Cebu City Marathon 21k (30th) : 1:50:43
PSE Bull Run 10k - DNS
Condura Skyway Marathon 42k (280th) - 4:56:03
Bataan Death March 102k Ultramarathon (82nd) - 17:35:53
National Geographic Earth Day Run 10k (17th) - 49:24
Asian Hospital RunNew 10k (25th) - 53:14
San Mig Coffee Bay Run 10k (10th) - 47:01
HP Fun Run 6k (1st) - 28:03
Chris Sports Epic Relay 250k (2nd) - 23:13:00
New Balance Nuvali Adventure Trail Run 15k (307th) - 3:04:23
35th Milo Marathon Eliminations 21k (45th) - 1:50:51
Powerade Duathlon Leg 2 (86th, 16th in age group) - 1:56:29
Takbo.ph Anniversary Runfest (21st, 7th in age group) - 46:32
Dean's Cup Invitational Triathlon - (56th, 9th in age group) - 1:54:15
7-Eleven Tour 500 - 3:27:28
Sonshine Cycling Festival Criterium - DNF, outlapped after 35 mins.
Fort Running Festival 21k - 1:43:15 (57th individual, 1st team)
Tour of Matabungkay Stage 1 100k - 3:52(188th)
Tour of Matabungkay Stage 2 90k - 2:53 (163rd)
Tour of Matabungkay Stage 3 TTT - 59:24 (29th)
Adidas King of the Road 10k - 50:15 (75th)
Powerade Standard Distance Duathlon - 2:41:54 (4th in age group)
Malakoff Powerman Malaysia Long Distance Duathlon - 4:24:52 (60th)
Nike Run Manila 5k - 22:34 (81st)
Speedo NAGT UPLB Sprint Triathlon - 2:03:01 (38th overall, 8th in age group)

It’s hardly earth shattering, but oh it was so good to do, and it smelled totally wonderfully breath catching freshened with spring scented air. Yes, I’ve turned into a fresh air frugalista, and started to use that clothesline that the former owners left us. You can’t beat the cost, FREE a few minutes of fresh air to hang the laundry, and a few hours of watching it gently twirl out there in the backyard and the laundry is air dried and fragrant, ready to be gathered up and inhaled. Makes me wonder why more of us don’t do this, think of the electricity and money we would save. The weather was more suited to the young, or those who thought to insulate themselves properly when I went out to hang up the laundry. Nippy, as in nip it in the bud if you thought the disappearing snow would hasten the spring like temperatures. I have forgotten how cold, wet fingers can get while they hang up clothes fresh from the washer, but it was worth it. The afternoon was sunny, and delightful, still with underlying cool, but a slight breeze.

You can tell it’s spring that’s coming along, there are kids playing in the driveways, sounds of laughter and skateboards, warbles of birdsong caught on a sunbeam. Neighbours are stirring from their winter dens, rakes are taken out of hibernation, and hello’s are exchanged. I haven’t hung up laundry on a line since I was very young… but I have not forgotten how to do it. Sheets doubled over so they don’t hang on the grass, and always allocate 3 of the new eco friendly bamboo clothespins per sheet. Socks doubled up, two per pin, shirts hung upside down, pants from the waistband, it’s all coming back to me now. And skivvies, well nothing would convince me to hang them outside, not for all the fresh air in the world, it’s inside with those babies.

The scent, the glorious fresh air, no chemical in the world can duplicate the smell of line dried laundry scent. I’ve missed that for so many years, we haven’t had a laundry line for decades. It’s spring, it’s sunny, it’s warming up soon. We’re hoping that all of the snow will disappear from the lawn, and my husband can finish raking those last little snow covered patches it certainly needs a good working over. We took 38 black plastic bags of yard waste to the dump, during their yard waste recycling period, it was originally a big bump in the backyard, but fir needles and branches will take forever to breakdown, and we have yet to build a proper composter. Some day soon I hope to have some sort of system that will accommodate our yard waste.

I’ve planted my hardier bulbs in pots for now, some dahlia, a fern, a peony, two colors of bleeding heart. Of course I need some containers around the house for color. They go outside during the sunny days, and perch inside the garage on the potting bench situated in the window on snowy days. Happy Sunday.

By some stroke of luck ladies and gentlemen I have two Globe Run For Home gc's, redeemable to any distance. I know some of you think the race is expensive, so instead of running this myself I am giving away these away to two lucky readers, save the cash.

It's a gift.

How does it go? It's not rocket science really. Just a wee bit of work, but it could be worth it. All you have to do is :

1. Like the Endure Multisport Fan Page

2. Like the Team Powerpuff Boys Fan Page

3. Like the Quest 825 Cycling Fan Page

4. Have five of your friends like the official GBM Report Fan Page

5. Follow me on Twitter.
6. Leave a comment on this post saying that these have been accomplished already.

I will raffle off these two kits using a randomizer program I have. I usually see the same faces join these contests, so I guess your shot is as good as any. Contest starts today and ends March 17 5pm. Deadline for claiming these kits is March 20 at the Greenbelt 3 Cinema Lobby so you have ample time to get it. Good luck!

Juicy... .

When my body gives out and my head tells me to quit, my heart compels me to struggle on. At some point, however, my head and my heart get in 'cahoots' with each other. They both demand I stop. That is when my spirit soars and their protestations are of no avail. I am propelled by a force unseen, drawn to a potential I have yet to realize. I shake off the burden of the physical and wake up to experience my dream. At last I am free... .

Some have dubbed it the final frontier. Well, for the moment at least. The fact of the matter is, right now there is no longer road race in the country. The Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon is in a league of its own, and dwarfs all comers to the table. Nothing even remotely comes close. Participants are either honored in hushed, reverential tones or maligned as foolhardy and ignorant.Maybe even stupid. Save for a trifling number, after KM 102 pretty much everybody would be entering the twilight zone. The first ever 100-mile race in the country sticks out like Everest on steroids to the hungry masses, the novelty of the great unknown drawing these inquisitive endurance athletes like moths to a flame. The appeal to be part of history ups the risk/reward scale on an unprecedented level, and athletes will be tested as they have never been before. How long should one soldier on, and when should one know when to quit? It is the quintessential paradox of a discipline that is fueled by blood, guts, and an indomitable will to make it to that finish line. It is a paradigm that will be revisited in recurring snippets as the tale unravels.

The few and the proud...

Prologue

"May invite ka na ba pre?" That was the prevailing water cooler topic for ultra running denizens a couple months back. As for me, the answer was a resounding NO. I wasn't too surprised though, and already had already somehow come to terms with it. After my maiden stint last year with BDM 102, I never really did anything that could be remotely considered "ultra" anymore. While my contemporaries had joined practically every "mid-distance" (if one could consider 70k as such. Really now.) ultramarathon race that Sir Jovie Narcise (better known in running circles as the irrepressible Bald Runner or just plain BR for short) had put out there, it was no big secret that I have been dabbling into multisport and cycling for the most part and had pretty much been out of the scene. So it was really no shocker. I would be lying if I said it didn't bug me though. Just to be considered for the race is a big honor already, and after all I did apply for it. Thing was,we had absolutely no idea what the criteria was for selection. Rumors abound that supposedly only 15 hour finishers would be considered. But then as the initial wave of invites came out, people who were right around my finish range were getting golden tickets, which pretty much added to my anxiety. Perhaps it was my inactivity with the PAU (Philippine Association of Ultrarunners) that contributed to it. Maybe it's just not in the cards. Sigh. We all move on... ...

Then one day, as me and Abby were walking around BHS , i get a buzz on my Blackberry. Thank God for instant email. When that header said "Jovenal Narcise", my heart skipped a beat. When I saw the subject line " Letter of Invitation to the BDM 160", I let out a yelp of joy in the middle of the walkway. Okay maybe not, but you get the idea. Abby got hers at pretty much the same time.And why shouldn't she? I'm probably the only guy in the country who has a girlfriend who runs 102 kilometers faster than he does. Happy night.This was what I wanted right? Right? But... .. I haven't had any long-distance training. Nada. Zilch. Farthest I've ran in a year was 21k. Oh my. With one fell swoop, suddenly the ball was in my court now.

Decisions, Decisions

When the announcement first came out, the race was actually meant to be BDM 151, 151 kilometers representing the cumulative total distance including the train ride of the Death March prisoners to Camp O' Donnell in Capas, Tarlac. However, there was a clamor to increase the distance to just over 160 kms to make it the official 100-mile race in the country. When BR acceded, the wheels in my head were suddenly turning. I suddenly have a shot to cross one off the old bucket list. After a prolonged period of soul searching (that took roughly about 30 minutes) I had made my decision. Obviously, you know what that decision came out to be. The die had been cast. No turning back now.

Forming the Crew

Perhaps unbeknownst to many, the support crews that you tag along for these races aren't of the prototypical cheerleader rah rah kind, which is a common misconception. It's not fun and games, it's not a street party. If at all, the support crew may even undergo more stress than the runners themselves. They are awake during practically the same time frame, and undergo constant anxiety on their runners well being. The crew has to be part inspirational leader, part drillmaster, part nutritionist, part nurse and part driver. They are perhaps the most integral supplementary element to the success of the race, and their relative efficiency could provide the final difference in toeing the fine line between life and death when push comes to shove (I'm not kidding).

Last year, I got my buddy AJ, my internet legend uncle Tito Caloy and random/seasonal friend RV (by virtue of six degrees of separation he somehow got ensnared into this) whom I met just on the day itself. They were all somehow under the impression that this would be a fun, all-night drinking session with me somehow running in the background. Of course, given the shock and stress that they were suddenly, unwittingly subjected to, they forever hold a "BDM card" on me, that they can pull as they wish. Warning to BDMers - this is prone to general abuse, so choose your crew wisely. Smirk.

This year, Abby agonized over the decision on whether to run or not. She was one of what seemed like only ten women who had qualified for it, and the chance to make history was tantalizing. On the flipside, while she was in phenomenal shape she scarcely had any run training. Crucial year in setting up her business, and I guess at one point we all just have to draw the line with priorities. With much trepidation, she decided to hold it off for next year and I hope to make it up to her then. With her addition though I finally have the benefit of not just a seasoned runner on the crew, but an veteran ultrarunner who knows what it takes to get to that finish line.

I've been bugging AJ, who worked harder than anyone last year in keeping me alive out there, to once again be part of my crew. After incessant faux rejections ( no way in hell he would turn down the possibility of two BDM cards to pull), he finally "caved in" after my assurances that this would be the "last". Which was what we said last year. Hihi.

Internet legend Tito Caloy (old Takbo.ph joke, just google my old material) wasn't supposed to be part of the crew this year and was an 11th hour callup because we needed the extra hand. He had all but retired from the running scene and promptly returned to his competitive drinking roots. His son, my cousin Mel (but we call him Shtuey, go figure) was ostensibly going to crew me, back had to back out at the last moment due to his slated thesis defense. I told him "yung thesis pwede naman ulitin, eto once in a lifetime lang to!" Bad Kuya GBM.

The final piece of the puzzle was Duart, who along with myself and AJ have formed a decade-long triumvirate dating back from our days as gangly freshmen at DLSU. He was crestfallen at missing my maiden campaign last year, and was determined to make it up this year. My energetic buddy not only signed on in a jiffy, he even provided the Innova which would become our support car.

The only crew that matters... .With everything in good stead, now all we could do was wait for our date with destiny.

The Briefing

The race briefing is an annual tradition wherein everyone makes the pilgrimage to Camp Aguinaldo to hear last minute instructions from BR. It is also the last chance for you to take hang and socialize with your "batchmates" in a somewhat lucid manner, you may be even lucky to snag a helping or two of lechon. The whole thing is pretty and cut and dry, but one slide of BR stood out to everybody that night.

Don't blame the RD!

D-Day

The advantage of having the race start in the morning is that your body clock is not out of whack. You can sleep like a normal human being and you don't have to be a zombie the first leg or so. With the rest of the team following after office hours (too bad it wasn't an official holiday pfft), me and Abby hitched with TPB bud and BDM 102 partner Mark Hernandez along with soon-to-be marathoner/TPB wifey Bea. While waiting for them at our pre-arranged BHS meeting spot, we see an Audi TT roadster park just in front of Rox. Oohhh fancy. Oddly enough, the silhouette inside was waving to us. Was someone trying to pick up Abby in broad daylight? Que Horror. Amusingly, it turned out to be none other than our good friend Rio with his new toy. The afro gave him away. Soon after Mark and Bea would arrive, and we were well on our way. Last year, I wasn't too happy with our place. This year, we decided to check-in at the MC Lodge, highly regarded by practically everyone and much nearer to KM 0. Place was cool, rooms were just slightly smaller but much cleaner and with better appointments. Of course, I pretended not to see the "295, Aircon 3 hours special" sign outside. Groovy.

It's the place to be We had time to burn, so we scoped out the place for landmarks for the crew and made sure all the gadgets were charged up. Thing I love about the place was that there were like 7 sockets in such a small room. FTW. To "relax" me we were able to set up a mini-DBD on my laptop and I was able to sneak in an article in there (hapit). Around 6 pm Saturday, we had many different choices from their five-star chef for our last supper of sorts.

Bon Apetit! Finally, some shuteye. The crew (and I expected nothing less) got lost and arrived close to midnight. After what seemed like a couple of hours we all had to get the ball rolling. The pressure was mounting. More pressure came forth (my blood pressure,that is) when my crew told me they had a P600 peso dinner. BDM card, BDM card. After what seemed like an eternity, we left the lodge and went on the starting line.An almost unmistakable cornucopia of anxiety, excitement, and fear was distinctly palpable within the car's constraints. I had worn my exact finish line outfit from last year as some weird pamahiin. Out with the old and in with the new, and in a few moments we would be seeing history unfold before our very eyes. The calm before the storm The pre-race events usually consist of a bunch of souvenir photos,some scattered well-wishes and a lot of prayers. Now, there's also the annual rendition of the US and Philippine anthems. Last year, BR gave a "soulful" rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, (much to the enjoyment of the crowd and much to his chagrin after all the ribbing he got after lol) and this year it was US Armyman Gilbert Gray's turn. Pretty straight up, stoic but no doubt amiable fellow. Remember when we all saw Robocop without the mask? This guy is a dead ringer both in looks and demeanor. I was hit by a sudden burst of nostalgia. It seemed just yesterday that I was here, a greenhorn to the entire enterprise. Sigh, how time flies. After the requisite "class picture", the 59 brave souls on that fateful Saturday morning were off at right around 6am. Destiny and glory were waiting, now the onus was on us to do our part.

With the crew at KM 0.

I hope to replicate this pose at the finish line

The Endure Multisport Ultramen Let the madness beginThe race with no equal started off without much aplomb, with runners trotting warily in lieu of blasting off on all cylinders. Surely, these veterans knew better. Some were setting a faster pace, and only time could tell if they could hold it. After all, this was the biggest battle of our lives right here. I opened the race with buddies Mark Hernandez and OJ Giron, a couple of familiar faces that I hoped would make the journey a lot more meaningful. And in hindsight, hoping that once we enter our own Battle of the Bulge, our own private Normandy, we would all be there to keep each others sanity in check. They had a fairly ambitious goal though- finish the race in 24 hours or less. While I felt that was purely wishful thinking for me given my fitness level, the plan was to just hang with them as far as it takes me. I mean, these guys were in phenomenal shape. OJ coaches nearly full-time and Mark has been on a tear on the running circuit as of late. I would have my work cut out for me but I couldn't allow myself to be left behind.We start out conservatively, alternating a brisk jog and walking the entire 4k incline. Many are passing us at will while BR passes by in a van and chats us up. Our man is in a good mood this morning, in stark contrast to last year's drillmaster barking on a megaphone. Ordinarily, a competitive junkie like me (and I'm pretty sure these two have that same genome in them) would go nuts at being passed so... . effortlessly. But this wasn't a 10k. The reality was, we had 153 more kilometers to go. Just the thought of it scares the hell out of me. What did I get myself into again?

Just out for a weekend fun run with friends... .The Lolo Diaries

At one point, we run into a group led by the "grand old warrior" himself, the ageless Victor Ting. If you see your old man lounging around in the sala watching TV or discovering this fascinating thing called "internet" while forwarding you funny emails (just as we did in well, 1999), this guy puts them all to shame. Imagine, his apos must have it good. No way they are losing an eh ang lolo ko mas magaling sa lolo mo argument. Like, "eh ang lolo ko tumakbo mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac" End of conversation. The ageless wonder somehow had it in him to drag his 66-year old legs across a hundred miles side-by-side with runners young enough to be his grandchildren. Mark told me he could never catch the old codger during the test runs no matter how hard he tried. Thing was, he was maintaining such a ridiculously efficient, no-stopping strategy that it was practically impossible to keep up with him. Perhaps in utter embarrassment at being shown up, we finally caught up with him eventually. And here are some snippets of what I got from a living legend.

" Dati may 100k na , diyan sa may Burnham sa Baguio. Bata pa si Jovie, alam niya yun. Tumakbo ako dun! Paikot ikot nga lang kami."

"Mabagal lang tayo. Sanay tayo sa mabilis pero dito mabagal lang tayo malayo layo pa to"

"Nung 1981 sa Manila International Marathon sub-3 yung marathon ko"

"Nag two bottles pa kami ng Red Horse kagabi"

Hmm, maybe that's his secret. Damn, you mean our very own "super lolo" was a sub-3 hour dude the year before I was er, born? I suddenly conjured visions of myself running in 2041, with a young buck chatting me up at the 31st Runrio Trilogy Anniversary Run

Kid : Lolo, sigurado po ba kayo na kaya nyo pa? Tubig po? Malapit na lang, wag po pilitin.
Lolo GBM : Bah. Alam mo ba noong araw eh natakbo ako mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac?Patakbo yun ni Presidente Narcise dati kada taon
Kid : Um, er, ah ganun po ba? Waw. Talaga lang ha. Sige lo, init lang yan. Inom ka na lang ng tubig nagdidiliryo na po kayo.
Lolo GBM : Totoo! Anong akala mo nagbibiro ako? Eto ipapakita ko pa ang silver buckle ko bilang katibayan (lifts up singlet to show buckle)
Kid : Yuck indecent exposure! DOM! PEdo! Security!!!!!!

Talo Lolo mo sa Lolo ko. Kids. Pffft. As I was snapping out of my misguided daydream, I realized that the urge to do the number two was somewhat compelling enough to tell the crew about it. Abby texts back, we found one in 1.5k, that ok? Of course that was okay. I was thinking, the earlier I get this out of the way the better. Last year was an utter nightmare, first try I was shown a hole on the ground, second try I had to run nearly 1k inside a subdivision just to make it to their clubhouse and I nearly fell asleep inside. They even thought I passed out. This year there was no such problem as the crew found a very nice spot right around the 20k mark ... .. inside an Iglesia ni Cristo church. As Abby assured me that my presence there wasn't bordering on anything sacrilegious, I was successfully able to execute probably the fastest and most efficient pit stop ever. Thank you INC, I owe you guys one.

Isolation Therapy

During that break, I had lost Mark and OJ. I kept on looking back, and I asked a Team Ungas van where they were and I was given the impression they were far back. So I was all alone. Felt like I was making good time though, pace at a rock solid 7:30. Much to my consternation, it turns out that they were actually ahead of me. Finally back with my buds, it was supposed to be all smooth sailing from here. It didn't last long though. One pit stop later and the group was once again splintered. What I couldn't understand was why was it that I was the one getting ahead when I'm the weakest runner in our group by a mile. Perhaps, was I doing something wrong? Going too fast? Not even. With no sight of my, I just had to trudge on.

Me, Myself, and the Long Winding Road.

All by myself... . don't wanna be. All by myself... .. anymore.

