As the Gingerbreadman vainly tried to fight off overly emotional baristas and egotistical, surly flight attendants, his tribulations soon got lost as he entered the airspace of the world's largest city, a southern paradise beckoning to him like a sub-zero Coke on a sweltering summer afternooon.
So before it came to this... ..
He had to pass through this... ...
Davao Cab from Airport. GBM. I can't believe I'm finally here. Haven't been here in a year. It's been too long. Last time it was work work work. Now I want to have fun fun fun. Cab driver is conversing with me in the vernacular. Only my proficiency in Cebuano is equivalent to that of a 3rd grader. Okay he's frowning now I think I just said something offensive. Why do I even try? I'm here early, stupid Cebu Pacific had no flights nearer to my boat ride. Wow they still have non-airconditioned taxis here. How... arcane :) Wha.. What's that Mr. Cabbie? Dapit na dong? What's a dapit? What's a dong? Are you cursing me? !@$%%
I find t hese Manila people to be extremely strange With nothing to do until 1:30, GBM was prevailed upon to check out the local sights to burn time. Quickly googling "fun davao spots" unfurled the premiere shopping place in Davao... . Aldevinco Center, GBM Wow, what will I do with sarongs and earrings? And tribal headgear? Next! This is not my place... . Further queries brought about Crocodile Farm, a sortie which did not quite pick his fancy because he had already visited the previous year. In addition, an inherent disdain for 1,000 lb crocodiles ensured that no return trips would be commencing in the near future. Running out of options, a familiar jaunt emerged as a safe haven amidst this unfamiliar land. SM Davao, GBM Wow! I'm in civilization! The SM here looks so... . so... .. the same! So many Mang Inasals! KFC! Kenny! Just like... .. Manila. Hmm... . Nothing spectacular here. Well at least it ain't hot here, it's sweltering outside. Hey they have bottomless greaseless chicken! Did you hear that? Who would have known there was such a thing! I AM IN HEAVEN (@,@) It's the greatest thing ever! I am not making this up. Yum. I heart Davao. *burp*
Best Deal in Town
YUM YUM YUM Davao Marina, 1:30 pm. As the hour neared, his belly filled with greaseless chicken amidst the respite of a cool summer breeze, our protagonist reached the designated pick up point where he would be taking a boat ride to his late summer getaway. A simple wharf was expected, but instead this was the sight that met him... .
Great, they have their own mini-resort as a holding area. Amazing. Very impressive. Okay so now the boat is here. Not a yacht, but the speedboat aint bad at all. So now the journey to paradise begins... .
UA&P, GBM's desk. Present- Day Hi there my dear reader/friend.This is Luis right here. Yes, Gingerbreadman. GBM. Whatever. And yes, I'm talking to you. Breaking the 4th wall again. Thanks for the support in following the story up to this point. I know your time is precious and valuable, that's why I make it as entertaining as possible for you. As you're immersed in our narrative, you do know that here in The Gingerbread Report we try to do things differently. We try to share experiences in unconventional ways. So what usually happens at this point is I would relate how wonderful my vacation was, or how awesome the beach was blah blah. Yeah. That's the norm. But hey, just in the spirit of differentiation that we oftentimes espouse, I'll just stop there. I won't bother telling you about our living arrangements... .
Or their fancy floating bar...
I will not regale you with stories of how close the beach was to my place...
Nor will I bore you with canned anecdotes about how awesome the scenery was... .
I will not even attempt to tell you about that cool electric cart we used...
Or share something irrelevant, like how I am a new infinity pool convert... .
I will not even BEGIN to say how much it rocked to just bum around.
And above all... .. How much it rocked to run on the beach...
I won't even go into any of these things, for the simple reason that... .. It would've been infinitely more special if you were there to share the experience with me. :)
Philippine Blog Awards Verification Text - PBA096339qor Chateau Gingerbread, 6:30 pm
Gingerbreadman rushes inside his house on pins and needles, a late-ending event at his office coupled with the maddening rush of the sundown traffic resulting in twenty minutes worth of tardiness. The helpers are stirred by his spastic entrance, the elder Ginger folk jostled by the abruptness of his appearance. A week-long bout with the chills had the elders admonishing him at the mere mention of a run, urging him to err on the side of caution lest he meet the same fate of the 7 other victims from his alma mater.
Gingerbread Grandpa : Are you crazy? You are sick! Sick I say! You need to rest! And besides, it's raining!
GBM: It's not raining. That's the blender. Gingerbread Grandma: Just stay home hijo I will make you some Spam and Eggs GBM : Yum. How healthy. What's your BP again? Gingerbread Doggie : Woof! Wooooof! Bark! Yelp! (Translation : I could care less if you're sick, but could I have the Spam and Eggs instead?) GBM: How thoughtful. Now knock it off or I'll have you neutered. Gingerbread Gal (via SMS) : Please don't go... . you're sick... .. I'll be sooo worried :( Don't go ... GBM: Aww how sweet. Okay, because you deserve nothing less. I'll... text you when I get home! Xoxo!
Unflinching in his resolve to run despite the chorus of incessant protests received from the immediate brood, GBM nonchalantly went through a whirlwind version of his pre-run ritual. I'll be late for my own freaking run. How embarassing. Oh great the newbie guy texted, he's there already. I don't feel good at all, but what the heck. I'll just run it off. Someone please get the doggie off my leg!
Mcdonald's Pearl Drive, 6:50 pm
20 minutes late and counting . As he rushed into the world's #1 purveyor of high cholesterol, an unfamiliar face was waiting amongst the early dinner throng. Niceties are exchanged. Pio was the name. HR Consultancy was his game. On and off runner since 2005 with a max of 5k in a race. Even as running pals Rico and Bong Yu emerged from the woodwork, GBM could not help but wonder how the newbie could survive the projected 22k route. If he collapses, would that be on me? He looks like he has insurance... Hmmm... . Or better yet I could just blame Rico and Bong... .
