously though, if someone deserved the raucous applause, it was Ronald. He was already hyping VFF's to us years ago, way before it even became a cool niche accessory. When we were gasping for air at BDM amidst the 41 degree heat, I was almost floored when I saw him wearing them. From a marketing perspective, you couldn't find a more compelling pitchman to would -be clients from the running community. Why? In this day and age of pronation, stability, and motion control, we are fussier than a cranky Persian cat when it comes to the "protection" we get from our shoes. But once people see a guy finish the country's longest solo road race on them, the naysayers are automatically turned into believers.
If you listen to Ronald, he'll say "Screw your foot type". "The shoes won't adjust to you. You adjust to the shoe". Hmm, interesting.
Pique your fancy much? If you expect me to copy paste the entire product line from the press kit here, that makes you a 10 on the GBM Laziness Meter, 1 being a hummingbird and 9 being a three-toed sloth. So do yourself a favor and pay their website a visit at http://www.barefootwearinc.com/ , you may find something suitable for your lifestyle.
I asked Grandpa Nick (we call him Pops) what he thought of this "newfound contraption" that mimicked how people walked around when he was a teenager (smirk). " These are great, I can feel my blood flow and it feels so... . free. I think I can bike 3 minutes on the stationary with these babies. I feel like its 1920 all over again! They're the greatest thing since sliced bread. By the way, can I have these?"
Arbor?Another day, another new believer. Now if only I could uncurl em' toes... ...
Editor's Note : This is coming in about two weeks late, but what the heck I got busy. Again. Anyway, enjoy the fruits of my forsaken lunch break.
For most newbies to the sport, the annual exodus to Camarines Sur to compete in the only Ironman-branded triathlon competition in the country is much akin to a rite of passage. Get the shirt, get the photo-op, get the fancy sticker on your bike. Bask in the glory of "ayan na si Ironman" (and all the lame Tony Stark jokes) at the office water cooler. Hang out at the neighborhood pool and revel in the " Pare musta Camsur mo?" conversation with the batak dude on the next lane. Hey, make it worth your $250 right?
Seriously though, it's still the biggest multisport event in the country. And with its third incarnation in the bag, it just became bigger with more than 1,000 athletes gathered in the water that morning last August 14th. Why bother to tri? People have different reasons. Some join in for the heck of it. Some are in there to just see if they could stack up, a personal test of will if you may call it that. Some have enough chutzpah to make the race their first triathlon, which ends in either a personal Everest conquered or a painful crash back to reality (or the pavement. And hopefully not the bottom of the lake). So we have our reasons, that's a given. As for myself, if you've been following my site from the very beginning you should know I'm a gamer when it comes to these things. A recent accounting check showed that I have been spending a ridiculous amount on races, gear, logistics, etc. I don't know about you, but I can't swallow that amount and leisurely trot around races with the pure intent of merely surviving the cutoff. I have to take my training seriously and make this count, lest the motivation for getting a fancy, technologically advanced six-figure bike is relegated for pure japorms purposes alone.
Thing is, what if there's well, nothing to take seriously? As I mentioned in my previous article, the high-wire act that most age-group triathletes take in balancing these significant training hours with the other aspects of "normal" life is probably more of a challenge than the race itself. If you're a regular 9-5 corporate warrior who actually relishes having more than four hours of sleep or possesses some semblance of a social life, this is incredibly tough to execute. Something has to give at one time or another. With the specter of a new job on the horizon just as short-course season was about to end, I opted to focus on the more mundane trappings of each pencil-pushing suit out there. And yet, the fight never really left me. An attempt to squeeze as much juice as I could out of my limited training hours resulted in a rash of nabigla injuries and ego-deflating training sessions as I vainly tried to keep up with my superbly conditioned Quest 825 teammates. With my performance slipping with each race, the goal of competing in the Timex 226 full Ironman distance triathlon this December seemed but a foolhardy afterthought. Stringent qualifying times notwithstanding (at least with my current fitness level), my "secret" endurance sport dream of completing the Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon, Ironman Camsur 70.3 and Timex 226 all in one season couldn't have been any farther from reality. Pop that bubble and go back to signing memos you fool.
Wishful thinking never hurt
But then with a stroke of luck and a dash of inspiration, the fates smiled on us once more at the Tri United long course triathlon held in Matabungkay. Even as a crippling back injury rendered me a virtual crash-test dummy during the run leg, the splits were just good enough to have me qualify by the skin of my teeth. Thirty- four freaking seconds to spare before the 4:45 cut-off, considered the tougher of the two qualifying standards given ( the other being a 6:45 for the Camsur 70.3)
A miracle can happen... .
That, in a nutshell, gives you the context of my race in Camsur. With the pressure of qualifying out of the equation, I was in a more relaxed state and was even feeling good about the prospects of a good finish. But before we even go there, let's try getting therefirst, shall we? Which, as I came to realize, wasn't exactly a walk in the park.The Long,Long Winding Road
Eight hours.440 kms. I don't think I have ever driven that far. For the record, I don't think most of us have either. With Ultramarathoner - turned -design maven Abby keeping me comfy company for the duration of the ride, the endless route seemed liked a prelude to the mental tenacity necessitated for the race. Passing through scenic yet creepy trails such as the famous Bituka ng Manok zigzag road in Quezon kept me on my toes, given the seeming predilection of cars to run into accidents there.