As the bars of the seminal Celine Dion classic rang through my head, I was thinking, this wasn't how I wanted my story to unfold. It was supposed to be packed with stories of guts, glory, and the will to continue. Of camaraderie and an unspeakable bond with brothers who share the same iron-clad mindset in helping each other succeed through seemingly insurmountable odds. It would have made for great drama, the piece that would finally nail me my first Philippine Blog Award win... .. a tale of hardship, friendship, and sacrifice through... .

Wait, who am I kidding? It's just me, myself, and the road. The sheer drudgery is getting to me. It's pretty much... . mundane and er, unexciting. It's a microcosm of your typical countryside life, and it's a change passing by here during the daytime. Aside from regular contact with my crew and the occasional chit chat with other teams, it's pretty much me and a bunch of nameless faces along the road who keep getting me engaged in this incessant cycle that never gets old :

Bystander : Koya, san kayo galing?
GBM : Mariveles
Bystander : San paponta koya?
GBM : Tarlac
Bystander : !!!!!

Enter Celine Dion chorus here I think in my frustration, I was speeding along faster than I had intended to. As I was approaching the 32k mark I had already passed Frontrunner EIC/Ultra strongman Jonel and the super lolo Vic Ting group. I also saw a focused Pat Alcomendas seemingly struggling, the mere fact of which seemed to blow my mind. He prodded me to go on, was worried if any nagging injuries were manifesting. A quick check on the 310xt, 7:04 pace. Eek. Much faster than what I had intended to hold, and fearful I might gas out later. Relax. Breathe. Malayo pa to.

Manong pacing me to Tarlac. He lasted 30 seconds. Crew check The gang was pretty impeccable at this point. Abby would send me inspirational messages from time to time (hihi) and that never failed to give me a boost. AJ and Duart were on point, although Duart was like a man possessed perhaps in his haste to make up for lost time last year. AJ was mostly chilling. Tito Caloy, was , well, being Tito Caloy. His moral support is invaluable to the endeavor, let's just keep it at that. As I would learn later, Abby was garnering a certain following amongst our provincial folk with her "eye- popping" running outfit which would seem more at home within the comfy asphalt of BHS rather than the concrete jungle of the Bataan countryside. Hey, it's comfy!(rejoinder for fear of future retribution) Warning Signs As I was nearing the marathon mark I was beginning to slow down a little. Ill effects from a fast start? Five hours and a half into the whole thing, my left foot was beginning to feel sore. Also noticeable was that I kept on doing a really weird overpronation move with my left foot, for some reason it would pronate inward and the sole of the shoe would keep on hitting my right ankle. I noticed this mechanical flaw would only come out towards the latter part of anything north of a marathon. And now I'm slowly flagellating my right ankle. Fun.Rule of Thirds Amidst the madness, I decided to divide the race into three parts to keep my head in there - 0 -50, 50 - 102, 102- 160. Within each division I would chomp them up into bite-size and easily digestible 10k portions. That way you don't lose yourself mentally, it's easy to get overwhelmed and deflated when there is too much emphasis on the big picture. I have seen many of my comrades fall by the wayside when this kicks in, and all of us are susceptible at any given moment. As I was doing my mental calculations, the man who had taught me these valuable lessons just caught up with me. It was Jonel! Finally, company! Part-mentor/Frontrunner slave driver, he was coming on strong and as we approached the 50k stretch in Abucay the conversations we had invigorated me. I reminded him that I still owed him breakfast for losing a bet with him on Condura ( I had a lame 4:14, he dropped a 3:47... . after doing a test run. Incredible.) We run into Robocop Gilbert Gray, who must have been bored with our pace and left us soon after. He would eventually finish 10th in a steady, methodical, um, serious performance. We reach the 50k mark around six and a half hours in, BR and Mrs. BR were there to greet us. As we would later on discover, we were both in the top 20 at this point. So far so good. I take the opportunity to stretch out and sit down a little, I actually arrived ahead of my crew. Learning from last year's lessons, I didn't spend too much time here, heck didn't even wait for a costume change. Jonel had an even faster T1 (if you would consider it as such tri-geeks) and was already ahead of me by several minutes. "Just" 110k to go, it should get interesting from here. An Accidental Bromance Back to my lonesome. I don't if growing up alone is a key factor to some deep psychological crap inside of me, but I hate being alone. I hate eating alone, I hate going to the mall alone. Ironically, although I usually train alone I'm not exactly thrilled about it. So sue me, social being here. So once again, it's driving me nuts that I'm by my lonesome. At this point, Jonel was long gone already and was too strong to chase down given I'm going through the motions of a swoon already. So back to the drudgery. My left foot is starting to bother me already and it's starting to get hot already. Many have lost their way on this national highway, and I had no intention of succumbing in my solitude. That's until I notice a semi-familiar face going back and forth with me. Semi-familiar because I knew that dude was Paolo Osmena, a veteran who is no doubt exponentially stronger than me. Someone also said he had the legs of a female supermodel. Of course, I deny all allegations that this came from me. Anyway, for what seemed like a 15k stretch we would settle into this bizarre pattern where I would surge ahead of him after running 1.5k straight, then once I rest with the crew he would come surging back and establish a big lead then the cycle replicates itself. While I felt I was pacing better than him as it seemed he was in some sort of pain, his advantage was he would only stop every 5k. Does that mean I'm a Gingerbread sissy for stopping as often as I did? Probably. Soft-baked mush. But at this point, at the back of my head I was trying to conserve as much as I could, long ways to go. Eventually, this seemingly "cold war" was driving me crazy. I ran up to him ( he was favoring the opposite side of the road) and struck up a conversation. And he turned out to be a very affable albeit tired fellow. His plantar was killing him, but more than anything he was questioning why was he feeling a notch short on probably his most important racing day of the year. He felt he had more than trained for this, so many long runs and hours put in, and yet here he was feeling exhausted less than halfway through. In retrospect, this same malaise may have struck a lot of my fallen comrades. But then again, we'll never really know. Every runner out there has their own unique story, and the entire gamut of emotions that are transmuted into one ethereal body of work make this journey unlike any other.I tried to boost my newfound friend's flagging spirits by telling him that even if we were feeling horrible now, we were still well-entrenched in the top half of the draw. And as much as we felt that we were sucking, those who are still behind us must be sucking too. Of course, that wasn't necessarily true, but I had to say something. He was asking if we walked from that point to the 160 line, would we make it? Perhaps, maybe. But we have to make it to 102 first. Obviously, we wouldn't if we did. But it takes an ultrarunner to know anothers suffering, and at that point you do what you could to help them go forward. On a downward spiral Somewhere nearing KM 70, I was really beginning to feel exhausted. Nearly nine hours in, I was slowly tapering off. Either I left my newfound buddy somewhere or he left me, but I just lost him at a certain point. I was really slowing down and my pace had plummeted to 8:30 cumulative. After what seemed like ages, finally I saw glimpses of different souls. Which was great. And they were passing me left and right. Which wasn't. OJ came out of the woodwork after what seemed like an eternity and was still dropping 7:30 pace effortlessly. I tried latching on but I was already slowly fizzling out. Don Ubaldo was making a rally from behind, he soon passed me as well. And buddy Mark passed me as well, looking fresh as ever. So this is all it would come down to. Just as with all my races, just as with my marathons. A very promising start only to choke at the end. It's a recurring theme, a recurring problem. Maybe ... maybe there's something wrong with what I'm doing. Maybe the problem is... . me. There is no greater dagger to one self-confidence than when one is getting passed left and right by your fresh-looking colleagues. It exacerbates a malignant notion slinking in the shadows. While racing the biggest race of one's career, the last thing you would want to happen is for self-doubt to creep in. Extraordinary circumstances call for an extraordinary effort, and no way are you going to pull that off without a certain modicum of self-belief. But isn't that what ultra running is all about? When both the will and the body have been broken, do you have enough to bring you home to that line?I want to puke. I'm dizzy. Maybe I was just being too brash. Who was I anyway, thinking I could just step in here and do a 100 miler without any serious long run training?These guys have been training for a year now. I didn't belong here. I knew I was in decent shape but I guess that just wasn't enough. I'm in pain, everything is painful. Maybe I should quit now and just suck it up later. Oh great Argow just passed me again. He does that every year around these parts. He's very strong. I wanna puke again. This was a big mistake. Where's Tito Lito Lapid? Maybe I could start to rally here just as I did last year. Finally, the crew is here. Maybe I can show them that I am still strong, get something good energy going. Good thing I have shades on. They can't see a defeated man's eyes.

Put up or Shut up From KM 70 onwards I was a dead man walking already. Abby was getting increasingly agitated and worried. My left foot was bothering me severely and I could barely move without significant pain. The crew was taking turns massaging and spraying, and ice cubes on my face seemed to help. I had to stop every kilometer, and finally we just changed my fancy Adidas socks into less fancy Adidas socks which were much more laspag and looser.

Which at that point I felt was what I needed. I had lost a lot of ground and this was all really getting to me. The competitive nut in me had wanted to do well in this race, showing everybody "it could be done" on a cross-train base. I had a chip on my shoulder if you would call it that. However, at this point that chip could have been easily mistaken for a heavy cross, as I was in heavy suffering.More stops. More pain.

Tirik mode. At that monent, I could never put a premium on the value of having an experienced ultrarunner like Abby on my crew. Her relentless approach last year worked wonders, and left my whiny self eating her dust. While everyone was sort of freaking out at my disheveled state, she was resolute in whispering to me "Tiis lang babe. Not too many breaks. You can do this. Just keep on moving forward, sayang time. I took solace in that and soldiered on. If I couldn't be strong, at least someone was being strong for me. And I could feed off that. And the journey continues... . Of Pain and Detours As my slowly deteriorating carcass was slowly marching through the dusty Pampanga highway, without a doubt I was a broken man both mentally and physically. I had a losers mentality and was already looking for reasons to quit. Km 80 could have been a world away and i wouldn't have known the difference. My pace had plummeted, my strategy out of sorts. What had started out as a promising race was going down the drain on account of a left foot that was swelling ridiculously. Each attempt at running was rewarded with pain, pain, and more pain. Masakit na. Ayaw na. What exacerbated things was that the crew took a left somewhere, ostensibly for a 1k detour. That 1k detour turned out to be 3.5k of hell without a support crew. No drinks,no nothing. Much to my consternation, turns out they could have just gone straight and ignored it, all the rest of the support cars were there. I was down and out. Suddenly, nightfall was approaching. How could I even dream of hitting 160k when I'm running on nonexistent fumes here? As I finally catch the crew after nearly four kilometers of non-existent support, it seemed like the end of the line for me. Battered, exhausted, I sat down somewhere near KM 80 and nearly collapsed while sitting down. Abby was very concerned already. She kept on muttering Just keep moving forward babe, you can do this. I believe in you. AJ and Duart were searching for inspirational quotes from their bag of tricks as well.Somewhere, seeing such a concerted effort from my team ignited a long recessive notion from within. In my frustration, I suddenly came to the realization - why the heck am I acting like such a sissy? I had already done this before! I'm a vet for crying out loud. Let's get this done! My swagger, which had somehow taken an inopportune time to take a VL, came back just in the nick of time. With renewed vigor, my head back on the right frequency, I went back out there with that predator's mindset that had been sorely missing for several hours now. Pain is just a word One slight problem. Energized as I was, the pain was slowly bordering on "enough to make me yelp" proportions. My form must have been god-awful. Anyway, I kept on whining like some lame greenhorn until I sort of just got fed up with myself. This was a war, and if I was going down I'd do so on my shield. In a journey not wanting of inspiration, there are some times that you just had to get the job done yourself. If some other people along the way saw me angrily muttering to myself, here's the inside scoop on what that was going on. Wimpy GBM : Ouch. Aray. Ang sakit na talaga. DNF na tayo koya, uwi na tayo please? BDM Vet Hard Core GBM : Ano ka ba?! Sali sali ka dito tapos aangal angal ka jan? Bwiset! Wimpy : Waaaah but it hurts so baaaad and I'm soooooo tired =,( Hard Core : You joined this stupid, the pain is to be expected. Duh! Do you seriously expect to run this long with no pain? You have got to be kidding me! Suck it up chump! You a tough guy or a wimp? Wimpy : Sungit mo naman... .. Not that I've degenerated into schizoprenia, but I needed to kick it up a notch if I had any intention of getting through this. I entered Km 80 a man possessed, suddenly I was hitting 8:00 pace with ease. The foot was extremely bothersome, but my mind and psyche were clear. Just keep moving forward. Dammit man. Get it together. Fighting for the fallen I had hit upon a fantastic formula that worked wonders for me and allowed both for enough rest and enough traction towards the goal. The support car would be there every 1k, so what I would do was that I would run for 1k, rest or sit down for a bit once I reached the car , walk 300 meters then run the next 700. It worked so well that it seemed that I could sustain for extended periods. Somewhere around the mid-80's I was shocked to see Bea and Dan around the route. But... . Mark was so far ahead of me right? She told me he had fallen behind a little to rest. As I probed what happened, I was told he was just tired, that's all. Ah, the typical swoon. But we all go through it and he would no doubt bounce back from it. I told Bea that I would be waiting up for him, a reprise of last year's end-game partnership seemingly forthcoming. My sudden resurgence suddenly catapulted me back into the thick of things. I ran into Singaporean ultra runner Kelly Lim, who told me she didn't know the way and was lacking in supplies, apparently her support crew was way behind. I instructed the gang to give her whatever she needed. I told her she could hang with me if she wanted, but her pace seemed way too strong for my injured left foot and methodical strategy.She thanked me and went on her way. The curious thing about the entire exchange was when she told me she was measuring her pace in steps. Not sure if that's a culture-specific thing, but I found it to be quite the novel approach. In the dark recesses of the land where tocino and sisig are king, the pain was considerable but I was sticking to my 700-300 run walk strat. Eerie headlamps defined shadowy figures identifiable only by their reflectorized vests, as we traversed a Kapampangan neighborhood that seemed to be comfortable in blithely ignoring us.Still, every time I would see a runner closing in I would ease up and check if it was Mark doing one of his trademark comebacks. Alas, it was another unfamiliar face marauding in the darkness. Where the heck was he? The crew was surprised at what seemed like a strong second wind from me, as I was arriving faster at our stops than what was previously trending. As I approached KM 90 in that tricky poblacion area that drove us nuts last year, turns out they were buying dinner at Jollibee and only AJ was left in the van. Before I could even ask him what our foodies were, he let go of a grim, tersely worded statement that rocked me to the core. Nag DNF na daw si Mark ... .. I couldn't believe it. Nearly 14 hours in, emotions were running high already. I was crestfallen, heartbroken. Like I could feel his pain myself. It was as if the enemy had successfully shot down one of my own. My lips quivered. This was my buddy, we had willed each other to the line last year. AJ even massaged him towards the end (he never let me forget). We were supposed to replicate that success this year. We've been in many wars together carrying the TPB bannerall season long and he was in phenomenal shape. He had trained so hard for this, as well as anyone I knew. I was at a loss for words at how that could have happened, more so that I knew how much he would fight to keep a DNF off his record. I was beside myself, I felt I let a friend down. Maybe if I were there I could have implored him to go on, helped him out bit by bit till he regained his senses and strength. Suddenly, sadness turned to worry. It had to be really serious for him to stop at that point. I implored AJ to give me more details, he didn't know either. Mark dropping out put a quick check on my own mortality. Reports would later come in that more and more friends were falling by the wayside. In my exhausted, sleep-deprived state, the pull of our close-knit fraternity dropping like flies emboldened me to push on. If there were an ultrarunning version of that scene in 300 where the captain goes berserk after his son gets decapitated, this was probably it. I hit 7:30 on my 310xt for a kilometer split at a time when the cumulative average was already around 8:40.

Nooooooooooooooo I had to go on. For Mark, for everyone who had their dreams dashed by fate's cruel, unfeeling turn. It could have been me, could have been anyone. But I'm still around for a reason. This is for them. I have to take it home for them. Now let's get it done.

Let's do it for them. Just Get It To 102 At this point last year, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Just a wee bit more. I wrote : The pain in my left knee grew in intensity with each pause. My crew was pulling out all the stops to ensure that I made it. The pain was incredible. But to quit this near, after all that you've been through? No way in hell. If you told me that I had to roll down the road just to finish, I would have.
This year, while I was presumably in better shape I was already slowing down significantly as I went past KM90. The adrenalin from my rallying cry around the plethora of DNF's had faded and the exhaustion was creeping in. As I marched on into the night, I was reminded on just how ludicrous the entire enterprise was in running the equivalent of nearly four marathons in 30 straight hours. Last year I barely made it in one piece to the line. This time around not only do I have to clear 102 kilometers, I have to run all the way to another province just to finish, 58 long kilometers away. Seriously. Who in the right mind would do this? I was dwarfed by the magnitude of the task at hand. As I was going through another late swoon, Wency, Chito and a couple of other warriors caught up with me. With differing run/walk patterns, we would alternate bursts of small talk along with taking the lead. I was weakening at this point, and I felt all alone . Mentally, making it to 102 meant the safe haven of a warm meal and the prospect of resting for more than the couple of seconds I had been giving myself for practically the entire journey.I kept on muttering just get it to 102, all will be well after. With pacers allowed 102 onwards, I was counting heavily on Abby, AJ and Duart to get me through in one piece. Before I could get there though, two pairs of shiny eyes suddenly hit my lamp. Dogs. Wild Dogs. Before I could even react, these uncuddly canines were chasing after me like I was a steak on two legs. At this point, this is truly the last thing you need. I just froze and walked calmly as their agitated, bloodthirsty growls resonated along the grim highway.Lucky.

Bad Doggie.As I allowed my blood pressure to settle down a few notches, I just realized that I still remembered quite distinctly each nuance this final stretch had to offer..I remember everything - my shuffling gait, the left to the eskinita, the cheers, the hug from BR. Everything is all still so vivid. Even amidst being embroiled in all this physical suffering, the reassurance of being in somewhat familiar conditions was invaluable. Soon, we would be leaving the comfort of these toiling grounds for a stab at the twilight zone. I check my watch. I actually have a shot at a 102 PR. In what was probably not the smartest move to do at that point , I yearned for a strong entry into KM102 so I "tempo ran" that final kilometer going as low as 7:00. At I approached the famous eskinita Abby, AJ and Duart were there to ensure I didn't get lost. I ran strong into the train station sixteen hours and 30 minutes after I had began to a cacophony of cheers from the remaining crowd, an hour erased from last year's finish. 102 kms done. 58 to go. Last year, this was the scene of our greatest triumph. Now, it is where we begin our greatest battle... .

A sight for sore eyes at KM102

Just like the good ol' days Prelude To The Pain Finally, some semblance of "real" rest! I had worked long and hard for this so I would savor each second of it.I took off my shoes, got to stretch amd lie down for a bit, wolfed down a Burger Machine "double longga burger" for good measure. I heard some of the other warriors took a quick snooze as well. The 310xt got a fresh charge on Endure Multisport buddy/creative whiz Gerard Cinco's (of dimsumandsiomai fame) car charger. He was also kind enough to lend me his Garmin 405 to bridge the gap. Eternal thanks bro!

We put Salonpas on the throbbing upper arch of my bothersome left foot, some on the calves. Otherwise, I was okay. Or so I thought. Coming in at around 16:30ish, I decided to burn 30 minutes to simulate a 17 hour split , which more or less gives me 13 hours to complete that final 58k. I had fulfilled my short-term goal to bridge it to my pacers while keeping my sanity. Now the real challenge begins.

First up was AJ, my de facto crew chief from my BDM 102 campaign and eternal buddy. The plan was for him to cover anywhere from 5-10 kilometers while buying Abby some valuable shut-eye before she came on.. While not exactly a regular running denizen, AJ was a former UAAP Volleyball MVP and could count on his natural athleticism to take over should push come to shove. He was hyped up and raring to go as a strange new world awaited us out there.