GBM was jolted from calculating the ramifications of death via newbie when running buddy/risk manager Rico tapped him on the shoulder, reminding him of unfulfilled promises... .
Rico : Hey, where's my prize? GBM : What prize?Rico : You know, that Levi's Unbuttoned Contest thing you had going... . GBM : Oh yeah, that!
Rico : I won you know... ..
GBM : Oh... ... .. Yeahhhh... ... . Umm, I left it in the office... ..
Rico : Excuses excuses, is this even a real contest?
GBM: Of course it is!
Rico: Looks like a cheap advertising gimmick to me!
GBM : Nooo... it's true! I just left it in my desk! I prooomisee!
Rico : Is it true that you rigged it so I could win?
GBM: Next question please... .
With everything in order, the group set out on their mission - a 22k LSD that would be the first step in their mileage building process for some, a huge running milestone for another.
And so it begins
Km 1.5 - Gold Loop Ortigas
The group was just getting into the groove along the busy alleyways of the Gold Loop that circumvents Pearl Drive. Along the way, GBM had to endure the hopefully friendly jeers of students reveling in his demystified state, his short shorts the complete antithesis of his formal,barong-clad persona. As they were about to hit the route where a squatters settlement was rumored to be intentionally razed, the foursome met triathlete Javy, of Tri'n Hard fame . On the last legs of his route, the affable road warrior shared a quip or two while traversing a single loop, his preparations for the upcoming Animo Tri nearing its peak. With the next leg beckoning, goodbyes were exchanged as the group was steeling itself for the pounding ahead.
Chillin' with Tri'n Hard
Km 4, Julia Vargas Ave
My name is Bong and I work in One San Miguel. Why I come along to these runs, I have no idea. I'm none too shabby a runner myself, I'm a 57 10k dude. I'm just too modest to tell anyone about it. But I wanna take it to the next level. I want to bring that speed to the longer distances. Maybe that's why I'm here. Boy, Julia Vargas sure is dark at night. Is the newbie still alive? He's nice. If something goes wrong, I'll just blame GBM. He organized the whole thing anyway. Why is he pacing us like a madman? Is he mad at us? Why is he subjecting us to this sort of punishment. Oh yeah, we requested this pace. Me and my big mouth. Ow! He almost got run over. What a psycho. Not the car. GBM! Why does he like running in the middle of the street? And he's taking pictures! Is that part of the training? Psycho.
Julia Vargas is fun at night Km 6, St. Martin Hills
Pio is the name and HR is my game. Running? Getting there. So why am I here? Hey I'm down for anything. These guys are so fast. What's this tempo thing they're doing. Runner terminology. Ptooey. One day I'll drop one of these on an unsuspecting newbie. But for now I'm the newbie. I'll take my lumps. And... . oh lord what's with these people??? Are we seriously going to climb this hill? I take this on 1st gear with my car!!! What Psychos! Whaa... . *pant* *gasp*
Daunting indeed.
Km 7.5, Motel/Baby Gravy Drive
I'm known in running circles as Sheer Will. You know, the famous (ahem) blogger/ quintessential nice guy/kuya figure ? My closer friends call me Rico. People who make me feel old call me Boss Rico. People who don't know me at all ask me if I'm the basketball player from Ateneo. Yes, my name is Enrico Villanueva. No I am not the basketball player from Ateneo. Yeah, if I was 6"5 I would be dating celebrities and sipping iced tea at Manila Polo instead of killing myself here with these shmucks. If I lose a little more weight, maybe I could go back into my old life as a commercial model and just ditch this running thing altogether. So here we are, Motel Drive. So many happy memories here. Sigh. What? P520 for a room??? Are they insane?? During my time it was just P180! With electric fan and free soap already! Geez! What a ripoff! And they have hand signals now? Whaaa? What debauchery!Hey, these uphills are getting easier by the day. Maybe it's the view. I should train here more often.
Them hand signals are the best thing since Google
Km 12, C5. GBM.
Wow, it's amazing that the guys are still going strong. They asked for a sub-7 pace to get used to the Milo cutoff . We're running a 6:45 right now. Bong and Rico should get used to this in no time. I'm starting to feel woozy. Maybe I should have listened to the old people. Oh lord I tripped. Thank God no one saw me. Wa-poise! Is Pio still alive? Oh he's right behind me. Check! How does he manage? I'm in awe. Is he pulling a Tito Caloy right here? (To you reading this right now - yeah I'm talking to you and breaking the 4th wall right here - FYI Tito Caloy went from a 5k race to a 27k LSD. Just to put things into context.) It should be over soon... . cough. Cough. COUGH.
We should have just stayed in Motel Drive!
Need... replenishment... Sprite ... . Sprite?
Km 14, C5. Pio.
Gasp. I'm tired. But I need to show these kids a thing or two! This is one newbie that doesn't have quit in him! Do you read my singlet? 2005 baby! 2005! Respect! Although I haven't ran another race since. Still! Gasp. We're still fast. I am starting to dislike this Gingerbread character by the minute. I can't breathe! Must.. push ... . on! These guys are nuts!
2009 rendition of Edvard Munch's "The Scream"
Km 15, C5. Just after Eastwood. Rico.
Where the crap are we going? Why aren't we stopping? Where's the @#$% u-turn? I am starting to dislike this Gingerbread character. I'm tiiiiiired!
By Sheer Will he pushes on
Km 16, Turnaround Point. Bong.
Hoy! Malayo pa ba????? ( translation : Are we there yet?? Where the crap are we going??)