It's tough.
Ironically, it was actually heaping doses of Cobra that kept me going. Hmm, maybe it does make sense for them to sponsor the race. But really, try tasting the stuff. It's probably the next best thing to shabu in keeping you awake. Along the way, we were so hungry (with such few stops in between) that we swore that we ate the best siopao ever at a stall at the Quezon-Camsur boundary. Yum.
This is the place, a long way from Ayala eh? After what seemed like an eternity we finally got to our hotel in Naga City, which would serve as our home for the next couple of days. Roughly 10kms away from CWC, it's a pretty smart, cost-efficient move in lieu of the pricey (and pretty much sold out) rooms at the complex. We got first-hand taste of some terrific local eats - Biggs's Diner for a late casual lunch and Chef's Doy's for a fancy (yet shockingly cheap) dinner.
Yummy casual dining at Jollibee prices
The team with Chef Doy himself Bike Check In
Once the dust had settled, we had to check in our bikes at what would be the transition site. This is somewhat of an unfamiliar experience to the uninitiated, with the prospect of leaving your bike overnight a slightly perturbing thought. Season partner Bikezilla was kind enough to send their top wrench guy/fun friend Dave along with the team to ensure that our bikes were in tiptop shape before the check in. After negotiating a line that resembled your neighborhood lotto pila when the jackpot balloons to P100 million, I was finally off.
The ol' battle chariot locked and loaded
Let's Shock The World
Amidst the bedlam that was happening in the days that preceded the race, I found myself enraptured within an almost eerie calm that belied the pressure generated by an eventof this magnitude. It's already a given that I'm primed for a marginal finish on this race. But inexplicably enough, I was feeling strangely good about my chances. I really, honestly thought that I would shock the world. Spot-on premonition or shameless wishful thinking? It would be fitting to see how it would all unravel come race day. But then came the signs. Signs that broke an otherwise tranquil calm... ..
Sign #1
I guess it would be fair to mention that I slept for only two hours before driving to Camsur because I ransacked my entire apartment looking for my trishorts. Of all the god darn days that I could lose it. Possible reasons:
1.The dog ate it 2.The dog hid it in his super secret hiding place for future chewing purposes3.The dog ate it.
I blame the dog completely. He must have eaten it. There's no other way. I'm positive.
I didn't do it
Sign #2
After the team did a Thursday photo-op at Lago del Rey with The Batis Project CEO Ricky Ocampo(We're carrying the highly regarded hotel and balneotherapy resort as our title sponsor for the season), my K-Ona's were soaked and got inundated with sand and rocks. Abby took due prudence in drying it out at the aircon hatch of our hotel as there was no other way of going about it. Much to our horror, the following morning the right insole was gone. It could have gone anywhere, but it just vanished into thin air. You're probably thinking "it's just a freaking insole" but good luck on finding any triathlete who would willingly run without it. Luckily, our team captain Deo (the brains behind the old school Tri-Pilipinas board) had an extra K-Ona with the same size as mine, so I pretty much ran the race on a borrowed insole. Lucky break, but dyahe.
Signs. Premonitions. Tri-short eating dogs. Let's get this over with, shall we?
D-Day - Lago Del Rey, about 5 minutes into the swim
Dammit. I got punched. Or whacked by those damn breastrokers. Any other way, I think I'm starting to panic nowwith my goggles practically off.It's the first time I've ever been hit in a race, tough it had to happen here. Heard lots of stories, at least now I have one of my own. But it's a story I'd rather not tell. Oh great I got hit again. Ugh, while I'm trying to fix it I'm incessantly getting run over. It's like I'm in Omaha Beach at the Battle of Normandy, and I'm one of the first casualties.
Chaos is an understatementI eventually catch a second wind and did good time at the small lake, only to get stopped dead in my tracks after swimming right into someone kicking furiously. You know how cartoon characters see stars when they're punched? Never knew that was a case of art imitating life right there, it really freaking happens. Lucky me didn't get the memo about the water being so murky that you couldn't see your hands doing the strokes. After what seemed like an eternity of playing Takeshi's Castle at the small lake, I'm out of the water in 51, nearly 52 minutes. Missed my time target by two minutes, but still ahead of the "worst case" goals I had made for myself. So far.
Somewhere in Camarines Sur, about 35km into the bike
Go Go Ironman! Go Go Ironman! The playful chants of the Bicolano children reverberate in my ear as I speed past this drenched countryside.Why do I get this weird feeling that their teacher would flunk them if they didn't show up for this?Lol. Everyone was prepping for the heat, praying for cool weather - and we get a deluge instead. Approaching a sharp curve, I need to overtake this lady in front of my lest I be called for drafting. It's nothing special, routine pass. Holy crap my wheels lock, the angle is too slick. As I'm about two seconds from losing control and crashing, a collective gasp could be heard from the crowd... ..