BDM Card #2 right here.But before anything else, a couple of hiccups. First, for some incomprehensible reason I couldn't get my laces to stick.Perhaps the tender left foot had something to do with it as I was being OC with the tightness , but it took us at least five minutes to get the whole thing right. Talk about a momentum killer. Second - just get the heck out of the train station. Fast. We had traversed all around it, amidst what seemed like an abandoned rice paddy. A dog came right out and threatened to attack us. We were warned about the dogs, but seriously this was ridiculously way too early in the ball game. Much like the guardian pacer he was, Hasa bravely shooed the rabid dog away with his "shout and make gulat the doggie move". He would later confess that his cajones were being seriously compromised already, but he had to at least "pretend" to be strong in my severely weakened state. Thank God it worked. We finally were able to navigate our way around the labyrinthine area... only to wind up about 100 meters from where we had started. We could even see Sir Rene and Camilla Brooks from where we were. They probably thought we were messing around. Sheesh.

Apparently, it wasn't as simple as we thought.Crash Into Me We had wasted an inordinate amount of time just getting out into the main road, and I was deathly paranoid of getting lost at such a crucial juncture. My absence at that crucial, final test run was now coming back to haunt me. On the way to Macarthur Highway, I had AJ ask practically every manong if they saw runners along the route. Even if the answer was always in the affirmative, the eerie absence of support cars was agitating me. After asking like thrice, Hasa was like Ano, satisfied na? I probably muttered something unintelligible as a reply.

I tried to get on with the 700-300 formula that had worked so well for me, but after a solitary kilometer I felt sick. I was crashing. Hard. Again. Could the strong push leading to 102 drained my last reserves? I was hitting more than 17 hours of the road already. I guess the relative unfamiliarity of the terrain all added to this notion brewing in my head . Once I hit 103k , I was in no man's land. Pessimistic realities were beginning to form in my head. Damn, ang layo pa. Wala na akong ibibigay pa. I implored AJ that all I could do was walk first. All of a sudden, it seemed like I was in a daze. Parang high. To make matters worse, our support van was nowhere in sight. Apparently, Tito Caloy went freestyling on the route and insisted on the "Macarthur Highway" route that he knew... . which was going to Bulacan. Apparently, I wasn't the only one bonking. Try as I could, the legs were not responding. I was doing the tukod move at a higher ratio than at any point in the race. I almost even fell into AJ at one point. We were barely moving. Once again, fears of a late game choke were getting to me.Good thing that this was an all-too-familiar sight for my friend, having seen me buck injury and dehydration during the previous campaign. He still had his mental notebook full of pre-memorized inspirational quotes, but he didn't pull a single one. The one he did drop though, was probably the one that mattered the most. Kung sa akin nga lang pap, kung kaya lang kitang samahan ng 50k gagawin ko. A poignant moment in a journey made possible not by one man's singular effort, but by the collective sacrifices of those who share a single-minded determination to tow him to that finish line. Infused by a sudden stream of positive energy, it was just the thing I needed. Habol ng Habol Big steps lang. I tried running but gave up seeing that my "run" and AJ's walk were roughly around the same pace. So what's the point. Our progress was miserably slow. After close to an hour, me and AJ had only covered four ridiculous kilometers using this tactic and time was slowly ticking away. I was trying to get myself together by convincing myself that this hour long walk would serve as the much needed "rest" to help me once Abby came on. In pretty bad shape though. Ironically, AJ was somehow relieved when Duart offered to take over pacer duties. Apparently his surgically repaired knee was acting up, a heroic effort for a friend in need. Too bad I was too preoccupied battling my inner demons to fully appreciate it at the time

Hasa gutting it out after 5k

Duart raring to step up to the plate Once Duart had donned the official pacer's bib, we were off. He was jacked and amped up, perhaps a little too much for me in my rapidly diminished state. Given the horrid start to this final leg of our journey, we somehow had to make up for lost time. Around 19 hours in, I was fading badly and I sore in too many places than I could describe. My buddy, who was always the smartest guy in our class a decade ago, was hellbent on helping in any way he could. Some useless trivia : He once missed AJ's UAAP championship game, and was so disconsolate about it that he attended every single game the following season. Now that's what you call friendship! I am lucky to have him on my team.

He was listening to my instructions as much as he could while dropping the occasional motivational line, and we were making some semblance of progress. Pap, mental lang yan. Bumibigay na ang katawan pero it's all mental. Not sure if I got it verbatim but that's pretty much what I could remember.We had another mad dog episode, and he was brutally honest in telling me he wasn't exactly too thrilled with them wild doggies. A noble effort from my bud to keep me in there, but it was clearly bothering him. In short, at this point where my brain had pretty much short-circuited, I scarcely had any energy to to help him out against any anxiety as much as I wanted to. I needed to be carried, not the other way around. Another point of concern was when he told me he suddenly became dizzy, no doubt a byproduct of the sudden stress put upon his sleep-starved system. As much as Duart was shrugging it off, a glance on my watch was telling me we weren't trending well.

If only them Tarlac doggies were this cute
At this rate, once Abby came on we might be too far behind already. But Duart still had 5k to go, and he seemed quite enthused with it. As much as I wanted to have my bud finish his full leg, the reality was that I needed Abby in there both for the physical and emotional boost, and I didn't think I could hang on for 5k more.As rhythmically disjointed as our current little sortie was, I was hanging on to the hope that once she came on, everything would fall back into place. I labored heavily with each run, my pain-wracked body slowly being battered into submission. At only 115k in, we were nearly 20 hours out there. 10 hours for 45k? In this state? I pushed the panic button and told good buddy Duart we had to cut short his stint. Always the proud warrior (he's already planning his own BDM 102 stint for next year. AJ is his support crew chief which rocks, problem is AJ doesn't know yet.), he seemed visibly bothered that I had cut his stint short. I scarcely had the energy to explain things, just muttered that it was all about "strategy"whatever that meant amidst his half-serious protestations. Once Abby saw her number called, she shifted to work mode instantaneously and snapped on the bib and my hydrobelt with baon gels. With one of the best ultrarunning pedigrees amongst all the pacers, she's a tremendous boon to my campaign. In the middle of the night, in some unknown highway, we had some serious catching up to do. Both literally and figuratively.

Super Abby to save the day
Longest. Date. Ever. As we ventured into the great unknown, the "reserves" that I was storing during AJ and Duart's combined 10k stint somehow helped. The more I realized that we were running into Angeles City (yes, Angeles City. And yes, I started in Bataan, 20 hours ago.), all the more that the enormity of the entire experience was getting to my head. Each step was heavier, every breath more labored than ever. We started out strong thanks to Abby pushing the pace, but alas I couldn't ride out the heavy fade. My mind was starting to play tricks with me already. If there was such a thing as a "running pseudo lucid dream", I was probably doing it already. It felt like my brain was kicking into " dream mode" - while I was still running. Seemed like a bizarro mix of both a dream and a hallucination at the same time, and the line between fantasy and reality was severely blurred at this point. No idea if I was dreaming or not anymore.

Sabaw I regain a semblance of reality to the faint sobs of my worried girlfriend, who had been rock steady and strong the entire time. Apparently, I was already lying down the concrete pavement at some Angeles City bridge, my submission to mortality compounded by a suddenly biting wind. She was at a loss for words, the complexity of being a pacer tasked to bring you to the line intersecting with that of a petrified loved one. Diliryo. Yes, that's what they call it. I want to quit already. So many people have fought the good fight and called it a day already. Maybe I should do the same. ...

An emotional turning point... . A Walk On The Dark Side Somehow, Abby's resolute pleadings got me back on my feet again. However, as we plodded our way to Tarlac it was becoming harder and harder with no relief in site. The thermostat suddenly dropped out of nowhere and I started to shiver uncontrollably, to the point that my chest began to hurt already. I was forced to wear the only warm thing available - Tito Caloy' frumpy windbreaker. As much as this was the last place where you could be judged for a fashion faux pas, I took it off the moment I got warmer. Smirk. At this point I could only run for about 200 or so meters before stumbling around the dark, dusty abyss en route to Tarlac. It was a painful, arduous process. I would beg for a chance to sit down. Abby was adamant. Sayang time. Kaya pa yan. What a whiner. So many of our fellow warriors had passed us already, some I haven't seen since the start of the race. Gosh, I must have lost so much time already. Two enigmatic, shadowy figures emerge from the woodwork, plodding ninjas who had seemingly lost their way. Turns out it was the veteran ultra duo of George Dolores and Ralph Salvador, battle tested warriors who were likewise succumbing to their demons within. Aabot pa ba tayo? Di na namin gagawin to uli, kalokohan to! Seeing two proud veterans fighting their demons to the very end seemed to embolden me. If they are still in this... . no reason I shouldn't be. You know how they say that in a marathon your second wind kicks in just when you need it the most? I had used mine hours ago. That third and fourth? A distant memory. I'm running on empty here as we were approaching the 130k mark. A quick glance at the trusty 310xt. Not good. Not good at all. At this rate, there would be no way would be finishing within cutoff. I felt my dreams slowly fading, dissipating before my tired, weary eyes. The body had given up, the pain too immense. My spirit a meek spectator to the entire spectacle. Abby was slowly getting exhausted trying to coax something out of me, to no avail. But inside of me, a different storm was brewing. So that's it?This is how it's all going to end Luis? You just plain gave up? You bothered so many people, spent so much money, put yourself through this much pain, only to fail at the end? Think of how the Facebook statuses would come out tomorrow, how people would be sympathetic to your stupid excuses. Keep this crap up, and you will fail. Are you content with the whole "just making it to the start line is a victory" crap? You came here with a specific goal in mind. You want that buckle right? You want the cynics to shut the hell up right?? Are you going to quit on Abby? On Hasa and Duart after everything that they have done for you? On the five people who will read your story on your crappy blog? What a damn lousy story that would be. More than anything, do it for yourself. Do you want to be remembered as a quitter forever?

On life support and needing a miracle Desperate times call for desperate measures. When all else was failing, I swung for the fences with nothing left to lose. How? Simple, really. I pissed myself off. Yes, you read that right. I was trying my darn best to piss myself off. Before my brain decided to shut itself down completely, I had this bright idea that the only way to save my race was for my adrenalin to go into overdrive. It's the fight or flight paradigm at play, and I gave it one final heave. If this failed, there was nothing more I could do but accept that maybe this wasn't really meant for me. It's a sober reality that I would probably deal with for the rest of my life. Everything was hinging on this. I couldn't fail. I REFUSE to fail. Luis : NO!!! I CAN'T LOSE! I PUT TOO FREAKING MUCH INTO THIS!! QUIT?? NOW?? YOU GOT TO BE !@#$ KIDDING ME!! LET'S GO!! Abby : ???!!!!
The result was nothing short of spectacular, For one completely inspired, ethereal stretch, everything just clicked. The adrenalin was overflowing. All the pain disappeared., not a trace. I was running like I just started on one of them BHS races. Abby was shocked out of her wits, but kept pace as much as she could. We were passing the others at will, and it was just an incredible turn of events. At a time when we were covering about 4 kilometers an hour tops at around 15:00 min/km pace, we zoomed to an unfathomable (given the circumstances) 5:50 min/km pace. Even I myself was shocked. In plain and simple terms, we had earned back that extra hour that we had lost earlier with the effort.

And in one fell swoop, we were back in the game.

Cruise Control

We had to slow down eventually and fall back into a run/walk pattern as it was Abby's turn to bonk. The sudden speedwork zapped her, and our support car was nowhere to be found. AJ and Duart were plotting our trends in between naps, and they had missed out on the sudden surge. They were at least 5 kilometers away and couldn't seem to find us in their best Keystone Cops routine. Abby was running out of water and Gato as the sudden anaerobic spurt was getting the best of her. With the national engineering boundary for Tarlac in sight, it was somewhat my turn to keep her in there. Eventually the groggy gang caught up, likewise shocked at the little stunt we pulled off.

The adrenalin had worn off and everything was starting to hurt again, but at least Abby was better. As we soldiered on into the wee hours of the new day, we were comfortably settling into a pattern that we had first used when I paced her for the original Rizal Day 32k. It entailed choosing targets from within the prevailing landscape and run to that with no excuses. Let's run to the green house. Waiting shed. 2nd big telephone pole. From this point forth every second counted, each second running providing us a bigger buffer for what promises to be an explosive endgame.

Twenty Four Oras

Set a target. Run.Walk. Rest. As we were nearing the 24 hour mark entering the Tarlac capitol, I was fighting with everything I had. I could scarcely believe that I was still here - alive, standing, running and with a real shot at taking this home. Good vibes. Even the boys were egging me on. Let's do this pap. Let's take this home.

Hitting the 24 hour mark was a poignant, goosebump inducing- milestone. But it wasn't over. Not just yet.

Daytime Shocker

Shocking, because I was still here. Because Abby was approaching 30k pacing me with nary a sign of fatigue. But the single most shocking, absolutely mind-blowing thing that jolted our senses was seeing a crumpled, hobbling figure on the other side of the road. It was Tatay Jonel. I last saw him just after the 50k mark and had figured he had finished hours before.. He looked deathly pale, and our attempts to ask what was wrong were met with some semi-lucid hand gestures, presumably gesturing us to go ahead. Another dagger straight into our hearts. .If I were Daniel- san, he was Master Miyagi. If this were a war, that was our general right there. And right now our general was telling me to leave him and let him be. Reluctantly, we had to pass him, taking painful solace in the thought that this was his battle to face, his mountain to conquer. Just a bit more, and glory would be his.

Hopefully, it would all be ours.

100% Pure Guts

Digging Deep

The sun was starting to beat down and the pain on my left foot was off the charts. Any form of movement would generate a certain level of pain that seemingly only a shot of morphine could negate. Nevertheless, the excitement was building, and we were trending well as we were entering the 140k mark. I could sense it in Abby's voice. We got this babe!! Just a bit more!

Meanwhile, the crew was on chillax mode. A supremely confident AJ was already looking at breakfast plans while Duart was doing a little premature celebrating

Breakfast, anyone?
Wrong Mistake

I was trying to amp up every step as we were hitting the right turn that was supposed to lead us to the Capas National Shrine. Pain was mortifyingly bad, I've run out of adjectives to describe it. If my Garmin was correct, we just had 13 more kilometers to go to glory. You know how towards the latter part of a marathon, say around 40-41k, you just attempt to block out everything in an attempt at a strong finish? I was trying to pull off the same thing here. In my head, we got this, let's get it over with. As we reached the crossroad, me and Abby ran into Coach Rey Antoque for the final pangtali which serves as your time stamp (they have a knack for just appearing out of nowhere). I asked him how much further, 12k na lang daw. But my strategy was thrown into disarray when veteran ultra dude Ron Sulapas, still very much in the game, told us it was more like 18k out. 18k?? You have got to be kidding me. Coach just said 12k! Abby was getting pissed off because we couldn't seem to get a clear picture of much further we were going. Even AJ and Duart weren't quite sure. Thankfully, Doc Art somehow managed to catch up with us, and he seemed to know the way. Amidst the last-minute chaos, a glanced at my watch. If it were 18k more... .

I need to start running. Now.

Malayong malayo pa Kuya... .

It's getting to be hot. Really hot. Once again, the lack of a test run couldn't have been more evident as we entered the busy, winding streets going to the shrine. For someone who had made it to to this point relying heavily on pace, distance and time projections... . now I didn't have the slightest damn idea where we were going. Or how far we were. Abby was starting to look a little bit wasted, but was tremendously effective as a drillmaster/inspirational leader. The pain, oh God I don't want to think about the pain anymore. I knew that they were all blistered up, but at this point that was the last thing on my mind. Just wanted this over and done with. I tried asking a tricycle dude how far off we were from the shrine, and was met with an incredulous reply that serves as the header of this paragraph. Digging into what seemed to be my 7th wind already, I was spilling my blood and guts onto that pavement already. Malayo pa ba... ..

Panandaliang Ligaya

AJ and Duart were scrambling to get distance projections and to give nearly per kilometer support for us. This was the final stretch. Winning time baby. I had gone through so many up and down cycles that I had lost track already. The term "threshold of pain" has been redefined several times already that I may just end up giving it an altogether different meaning after the whole thing. Quite truly, it takes a different animal to tame this distance. I would whine incessantly, the lack of a clear goal bothering me. AJ kept on trying to explain the projections but nothing was entering my brain. Both me and Abby were at the mercy of the elements, and
right now it wasn't showing that much.

After what seemed like an eternity of pain, the gates of the Capas National Shrine beckoned. Me and Abby were going nuts, the joy was impossible to contain. She kept on telling me that she was proud of me. But wait, there was a catch. To successfully complete the distance, we had to do an extra loop past the monument and back to do a full 100-miler. We were all told of this beforehand. Problem with me was, in my semi-delirious state we thought it was pretty near. I could swear that someone said 5k na lang! Malapit na!

Rule #1 : Don't listen to strangers.

Rule #2 : Never, EVER take "malapit na" at face value.

Rule #3 : " 5k" is relative .

The Final Showdown

Pain. Suffering. Guts. Determination. It's been such an emotional rollercoaster for us and I couldn't stop thanking Abby for willing me to this point. We got news that there have been only been less than twenty finishers, maybe I could even crack the top 20. So all we need to do is cruise, relax, game over. We couldn't have been more mistaken about the entire thing. You know that feeling when you know the race is over and your levels start to normalize? Then all the aches and pains come in? Of course it's normal.

My problem was, it happened to me just a couple of kilometers early.

AJ and Duart were intentionally withholding it at that time, but they knew that the full route was a 4.5 killer uphill and back to cover the missing 9k from the original 151k historic route. Our first inkling was when we saw TPB icon Junrox Roque looking spent, probably the first time I ever saw him him in that state. Argow, OJ, Kelly Lim, I haven't seen them in hours and yet there they were on the homeward journey. Two things. Either they had all slowed down like crazy... . or that final stretch was so far out and difficult that it took them forever to get back. I wasn't about to put my money on the former.

That last 4.5k uphill stretch ranks as probably the greatest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced. After 150 kilometers of running over nearly 27 hours , an extended uphill stretch is the last thing you would ever want to see at that point. Everything was sinking in, my system rejecting everything. I was puking out the gels, and even Gatorade was nauseating. The heat was simply unbearable. I wanted to collapse. Every labored step would elicit a pained yelp from me. If I were to capture a microcosm of the suffering and sacrifice of the actual Death March, I was going through it right there. Abby was compelling me to move forward, but she was in tears as she could see, feel my suffering so near the goal.

My body and mind have both shut down. I have squeezed every last ounce of humanly strength that I could. There is... . nothing more. To the last drop. The uphill climb seems to be endless with no relief in sight. Going up the hill with my eyes closed, I nearly fall over Abby. My battered soul lets a blood curdling yell, a final testament to the flawed limits of human physical endurance. Truly, why did I ever subject myself to this anyway? When will it ever end?

Alas, I refuse to be denied. This is it. This is my moment. When all is gone, the spirit will always remain. I am running on utter fumes and Abby is willing me to that line. Because as one would realize when doing ultramarathons, , this " war" that I've been harping about since the very beginning is not fought on a battlefield with guns or soldiers or generals. It is fought in the inner recesses of your own mind. Drawn out into the outer fringes of your own heart. YOU are your greatest enemy... .. and greatest ally at the same time. It is a dichotomy that has no equal, accessible only to the chosen few who dare tread that fine line.

Suck it up. Pain is temporary. Glory is forever.