Shaider has a new hobby
Km 17, start of C5 turnaround point
The group has persisted on, GBM maintaining a sub 7 pace as they neared the 20 km mark. Traversing the narrow streets of Libis, they could see that their pacer was noticeably slowing down. Maybe it's his positive split thing catching up with him. But upon reaching the Jollibee branch near Acropolis for a much needed rest, they could see his eyes were glassy. He didn't look alright. Something was up. We can cut short the route man. The warm gesture was waved off with no hesitation. We came here with a goal, and we need to meet it. Deciding that the wide open streets bordering Green Meadows were a better alternative to the life-or-death game they were playing in C5, the steely foursome soldiered on.
Km 19, Green Meadows. GBM.
Crap. Now I'm really not feeling well. They will positively roast me when I get home. I can't pace anymore. Heck I can barely run anymore. I'm really dizzy. But to pace and then to quit... . I wouldn't take that. I invited them here, with a goal in mind. We need to meet that. We need to develop that warrior mentality. A fever will not kill me. At least not today.
Km 21, St. Martin Hills, 2nd Loop.
The group was ecstatic. Pio had just successfully completed his first unofficial half-marathon. He had pulled off a Tito Caloy with what seemed to be an effortless run. It's the very thrill of going past one's limits, or helping others get there, that keep runners coming back for more. GBM looked to be in horrid shape. The guy needs to rest. Psycho. A last push up the St. Paul incline and the group called it day. 22 .2 kilometers total. Whew. Longest run for Pio. Longest LSD for Bong as well. Covering GBM's weekly long run route ain't so bad after all.
Who da man? Who da man?
And the Rookie of the Year goes to.. .
Epilogue, Pearl Drive. The goal met, the group retreated to Chiggy's Pearl Drive for some scrumptious after-run grub. GBM and Bong had Jumbo Liempo. Rico had Bulgoggi. Although completely unnecessary , man of the hour Pio footed the bill, a seeming rite of passage for a guy who had just defied all expectations by doing a Tito Caloy.Friendly banter. Humorous Anecdotes. A life's worth of running memories being built right there.
Yummy Liempo Place
Enjoying some after-run foodies As the final piece of jumbo (they weren't kidding) liempo was consumed, there was one prevailing sentiment amongst the group.
Murphy's Law (mur-feez lo) - humorous adage or epigram that typically connotes a situation where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Murphy's Law. Sigh. Those dreaded two words have pretty much haunted mankind since time immemorial. Little did I know that it would apply to your fun Gingerbread scribe on a mundane Sunday morning race. Actually, I should have paid more attention to certain signs early on as a portent of things to come.
I not likey. Prologue
Having been out of commission for nearly a month while recovering from BDM , I've been quite antsy to race again. The ITBS that plagued me in Bataan was all but gone, and I've been able to string together a couple of pain-free training weeks. I targeted the Nat-Geo 10k run as my comeback race, only because people were jumping up and down over its cool freebie shirt. Besides, the riveting (smirk) MOA flatlands should be good for my knees.
Then I realized they were charging 700 effin bucks for a miserly 10k.Hmmm... ..
No WAY.
Pricey. Thus, I had to do some sort of rationalization to justify spending a day and a half's minimum wage on a 10k. And at MOA to boot.
But... . I really wanted that shirt. I really, Really, REALLY wanted it. So, 700 bucks equates to P300 registration then I just "imagine" I bought a cool P400 shirt plus the satisfaction of knowing that I'm actually "running for the earth" in a mall complex that was once, well, part of the sea . Makes sense right? What fun.
Never knew a runner who could turn down a nice shirt
Missed Signs
Maybe I just don't know how to take a hint. So I troll out to BHS on the last day of registration during my lunch break, was assuming the whole thing wouldn't take that long. To my horror, I was advised by the amiable manong guard at Nike Park (who incredibly knew which shirt sizes were still in stock. Promotion due.) that the Nat Geo person would come in at 1- 1:30 pm. Which meant an hour of sheer drudgery while waiting. Thus, I had no recourse but to troop to the nearest fancy coffee joint to burn time. Ugh.
He's better than some of the salesmen there. An hour or so (and P150 poorer) later, I come in and find a mob scene. Apparently, the Nat Geo dude came in at exactly 1pm and people are jumping over one another. After I come in five minutes later to get in on the action, I am informed in the most glacial manner that they had just sold the last slots to the two ladies to my left.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
As my blood pressure went through the roof, I attempted to explain that I was there before anyone, I just stepped out to grab some coffee. Guy wouldnt budge. Sorry ser huli na talaga yun eh. DANG. This needed drastic action. Several options that were forming in my head at light speed :
1. Use my Gingerbread pseudo-celebrity status by exchanging a slot for my highly-coveted autograph or photo op.
Inherent risk : Cold, icy stare followed by "Never heard of you, you deluded fool. Security!!"
2. Use my not-so- pseudo-celebrity sister as bait by promising a nice, all-expense paid date with her in any Palawan resort of his choice.
Inherent risk : The dude would actually say yes. Gulp.
You can disown me now Ate (x_x) Realizing that both were not exactly feasible, I had no recourse but to go for the oldest trick in the book... .
And voila, I happily walk out with bib and shirt in hand. And yet, I should have taken this near-misstep as a mere prelude what lay ahead... ..