But thankfully, I didn't. The sporting gods finally let me catch a break. I was able to regain control at the last minute, a look of both relief and partial consternation on my face if you could actually see it through the downpour. So I'm liking my chances now. I'm averaging about 31-32 kph, with the intention of pouring it on during the homeward trip. However, after doing their good deed of the day with me, the sporting gods decided to call it quits. At which precise moment I hit a very hard bump on the road, misaligning my saddle several degrees. This forced me to hold an awkward, yoga-like position that put a lot of strain on my balky back. It didn't take long for the pain to come. As much i try not to be a girly man about it, I guess only those who have had lower back injuries and attempted to race on a bike could relate. And so my personal Calvary began.
My pace slowed to a ridiculous crawl. Teammates, friends, strangers were passing my demoralized shell left and right. It was Matabungkay all over again, only this time I had to work with the pain for about 50 more kilometers. I dismounted about 5 or 6 times to stretch, with bystanders chiding me "Koya okay kay lang ba? Gusto mo ng sopdrink?" I forced a smile. With about 20 kilometers to go, I wasn't quite sure if I could even make it to the run portion. Maitawid na lang. Each kilometer took what seemed like an eternity to complete. As I entered T2, the full rack of bikes confirmed the sobering realization that I pretty much threw away my race right there. A fat,juicy, 3:15 split was staring me in the face. With my "pet" discipline up ahead, I guess this is make or break for me. Question is, how much did I have left in the tank?
Playing through the pain
Just before the rice cooker, 10km into the run
I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this. Spurred on by an incredible rush of adrenaline, I was calling on every single ounce of fight left in me to pull this off. I lost 25 minutes on the bike, but I figured if I could gain that back on the run then all would be well with the world. I ran a sub-25 5k , and just cleared a 58 minute 10k. I have a real shot at redemption here, and why not with the wonderful weather relegating the feared rice cooker into mushy lugaw. I was passing people left and right, each tuhog serving as a boon to my broken body and exhausted spirit. Alas, it just wasn't meant to be. Too much to ask I guess. The back tightened up real bad somewhere around 13k, and it was both a mental and physical struggle from that point. I never stopped fighting though. The final stretch saw me trudge painfully through a 7:00 pace performance, but I still kept on passing people. Cramps caught up with me sometime around 20k, may pahabol pa matatapos na nga lang. As I finally crossed the line, the look on Abby's face was one of both joy and relief. Apparently, she was worried sick wondering what had happened to me. But hey, I made it! My self-inflicted journey of pain and suffering was over in six hours and 37 minutes, and would you look at that I'm still in one piece.
Never say never, it's always possible.
Epilogue
It's pretty obvious that this wasn't my best race, not by a long shot. But I take solace in the fact that I overtook 107 people on the run leg, even with what I consider a substandard run split. There were a lot of positives to be taken from the race, I was happy with how I fought back when it was so easy to quit already. Overall, it was quite the experience. I'd willingly do it again next year and come back strong, wherever it may be.
Bootsie our cat, is a creative cat he has to be, otherwise how could he be fed on demand, take up most of the bed, and get the best chair in the house. Yesterday he decided to build a Zen garden.
Creative cat designs andbuilds ownZen gardensay’s it’spurr-fect for kitties After he came up with the idea he just lay there for a few minutes to let the creative design process purr-culate.
A bit of paw shaking to loosen up, and he got into the zone.
A pat here, a paw there, a few purrs as he contemplated the simplicity of the whole Zen idea.
Move this rock just a little, it’s all very feng shui you know… it must be purr-fectly aligned.
He felt it was a little furry to worry, so he decided to just go with the purr-fection of his fe-lines.
After all when you are a creative cat anything in life is puss-able.
And there, he is has finished, now to think what cat-agory he will put this latest creation in?
Purr-fection, that’s it.
He’s says don’t bother him right now, he is meditating… and doing yoga at the same time, cat on back ummmmmmmmmmmm. Because he is so very cat-aple of multi tasking.
I’ve been walking a lot lately with a friend, whom I am going to call TQ. And to help us keep up our enthusiasm we are hitting a different route each time. Yesterdays route was a good hour long, and included some larger, slowly inclined hills. I am feeling very virtuous, but that could just be from the sweat. It’s fun, and healthy I am sure… but the best part is showing off all of my favourite haunts, tucked away little parks, cute ponds, and great flowers. We went to a park that most likely is a water reserve, right in the middle of the city. Gorgeous rolling hills, and piles of goose droppings everywhere. We didn’t find too many ducklings, or goslings, the ones we did see were adorably gangly. What a great park to have your yard back onto, a full grown trees, birds chirping, sun shining, life is good kind of park. Seemed like a lot of people thought the same thing. The geese loved it to, did I mention that there were piles of goose droppings everywhere? Yes, it was a lot of duck, duck, ohhhhh I stepped in it. Goose stepping everywhere, funny to see all of us with our winter white legs in shorts, doing the goose step. The birds chirped, the geese did their yoga stretches, and the ducks swam in the water. And we goose stepped.