Everything is just a blur now, unraveling in my head as some high- definition, stop-motion slideshow. That final agony of running downhill. Running into Cebu ultragal Haide Acuna who was going strong as she entered her own final battle. Entering the monument while running at full speed, tears streaming down our cheeks as the magnitude of an accomplishment that couldn't have been farther from reality was slowly sinking in. The unbridled, once-in-a-lifetime joy of finally crossing a finish line 29 hours and 30 minutes after I had left its counterpart a hundred miles away. Hugs from the man who gave me a chance to show my mettle when very few believed I could do it. Hugs from a crew who didn't have to do it, but did anyway for the sake of a friendship that has stood the test of time. Hugs from the best girlfriend in the universe, who gave so much of herself to the endeavor and whose unshakable, iron-clad belief in my ability when even I myself had lost faith proved to be the winning quotient.

I said it once, I'll say it again - BDM is not for the faint of heart. But for those who dare, it will provide that introspective journey that life in general is largely bereft of . It affects you. It changes your emotional blueprint, and shakes the very foundations of your self-belief at its most visceral level. It's a life's experience's life experience, providing you with tall tales of glory and determination meant to be passed down from this generation to the next.

To those who are wondering if I will ever subject myself to the same, er, unique experience in the future, the answer is a big resounding NO. Never. Never ever.

But then again, wasn't that the exact same thing I said last year?

You know when we bought this house I had such a great vision of everything being put away in it’s place, the freezer fully stocked, closets organized to the hilt, numbered cans of food, all that fantasy stuff. If someone came over unexpectedly I could whip out a perfect desert, and have coffee to go at a minutes notice. Oh, and home grown compost, that I made myself would be used to mulch all the garden beds [in the middle of winter, to boot]. The perfect hostess… right! [shamed grimace]. Oh, and I thought I would accomplish this in no more then, lets say three weeks top. Ahhhh ha, hmmmm right. Now we have come to a screeching halt as reality rears it’s head. I’m wiped, there are piles of “stuff” downstairs that I just don’t want to deal with [ever!], and as far as the compost goes… It’s recycling 1, Jane a big fat ZERO!

Well actually it’s Jane, [and husband] one for recycling, and a half a zero for the composting. You see it all started off innocently. We only had recycling at the condo, no composting. And it literally drove me nuts to have to throw out all those veggie scraps, especially after they started a household composting for homes, but not for condos. So I was determined to compost, and recycle, in fact we started during our very first meal here. Oh there were some slip ups, like the time I carefully saved all the veggie scraps in a bowl on the counter, salad ends, veggies, all carefully put into that bowl. And then I walked over to the garbage bin, and not thinking dumped them in while I was distracted.

We did manage to recycle all of our moving boxes, and packing materials, and any other recyclable garbage has all gone to the recycle station. In fact after a month, we are just now getting curb side garbage pickup. But we have not had a chance to either build, or buy a garden composter yet. So determined was I that I refused to throw out the veggie composting, and instead had it “stored” in the garage until we could get that composter. That worked great while the temperature were below zero. Everything was almost frozen and there was absolutely no odour. Then it warmed up slightly, and the smell of rotting orange peels, and decomposing veggies started to waft into the adjoining kitchen. After a few days of that I had to give in and throw it out, even though it was in the garage. Seems that the biodegradable composting bags you can buy for your countertop composter start to decompose almost as soon as you put veggie scraps in them. And then they start to smell, very very strong.

So for now we have the composter on our list of must haves, and we are recycling as much of everything else that we can. And for the nasty smell in the garage, some fresh coffee grounds in a small dish are taking care of any lingering odours. Now if only that could work on organizing my closets…

When we lived on the coast I was used

to being recognized by customers, even though I seem to lack a facial recognition gene that everyone else has, and didn’t have a clue who they were, they knew me. Long conversations with me fishing for some clue as to how we were connected and from where. Then my ever patiently waiting husband would query me as we walked away as to their identity, and he was always tickled to hear that I hadn’t a clue, but still had talked to them for so long. Funny, sweetie very funny… Up here I thought we were incognito… after all who would know us other then a few family members, and occasional friend. Not so… seems more people know us then we think.

When the repairman for Frankie [our treadmill] arrived the first thing he told us is that he knows the former owner’s of our house, and has been here many times. He recently visited them in their new place… That just feels… weird.

My hairdresser’s a former school friend of a niece, our Chiropractor treats acquaintances whom we are no longer in touch with. The lady at the grocery store chatting us up about the best olives to buy, is a former garden center customer from the coast. And the woman who looked at me oddly in the Wallymart line up didn’t want me to move faster she recognized me from our youth, my Mom and Dad were friends with her parents.

We are very careful what we say, and whom we say it too, small towns love to gossip, say hello to a cashier in one store, and have the greeting passed back you in the hardware store down the road. Talk is cheap, travels quickly, watch what you say, and have no regrets. That’s my small town motto. And wear a wig if you want to rob a bank and not be recognized,… recently a local person was caught cycling down the road after robbing the bank, because many of the tellers recognized her as a regular.

Hey gang. I took a week off due to a very hectic schedule, but otherwise here's the latest lowdown on all and and sundry in the running and multisport communities.

• Multisport aficionados are buzzing about the country's participation at Ironman China on May 29th, with the Philippine delegation presumably campaigning under the "One Pilipinas" banner. The full Ironman distance will be held on May 29th, and this early the country's top triathletes are already ramping up for what promises to be one of the most highly anticipated multisport events of the current season.

• The year's edition will be held at a completely new venue in Jixian, Tianjin province. The race takes advantage of the perfect late spring weather of the locale, and people are scrambling to look for wetsuits as temperatures during the swim leg ( to be held at a clean water reservoir) are expected to be in the low 20's. Among others, Endure Multisport's ITU Level I Coach James Dulalia is expected to compete in the 70.3.

• 2012 goal : IM China. Smirk. Wait, I need to learn how to swim a wee bit faster.I timed myself swimming 500m and the average was 3:18 per 100m. Wow. Any recos regarding a coherently structured program?

• One of them more hilarious threads in Takbo.ph has someone creating a firestorm amongst running denizens by stating that he's aiming for a 4:30 marathon with 6 weeks training. He's an admittedly newbie runner with a 2:15 21k pr. 2:15 x 2 = 4:30. Makes total sense (x_x). While I can't discount the possibility that he may be a genetic freak blessed with iron will, truly there is nothing scientific about this approach and leaves a lot of room for long term injury. Seems that there's an obsession with distance amongst the newer runners, like some sort of prestige thing. I can't blame them, I was once in their shoes. But latest news through the grapevine is that a lot of the newbies who rushed into buying a 42k slot are "downgrading" due to injury. Conventional wisdom (or lack of it) wielding its ugly head? Don't say we didn't warn you. Oftentimes we all feel invincible until it actually happens to us.

• Congratulations to my TPB fellas for snagging three of the top 10 slots during BR's first BDM test run. Why do I get the feeling you guys raced it like a marathon?

• On a happy note, congrats to Takbo.ph head first couple Jinoe and Que for welcoming their first- born , cute baby Gab. I think this early, they're already having him undergo heat training :P

Heat training this early never hurt

• "Holdapan" is on the rise with both road and mountain bikers very susceptible to syndicates on the prowl for expensive bikes. To all our fellow cyclists out there, extra prudence and vigilance. It's good that Senator (and sometimes cyclist) Pia Cayetano has actively sought out the help of the PNP in thwarting these so-called bikejackers. These bikes represent a massive investment on the part of their owners, and this announcement somehow alleviates the growing concern brewing in the community. Even if the skeptic would say that it is only political grandstanding, a placebo never hurt right?

• Last I checked, using a gel during a race was never considered "cheating". Let me check again ha.

• To cyclists : does using Viagra during a race really help your performance by as much as 40%? Wouldn't there be a little, er, stiff discomfort down there?

It works. It really does.

• If I have Team Powerpuff Boys for running, I also have a newly formed dedicated cycling team! Say hello to Quest 825 Cycling :) It's a mixture of cyclists from different multisport teams, and we'll try to give the pros a run for their money.

Quest 825 Cycling at PCL's Jala-Jala Classic

• Okay, maybe that would take a little more time . Having previously completed Bike King's Tour of Matabunkay (dubbed as the premiere multi-day road race event for amateur cyclists) in god-awful conditions, I had a certain amount of confidence coming into this race. The team had spent the past couple of weekends toiling around the proposed race route at a strong pace, and regular speed work with the pro peloton at the Mall of Asia had us pretty hopeful for this race. A more discerning eye could even call it subliminal swagger. Fate had other ideas though. A late assembly caused us to reach the start line at Pililia barely 15 minutes before the race was about to start. Suffice to say, all that last minute rushing didn't exactly put us in the most relaxed state of mind. My eerie observation was that there were barely any triathletes around. This seemed to be a pure cycling event where we were virtual noobs from the outside looking into a close- knit fraternity. The peloton breezed through a fast-paced neutral zone for the first 40k, but even then the rough roads of Jala-Jala were taking its toll. I've never seen so many cyclists get flat tires. A portent of things to come? Just as we were prepping for the start of the breakaway, a guy was avoiding a ginormous crater on the road and tried to cut left. Unfortunately, in perhaps a split-second loss of focus, he missed out on speeding pros who were catching up after the requisite jingle . Hard break. My tire hits his tire. I uncleat. Some guy hits me from behind. I fall over.Pain. Guys to the right ram right straight into me while I'm on the ground. Wheel straight to shoulder. More pain. At that point it was sheer machismo that had me prop straight back up, but damn my knee and shoulders hurt like heck. I haven't gone 500 meters when I was pulled over by a marshal, turns out my transponder was bent to the point that it was nearly hitting my wheel. By the time I had sorted everything out, the road was as deserted as high noon at the OK Corral. The pain was not deathly, but bad enough to add to the aggravation of doing an ITT over a hilly 110 km course. Thoughts of just calling it a DNF day constantly swirled through my head. Entering the 8k climb at Mabitac, my overcompensated left leg started to cramp up bad, and I was forced to dismount several times (rubdowns from our teammates supporting were a boon) After a draining mental battle, I finally reached the hilltop finish and almost instantaneously cramped up on both legs. As I would learn later, it was a tough day at the office for nearly everyone. Endure powerhouse Erick Guieb ( the only Cat 3 rider on the team) also crashed and lost significant minutes off his target. Multisport vets James Dulalia and Ronald Declarador DNF'd. Strong riders Emil Ancheta and Julius Dela Rosa both succumbed to cramps and exhaustion. If any,mercurial Jason Dela Rama made up for a string of shaky performances by finishing strong and bullstrong Wilnar Iglesia's better-than-expected time were bright spots, but in general the team had a tough day at the office. Back to the drawing board, but there's nowhere to go but up.

• Preparing for two big events spanning two disciplines (PCL and Condura) is tough, and somehow I feel burnt out. A 130k ride/32k run combo on successive days left me sluggish for the entire week after.Once again, back to the drawing board.

• As we welcome one new life into the world, sadly another one is snuffed out in the cold of the night. Yesterday, the entire multisport and ultramarathon communities lost a member of the family in J Cu Unjieng, who succumbed to a severe case of pneumonia. I'm not completely in the know with regard to what exactly happened, but word is ever since he collapsed at a Cebu race he was never the same. We both have regular columns with Frontrunner magazine, and I got to run with him for a good 20-30k during the last edition of BDM. There was a time I didn't know a lot of these fancy triathlon people, and he was one of the first to make me feel welcome in the community. Always self-effacing, I last saw him during speedwork at MOA two or three months ago. The vicious abruptness with how his disease progressed was nothing short of shocking. The world will miss your talent and wit my friend, may you rest in peace.

Massive loss for the community.
Anyway, bittersweet news for this edition. Alas, we soldier on. See you all next week, catch you on the road.

Hello village, how are you doing.
I’ve been perusing your comments on the last few posts.
It’s been an interesting read.
And I want to thank you all for weighing in, leaving insightful hints, and sharing your love of blogging.
We rock!
We’re a wonderful tribe, and being part of such a great group means we are welcoming, and friendly to all, especially the bright and shiny new bloggers.

Today I would like to celebrate the starry eyed new bloggers, for without them it wouldn’t be as fun to write our stories, reread our old posts, and have someone to celebrate small milestones with. They are a breath of fresh air, a new beginning, and some of them might be on the way to becoming old friends.
Those almost overwhelming first few months of blogging, the I’ve got my first comment. the “I’ve reached a hundred readers, comments, or posts.”
We love you, because any group is only as good as it’s members.
Those sparkling new bloggers who have yet to encounter blog problems, malfunctioning gadgets, lost comments, and over whelming seemingly never ending spam. The ones who are out there reading, and leaving comments, discovering some of our favourite bloggers. It’s a whole new world for them, don’t you love it?

When I wrote What I would tell my newbie blogging self I didn’t have time to include any helpful links, just some directions on what I would have said to myself if I was starting out now. So I would like to put together some links to bloggers, and sites that I have found to be helpful over the years. There is nothing like having a list of trusted resources to turn to when something goes wrong, or you need to know how to do something.
Look for a new page on my blog, so if you have a site that you think should be included email me and let me know so I can include it. I’ll be regularly adding, and editing the page, so check back once in a while.
In the meantime, here are some sites, bloggers, and links that you might like to check out.
Pinterest: There are a unbelievable amount of tips, and tutorials out there. I’m using the link to my Blogging-basics to boot camp board to get you started, but branch out after that. There are so many great pins out there that cover everything from how to start a blog, how to add that hover pin it button, ideas on coming up with creative posts repeatedly… I’m sure you will find something fun to look at.
Brenda’s Blog Tips: Brenda is a seasoned, extremely helpful friend, and blogger who writes numerous blogs, and has saved my blogging bacon more then once. If she doesn’t know the answer, she will search it out for you. Her latest creation is newish, the old one got eaten by the blogging monster, something that you should hope never happens to you, but if it does, Brenda can probably help out. Look on her sidebar for a whole range of interesting how to’s.
Click it up a notch: This is a link to their Face book page. A blog is so much more interesting with well photographed images, instead of recycling ones you have found on the internet, it’s not as hard as you might think to shoot your own. Whether or not you have a point and shoot, or a new to you DSLR, they will have something for you to learn.
Something Swanky: Ever wonder how you could make your own super cool graphics, backgrounds, designs, social media icons, and effects? Ashton will guide you through it all with concise and easy to follow directions.
Pic Monkey: Alright, alright, I was not a big fan because of the monkey… I’m a monkey phobe… but now we’ve made our peace, and I use PM for processing almost all of my blog images. It’s quick, easy, and does a great job of enhancing my photos. There are so many fun things to play with there that you will be lost for days… and that’s after you climb out of the Pinterest boards that you will find yourself immersed in.

Just a few things to check out as you celebrate your first little while of blogging, all I can say is be original, be persistent, be interesting, and most of all, be yourself.
Blog on.

I’m looking forward to taking part in Brenda from A Cosy Little House’s new series on Thrifty Living 2012. In this series, there will be five women sharing the individual struggles they face economically with their families in a particular region. Each week [Thursday] one of us, Brenda, Claudia , Elaine , Diane, and myself will feature a topic on how we are living more thriftily in the year 2012. Then the rest of us will add our own paragraph or so on how we apply that to our own lives.

We run the gamut. Brenda is a single family household. Claudia and Don live with their two dogs in New York. Elaine has a small daughter, and grown children in Southern California. Diane and Ron live in Florida and are retired. Gar and I have just relocated to another part of BC, Canada and have just bought our first house.

So here’s my introduction:

My name is Jane. My husband, along with Bootsie our cat, and I have just moved up to the North Okanagan, in BC, Canada. We moved from a small condo in White Rock, near the beach to the gorgeous mountains, cold winters, and hot summers of the Okanagan to be near my family. It's a huge change for us, going from 850 sq. ft. condo, to 1st time homeowners of a real house! The first thing I would have to say, is it's expensive to do this, from the move, to the house purchase it's been a big drain on our finances. Like everyone else we have a budget that we have to live within.

So while I might dream of tearing out the kitchen right away, and replacing all the brass colored door handles, along with the interesting light fixtures, reality will take over as soon as we move into our new home. And that's where Thrifty Living 2012 comes in. I am going to have to dig deep, and be creative in order to make this house our home without breaking the bank.

We will be living in a rural area, it's a long drive to the grocery store, or to a job, there is no Friday night take out around here. We plan on recycling as much of our waste as possible, because there isn't any garbage pick up, no mail at the door, and I am not sure if there is even any cable.

As soon as summer comes along I am going to learn to can, and freeze summer fruits, and veggies for the winter months. I have big plans for a garden, and I love to cook, usually making most of our meals from scratch because of my severe allergies to so many foods, and additives. I also make my own cleaning solutions because I am allergic to the commercial ones that you would buy in the store.

It's going to be fun, and interesting, and I am sure that you will pick up some great tips from our series on Thrifty living 2012.

To read the introductions from the rest of this team, go over to:

Brenda of Cozy Little House

Claudia of Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Elaine of Sunny Simple Life

Diane of Lavender Dreams

I am heading off to read the other introductions, and get to know the other bloggers in this series, talk to you later.

Busy weekend for all of us! It's one of those weekends that so many big events were held concurrently. Running denizens were divided amongst the Cebu International Marathon, Subic International Marathon, Fat Ass 24-hour run, and the 2011 Bull Run. With a veritable smorgasbord of choices, let's see how everybody fared with these different runs.

• I wonder how SIM 2011 fared this year? Among the people I knew, only Endure Multisport star Erick Guieb joined this one, and last I heard he was gunning for a modest below 5-hour finish. But knowing him, he probably did it in 3:45. Lol.

• I was part of it in 2009, running the 10k Nike Human Race (where I placed 13th) and the 21k race (where I ran with Tito Caloy) Sigh, how time flies so fast. Internet Legend Tito Caloy has since gone back to the professional competitive drinking circuit, he missed it too much. Came in to the scene too late to know who he is? Google google google.

Those were the days...

Back to his first love.

• In related news, SIM was also memorable for me because I ran into Ultramarathoner Abby on the way there at Kenny Rogers along NLEX. It was the first time I had seen her in years. Who would have known... ... .. :P Uuuy.

Our first ever picture together hihi.

• Back to SIM , that was also memorable because we were doing support for the marathoners and water ran out as early as 18k along the route. A trip down memory lane : Craig Logan was pushing Justin and collapsed. Rico sacrificed his race and rushed him to the hospital. Argow was overcome with emotion as his first marathon was marred by a lack of adequate water.There was a screaming mob afterwards, as a result there was TOO much hydration the day after for the 21k race. Fun.

It's howkay, we got your back. Hug.

• As expected, the Kenyans dominated this year's race with Vertek opting to compete in the 21k, eventually winning it. When will we ever have someone else other than Vertek to chase down these dudes?Can Cris Sabal hold his own? Someone give me data please. Winning time of 2:23 probably wasn't even close to their best.

• Sometimes, I just realized that if I were a girl, I would be a very fast girl. A very fast, tall, and fugly one with hairy legs at that.

• Congratulations to all who joined Cebu. Wonderfully organized race, I ran the inaugural edition last year and gave it rave reviews . It was as if the entire city was in synergy for one dynamic event. Haide Acuna, Doc Bontol, John Pages and the rest of the Cebu gang no doubt contribute to the robust running community they have over there, and this race is a succinct reflection of that. Only downside - you'll probably have too much fun with it that you might end up getting drunk and messing up your race. Not guilty as charged. Pockets of Endure, ANR and TPB people were there, tell us all about how it went! I have no doubt it was an awesome race as always.