Raceday Sunday Fast-forward several days and there I was anxiously putting on my gear on a hazy Sunday morning, a ritual that I have sorely missed over the last couple of months. As I was traversing an otherwise traffic-free EDSA, that 80's song "The Name Game" by Laura Branigan came on. And it drove me absolutely nuts. It was like I was under some hypnotic trance, unable to change the station for nearly 6 minutes. Should have taken it as another sign. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I couldn't find a clip on YouTube due to some copyright crap but I did find the original 60's one :
A Case of the Misinformed
Now, I went there under the pretext that the race would be starting at 6 am . Or at least that was what my good buddy/blogger extraordinaire/Milo Nationals finalist Natz told me. Being the original moderator at Takbo.ph, and one of the people who taught me a lot of running stuff as a 200 lb. fattie noob, I have immense respect for the guy. So I was there at 5 am thinking I had an hour to burn. This is where the fun starts. To sum it all up, this is how the next 30 minutes unfolded :
1. Guy waits 20 minutes for Lotto-like line to parking 2. Guy finally reaches entrance 3. "Ser, pono na poh eh sa kabila na lang" 4. Guy freaks out and endures several minutes of hair pulling 5. Goes to the next parking area. 6. With about 4 cars to the entrance, hears the siren and sees the 10k lead pack lead go out. 7. More hair pulling and a lot of Exorcist-like gyrations in car.
GBM lost his nerve
First time. Ever. I was at a loss coming to terms with the fact that I was actually late for a race. No freaking way. I was unnerved that I parked my car nearly diagonally much to the chagrin of Manong guard. I could really care less. So there I was, sprinting for the starting corral, and had to muscle my way through the throng of 3k and 5k runners. Quick check-in, and I was off. Nearly 10 minutes behind everyone else.
Quare mihi Murphy? Yeah. Why me Mr. Murphy? So here I am, with no warm-up and stretching, attempting to hack out my 10k positive split. Que Horror. 1k split - 4:22. Okay, not so bad. I felt like I was in one of those racing video games where you get a nitro boost and are passing everyone left and right. Dang, thirsty already. Haven't done this in a while. I reach for my hydration and OH. I left it in the car. Great. My kind of day.
By the 3k mark I really had to drink already. Went for a stop at the water station and the water was ... . hot. Not lukewarm. Hot. As in, ready for afternoon tea hot. Another unsolved mystery of the universe.
Mid-race tea any one?
Alay Lakad anyone? At the 5k mark, split was at 22:58. Decen t, b ut not where I wanted it to be. The lack of preparation and race rust was glaring. Nearing 6k, that's where it happened. I got stonewalled en masse by a throng of 5k runners who were walking the narrow roads of the course. Ugh. I was forced to stop at least three times by the Alay Lakad- like procession Ahhh, the dangers of starting at the back of the pack in a looped race. Flustered, I just saw my Sub-Piolo bid fly out of the window.
Stonewalled again.
It can't get any better than this Reaching the homestretch, I attempted a last-ditch albeit demoralized rally. Splits were improving, then suddenly I felt a slight twinge at my ITB. Hopeless. It was apparent that it was nowhere near 100% . I just had to gut out the final 1.5 k with the lingering feeling that I could blow out my knee at any time. I gingerly hit the 10k split at 49:24 , nowhere near my best time. I then gingerly jogged the final 40om, because as MOA races go, the excess distance is becoming somewhat of a trademark already. My Murphy's Law race was finally over.
10k? Nah.
Post -Mortem After the race, I barely saw anyone from the team. Seems everyone went to Earth Run. I couldn't blame them, that was like half the price of this race. Hung out with a profusely apologetic Natzter (who offered to buy me breakfast) and galpal Beth along with multisport dude Jason after. So was the race worth 700 bucks? For the shirt, maybe. It's an open market anyway, with so many races runners have their pick of the lot. It featured a lot of booths to keep the people busy after, and I had this feeling that a lot of people there had a feeling that they were running for a good cause. It's also an exercise in utilizing the power of a strong brand to reel people in. Case study for future mid-sized races.
Ran into officemate Dette. More people running yeah!
Bromance mode with th e Natzter
Fun at the Natgeo Video Truck
Natz and Beth pointing at some weird guy As for me, it's apparent that I'm a long way off. The knee swelled up after, so im now in RICE and Salonpas roller mode. I'll give it another shot in two weeks or so. Take it easy everyone, stay away from Mr. Murphy! I'll see you on the road!
"So, do you guys wanna score tonight??" I was cringing at how the two DJ/Hosts were painstakingly wading their way through innuendo-laden copy. "Who wants to score with (Name of fun male host) ?"
(Awkward silence)
Not as awkward as the look on the face of the old lady in the back though. And while the overbaked wordplay on the theme wasn't exactly resonating with the crowd, the product at hand seemed to have loads of potential. Enter the SCORE CARD, an intriguing sports lifestyle discount card that would make you forget all about your SM Advantage Card (admit it, you have one tucked in somewhere)
Infinitely cooler than your Mercury Drug Suki card.
The venue was chic nightspot Fiama (where I constantly evade drunken teens at 5am en route to Sunday Morning MOA races), Lots of beautiful, sporty people abound with a cool indie band playing in the background; it really didn't take a rocket scientist to ascertain where they were positioning this card to.
I'm getting too old for this.
The beautiful people of the athletic world abound, like these Frisbee gals.
Do you wanna SCORE? The premise is relatively simple. Introduced into the country by promotions group Sports Media Asia, the card is touted to be the "Ultimate Athlete's Sidekick". Once you get past the hyperbole, what you really get is a discount card that is specifically targeted towards the recreational or serious athlete. You get cool discounts and perks at all sorts of establishments that encompass nearly the entire sports spectrum.Gear, nutrition, shoes, food, yoga, spas - name it, they've got it.
Cool indie band helped set the overall vibe
Pretty Score Card people with guests
Multimedia affair Of course, given the propensity of athletes to be injured, they also threw in free P20,000 insurance coverage to boot just in case you blow out your ITB or chip your brand new nail polish (apparently, this phenomenon happens more often that I had imagined). You just need to register your Score Card at www.sportsmedia.com.ph to validate the whole thing.
My Where's Wally shot :P Sports-minded altruism is apparently also one of the focal points championed by the company. And from what I understood, they will be allocating a certain percentage of the proceeds from card sales to help athletes and sports groups raise funds for training, equipment, etc. for their competitions. So have a worthy cause? Tell them all about it!
Score Card head honcho explaining stuff.
And to cap it all off, it's not like its some lame card you shuck away in your wallet. It's actually an ergonomic, eye-catching piece that would make you the envy of your running buds. Just wearing it would... .change you. Look at these photos to see what I mean.
Geeky looking loser guy with no Score Card
Cool Score-Card toting dude.
Amazing isn't it? So what are you waiting for? Grab your Score Card today. Visit their site at www.sportsmedia.com.ph if you're interested.
Thanks by the way to Doc Marvin Opulencia for the presser pictures, I shamelessly stole them from your photo blog smirk. :P
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 ?
I’ve been walking most mornings, my feet hitting the floor, gulping down my 1/2 cup of coffee that he brings to me. S liding into yesterday’s clothes, stumbling down the stairs, slipping on shoes and heading out the door. No time to spend eating breakfast, that’s for later. It’s wake up, and out the door. Because if I linger, I’m not going to get out there.
Each day that I can walk on dry pavement is a day that I can spend outside. Breathing fresh air, watching the ravens fly, and the sun eventually slipping over the mountain to tumble down it’s slopes. A early morning glory ride for the upcoming day. When the snow falls, and stays, I will be forced to become a good friend of the treadmill. Listening to the monotonous drone of the endlessly looping belt over the sound of the stereo. It’s not the same at all, and it’s boring. When the snow flies, walking country roads slows down to a crawl, high stepping from patch of bare pavement, to a avalanche of partially melted ice, hoping it will hold your weight without moving. So for now I will happily take photos with frozen fingers that can’t grasp the phone. My dollar store techie gloves working fine for hitting buttons, but not for warmth. I don’t care if it’s frosty, and cold, it’s beautiful and fresh, and it’s outdoors. I inhale deeply, and walk up the slight hill running next to a field of sheep, so busily shearing the last remaining grass, that none of them look up as a black streak of cat darts by. Hastily chased by a tall, brown, tightly pruned poodle, and a small bundle of furiously barking white fluff. The owner of the errant dogs comes running down the long sloping driveway in his housecoat. Bare legs flapping, slippers on his feet, and more on view then I care to see this early. He is yelling with his outdoor voice for the retreat of the dogs, who are not obeying. As he rounds the curve of the driveway, and further exposes himself there is little I can do other than give a awkward wave, and look down as I pass by. Thankfully he was further from the road than the dogs growling at the gate, and I hope he doesn’t recognize me. With the cat long gone, the dogs are herded back into the house, while the sheep ignore all of the chaos. I walk on as quickly as my cold legs can get themselves moving after stopping and clicking a shot of the hungry hawk perched in the treetops looking for early morning takeout.
A battered blue pickup rolls past on the usually deserted road that crosses in front of me, revving it’s engine as the driver grinds the gears. I’m hidden from his sight by a clump of bushes. A old stripped couch is dumped haphazardly in the back, it’s 70’s style round castors spinning slowly. Inside a middle aged man, and a small child perch on the seat, peering out at me as I pass them. Would there have been a lesson on illegal dumping if I had not walked by? Judging by the way he speeds off, it might have been. All this excitement would be missed if I were treadmill thumping. So for now, despite the cold, despite the warm bed beckoning, the road is preferable to the treadmill.
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
It never ceases to amaze me how we bloggers have this magical ability to pull something out of nothing. Such as: Creating a blog post out of a inspired sentence, or experience that comes from… A conversation
That you might be having with someone. [Check out the great photo that Stephanie used a cool app on, with gorgeous results.] A experience And this all happens just in time, when you realized. That yes, you should have been thinking about writing this post waaaay before the last minute. But you were Puttering in the garden, taking down the beans, drying the sunflowers for the birds. Enjoying the flower’s last blooming hurrah before the first frost. And maybe. You should have been blogging Instead of walking in the glorious sunshine down country roads with your beloved. Taking time to refresh your creativity. Wondering if the sheep will be out in the field. And are there to be more cows in the red barn before the winter? Discussing whether or not the caterpillar’s wide stripe means a hard winter. Does a squished by a vehicle caterpillar mean that the stripe is wider, and thus a harder winter?
Maybe a post evolves from a experience Of dashing out of the house alone, in the early morning to take photos of fog patches that linger on the river. Catching the only moment of sun breaking through the clouds, bathing the mountain in light for the entire day. Score! Despite feeling uncomfortable being out there alone on the river walk path. Wondering if it was a good idea. One eye on your truck with your wallet locked inside, and one hand firmly hanging onto your “much to expensive to replace” camera. Hoping the that little town that you have travelled to next to yours was really safer at this time of morning than you thought it might be. Wishing that you had brought your husband along instead of going off on a whim. And being thankful that there was another person, who also was female striding towards you. After all the unseen threats couldn’t take you both on, could they?
Making new friends With her, while walking beside the gorgeous river and discussing it’s reputation for nature, and safety. Only to realize just how vulnerable you felt once again when you had to turn back, retrace your steps, now alone passing that man staring into the magnificent river vista. Despite his dog being beyond friendly, you still felt uncomfortable. He was so silent, and stern. The area has less then a stellar reputation that early in the morning.
But the views, the clouds, the mountains, the wild geese, and the ducks trying out their landing gear on the river. The absolute beauty of being able to see as far as your eyes could strain. The clouds, the sky, the glow from the hidden sun. Took only your breath away. And for that you were thankful.