Last year with Cebu running celeb/BDM 102 batchmate Haide

Cheering on Takbo.ph boss Jinoe on his first marathon

• The Fat Ass Run has long been some sort of an urban legend amongst ultra running folk, and I remember when quintessential ultraman Atty. Jon Lacanlale started it a couple years back. Back then, it didn't really garner that much attention save for a few hard core crazies. I had always wanted to run this, but for some reason it always worked against my schedule. So I was pleasantly surprised that it seemed that 1 in every 4 people seemed to be headed to Clark for it. If I'm not mistaken, you can run in 12 and 24 hour increments. Damn right it's crazy. Among the notables, BR did a leisurely 54k in about 8 hours, Frontrunner EIC/ Hardcore chief Jonel did an inhuman 121k in nearly 22 hours, and Albert "Run2dmoon" Salazar emerged this year's Fat Ass King with nearly 140k over 24 hours. Wow.

Jonel overcome with emotion at his "graduation" after running for 22 hours.

• While I'm having the time of my life being a spectator/heckler here, I shudder to think that I'll be running 160 kms in a little over a month. Ayayay.

• Don't you find it ironic that the people who join Fat Ass don't have anything close to resembling a fat ass? In fact, I have a sneaky suspicion that after running for 24 hours, they may not even have an ass at all.

• Of the all the aforementioned races, the one I did join was the one closest t0 home, the 2011 Bull Run at BGC (yes, I'm hip like that. Fort? Ano yun?). Fresh from winning the team championship at Fort Running Festival, Team Powerpuff Boys (affectionately known as TPB or "those pink guys") decided to take a stab at the team competition once more with momentum on our side. I got to train once with the gang, and if before I felt we were on a somewhat parallel fitness level, their resolute dedication to training has reaped incredible dividends. Being engrossed into establishing some semblance of a multisport base, I simply couldn't hack the aggressive programs I used to pull off. The disparity was blatantly obvious. My guys (no homo) simply ripped the course apart en route to the team snagging 1st place in the team category once more. Our goal was at the very least 1:20, and everybody did way better than that. Notable performances included Chris Iblan running an inhuman 1:03 ( 3:58 pace for 16k??) and Brandow snagging a 1:13 (wild 4:34 pace) . As for myself, I served as the weak link, checking it a lame 1:21:15, 5:04 pace which ordinarily would have been fast but these guys put that to shame. I need to ramp up my running, the boys are tearing it up there.

TPB with, er, fans :P

Posing at the awarding "Bb. Pilipinas" style.

• Mary Anne Ringor usually does a good job at organizing, last year was pretty good. This year,epic fail at the 16k gun going off ten minutes early. It was supposed to start at 5:45 as was announced in the published material. We were at the corral already, and me Jix and Nick took a leak thinking there was more than ample time to get back. Much to our chagrin the gun went off as we were on the way back. We're vets at this, and it's really no big deal even if wading through hundreds of 10k runners and the back end of the 16k pack was draining. Still, it would be nice if we could keep to the published start times.

• Double fail to the drivers along the Makati ave intersection who kept on impatiently honking their horns. You see there's a race going on, a little consideration wouldn't hurt. Highly indicative of our mentality, in other countries people on the road would actually cheer runners on. Hay nako.

• Fail to Accel gels. Gu didn't have any chocolate variants, so we decided to give it a go. Tasted good, but I don't think it helped me one bit. In short, it was so bad that even the placebo didn't work. Shucks.

• Tip of the week : 1 pound lost = 12 seconds faster in a 10k run. Lose 10 lbs, that's 2 minutes off your time!

• Pilipinas Cycling League's season opener, a century race in Jala-Jala commences in Jan 23, Endure Multisport is competing. I'm antsy, haven't had a good road ride since my crash. Pray pray pray.

• It's BDM test run season, and I'm pretty much missing all . Why? For the simple reason that I plan to race Condura 42k. I have a friendly bet with bossing Jonel because he's doing the test runs. If he still manages to outrun me it's Mcdo breakfast time. Juicy. :P

Editor's Note : This is a work of semi non-fiction. However, the names of the protagonists have been modified for purposes of confidentiality and artistic license. Or rather, because it would make it hella awkward to refer to myself in the 3rd person. Enjoy.

The View From Within. 3 days to go.

Elvis woke up in a cold sweat, the uber firm mattress of his ramshackle hut shooting a distressed signal to his lower back - a signal currently shared by his uber throbbing head. Am I really doing this? The requisite round of self-doubt that comes at the fortnight of every major milestone haunts him continually. In the world of brash, semi-competitive sports replete with fancy coaches and six-figure equipment, weakness is a word that is often regarded with general disdain. Like an unwritten code. The figures who move around the transcendental discipline of triathlon are considered by some to be the fittest people on the planet, an elite fraternity who have mastered the operational synergy of competing in three consecutive yet radically differing sports.
If triathletes comprise less than 1% of the population, then probably just 1% of that number would ever do a full iron-distance race. And as much as popular culture would continually lionize the annual Ironman branded event held somewhere in the Bicol (and soon to be Visayas) region, multisport habitues don't skip a beat in pointing out that the distance covered there only amounts to 70.3 miles - or half of the seemingly insurmountable 3.8k swim, 180k bike and 42k challenge that is staring down Elvis in the face. And he's the one blinking.

Was he in over his head? After all, this was only his second season in the multisport arena, his first full one if one was to be technical about it. Unbeknownst to many, he hadn't even swam an open water race until April, and here he was just several months later rubbing elbows with battle-scarred veterans at one of the highest levels of the sport. There was no room for failure, no cushion to soften a misstep. In Camsur, there were thousands of triathletes who made it easy to get lost in the throng of anonymity. At Timex 226 in Bohol, the first full iron-distance race in the country in nine years - there were only 66 official participants. The spotlight was on, and there was no turning back now.

The Race Director was in a heated discussion with his deputies, on the verge of making a decision that could forever alter the destiny of the one man that was still on the swim course. "Should we let him go through? There's no way he'll make it to cutoff. It's nearly 9:30 and he is still so far out on the course." "Boss, maybe it's time to pull the plug" intimated one deputy. Unwittingly enough, The Girlfriend was right beside them, privy to the conversation. "Oh come on guys. He'll come through. I know he will. Please. Just wait a bit more. He'll... .. he'll make it. " The Race Director knew very well of the pain of fallen comrades missing swim cutoffs in competitions past. The heartbreak of losing all those long months in training at the very first leg is not one that goes away easily. After a long sigh, a pained gasp had him looking at his concerned deputy. "Let's see what this guy is made of".

History In The Shadows. 1 day to go.

The water was clear. Crystal, even. The astounding coral formations were virtually within one's grasp. The serene setting that greeted their traditional pre-race "swim out" resembled more of a picturesque diving site than the usual murky contact sport battlefield that they had been accustomed to. Elvis wondered if it would pose some semblance of a distraction come race day. "Water's terrific. That was probably my best swim ever. What fun." chided PK, his team's top gun and one of the race's seeded favorites. But as PK was having a season for the ages, Elvis was quietly engrossed in his own quest for history, albeit shrouded in relative anonymity.
Over the course of the thirty eight kilometer mini bike recon they performed immediately after, Elvis found his thoughts drifting to delusions of grandeur as they passed by the sleepy countryside. In the world of triathlon, to the upper tier he was a relative nobody. Swims just above mediocrity at best.Underachieves on the bike. Usually too gassed to make anything sensible happen on the run. His naturally competitive ego had been squashed time and time again like an annoying critter over a season that began with so much promise, yet went down in flames due to injuries and a demanding new job that ate up his training hours. The instant success that had met him in the running community was nowhere to be found in multisport. Improvement was slow, expectations high. Victories were sparse - even those of the moral kind. Some made the transition effortlessly. He was just plain lost in the muck. Elvis was conspiratorially holding on to one last ace up his sleeve though, much akin to a rounder betting the house on a river straight with a junk hand. It provides cool comfort to his tortured athletic soul, a veritable salve that enjoins him to soldier on when he has nothing more to give. Conjures up confidence where there is none to be found.

None of these guys have ran a hundred miles. He mutters to himself furtively as he downs his fancy salad at the welcome dinner that night. The participants have all converged at the swankiest resort this side of town, and the hearty plate of spaghetti seems like easy pickings for the voracious horde. As the rest of the athletes listen to the welcome remarks of the affable congressman, his mind wanders off once more as he scans the crowd of tanned faces. Yes. I'm the only one who's done it. No one here has lasted as long as the 29 hours I spent running from Bataan to Tarlac. This is my race. My time. And if I just manage to finish this in one piece, I could be the first Filipino in history to have done both endurance events in the same season. I want it. I want it bad. I'll get there. I know I will. And as much as his notion of "history" is generally unverifiable and borderline trivial, it gave him at the very least that intrinsic swagger such a herculean task necessitates. He needed it. It was the only way to stack up amidst a sea of excellence."More pasta babe? This is way too much for me." Elvis was jarred out of the daydream by his girlfriend AJ holding up the oversized plate to his face. A wildly successful bag designer, she forever links two epic endurance events mostly obscured from the general public - one was when she outraced him running 102 kilometers two years ago, one that he once thought he could never live down but now carries around like a badge of honor. The second was when she paced him, with little training, for the last 60 kilometers of his 29 hour bout with insanity. She was a big part of those happy, painful memories. It was only fitting that she would be here to share this with him. "Babe? Are you getting the pasta or not?" He willingly obliged, knowing that with an anticipated 10,000 calories to be burnt the following day he needed every single kilojoule of energy that he could get.

Wishful thinking as the crowd listens in

The Congressman looked shocked as the withered husk of the final swimmer came through the makeshift barge, some two hours and twenty three minutes after the race had started. "What happened to you? Are you okay?" The swimmer replied, "I'm okay Sir. I think I swam an extra lap. Bites. Lots of bites." The Congressman was aghast. "An extra lap?? What does that mean??" The swimmer blurted out, "I don't know as well sir. No idea. " as he proceeded to stagger across the deserted, powder-white shore.

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. 9:17 am.

What's.. what's going on? Where am I? What... just happened? Just as a boxer would lay sprawled on the canvas in the aftermath of a well-placed liver shot he never saw coming, at this point Elvis was at a loss. Dazed and confused was a relative understatement. The long, confidence-building hours at the pool seemed like a distant memory at this point . Did those 4k sessions just go to waste? He was pressing to reconstruct the events that had just unfolded that led to him to suffer through the ignominy of being the only person remaining on the swim course. Chugging along with the flow at the onset of the washing machine... . there was nothing otherwise remarkable compared to the brutal wars in terrible weather he had been in. The same could not be said about the otherwordly scene unfolding underneath though. It's so peaceful and beautiful here,like I'm swimming through a real life painting. The serenity evaporated as soon as the bites came in. What are these things??Jellyfish? Disgruntled plankton?Whatever it was, they were perturbing enough to make him lose focus and ingest heaping servings of salt water. More bites. Face. Mouth. Back. Dammit, I want to puke. And in one fell swoop, time stopped. And everyone was gone.

I must have been lost. He didn't know exactly how it happened. But at around the 1:40 mark, some of his friends in the field had noticed his disoriented shape near the lap turnaround and were motioning him to go back with them towards the shore en route to T1. "Let's go Elvis! Let's go man! We're done!" The Pocari Sweat-toting support boatman was less patronizing. "Sir, turn left! Turn left! You're done! What's wrong with you? You were with them the whole time! What are you doing???" He wasn't thinking right. Or was he? Was he really done? His brain has been inundated with salt water. How could he second guess?
1:40. Hmm. That was just in line with his "usual" times if they were to be extrapolated, and were right along his time trial times in training. While far from being the fastest swimmer out there, he had never sunk to the depths of being last on the course. He swam a decent 47 minute 2k at the extremely choppy Matabunkgay Triathlon, and hit 50 minutes on the murky lake at Camsur IM 70.3. He had an accurate gauge of his modest capabilities, but something didn't feel right about this one. A dozen permutations were racing through his head. What if I missed a loop? He'd be disqualified for sure, his hopes for history sullied even before they began. What if... . I get away with it? A hollow victory is no victory at all , he'd never live it down. What if it's legit? What if these people were right all along? What if... .

"Sir? Sir! Turn left! You're done! " He was at a loss. Faced with the the single- most momentous decision of his triathlon career, Elvis blinked. "No. I got one more loop. One more to go." The road to perdition was not a kind one. In life, there are moments that define you. Test your character. He took great pride in what he did, reveling in the spirit of competition and discipline of training. Out of sorts and with chafe marks burning from each unmerciful saltwater swell, he had to take a stand that would painfully define the succeeding hours to come for him. Embarrassment on the grandest scale was looming on the now deserted horizon, the race an absolute disaster just hours in. But at the precise moment in time, it was the right decision. The only decision. Time was not on his side, and the water which had been his friend for the longest time morphed into his greatest foe. Everything was a slow-moving blur seemingly encapsulated in unforgiving amber. But he had to move forward, had to make that cut-off.
Minutes later a wobbly figure emerged to check in at 2:23 on the makeshift barge, beating the 2:30 cutoff with barely anything to spare. AJ was a wreck, bewildered at what had just transpired as the current last placer jogged to T1. A sprinkling of tepid applause met him, the sympathetic type reserved for the marginal competitor. Sordid comments from bored children sprinkled the air. But at this point he could care any less.He was still in the game. And he still had time to turn it all around.

The last of the Mohicans coming through.

The Doctor was getting increasingly agitated. More than twenty minutes have passed, and still no word from the lonesome rider. She had been at the same table during the welcome dinner, exchanged niceties with his girl, heard the grand stories of exploits past. The guy may have even been minutely endearing to say the least. In a Hippocratic foray peppered with sun-dried faces, he was actually a notch below that of a complete stranger. But her worst fears were slowly being actualized as he was holed up in the bathroom of some random house not too far from T1. Twenty five minutes. Several knocks on the door brought back nothing. The terse silence was finally broken as the lonesome rider emerged, much to the relief of what seemed like the entire neighborhood tuning in to the live spectacle. A feeble "I'm okay doc. I'm good to go" was blurted out before banging his time trial helmet on the base of the low staircase. She thought to herself, when it rains, boy it sure pours. And it sure was pouring on for the lonesome rider as he wobbled back onto the well-paved highway, 170 kilometers away from the next step in his seemingly impossible journey.

Minutes and Seconds. 4:35 pm

Guindulman. Jagna. Guindulman. Candijay. Repeat. Somehow, Elvis was able to soak in the majestic coastal view amidst the painful drudgery of traversing all the major municipalities of Bohol's third district. Thrice. Mentally, one had to take it up another notch at this juncture, lest you be swallowed whole in the moment. The mind could not wander too far from the end-line goal, imperative that all forms of rationalization be tucked away in the far recesses of the psyche. Things like God, I'm cycling the equivalent of Manila to Pangasinan or You have got to be kidding me, my butt's been stuck to this saddle for six hours already do not help one's cause at all. Specially if one is waging a lonely war against the clock, a losing one at that. Each precious second that ticked away meant one step closer to his dream slipping away forever. The pressure was on, and this was his moment of truth. The series of unfortunate events that marred his comeback attempt on the bike leg saw him sinking deeper and deeper into what seemed like an inescapable rut. The chafe marks that were burning his skin at T1. The severe stomach cramps and lightheadedness that had him dangerously veering sideways on the road, an involuntary dismount a very much abject reality. The thirty minutes he spent throwing up and collapsing on the bathroom of the quaint rural home that took him in seemed like the coup de grâce of a race destined to be forgotten. He was doing the math in his head. There's no way I'll make it. I'm done. Droplets of tears began to form as the onset of his discombobulation was mercifully obscured by his weary sunglasses.

Fighting a losing battle.

They call it second wind. Every athlete's final, primal scream for glory was the last stop at Desperation City, and Elvis very well knew that basking in its glow way too early would have its dreadful ramifications. But it was win- or- go- home time. Put up or shut up. No tomorrows. 28k kph. 30. 32. 36. 38. His speeds were climbing, the holy ghosts of Bugarin aiding and abetting him on one last ride towards the sunset. Or rather in this case, before the sunset. He was back in business, riding with renewed power and purpose so much to the point that the lap checkers swore that he was a loop ahead. The hills that had taunted him earlier fell prey to his raw, testosterone-fueled charge. The usual impish grin that had been missing all race long was making a long overdue appearance. But he wasn't out of the woods. Not just yet. He was so far behind the cutoff that even averaging 29kph over the final 60k had him doing calculations to the nanosecond. A van pulled up from behind, much to his surprise and chagrin. What in tarnation could it be this time? "You're doing great Elvis. Hang in there. One last push. 25 minutes to cover 10k. Lots of time." The race director was upbeat in his concession, the response garnered overwhelmingly in the affirmative. Everyone's on the run now. Please just let me make it. Furiously pedaling through the tough, final rolling stretch as the rest of the field slogged through the initial motions of their marathon, he pleaded with every last drop of his long depleted glycogen deposits to take him home. Please... let me make it. Just a bit more... .. And seven hours, twenty two minutes and fifty seven seconds after he departed the same beachside plaza a hopelessly broken man, he entered with a flourish reserved only for those who had twice averted disaster, this time with ten minutes to spare. AJ was grinning from ear to ear, her drawn out smile ten parts happiness and ninety parts relief. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins as he prepped for his pet discipline.
Let's get this show on the ground.

Red lining on empty

The Major had finally reached the pinnacle of his epic journey, the much coveted finish line he had been training on for months and slaving on for hours but inches from reach. As the crowd burst into raucous applause in anticipation of his grand moment , one could practically hear the snap of jaws dropping collectively as the unthinkable just happened. The Major stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around. Frantic discussions between him, The Race Director and The Host initially brought confusion. Then clarity. Before long, a singular, defining mantra emanated from the surreal scene that just unfolded into the bewildered crowd. A relieved hush came over as the significance was settling in, four simple words that would serve as an inspiration to all those who had the pleasure of witnessing history in the making.

No. Man. Left. Behind.

Peace By Inches. 10:40 pm

I started too fast. I... . can't do it. Elvis seemed to be resigned to his fate as his bodily functions were shutting down one after the other on the near-pitch black looped course. Much of his training has been concentrated on the run segment, and was secretly hoping a powerful split would elevate his finish time to respectable levels. He had done it before, each runner he overtook providing snowballing adrenalin as he marched towards the line. The problem was that he sort of forgotten, amidst all the ruckus that went down, that This is a marathon I'm actually running. After all that crap. Marathons are... hard. Despite his best efforts at making up time, the same body which had already given out so much was balking at his one last request for glory . The remaining vestiges of his warrior pride were driven by the motivation not to finish dead last, a dubious honor that has thankfully escaped his clutches over his four-year athletic career. The first half went down breezily in two hours and twenty minutes, a sub-5 performance and eternal retribution pretty much on the horizon. As much as AJ was incessantly worrying that his protracted rest breaks at the end of each loop would have some sort of detrimental effect, Elvis brushed her concerns off with uncharacteristic candor. I got this. I'm good. We're doing great. He was in his element, the party atmosphere that met him at each loop seemingly empowering the closet competitive nut. We're going to shock the world.

Alas, the real battle was being fought out there, in the trenches of darkness. The out and back loop's first five kilometers were a rolling segment that he would have cinched on fresh legs, but currently seemed like an endless mountain even Sisyphus would have balked at. He saw his Quest 825 teammates interspersed at various points in the course, all fighting their own personal demons. PK was staggering along in a halting sprint with his gaze to the floor, fighting to keep up with his powerful elite rivals. Long distance barefoot specialist RR was once again defying the odds with his unique craft, and Mcdap was harnessing mind over matter in what was his first marathon attempt. Kap, Tars, and Elti were sandwiched together in a methodical Galloway approach , looking worse for wear but nonetheless soldiering on. All were proven, powerful athletes humbly submitting to the might of the 226 kilometers that they have traversed. Who was he to think he could do any differently?