Many thanks to all of you who take the time to read my blog posts, and to those who also leave a comment, even more thanks! I truly appreciate your time spent doing so. A tip, a tip! I’m just wondering if anyone else has encountered the jiggling, vibrating sidebars that seem to be happening to a few Blogger blogs… and thought I would share a solution that I found online. If you use Chrome as your browser, you might have this problem also. It may be the Google follower’s widget causing the problem, apparently it can be fixed by moving your follower’s button down lower on your sidebar. As a reader a quick fix to stop the vibrations would be to zoom in or out to a different setting… say 110% or even 90%. That seemed to work for me if I am reading a blog with a vibrating sidebar. And one more bit… If you have a Blogger blog could you please check that the list of blogs shown in your profile has your most current blog at the top? We are all so pressed for time, if you are a new commenter we might not know which blog is the one to read and comment on. Also for those who use a Google+ profile for your Blogger blog, please consider putting the link to your blog in a extremely visual place, maybe even more then once… less clicks for us = more views, and comments for you.
I've always wanted to go back to Corregidor Island. The bastion of our final stand against the Japanese conquerors of yesteryear emanates a certain sense of tranquility, indelible relics of a forgotten war amidst an austere setting seemingly frozen in time.
So much... history happened here.
The last time I went there, they were still showing Pinoy Wrestling and Takeshi's Castle on Channel 13 and Jestoni Alarcon was all the rage with his Golden Buddha movie. Back then, the likes of Rita Avila and Christina Gonzales did "ST" films. Nowadays, we just call them "indie" films.
The most famous mustache this side of Rudy Fernandez
Okay so you get the point, I haven't been there in ages. That's why when Takbo.ph boss Jinoe gave me the opportunity to actually visit "The Rock" of Bataan, I jumped at it. Parameters were simple, yet I somehow understated the gravity of the event I was getting into. I thought it was your typical, run of the mill media meet and greet. Little did I know that it would actually entail... ... running.
The Cast
Only a couple of brave souls actually made it to the trip, either because they were afraid of Jap ghosts or they were still nursing a hangover from Friday night. I was advised that I needed to be at the Sun Cruises dock before 7 am. Once I got there, I only knew one person and that was Marga, better known as the head honcho/creative brains/fun person behind Run Radio. Hosts Jaymie/TBR and Jay/Prometheus Cometh were conspiciously absent, apparently they had to attend to other matters.
As I was introduced to the rest of the group, I slowly realized one thing - I was in the company of athletic, good looking, smoking hot... ... ... ... men. Which would have been awesome. If were a screaming teenybopper fangirl. Attempting to somehow find a niche in this group whose chiseled jawlines were much more akin to a reality show cast, I strived to use my running "expertise" to hold my own. That eventually led to conversations like this one :
GBM : Oh yeah, actually I nearly broke 50 minutes during my last 10k, am so happy! Imagine, I missed it by just 15 seconds! 15 seconds! Would you believe that?You could do it too with the right training.
Hunk #1 : Yeah of course of course. I felt the way when I hit my first sub...
GBM : Sub 60? Oh yeah that's easy if you want I can pace you! You can do it! I can help you!
Hunk#1 : My first sub-40 ... ...
GBM: (x_x) !!!!!!
Or like this... .
GBM : Yeah yeah I'm actually an ultramarathoner, I did 50 kilometers. You know how people do marathons? I do more than that. That's so long, took me forever to do it . One day, perhaps when you're not too busy shooting commercials, you can try it out as well. But I'm warning you, it aint that easy to... .
Hunk #2 : Oh yes of course. When I did 100k in Vietnam, I almost gave up at kilometer 70. But I persevered and finished it!
GBM: (@,@) !!!!!
Oh God I'm such a poser. I'm with real pros. Hot, movie-star quality pros. I'm so lame next to these guys . And while I would neither confirm nor deny if these actual conversations actually took place, I soon realized that these guys were awesome.
In all seriousness though, Pinoy Ultra Runner dudes Joms and Carlo along with lawyer/blogger Raymund were such nice fellows. We met race organizer/coach Edward Kho, who among others is known for taking triathlete Javy aka Tri'n Hard to new multisport heights. In related news, he immediately clarified that he had no relation to the doctor of scandalous fame. Deadringer though, ladies take my word for it.
Corregidor Gang
The Start
Having come in at nearly 10 am, the heat was sweltering. After taking some welcome photos and leaving our gear, we went about our business in simulating the race route. Edward had mapped out the route 2 weeks prior, and this run was to primarily remeasure the distance in miles with GPS. Imagine. An actual race route which would cut through some of the richest historical heritage this country has to offer. My interest was particularly piqued at the prospect of getting an early look at this.
And so it begins... .
Awe-inspiring views
Marga is all revved up and ready to goSo as we dashed out of the projected starting line, we were all brimming with excitement. Speed was picking up, literally gliding through these paths marked by the ghosts of wartimes past. This would be a cinch. As I was thinking this would be an easy day at the office, we hadn't reached more than a kilometer until suddenly there was a collective gasp amongst the group. And we stopped. O... . M... ..G.
Are you freaking kidding me?
The Hills
Bolstered by the sudden onrush of adrenalin from our giddy start, we were stopped dead in our tracks as a severe incline stared down at us. It rivaled the toughest uphill I have ever encountered, which was when I ran the Botak Baguio 21k race. This made me realize two things - First, the race would not be a walk in the park. And second, woe to those who would suddenly sprint at the start only to be pitted against the veritable Sisyphus stone of uphills. After you think you have cleared one... .. there's more... . and more... .. and more to come.
This... . is... hard.
So long boys! The Essentials As always, I'll pass on making you use your precious time reading a terse mile-by-mile account of the proceedings. These are the things you need to know - we were tracking and remeasuring the route using our 305's, and the route was more or less 30% trail. The proposed distance is 10 miles, more or less 16 kilometers to those unfamiliar with that other measurement unit thing. If you want to see the race route, check it out here. Don't count the extra 1k though, that's me huffing and puffing my way back to the hotel.
The race is all set to go on November 29 at Corregidor Island. Registration will be limited to only 750 participants, with special packages that may include rooms and ferry transfers already. The reg fee is tentatively set at P1000, and this would be inclusive of a singlet, roundtrip ferry, island entrance fee, and lunch buffet. That is not a bad deal at all, considering some races will charge upwards of P600 for a singlet, timing chip, and a big dent to your wallet. So don't procrastinate on this opportunity guys, you want a repeat of NB again?
So why would you join this race again, given that these uphills are absolutely crazy?
Because of the views... ...
The trails... ..
And it's incomparable history... ..
In my opinion, this is actually a race that provides a unique appeal to a wide spectrum of runners. For the elites, the insane course could provide a pretty decent 10-mile warmup in a unique setting. For the serious runner, it would give a tremendous uphill/trail workout that would surely augment their current training program. To the recreational runner, this provides a wonderful opportunity to break away from the usual BHS-Mckinley-UP-MOA race routine, even for just a weekend. It could be a chance to hang out with you running buddies in a tremendous setting, take some awesome photo ops, and get in a good run/walk mileage builder in the process.
They say that oftentimes the ghosts of the past are oftentimes just that - ghosts. Ghosts that are relegated to the realm of the forgotten, disjointed memories that live on in the form of dinnertime anecdotes and fireside camping fodder. Truly, the heroes of Corregidor are but vestiges of a past that lives on through these seemingly tall tales. But as the essence of their sacrifice was forged through very real blood, tears, and an indomitable will to survive, surely they deserve something more... . fitting.
Perhaps by revisting the site of their greatest victory in synergy with the sport we love, the ghosts of wartime past would once again live on - if not for us, but perhaps for our children and their children as well.
History easily forgets. But people don't. See you at Corregidor everyone.
Editor's Note : This is coming in about two weeks late, but what the heck I got busy. Again. Anyway, enjoy the fruits of my forsaken lunch break.
For most newbies to the sport, the annual exodus to Camarines Sur to compete in the only Ironman-branded triathlon competition in the country is much akin to a rite of passage. Get the shirt, get the photo-op, get the fancy sticker on your bike. Bask in the glory of "ayan na si Ironman" (and all the lame Tony Stark jokes) at the office water cooler. Hang out at the neighborhood pool and revel in the " Pare musta Camsur mo?" conversation with the batak dude on the next lane. Hey, make it worth your $250 right?
Seriously though, it's still the biggest multisport event in the country. And with its third incarnation in the bag, it just became bigger with more than 1,000 athletes gathered in the water that morning last August 14th. Why bother to tri? People have different reasons. Some join in for the heck of it. Some are in there to just see if they could stack up, a personal test of will if you may call it that. Some have enough chutzpah to make the race their first triathlon, which ends in either a personal Everest conquered or a painful crash back to reality (or the pavement. And hopefully not the bottom of the lake). So we have our reasons, that's a given. As for myself, if you've been following my site from the very beginning you should know I'm a gamer when it comes to these things. A recent accounting check showed that I have been spending a ridiculous amount on races, gear, logistics, etc. I don't know about you, but I can't swallow that amount and leisurely trot around races with the pure intent of merely surviving the cutoff. I have to take my training seriously and make this count, lest the motivation for getting a fancy, technologically advanced six-figure bike is relegated for pure japorms purposes alone.
Thing is, what if there's well, nothing to take seriously? As I mentioned in my previous article, the high-wire act that most age-group triathletes take in balancing these significant training hours with the other aspects of "normal" life is probably more of a challenge than the race itself. If you're a regular 9-5 corporate warrior who actually relishes having more than four hours of sleep or possesses some semblance of a social life, this is incredibly tough to execute. Something has to give at one time or another. With the specter of a new job on the horizon just as short-course season was about to end, I opted to focus on the more mundane trappings of each pencil-pushing suit out there. And yet, the fight never really left me. An attempt to squeeze as much juice as I could out of my limited training hours resulted in a rash of nabigla injuries and ego-deflating training sessions as I vainly tried to keep up with my superbly conditioned Quest 825 teammates. With my performance slipping with each race, the goal of competing in the Timex 226 full Ironman distance triathlon this December seemed but a foolhardy afterthought. Stringent qualifying times notwithstanding (at least with my current fitness level), my "secret" endurance sport dream of completing the Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon, Ironman Camsur 70.3 and Timex 226 all in one season couldn't have been any farther from reality. Pop that bubble and go back to signing memos you fool.
Wishful thinking never hurt
But then with a stroke of luck and a dash of inspiration, the fates smiled on us once more at the Tri United long course triathlon held in Matabungkay. Even as a crippling back injury rendered me a virtual crash-test dummy during the run leg, the splits were just good enough to have me qualify by the skin of my teeth. Thirty- four freaking seconds to spare before the 4:45 cut-off, considered the tougher of the two qualifying standards given ( the other being a 6:45 for the Camsur 70.3)
A miracle can happen... .
That, in a nutshell, gives you the context of my race in Camsur. With the pressure of qualifying out of the equation, I was in a more relaxed state and was even feeling good about the prospects of a good finish. But before we even go there, let's try getting therefirst, shall we? Which, as I came to realize, wasn't exactly a walk in the park.The Long,Long Winding Road
Eight hours.440 kms. I don't think I have ever driven that far. For the record, I don't think most of us have either. With Ultramarathoner - turned -design maven Abby keeping me comfy company for the duration of the ride, the endless route seemed liked a prelude to the mental tenacity necessitated for the race. Passing through scenic yet creepy trails such as the famous Bituka ng Manok zigzag road in Quezon kept me on my toes, given the seeming predilection of cars to run into accidents there.