Bonk, meet Elvis. He was utterly, absolutely spent at this point. Aid stations were conspicuously being closed one after the other, the sleepy provincial avenue plunged into a pitch black abyss as the clock was nearing the the 11th hour. The eerie silence was punctuated by the occasional dog barking, accentuated by the neighborhood toughies talking shop as they grabbed the requisite nighttime drink. The only thing that kept him going was his trusty Energizer headlamp, providing the much needed ray of light that was much more than a cheesy metaphor at that point. He has used the same lamps at his 100-mile conquest, invoking the spirit of the bunny that kept going on going when his mind was slowly losing its lucidness. Right now, with five kilometers to go, he could have sworn he saw the Energizer bunny in front of him. Mocking him, cajoling him. Dude, can't you keep going... and going... like me? Wimp. He was running with his eyes closed in blatant exhaustion as he reflected upon the situation he was mired in. Having already walked the last ten kilometers, his dream of vindication was in tatters. Dammit. I threw it all away. But Elvis could hardly protest. For all it was worth, he was just thankful to even be in this spot. Attempts to chase down his comrades proved futile, his body and spirit in full lockdown. He was roused from his zombie-like state by an unknown competitor, the same guy who had been giving him the thumbs up each time they bumped into each other on the course. I'll wait for you at the finish line my friend. Just a bit more. Nice guy. That's what they all say though. He thought nothing of it as he was rationalizing his fate, inch by painstaking inch.

If I keep up with this pace I'll probably be the marginal finisher, if I even make it at all. 16:59 best case. The only guy from his team not to make it. The guy who wasn't even supposed to be here to begin with. He's not one of us. Dark thoughts flashed through the side of his brain that was still working. As he passed the final aid station, the newfound friends who manned it had vowed to stick with him until he finished, no matter how late.With one quick glance at his watch, Elvis heaved one final emotional sigh. Guys, I'm going to run this. And they were going to run it with him, a parade of motley fools chasing one last shot at glory. One last attempt at respectability. One last stab at joining the pantheon of warriors who had shared the experience with him.

Elvis shot out at an unthinkable 5:20 pace, harnessing every single last ounce of strength that remained on his sunburnt carcass. The aid station guys were struggling to keep up, weirded out as he was audibly muttering what seemed like a Gregorian chant, eyes wide shut. But in reality he was digging back into the time that he was but kilometers away on his 100-miler and wanted to collapse on the unforgiving pavement. AJ was hollering something, but he couldn't quite make sense of it. It was all coming back now.

Finish strong. Stop whining. No tomorrows. Make history. The final turn beckoned, and he shot out with everything he got. Once could almost feel the electricity in the air as the line that had eluded him for 16 hours and twenty minutes finally beckoned. He sprinted to the line ready to take his moment in the sun... when the entire congregation suddenly yelled STOP!!!!. What was going on this time??? What the?This is my moment!! The momentary disorientation that pervaded was replaced by an indescribable level of gratitude. It was the guy. The guy who told him he would wait for him at the line, and he wasn't bluffing. Major had finished way ahead of him, but had told the organizers about the impromptu pact that he had made. The pact that he had kept his rock-solid word on. Before Elvis could even react, Major emerged from the woodwork as the two finally crossed the finish line with arms raised , fireworks punctuating a fitting end to an improbable race for the ages. AJ was there choked up in emotion, her day-long rollercoaster ride with the fates finally over as her man went through to his own date with history.

Not so fast Elvis.

Triumph in solidarity
Elvis looked around with a sigh of relief, the gravity of his achievement failing to sink in. The deafening cheers. The warm smiles and congratulatory hugs. He may have come in last, but he achieved his goal of not putting in a marginal finish. His body was absolutely wasted, but he made it through with his head held up high. Spirit beaming, competitors and teammates swarmed him as the astute realization finally set in. Triathlon connotes different things to many different people. Some compete to win, some to finish. Some are out there just to test their limits and some to extend them. Amidst the mad rush for personal records and knockout splits, the essence of the game was emanating from the crowd of unique individuals who congregated around him in that one spectacular moment. Individuals who all the know the true meaning of perseverance, sacrifice, and overcoming the seemingly insurmountable. A select group who keeps the tradition burning for the future, even as they revel in the spoils of the present.

And at least, on this night alone, Elvis felt good. Great even. He finally made it. He was finally home.

He was finally one of them.

Aww. Just when we were getting all excited. The aforementioned series got bumped to next year, to quote in PR-speak, " to give a lot more people a chance to register for this exciting event". In real-world speak, that means "holy crap only five people have registered, move it you fools!". Okay maybe four did. Just jostling. Anyway, this would give you guys more time to prepare for this, the season -enders have packed the calendar and even I couldn't attend this.

Anyway, here's the official word from my good buddy Cesar Alagar Jr. of Finishline. Feeling close ako haha. Will keep you posted for any more updates.
Greetings!

We would like to let you know that the InMotion: ROAD X TRAIL events, which is supposed to start this Saturday, will be moved next year.

This is to give a lot more people a chance to register for this exciting event. There were are lot of interested people who aren't available due to the holidy break. So let us help you have a jumpstart this coming Year of the Rabbit! Those who aren't available this December will now have a chance to engage themselves into this race to a fit and healthy body!

All registrations will still be deemed valid. Here's the new schedule, so please take note of these dates on your blog, and your posted articles:

Cycling – From December 11, 2010 to February 13, 2011, Sunday morning
Running – From December 18, 2010 to January 15, 2011, Saturday afternoon
Duathlon – From December 19, 2010 to January 16, 2011, Sunday morning

Help us spread the word! You may check out http://finishline.ph for more info of the new dates.

We sincerely apologize for this postponed event. Rest assured that you will have a wonderful sporting race this 2011.

Thank you very much!

It's been just over a month since Adidas held its highly touted annual King Of The Road race. To pre-boom running denizens, KOTR was one of the most awaited races each year. The fact that it always seemed to have the best singlet of every season didn't hurt either.With the running community growing year in and year out, I'll rattle off ten quick things about this year's experience.

1. Singlet Fun?
Last year's singlet took the cake, with a revolutionary yellow and black motif that has been ripped off endlessly in smaller races after. A lot of people I know last year registered if only to get that fancy singlet. Yes, it's happens more often than you think, and I'm guilty as charged. With that in mind, expectations were sky high for this season's event. How could they possibly top the best singlet to come out in ages? What fancy color scheme would the mad geniuses at their design unit come up with? Forum chit chat had numerous guesses , and rumors abound that the original color would be changed.

Nevertheless,excitement was at fever pitch.

In the end, they went with... ..

Black.

While it would possibly appeal to the minimalist, most people still preferred last year's edition. Decent singlet with sizing on the large side, add it to your collection stashed in your aparador. Last year the yellow and black ones were ubiquitous. In the weeks after, I barely see it on the road. Shucks.

2. ANR Singlets

Cheap, P995 bucks. Imported material coming from SG for the exclusive singlet of the Adidas Adination of Runners members. If you aren't in the know, it's a community-based group run/pseudo running clinic/random weekday social gathering held at different locations throughout the metropolis. Quick bit of useless trivia: I'm the lead facilitator of the Ortigas area sessions, and we meet every Wednesdays 7:30 pm at Pearl Drive Mcdonalds. Join us, it's a lot of painful fun. Going back to the singlet,I guess it's a decent deal if you have money to burn. For the price I paid for it, I feel faster already. Amazing.

p.s. Dear Adidas, I'm broke. Thank you.

Hmm, this makes it all worth it :P

3. 21k hotcakes

Last season, 10k kits ran out in a matter of days. This year, it seems that the running boom learning curve snapped up the kits before you could say pikermi. While projecting these things is like playing a game of sa pula sa puti at Resorts World, hopefully they could get it right next year.

4. Hydration Hydration.

Big fuss over hydration, or lack of it for the matter.After the race, I got into a semi-sensible discussion with some disgruntled runners at the Takbo.ph boards . Same old same old. Hydration runs out for whatever reason, blame the organizer. Vent it out online. Or on whoever has a contrarian opinion.

Listen, running is no joke, specially when you tread the middle to long distances. I know Rio spoils you to death with overflowing drinks for his races. That's awesome. But he won't be there all the time for you and you CANNOT expect the same level of organization for all races. Hope for the best but expect the worst. Races aren't Club Med, it's a legitimate athletic pursuit with your life possibly on the line. Would you really put your life in the hands of other people when you had complete freedom to bring your own hydration beforehand? And to whoever sardonically dissed me on that thread for suggesting it's your responsibility to bring your own hydration, I sure hope as heck you won't be needing that ambulance you suggested I bring with me on race day once you run out of drinks on your race. Splash.

It's worth it.

5. Pandesal and Hot Dogs.

I could have sworn that there was supposed to be a buffet for the runners. If they changed it, I totally missed it. The pandesal and hot dogs underwhelmed me, not that I was hungry anyway. Feel bad for the guy who thought he was at the buffet line, ANR registration pala.

Yum.
6. Alay Lakad

While I lucky enough not to be personally affected, people were complaining about how the massive crush made the route practically impossible to traverse. Some were relegated to doing a sort of Alay Lakad move. Quick question, is this phenomenon a totally unavoidable consequence of a really big race right smack in the boom ,or it could have been rectified by proper execution?

It's the next best thing.

7. 250k Baggage
I sucked out at the 10k category I ran in, checking in at a modest 51 minutes or nearly 5 minutes off my usual time. Takbo.ph prez Jinoe lustily jeered me at the line for failing to break the sub-50 barrier (I am still serving a lifetime ban on being a Takbo.ph hoff for hitting it before him. Hihi.), but unbeknownst to my good friend, my rubbery gingerbread legs were bringing with them roughly 250 kilometers worth of crushing bike mileage. I had competed in the mutliple stage Tour of Matabungkay with Endure Multisport's cycling team just the day before, and with little sleep, I felt like I was dragging around a ton of bricks with me. Even if I felt my fitness level was at an all-time high, there was really nothing I could do. People were passing me left and right, and being the competitive nut that I am, the itch to just chase them down but having no physical capability to do so was driving me crazy. Still quite an experience though, revenge is due next year smirk.

Kalayaan 12, GBM 11
8. Fulfillment
It was pretty nice to see a lot of my Adidas Adination Ortigas runners "level up" with this race, taking down 21k's with relative ease. When I first met some of them, they were tubby ordinary joes who could barely complete a 5k. Now they are fit, veritable weekend warriors already looking ahead to the upcoming marathon and ultramarathons in the 2011 calendar. Hmm... we must be doing something right eh? Proud "coach" here. Sniff.

This group has come a long way...
9. Kleptomania in the house.

Sucks. As I was busy facilitating the insane rush of people registering for the ANR sessions (the booth was mistaken for the baggage counter like a gazillion times) , I made terrible mistake of placing my brand new, fancy Adidas Techfit shorts (which set you back a cool P3,000 believe) on the counter. Amidst the mob scene, I thought nothing of it, it was like inches away from me. Much to my abject horror, I suddenly noticed it was gone. Aww shucks.That crap happens? Even here? And to think I tried my best to smile and humor the people despite the hassle and the crush of the crowd. Cruel. Chalk this one up to the "loss of faith in humanity" list.

Asar.

10. I will never run this race again!!
That was what people said last year after the debacle in claiming the race kits. And yet this year even more people joined. I heard practically the same thing in the aftermath of the race, but why do I have this sneaky feeling the race will set another attendance record next year? Go figure.

That's all folks, see you at KOTR 2011!

With off-road events experiencing a sudden resurgence, enthusiasts both new and old alike may want to check out this upcoming series of events from Finishline, to be held against the scenic backdrop of Nuvali. With running, cycling and Now if only a house in the area weren't so expensive.

Here are the details, pretty much everything is there already.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS 1. What is In-Motion Series? In-Motion is the 3 part leg series of races per year hosted by Finishline. Each leg consists of a variety of single-sports discipline and multi-sports discipline. Each leg will begin with a running event as a jump-off point and culminate with a sprint triathlon. Refer to 2011 calendar of events for dates. 2. What is Road X Trail? Road X Trail is the launch of the In-Motion Series, that consists of 3 sports events: cycling (Dec 11), running (Dec 18), and duathlon (Dec 19). For each discipline, there are 2 types: road and trail. 3. What is Activate? Activate is a weekly training program to complement the In-Motion race series that aims to provide assistance in 2 ways: > Timed Training on your own time: Finishline to provide timing at running, cycling, and swimming spots. Weekday and weekend schedule shall be posted at www.finishline.ph > Train With a Personal Coach: Finishline coaches will develop a customized program, depending on the objective 4. What is MYCHIP?

MYCHIP is the first personal*, multi-sport** timing chip in the Philippines. *It is non-disposable, and can be used for a lifetime. **It can be used for running, cycling, swimming, duathlon, aquathlon, triathlon races hosted or timed by Finishline. MYCHIP price is Php 2,500 which includes, MYLAPS-ChampionChip Timing Chip, Neoprene Strap (for running and duathlon), and a bike clip (for road and trail biking). For more information on MYCHIP, refer to the leaflet or log on to www.finishline.ph MYCHIP owners avail of a Php 150 discount on registration fee for running and cycling fun ride, and Php 350 discount for other events. 5. Aside from using MYCHIP, how else can we avail of discounts? No discount on bulk registration. No discount for joining the whole leg. 6. Where can i purchase MYCHIP? For those who will register and will purchase MYCHIP, payment will be done at the registration sites, but race kit and MYCHIP will be delivered to the participant. Registration staff to write the complete delivery address beside the race number yellow box. 7. Do we have to activate our MYCHIP every time we join? No. MYCHIP owners are assigned a permanent unique chip code, which automatically registers as they cross the finish line. 8. Can we claim race kits on race day? No. For Running: Running kits will be available at registration sites on November 23 (Tuesday). For those who registered from Nov 15 - November 22, race kits will be delivered to them. Registration Staff to write complete delivery address beside the race number yellow box. For Cycling: Participants should claim their race kits at their designated registration site from December 6 - 10, using their race kit tickets to be given by the registration staff upon payment of participant. For Duathlon: Participants should claim their race kits at their designated registration site from December 6 - 10, using their race kit tickets to be given by the registration staff upon payment of participant. 9. What are the rules and regulation for winning? There are 2 ways to win: 1. Winners for each race category: Top 3 winners, Male and Female. 2. Winners for each age category per race category: 1 winner per age category, Make and Female. There is a total of 12 age categories: kids 8-11 yrs. old youth 12-15 yrs. old 16-17 yrs. old 18-24 yrs. old 25-29 yrs. old 30-34 yrs. old 25-39 yrs. old 40-44 yrs. old 45-49 yrs. old 50-54 yrs. old 55-59 yrs. old 60 and above Participant to cross the finish line must be a registered participant to qualify. Timers to confirm split and chip times before awarding winners. Each winner to receive special winners medals. 10. What are the prizes? No cash prizes to be given. GCs and Products will be given to the top winners. 11. What will non-winners receive on race day? Each participant will receive a finisher’s medal, MYRACE analysis, and drinks from the beverage sponsor. 12. Can we ride with our kids without joining the race? No. Only registered participants can ride/run. In case of minors, a signed waiver by the guardian/parent should be turned over to the registration staff. 13. If we join the race, do we get discounts at the nearby hotels within the area? Where? Yes. For inquiries, call Paseo Premiere at 049 5413089 to 94 . 14. Can we join 2 or more criterium race categories? Ex. Cycling Active Dirt Criterium at 6:30am and Fit Road Criterium at 9am? Yes. 15. What kind of bike can i use for each race? Only road bikes will be allowed on road criterium categories. Only mountain bikes will be allowed on trail criterium categories. Both bike types will be allowed to join the fun ride category. 16. When do we get the results of MYRACE Analysis? MYRACE results will be posted within 24 hours. Finishline In-Motion Series Launch Brief

DESCRIPTION

TARGET MARKET

• Primary : for the longer distance race categories, we are targeting regular participants (elites and intermediates) of duathlon, cycling (mountain bikers and road bikers), running (trail and road runners)
• Secondary: We will also target beginners and anyone interested in trying out new sports / muli-sports by offering shorter distance categories. Majority of them are either doing only running or cycling.

• To introduce other sports to those who are limited to joining either running or cycling events only but would like to try other sports or combination of both.
• To offer a multi-discipline event designed to appeal not only to experienced competitors but to newbies as well.
• To showcase different sports disciplines in an accessible and spectator-friendly format.

Check out the videos for a better idea of what the events are all about. Cool, nicely done.

• Hey hey hey. I told you I'd come up with the weekly update! Just keeping my end of the bargain. Thanks for all the support guys and gals, traffic to the site just shot up 120% over the past two weeks. Much love, very grateful and let's keep it coming.

• The survey on the middle part of our home page was asking you all what was the biggest impediment to you taking up multisport. 41% of the responses said they didn't know how to swim, while 39% said they thought road bikes were too expensive. The swim part is workable, I could hook you up with my coach (who handles several of us at Endure Multisport) for "friendly" rates if you want to conquer your fear of the water for starters. As for the expensive road bike, its either you take out that long overdue SSS salary loan or just do it the old fashioned way. Which is to spend like a hermit all year to save a little, wait until 13th month pay kicks in, then combine the two to buy your precious road bike. Of course, while that would mean you won't be buying anyone anything for Christmas, just keep on staring at your bike to cover for the grief you'll be receiving.
  

Swimming doesn't have to be this hard.

• In the weeks leading up to Powerman Malaysia, I was already feeling iffy. Probably the long grind of a deathly hectic season was getting to me. A three-week long fever? Okay that's odd. Coughing up blood? Freaky stuff. As much as I abhor hospitals and try to avoid them at all costs, this was too creepy to just let pass. After about four hours spent in an isolation room, thankfully my fears of pneumonia or tuberculosis were unfounded. I was diagnosed with chronic pharyngitis, there was a tear in my throat that relegated me to sick leave for a week. What's the implication of all this? I was planning to go for an intensive 21 day "pahabol" training for the NAGT season ending triathlon at UP Los Banos. Now that's seven days gone, I feel like a fat slob, and my fitness level has all but evaporated. Good luck for the next 14 days.
  

Fat slob days are here again

• We've been blessed to enjoy the continued support of race organizers, and I try to share this with our readers as much as I can. Thanks to everyone who participated in our Mcdonalds and Vertical Marathon contests, hope you had fun at the races. Will keep you posted for more fun giveaways as they come.

Happy winner Mark. Congratulations!

• I'm happy to see a lot of people "leveling up" by the unprecedented number of entries to a 32k race during the last Unilab Rio gig. Let me make this bold prediction : We'll see a record number of marathon entrants in the 2011 season, and we'll also see a record number of too-much-too-soon knee injuries. Take it from the guy who did a 50k ultramarathon before he even did a full marathon.
  

• It's Christmas party season. Xmas Party = food. Food = Tubby fat. Tubby fat = slower you. Xmas party = bad. But then again, it's Christmas so screw it lol.
  

• I'm going to start a new cycle of the highly touted P90x workout tomorrow if only in a lame attempt to get in shape to curb the aforementioned Christmas fat . I already completed the 90-day program before, hard as heck but never felt better. You should give it a go. I'm not saying I have a bootleg copy, but I MAY possibly know someone who does. (slow-motion wink)

Just 90 days baby!

• If you haven't read that "open letter", my trusty 305 is in dire straits. Who's giving me a 310xt for Christmas?

• In the unlikely (asa) event that no one gives me one for Christmas, what's a better deal ? A new Ultegra groupset (cycling/multisport people help out) or that 310XT? Sob.
  

Sob. Yum.

• Is it just me or is that picture above ginormous?
  

• Was looking forward to run the Resorts World race this morning, but got too stressed from some bike mishaps yesterday. Sorry Jinoe and Que, I couldn't get out of bed. How was it anyway? Feedback from those who ran it!
  

• What did happen to me ? After pretty much hassle free riding for several months, I suffered my first two flat tires yesterday (thanks to WRT vet Emil for helping me out) on a Antipolo-Laguna route, got my chain dislodged twice and nearly got run over by one of them counterflowing cars (About two inches from disaster.Karma will hunt you down my friend) The coup de grace was when I was inadvertently left behind, and I got extremely lost, traversing the very long and very congested commuter route (Binangonan, Angono, etc) instead of the scenic Antipolo route. Was also forced to walk my bike more than 5k amidst the madness, impossible to bike in bumper to bumper traffic. I think I worried my teammates (and Ultramarathoner Abby)to death as I had no money, little water and no cellphone. Touched that they waited for me though. Not my day. The next one will be better. Still a career high 152k ride, unfathomable a couple of months ago.

• BDM 151 (or 160?) watch : 90% running, 10% not running.
  

• I was driving home when I saw the formerly world-famous Tito Caloy, who's now enjoying his retirement from his storied running career. Keeping a low profile, he has opted to concentrate on his competitive drinking. His bpm (bottles per minute) pace had dropped when he started running, so now he's concentrating on training for the 2011 Philippine Drinking League season. He says hi to everyone who actually remembers him, and that he's available for personal appearances for your Christmas parties. Just text 0917- 8- TCALOY for details.
  

Rare appearance by the legend.
Have a good running week folks :)

Bikes. They have been around since time immemorial, pretty much as ubiquitous as they come. For this formerly indifferent running dude, everything is pretty much all the same on two wheels right? I mean, come on, it's just a bike right? Two wheels, you try not to fall, and everything's cool! Little did I know that there lies practically an entire canon of technical knowledge in what turns out to be a highly sophisticated enterprise. It is within this mindset steeped in naivety that our brave new undertaking begins, my running relegated to the background temporarily.

Tricked out racer here

Being a 90's kid, I grew up going to CCP and the Ortigas area where you could rent them for about P25 an hour. Sigh. Not exactly one to have perfect balance, I had to start with every kid's safe haven- the ever-lovable sidecar. If it was any portent of things to come a decade later, I already had too much pride to ride one with training wheels. Even as a pre-pubescent Gingerbread lad, the machismo (perceived or otherwise) was already emanating. I would rather be caught driving those Barbie jeeps you could buy at Plaza Fair or SM Toyland (cue in... . SM toyland is the place to go, lots of toys, g.i.joe ... .board games, laser guns, so mom, dad let's go to toyland... .we got it all for you! )

Cheers to a bygone era

As I had inferred in a previous article, I had a laundry list of problems on two wheels as a youngster. A foray into the world of multisport suddenly necessitated a real-time crash course on all things biking, which was somewhat of a challenge because I was never really the handyman/let's-get-our-hands-dirty mekaniko type. Heck, I could write about them but to do it myself? Ah now that's an entirely different story. I'll try to relate to you as much of the experience from a total newbie perspective.

Not my sorta thing

Frame
Well, a bike frame is supposed to be self-explanatory right? It's well, uh, a frame. I mean, it's a bike. Just ride it for crying out loud. Apparently, this simpleton thinking didn't hold water in the highly technical cycling world. The frame's top tube has to be just the right size for you , or else you'll be setting yourself for a wide variety of aches and pains. There are common fit guides easily googable, or have one done at your friendly bike shop. My first one was at least one size small for me, hence me feeling like crap after every ride. How much is a frame anyway? The spectrum is wider than one could think. If you're more of the "assemble" type, you could the manong-style bakal bakal ones for as low as P5,000 . Depending on the brand and where you actually buy it, lightweight carbon-fiber frames could range anywhere from P40,000 to more than P100,000. Also, custom-made titanium frames could set you back a cool $2,500 or more. Cheap thrills.

Looks weird but could probably send your kid through college

"Grupo"
Apparently, a bike's groupset is as integral as any other component towards the whole thing. It all seemed Greek or Parseltongue (sorry, couldn't resist the Potter reference) to me when I first got my bike. In common parlance, this is more or less defined as a bicycle component manufacturer's organized collection of mechanical parts. This pretty much includes your brakes and gear shifters (for Shimano {a well-known brand. Wow, parenthesis in a parenthesis, my Grammanazi 7th grade English teacher would be turning in her grave } branded components, this is called an STI, or Shimano Total Integration. Because of Shimano's popularity, "STI" has come to be accepted as a common noun of sorts for gear shifters, like "Colgate" even if it comes from a different brand) , chain, crankset, deraillers (the thing that moves your chains from one sprocket to another to accomplish gearing) et, al. Collectively, these serve as the "engine" of your bicycle, and enthusiasts/serious cyclists pay premium price for any possible technological advantage they could muster.

It's complicated.

There are numerous brands, with perhaps Shimano being the most ubiquitous. I'll try to give you a quick, layman's look into it. The Shimano brand offers different groupset lines, which purportedly cater to anyone from the amateur cyclist to the touring professional. The 2300 is an 8-speed groupset which to be very honest with you I didn't even know existed before I wrote this article. It's probably in the bottom rung of the foodchain, and most professionals will find an 8-speed set lacking for their, well, professional needs. The Sora is a 9 -speeder, and it's a very decent groupset specially for those starting out. It's also what's in Ultramarathoner Abby's roadie, random trivia.

Next in line is the Tiagra, which someone once compared to a Toyota Vios or Honda Jazz if you want to quantify it in car terms. . Noooot sure if that's completely accurate. The 10-speed 105 is probably the most commonly used, a very decent groupset you could go to war with. Is this the equivalent of an Altis or Civic? No idea. My groupset is a well-worn (aka old) 9-speed 105 from a forgotten era. It hasn't failed me so far. On the upper end of the spectrum are the Ultegra and the Dura Ace. A brand new Ultegra set is more expensive than my entire first bike (named Bob, check the old article), while a brand-new Dura-Ace set could either buy you a 2nd hand Honda Hatchback or serve as downpayment for that dream home of yours. Whew.

Car... .. or bike parts?

Aerobars/Seatposts
Since most of do bike within the context of multisport, aerobars are more or less a must-have. Ever see those ultrafit triathletes crouched in that weird but cool-looking position? The aero position is designed to save your legs for that run portion and if executed correctly, propel you faster through the magic of aerodynamics. Thing is, the bikes your Ironman idols are riding on those Youtube clips are made specifically for triathlon. Meaning, they're specifically expensive. Not too uncommon to find P250,000 Italian-made tri-bikes around the corner. While that's a tad bit unrealistic for commoners like you and me, the tipid meals solution would be to buy clip-on aerobars ( cheapest would be about P2,500 a pop) combined with a fast forward seatpost ( anywhere from P2,500 - P5,000) for your road bike. The fast forward seatpost changes the seat tube angle frame from 73° to 78°, effectively moving the rider 38 mm forward in replicating the fancy tri-bike's geometry. Note, without the fast forward seatpost it would be quite difficult to maintain aero position, so these two add-ons usually come hand in hand.

You could put a down on that house already.

A practical fix.

Wheels

Same thing with wheels. High-end brands like Zipp or HED which specialize in deep, lightweight, aerodynamic wheels that are more or less made to make you go faster. They spin a lot faster too. Maybe that's why you go faster. Smart. Smirk. Anyway, the eye candy factor notwithstanding though just to get your head out of the clouds these are very painful to the wallet. The set that Olympic champion Fabian Cancellara was using in the photo in the previous paragraph could easily north of P120,000. Fun. On the other hand, if you could care less about aerodynamics and just want your bicycle to run, a decent pair could be had for as low as P3,000. Hmmmm.

I'll get my bling bling one day.Sniff.

Helmets

Whaaaat? Even helmets? It goes without saying that helmets are there for one thing - to prevent your brain from becoming mush on the floor in the event of some horrible accident. Cool. Of course, leave it to modern technology to somehow figure out a way to "pimp up" your standard issue helmet. While a basic helmet could go as low as P500- P1300 depending on where you get it, a tricked out aerodynamic helmet that "makes you go faster" with matching water vents to boot could set you back a cool P10,000 easy.

He's faster already

Cycling Shoes/Cleats

The quintessential newbie rider's rite of passage. People speak of it in hushed, even fearful tones, like it was the Loch Ness Monster or something. Some riders go on for months still wearing sneakers, avoiding the big jump at all costs. Why the fuss? These shoes have cleats that latch on to a special kind of pedal, allowing for a more efficient stroke and the added power benefit of an upward pull. If utilized correctly, these make for probably the most immediate improvement in terms of performance.

So if bike shoes are such a godsend, why do newbie cyclists speak of them with relative dread?

Well, there's always a caveat, and here's the rub. Once on bike shoes, you're practically "glued" to your bike, and you could only disengage by doing a nifty outward twist move. That nifty move takes some time to practice, and that extra half second it takes could be enough to niftily knock you down in the classic "semplang" move - even while you're still attached to the bike. Without the benefit of just putting down an emergency leg for leverage and balance, things could turn ugly in a hurry.

Face the fear
As it is, the thought of having no safety backup is mortifying to a lot of novice cyclists. It's just one of those things that's easy to procrastinate over, but at the back of your head you know you have to face it eventually. It was with this mindset that I decided to get my first pair, "just to get it over with". This little conversation at the bike shop where I bought it from did nothing to assuage my fears :

Bikemann : First time mo ba mag cleats?
GBM : Yes pohz
Bikemann : Ah ok. Sesemplang ka.
GBM: !!!!!!

And indeed, the deadpan oracle had spoken. Ironically, over several months on no cleats I had done a treacherous 120k road race, a duathlon and triathlon with no incident whatsoever.

Got home, tried on the shoes, and cleated up downstairs in the garage.

BANG. Less than 5 minutes in, I'm sprawled on the ground. Still attached to the bike. Sob. Muscle memory apparently gives way to a lot of bad habits, and it reared its ugly head in real time.

Much like a fallen gladiator recovering from a devastating blow, I staggered up and gave it another go

3 minutes later, same result.

My confidence shaken and knee banged up, I went back upstairs to regain my senses. Alarm bells were anxiously ringing in my head. Is it reaaaaallly that hard? I am really not meant to be a cyclist? Do I really suck at this?

Let's just assume it hurts.
But then again, as that old adage goes it isn't about how many times you fall but how many times you get up right? The following day I was at it again, convinced I could do it. I rode for 20 kms along my familiar training jaunt, so far so good. As I pulled up near the back gate of UA&P, I dismounted to check if everything was in order. Cool. Went back up, did a u-turn, and before I knew it was hard on the ground. This was a really hard fall, much harder than the previous two ones. My STI was jarred to the point of misalignment. To make matters worse, my students had seen me and were prepared to laugh over that silly cyclist until they saw it was me. Oh the horror. Did I mention I was still attached to the bike?

Where's that adage when you need it? I limped home, tail between my legs dragging my bike with me. This was really depressing. All that fuss about fancy frames, groupsets, wheels, and helmets - yet here I was, couldn't even manage to keep myself off the pavement. That in turn invoked perhaps the single most overused line in the history of cycling, hence I'm going to use it again -

It's not about the bike.
Kuya Lance Armstrong probably knew what he was talking about. First time I ever got wind of these figures, I could hardly believe it. Turns out there are two sides to this bike thing - both the competitive side and the hobby side. And maybe somewhere in between where the two sides converge. You could see people spend hundreds of thousands on the aforementioned items, but they're nowhere near competitive. As they say, if you can't perform, japorm. Sometimes, going through the fancy bikes at multisport or cycling events it's easy to see that the sport is also somewhat akin to a grown man's Tamiya . You get the best components, put it all together and talk about it with your buddies over a beer or two while planning your next salary burner.

I have a borderline mid-range bike at best, and I would be lying if I told you that I didn't take some lurid form of satisfaction in overtaking them italian-made, Dura-Ace equipped bikes on a race. On the other hand, how many times have I been lapped and overtaked by manongs with bakal bakal bikes that seem to have been used and abused since the 80's. No aerodynamics here, just sheer brute strength and athleticism. I shudder to think at what they could do with all this fancy technology at our disposal.

Which brings us back to the immortal words of Mr. Armstrong. Truly, it really isn't about the bike. The best bike in the world will be utterly useless in the wrong hands. Or legs , for the matter. You can spend all you want, but these advancements will only be noticeable if you actually bother putting in the requisite saddle time. The competitive athlete is both well conditioned and utilizes technology with maximum efficacy. However, if you could care less about competition and are just thrilled with the science and intricacies of putting it all together, well and good. We'll gawk at your fancy toy during the next race.

He has a pointThis bike thing. It's a fun, crazy thing, and it appeals to a whole wide range of personality types with hugely contrasting goals.

Did I mention I never fell from my bike again after that embarrassing episode ?

Just suck it up brother.

Welcome to the cycling world.

Where it doesn't matter how many times you fall.

Only the number of times you get up...

8,000 runners. Sold out slots. You have to give it to Nike to whip up a frenzy in attracting a staggering number to participate in what's essentially "just" a 10k. The latter inference is a testament to the drawing power of the shoe behemoth's crossover appeal, compelling even casual runners to pay top peso for what essentially amounts to a short run that you and your buddies could bag in two hours easy. (with matching tsismisan at BHS)

Defying Expectations

Two years ago, the Nike + Human Race was held at Subic ( check out my feature back then, I painstakingly googled it in five seconds. Let it transport you to a time when people still actually commented on blogs) as a side event to the what would be much- maligned Subic International Marathon. To those who weren't around the scene back then, that race had hydration supplies run out at more or less the 25k mark and it was so dark runners couldn't see their feet. The angry mob and the collapsed Kenyan at the finish line pretty much summed up the sorry state of affairs for that race.

Manila was not an "official" city in what was supposedly a simultaneous run around the world by Nike users, and suffice to say response and participation were tepid at best. I was there about 40 minutes before the race and it didn't even seem that there was one going to be held, so much that I had to ask if I was in the right venue. Aside from "celebrity" ambassadors (yes, I will forever consider my good buddy Bards of Bananarunning one) and Sun billboard habitue Jaymie giving the requisite interviews, there was pretty much no action going on. It was around this time that pundits were saying that the running craze had hit its peak and that it would die a natural death like badminton, billiards, and Zagu.

Admit it, you fell in line before just like the rest of us.
Fast forward two years, and it seems that the doomsday naysayers need to eat their humble pie. The running community remains as robust as ever. BHS is teeming with runners even on a weekday, so much to the point that they were even given their own dedicated lane. UP is likewise packed as runners stride away till the wee hours amidst the lush foliage backdrop, and you see people running in places you never even thought were "runnable" if there were such a word. This notion is further reinforced as evidenced by the overpowering show of force presented during the latest incarnation of its signature 10k race.

A Newbie Once Again

The afternoon start time being a decent come-on given my hectic training schedule, I sauntered off to BHS in relative ignorance of where the venue actually was. I assumed it to be "the usual" starting venue ( if you're a runner who has actually joined a BHS race, you know what this means) but it turns out this race was more dynamic than others. It took me a visit to veteran Runnr gatekeeper Nikko to get to know that it was actually near the drive-thru Starbucks area. Well that's something new.

Feeling Noobie.
Quite ironically, while I've probably been running longer than about 95% of the populace present that Saturday, I felt like the newbie. I didn't know a single soul, not a single familiar face in the crowd as I trudged to the starting line. Arriving early in anticipation of the mad throng, I made my way to the "VIP Lounge" to presumably pass away time. I don't why they termed it as such, there was really nothing going on save for a few cocktail tables. I finally saw a couple of Takbo.ph buddies and old hands in the industry milling about, made for some decent catch-up conversation. Even good ol' Bards was there, haven't seen her in ages. A little-known but often overlooked fact is that the two of us were supposed to host the second season of Run Radio before it got scuttled due to unpublishable reasons. At least it makes for a good inside joke. Also got to exchange some niceties with Polo Tri friend Tricia Chiongbian-Concepcion, who I last saw while we were getting blown around at White Rock (watch out for my even more delayed article sorry na). She was hosting the show with sportscaster Anthony Suntay, an old neighbor and gym friend nearly a decade ago. I seriously doubt he still remembers me although he's too nice to admit, so I'm probably just the creepy guy who always says hi. Eek.

Let the show begin.

Wow. The atmosphere was something else. Having participated in multisport or cycling races for the majority of the year where the participants rarely even reach 400, being part of the 8,000-strong hive was a strangely invigorating experience. We were whisked to the "VIP" starting area which separated us from the rest of the runners by a burly bodyguard-manned cordon. Felt sorta awkward though, I've never been part of such and who the hell am I anyway lol. And with so many "VIP"' people there, I guess you could say it what somewhat of a misnomer in a sense. Speaking of real VIP's, the favorite presidential grandson (yes, I'm referring to Joshua) made a grand entrance with some buddies three minutes before the race was to commence. He was promptly greeted with spirited cheers (or jeers, depends if you're a Kris Aquino fan) of "Bimby! Bimby!" What fun.

Bimby pa din.

Moving Too Fast

With recent sports-car collector/race director Rio tersely walking around in the background, the countdown clock was rapidly approaching all zeroes after Fitness First gal did her requisite warmup set. Former Philippine Blog Award finalist, Milo Nationals qualifier and Team Powerpuff Boys teammate Natz Garcia was clowning around with a big Ipod strapped to his arm, apparently his Garmin broke down. Naturally untrusting of GPS, he even brought along a map.

Natz not taking any chances.It's no big secret that this is my first straight up running road race since Condura, so I think I got overexcited. I started off way too fast for my own good in keeping up with the main pack, about 3:45 pace for the first kilometer. The atmosphere was tremendous and the adrenalin was pumping. However, my adrenalin sort of forgot that given that I'm preparing for a full Ironman distance race, I didn't have any hops on me. Second, I just came off three hours on the bike trainer earlier, which rendered the race into a virtual brick workout. I tapered off considerably by the time I reached the 3k mark and was fading fast. Some schmuck overtook me and gave me a cheery pat to boot, and it turned out it was tridol Javy Olives of Tri'n Hard fame who was killin it with his teammates Drew, a guy who I could have sworn was Raoul Floresca and some dudes I didn't know. Tuhog City again. Oh well. My pace was dropping fast and I didn't have any anaerobic capacity to keep up.

Habol ng Habol

Kilometer Five upwards was a struggle for me on the surprisingly tough course. The effect of the brick notwithstanding, I haven't done any interval workouts since preparing for the Olympic-distance Subic International Triathlon earlier in the year. Obviously, my OAstart didn't do anything to help my cause. I was just trying to keep up with whoever was in front of me, and the distance was starting to feel like forever. Another TPB teammate Alex Mac passed me with relative ease, damn these guys are in shape grrr.

Huff, meet Puff.
At around kilometer 8, I saw Ultramarathoner Abby hanging around to cheer me on, she made it just in time to see me discombobulate lol . Legacy TPB teammate Ronnel was catching up with me, and so was ultrarunner and budding triathlete Carly. I even saw a bare-chested Adobo Run and CIHM head honcho Ed Kho scurry about. As the humidity level was slowly engulfing the crisp early night sky, I limped home across the line to a high five from Rio in a pedestrian 54:xx, a mid 53 on my Garmin as there was a nominal disparity of about 200 meters. Not exactly a performance I would be proud of, but a half-decent brick time I guess. I was targeting at the very least a sub-50, dream on brother. Interestingly enough, it was still good for 110th place amongst 8,000 and if I were to base it off Javy's time, a decent performance could have cracked the top 20.Not that it matters, but that's just the competitor in me aggravated at my lack of preparation although I was really just supposed to "take it easy". Couldn't resist.

Post-Mortem

Overall, it was refreshing to be back on the run circuit again after an extended absence. Nike and Rio did a yeoman's job in providing an innovative approach to this race (including a cool flash app to track one's results) as the market continually strives to look for something new. The custom-built route was challenging and the hydration was more than adequate. I'm guessing though that not a few were disappointed that a much-touted Nike Lunar Glide USB wasn't given, a snag attributed to supplier delays. Instead, the runners had to content themselves with drinks and a Nike poster.

In retrospect, why do runners shell out that much cash even if it's "only" a 10k? Furthering the discussion, how has the running sub-culture sustained itself even if some races border on redundancy and corporate profiteering? I've come to surmise that it's not just the branding or the freebies. Running, at least for the most part, is a shared social experience. It's the camaraderie, the competition. The water-cooler kwentuhan at the office the following Monday with your officemates, heck even your weird boss. The street cred with your friends (and the lack of it if they missed it). Social dynamics constitute a powerful, dynamic and sustainable force, and coupled with looming health benefits the formula for long-term viability is in place.

It's not Badminton or Billiards. Running is here to stay, whether you like it or not.

Let's drink a Zagu to that.

Editor's Note : This is well, um, about a month late. By the time you read this me and the Quest boys are already on our way to the Tour of Subic, our final multi-stage race of the season. But hey, just read it and hopefully enjoy it nonetheless, I probably spent more time writing this than I have been training. Due to recent changes in my work flexibility, expect a steady stream of backlog features on my recent races trickle in with the week. In chronological order. Cheers.

Quest 825 recently competed at the Pilipinas Cycling League's Immuvit Race Against Time Tour of Clark leg, held in, uh, Clark. It was a three-stage humdinger spread over two days and the team acquitted themselves decently given this wasn't our "base sport" if one would call it that. Here's an inside look at the pain, the agony and the glory behind this particular bike tour.

Prologue

Executive Cycling is one of those "hobbies" that I had gotten into as part of my multisport training. While triathletes in general are expected to go on long training rides to augment their preparations, not everyone has the cajones to join these multi-day, multi-stage races that would require one to ride and latch on, Tour de France-style, to a peloton ( or in the simplest way I could explain it, a big bunch of skinny guys riding their bikes at full speed separated by about hair's width from each other). Why even bother going on to this blatant invasion of personal space, where the slightest human error can cause everyone to crash like a deck of cards in a chain reaction ? We are all familiar with how drafting benefits cyclists through blocking the wind, that's why it is outlawed in most triathlons. But try hanging out with about forty other guys as a big pack, and your speed and efficiency jumps exponentially. It is a highly taxing discipline that requires both aerobic and anaerobic aptitude. Obviously, the inherent risk factor is part and parcel of the whole enterprise.

Alas, a strong bike split race target usually necessitates either superior genetics (dream on) or a solid cycling background ( you have a shot). Given that I am sure I wasn't blessed with the former , I have thus embarked on a journey of self-improvement on two wheels. This is my first full season competing on the executive cycling circuit, having debuted last year at Bike King's Tour of Matabungkay and participated in several other one-day races and tours from that point. Given that Quest actually started out as an executive cycling team, our participation in this race was a no-brainer.

On the day itself, after a late departure from Shell NLEX at around 5:30 am the determined gang scurried off to Clark for the tour's first stage, a 47.7 km Team Time Trial race.

Stage 1 - Team Time Trial. Bittersweet Symphony.

The Team Time Trial event or TTT is usually considered the glamor event of each tour leg. Given that cycling is more of a team-oriented sport vis-a-vis the rest of the multisport disciplines, the TTT is taken as a consensus of any given team's strength and caliber. Such is the importance of the event that rumor has it that some teams intentionally rest their members through earlier stages to preserve their legs for this relatively short event.

According to a passage I blatantly stole from Wikipedia, "the main principle behind a TTT is that a few riders can ride at the front of the formation slightly above their aerobic threshold while others draft behind these riders. The riders then rotate, allowing some riders to recover while drafting behind fresher teammates. A rider who is riding at the front is said to be taking a pull. Accelerations require harder efforts, and therefore it is desirable to have a smooth, steady pace. Different riders have different power outputs, lactate thresholds and aerodynamics. In order to equalize the efforts in order to not burn some riders off too early, the weaker riders take shorter pulls and stronger riders take longer pulls, all at the same speed to minimize the change in pace. A rider finishing a pull usually rotates to the very back of the formation, and the rider who was formerly behind this rider takes over. " Hmm, sounds complex. But the idea is, the team who could sustain the fastest pace without burning each others guts out is the winner.

Over here at the local scene, the TTT event is usually dominated by powerhouse club Fitness First. As for us, the team had steadily improved from last season. To give you some perspective, these things are usually an hour or less of lung-busting, intensely anaerobic, invective-filled fun. There's usually a minimum of five riders and a maximum of nine with the fifth rider to cross for the team coming in as the time to count. Thus, in theory the more people you have on a team the better the chance for your team members to conserve their energy. The thing with our team was, we had more than nine eligible riders, so we split into two teams. I was bundled with Team 2. On my side was team captain Deo, team manager and Ironman 70.3 World Championships finisher James, Army Col. Bong, veteran endurance athlete Ronald, TTT newbie Karlo and myself. All were capable time trialists in their own right, and ultimately this stage would all come down to teamwork and execution. But the paceline was beset with problems from the very beginning... .

A Shaky Start

Right off the bat, we were beset by unforeseen problems. With some teams a no-show for Stage 1, our release time was pushed forward by several minutes. This was exacerbated by the fact that we arrived late at the venue. To make a long story short, we barely made it to the release time and Ronald was caught up with something, forcing him to ride with Team 1 who had a later release. Thus we had one less comrade to stifle the wind and down to five riders, we were left with no room for error. We had been in a similar position at last season's Tour of Matabungkay, and the pressure- wracked, nausea-inducing experience was not exactly one to relish.

Completely out of sync for starters, we struggled to maintain the paceline. With no actual practice but having a general idea of what to do, the team eventually settled down with our speed hovering at about 35-36kph. So all's well and good. Problem was, Karlo was straining under the frenetic pace and it showed through his pained look specially through the inclines near the Fontana area. Now, we all knew that it didn't matter if the four of us kept up this pace - it was the fifth guy's time that would count. So we had to slow down. Frustratingly enough, we were passed by about three teams while going through this process. But this was a team effort, and no man could be left behind.

Man down... ...

At about the 40k mark our paceline was terribly falling behind our target already and was pretty much broken apart. With no breathing room to spare, each of us weren't taking way-too-long turns towing the line and it was starting to show with the suka pace that we were maintaining. Captain Deo and James had valiantly went back to provide the needed support for Karlo, but the effort had gassed them out. With but a few kilometers to spare, we were all running on fumes. The cycling gods finally decided to spare us a break and with about 500 meters to go the entire team managed to get intact in crossing the line with a 32.14kph ave, good for 23rd of 25 teams. Apparently, Team 1 was beset by their own troubles in finishing with a 35.29kph average for 18th place, seemingly below par for their capabilities. These results in no way did us justice at all, and essayed that even if our individual riders were quite capable on their own, there needed to be a strong degree of teamwork at play to maximize our results. Having less riders also exacerbated the situation. Drained and searching for answers, the Quest gang all set off for a quick lunch at SM Clark before stage 2 was due to commence in a few hours. Yep, you read it right. A few hours.

Wasted, rowdy, hungry bunch after TTT

Stage 2. Circuit Race. Lost in space.

The Tower Burger I had eaten from KFC had not gone down yet, but we had to go. Once again, this proclivity towards being late had us on a mad rush. The dour weather conditions were not helping at all, conjuring visions of crashes amid slick roads. Stage 2 was a 60km circuit race, which true its name counts several loops across the same course. In a stricter sense, some use the term criterium interchangeably to describe similar races, although those are usually shorter in nature and involves removal from the race once you get lapped by the leading pack. As a newbie cyclist last season, I haphazardly joined one of these crits which was stockpiled with old pros and looked more like a laughingstock more than anything else. The manongs watching were heckling me miron-style as I trudged along as the last cyclist to be removed from the course.. I'm guessing the aero helmet did nothing to help my case. Oops.

Di halatang newbie.

A year and a couple more thousand kilometers under my belt, I revisit the concept of the circuit race. At the very least, I hope to get the helmet part right. Anyway, going back to the race. Massaging my still sore thighs, the peloton set off amidst a moderate climb in Fontana that was the highlight of the course. The climb was fine, but having to do it several times over at full speed zaps out your legs one way or another. The first loop was designated as a friendship lap, presumably to serve as a weird form of warmup. Once that was over and done with, the cyclists went on a mad dash that would require every bit of anaerobic juice (at least for lackeys like me) on you to keep up. So I was able to latch on to the main pack, albeit the tail end of it. Predictably enough, my suspect conditioning gave way and I splintered with a group of about five riders, by my estimation about ten seconds behind the main packing. And here's where the fun started. Just as I was gaining some semblance of a rhythm, the guy towing us along took a wrong turn, bringing us all along with him. In the fifteen seconds it took us to get back on the course, the lead pack was out of sight. Great. I was slightly perturbed by what happened and I was left with one other guy. So while rushing to get back in it, at an intersection the marshal was signaling to turn right. Or at least I thought so. Turns out his hand gesture was connoting a "stop" to the other cars (geez how could we mix that up. But yeah we did) and I was off-course again. This was a longer distraction, about 30 seconds. By the time the entire thing was sorted out, I was all alone on the course, deflated and demoralized at such an unseemly turn of events.

I thought of abandoning the race altogether, but then again I'm not a big fan of DNF's. Sot suffice to say, it was like riding an ITT over the final couple of laps, a lonely, solitary route that most would not even bother completing. I even saw a crash along the route, which as I would learn later on involved national triathlete Kim Mangrobang, who was due to compete at the Elite Under-23 ITU Asian Championships in two weeks. She would later share that one of those hyperaggressive junior riders cut her, resulting in a crash on those slick roads. Sort of reminds me that in order to be successful in cycling, you just have to be plain fearless in taking risks. I guess it's still something I have to learn over time.

Loner...

I eventually crossed the line in what seemed like forever, much to the bewilderment of my teammates who figured I'm slow, but not THAT slow. Adding to my chagrin, when the results were released I was mistakenly placed in Excutive A, registering as the last rider to arrive in the division of the strongest executive riders. Oh the horror. Once everyone was accounted for, we all headed back to our hotel to freshen up and reflect on the day that was.

The Lighter Side

After a hearty buffet dinner prepared by the PCL people, the team retired to our comfortable villa at Fontana. We later indulged in the company of veteran elite triathlete Rayzon Galdonez and top executive cyclist Makoy Almanzor. You often see these guys in the heat of athletic competition, and it was refreshing to hear them dispensing race advice in equal doses with classic wisecracks. Here are some of my personal favorites :

Rayzon : Yung nakasabay ko sa run na elite na foreigner na babae nung Camsur, tinanong ako, "Are you Okay?" Ang sagot ko, "No, I'm not Okay. I'm Rayzon. Rayzon Galdonez pleased to meet you what's your name?"

Makoy : Panalo talaga ang Red Horse. Pag sa Red Horse, puro Tama, walang Mali!

With hearty laughter resonating from our living room, I quietly retired to my comfy bed, knowing that we would be in for the long haul for the Stage 3 road race the following morning, the longest leg in the tour.

Yum.

Stage 3. Road Race. A Valiant Effort.

An early breakfast at the nearby Mcdo served as preliminary fuel for the 118 km race that would pretty much replicate the TTT route, only it adds a relatively tough stretch on the outskirts of town to make for several 23k loops. We even ran into my Team Powerpuff Boys buddy and ultramarathon star Junrox Roque ( who's starting to become a force to be reckoned with as well in the short-course triathlon scene) hanging with his executive club Aboitiz Power, a team loaded with strong, veteran riders. For one, at least we all have knack for sausage Mcmuffins early in the morning. Having had our fill amidst the friendly banter, we make our way back to the hotel to get geared up.

We're Late Again

As you may have noticed throughout this feature, this is starting to become somewhat of a recurring theme. For some inexplicable reason, even with considerable lead time, we somehow end up rushing towards the starting grid, making it with less than five minutes to spare. As the peloton was finally released for the conventional "friendship" lap, my thoughts were drifting towards the specter of somehow churning in a creditable performance with my thighs already beaten down from the previous two stages. Word was going around pre-race that last year the peloton took it "easy" during the first few laps because of the relative toughness of the course. With this in mind, I was thinking perhaps I had an outside shot at keeping up this time around.

The friendship lap was relatively brisk, and it comforted me that I was pretty much within the same line as the main pack. So far so good, the whole gang was in sight and I was getting a good feeling about this. The rolling course was not easy though, and I pondered on how I could keep up with the frenzied peloton once they released us. The rain had gone away and the sun was slowly starting to beat upon us. Long ways to go for this.

As my luck would have it, the peloton was released just before the Fontana incline. Great. The funny thing with cycling is that the barometer for success and failure is measured in seconds , seemingly indiscernible nuances spelling the difference between victory and defeat. About a second or two before the peloton was released, my mind inexplicably wandered to some mundane subconscious trapping. And before I knew it, poof. Everyone had at least a five second lead (a lot) on me, and by the time I managed to get my bearings I was speeding along at 45 kph in a vain attempt to catch up. I passed by our team captain Deo and screamed "Habol tayo Kap!!" knowing very well that the slightest let up and we kiss this race goodbye. I raced uphill with cajones-shrinking gusto, and before I knew it I was converging with a fairly-sized group who dropped from the lead group. The pace was frenetic, right around 35-36kph during the early juncture and my lungs seemed to be bursting from the sudden rush. As we stretched out into the highway, a familiar uniform pulled up next to me, and I was overjoyed that Kap had mustered enough to make it into the safety of the chase pack. Save for the TTT, I have been working mostly as a loner for the entirety of the tour so this was certainly a welcome development.

Hanging On

The middle laps saw the chase pack dwindle from a high of as many as twenty to roughly about eight or nine guys. The tough course was unforgiving and the heat and humidity were starting to bear down on us. On the flats we'd hit it in the 45's, then would be focused on the low 30's in a bid to conserve. Slowly but surely, we were getting there and actually putting in a creditable performance by our modest standards. As we were lurching towards the halfway mark , we were quite surprised to see Col. Bong struggling alone against the crosswinds. A strong, consistent rider, we were not accustomed to seeing him get dropped by the peloton . He hung around with us until the feed zone, at which point we just lost track of him. We would later find out that he dropped out of the race after feeling the aftereffects of flu-like symptoms from the week prior. With our reserves slowly being depleted and the sun beating down heavily, it was an interesting proposition to just drop out as well and call it a day. But maybe we had enough to still hack it out... .

Going Down Swinging

As we approached the final lap, our original group had pretty much dropped like flies one by one, and with roughly 20k to go it was just me, Kap and two other dudes. We would take turns on the trangko in a bid to conserve energy, but from this point out it was pretty much all guts and glory. Me and Kap would alternately fade out from the group, then claw back with every ounce left knowing that getting dropped at this point could pretty much mean a knockout blow to one's aspirations of a good finish.

With about 10 kilometers to go entering the homestretch, I felt like I was bonking big time. The other dude fell behind and Kap was still going strong. I told myself, I fought so hard to be in this thing all morning, why give it up now? I figured, might as well go down swinging. As your body bottoms out its reserves and gradually starts to shut down, that's where one's mental fortitude is taxed to its utmost. So with as much effort as one could muster, my battered body was somehow able to throw down 37kph for about a 2 kilometer stretch to catch up with Kap, who I gather didn't even noticed that I was gone. Crossing the line together in 4:06 with the last of the Mohicans was as gratifying a finish I ever had in a cycling event. Checking my race data, the finish time was a bit misleading because of all the long stops we took at the feed zone, and the actual speed we maintained was practically 30kph over a distance that mirrors a Manila-Tagaytay roundtrip. None too shabby I guess for someone with marginal, intermittent training at best. Yipee.

Made it.

Epilogue

Overall, the team had a very creditable finish. Erick stuck with the Executive A main pack in all the road stages, which is highly indicative that he is racing at an extremely high level right now. Cycling main man Julius showed his worthiness to be promoted to the "A" level by nabbing 2nd runner-up podium honors in the 35-39 division of Executive B. The rest of the team all showed traces of significant improvement from the last time we raced here, so we all went home happy. A somewhat unfortunate accident during the last stage marred our good vibes though as Wilnar crashed in a freak accident with only a lap to go, bringing down three riders with him from within the peloton. He suffered a nasty gash on his forehead, but in typical manner he played it down even if he looked like one of them WWE wrestlers who open wounds on their forehead with their hidden razors.

That notwithstanding, it was a creditable effort with tons of room for improvement. As for me, it's back to the drawing board on how to get back into top form. Maybe I'll grab a Red Horse while I'm at it. Puro kasi tama diba, walang mali. :P

I was going to be sensible this year, without heading into it full tilt but it’s begun, the seasonal marathon of back aching spring fever, garden lust that signifies getting out in the garden.

Spring has suddenly shown up at the door, her bags overflowing with tufts of green stuff hanging out at the seams. Although the colors she has painted the decor are still brown, there is a slight green tinge and that’s our signal to dive in.
No amount of winter training will equip us for the long marathon to come. The early morning wake up calls before the sun shows it’s hand, the “should I just get up and get outside despite the dark” thoughts. The late darkening evenings getting just one last garden raked, and prepped before the mosquitoes show up. The absolute joy of seeing anything emerge from that frozen brown soil.
All winter I’ve walked through miles of rugged rural roads dodging ice and snow patches, slipping along with crisp breezes freezing it’s way through layers of scarves and gloves. When the roads were clear enough I’ve biked between late winter snowstorms, warm in the sun, cold in the shade. On inclement days the tread mill has been my friend, and none of it prepares me for that first real day of gardening.
Warming up before grabbing the tools is futile, just get in there and get it done, time is a wasting, and we are already late as it is. Neighbours emerge from their den’s looking pale and rested not seen all winter. Some are tanned from winter get away’s, they will be the ones that groan the loudest, you pay for what you got. Soon the air will be filled with the sound of raking, clipping, pruning, and digging. Translucent recycling bags, and piles of branches will appear at the end of the driveways, like gaily wrapped gifts for spring, while residents walk with crooked posture for a few days.

My 80 year old neighbour insists on his yearly stunt of blowing the accumulated fir needles off his roof despite my worry about his falling off and breaking something. We’ve offered to do it for him, but stubborn farmer genes do not age as fast as the body does. I rake the dead leaves from the garden beds with one ear listening to the sound of the blower stopping, my signal to look up and spot him. I mentally run through my first aid steps in case he were to fall.
The shivering dichotomy of frost covered morning grass, and layer shedding afternoon sun with down vest, and gloves in the AM, sunglasses and t-shirts in the afternoon. The soil is cold, and so are our muscles, but we will both warm up as the season progresses. The snows hold onto frequently smaller patches and reveals what been hidden for the past 4 months.

The workouts, the walking, the biking, will not prepare you for the hours of squatting, bending, raking, clipping, and late that night we wake to the solitude of a evening TV show playing to a audience of snoring people and realize that this is gardeners boot camp.
It’s hard, it’s fast, and it’s painful, but I would have it no other way.
Bring on the gardening games, we are more than ready.
You may have noticed that my watermarks are a little larger today. Many thanks to Lori @ Family Trees May Contain Nuts for letting me know that someone has been stealing our images and claiming them as their own, even being so bold as to put their copyright on the bottom of the post.
Despite Copyright declarations on my sidebar, watermarks, and the metadata that I have embedded in all of my photos they feel that they can just do what ever they feel like with our images.
While I advocate the pinning of my images to Pinterest as long as there is full credit, and linking back to my blog post, I do NOT allow use of them for any other reason without my written permission.
Good for you Lori for catching this, and thanks again for taking such quick action. Lori has outlined the steps you can take here should you find your images stolen.
Let’s all be vigilant, and if we see someone else’s images stolen let them know about it.