It's tough.
Ironically, it was actually heaping doses of Cobra that kept me going. Hmm, maybe it does make sense for them to sponsor the race. But really, try tasting the stuff. It's probably the next best thing to shabu in keeping you awake. Along the way, we were so hungry (with such few stops in between) that we swore that we ate the best siopao ever at a stall at the Quezon-Camsur boundary. Yum.
This is the place, a long way from Ayala eh? After what seemed like an eternity we finally got to our hotel in Naga City, which would serve as our home for the next couple of days. Roughly 10kms away from CWC, it's a pretty smart, cost-efficient move in lieu of the pricey (and pretty much sold out) rooms at the complex. We got first-hand taste of some terrific local eats - Biggs's Diner for a late casual lunch and Chef's Doy's for a fancy (yet shockingly cheap) dinner.
Yummy casual dining at Jollibee prices
The team with Chef Doy himself Bike Check In
Once the dust had settled, we had to check in our bikes at what would be the transition site. This is somewhat of an unfamiliar experience to the uninitiated, with the prospect of leaving your bike overnight a slightly perturbing thought. Season partner Bikezilla was kind enough to send their top wrench guy/fun friend Dave along with the team to ensure that our bikes were in tiptop shape before the check in. After negotiating a line that resembled your neighborhood lotto pila when the jackpot balloons to P100 million, I was finally off.
The ol' battle chariot locked and loaded
Let's Shock The World
Amidst the bedlam that was happening in the days that preceded the race, I found myself enraptured within an almost eerie calm that belied the pressure generated by an eventof this magnitude. It's already a given that I'm primed for a marginal finish on this race. But inexplicably enough, I was feeling strangely good about my chances. I really, honestly thought that I would shock the world. Spot-on premonition or shameless wishful thinking? It would be fitting to see how it would all unravel come race day. But then came the signs. Signs that broke an otherwise tranquil calm... ..
Sign #1
I guess it would be fair to mention that I slept for only two hours before driving to Camsur because I ransacked my entire apartment looking for my trishorts. Of all the god darn days that I could lose it. Possible reasons:
1.The dog ate it 2.The dog hid it in his super secret hiding place for future chewing purposes3.The dog ate it.
I blame the dog completely. He must have eaten it. There's no other way. I'm positive.
I didn't do it
Sign #2
After the team did a Thursday photo-op at Lago del Rey with The Batis Project CEO Ricky Ocampo(We're carrying the highly regarded hotel and balneotherapy resort as our title sponsor for the season), my K-Ona's were soaked and got inundated with sand and rocks. Abby took due prudence in drying it out at the aircon hatch of our hotel as there was no other way of going about it. Much to our horror, the following morning the right insole was gone. It could have gone anywhere, but it just vanished into thin air. You're probably thinking "it's just a freaking insole" but good luck on finding any triathlete who would willingly run without it. Luckily, our team captain Deo (the brains behind the old school Tri-Pilipinas board) had an extra K-Ona with the same size as mine, so I pretty much ran the race on a borrowed insole. Lucky break, but dyahe.
Signs. Premonitions. Tri-short eating dogs. Let's get this over with, shall we?
D-Day - Lago Del Rey, about 5 minutes into the swim
Dammit. I got punched. Or whacked by those damn breastrokers. Any other way, I think I'm starting to panic nowwith my goggles practically off.It's the first time I've ever been hit in a race, tough it had to happen here. Heard lots of stories, at least now I have one of my own. But it's a story I'd rather not tell. Oh great I got hit again. Ugh, while I'm trying to fix it I'm incessantly getting run over. It's like I'm in Omaha Beach at the Battle of Normandy, and I'm one of the first casualties.
Chaos is an understatementI eventually catch a second wind and did good time at the small lake, only to get stopped dead in my tracks after swimming right into someone kicking furiously. You know how cartoon characters see stars when they're punched? Never knew that was a case of art imitating life right there, it really freaking happens. Lucky me didn't get the memo about the water being so murky that you couldn't see your hands doing the strokes. After what seemed like an eternity of playing Takeshi's Castle at the small lake, I'm out of the water in 51, nearly 52 minutes. Missed my time target by two minutes, but still ahead of the "worst case" goals I had made for myself. So far.
Somewhere in Camarines Sur, about 35km into the bike
Go Go Ironman! Go Go Ironman! The playful chants of the Bicolano children reverberate in my ear as I speed past this drenched countryside.Why do I get this weird feeling that their teacher would flunk them if they didn't show up for this?Lol. Everyone was prepping for the heat, praying for cool weather - and we get a deluge instead. Approaching a sharp curve, I need to overtake this lady in front of my lest I be called for drafting. It's nothing special, routine pass. Holy crap my wheels lock, the angle is too slick. As I'm about two seconds from losing control and crashing, a collective gasp could be heard from the crowd... ..
But thankfully, I didn't. The sporting gods finally let me catch a break. I was able to regain control at the last minute, a look of both relief and partial consternation on my face if you could actually see it through the downpour. So I'm liking my chances now. I'm averaging about 31-32 kph, with the intention of pouring it on during the homeward trip. However, after doing their good deed of the day with me, the sporting gods decided to call it quits. At which precise moment I hit a very hard bump on the road, misaligning my saddle several degrees. This forced me to hold an awkward, yoga-like position that put a lot of strain on my balky back. It didn't take long for the pain to come. As much i try not to be a girly man about it, I guess only those who have had lower back injuries and attempted to race on a bike could relate. And so my personal Calvary began.
My pace slowed to a ridiculous crawl. Teammates, friends, strangers were passing my demoralized shell left and right. It was Matabungkay all over again, only this time I had to work with the pain for about 50 more kilometers. I dismounted about 5 or 6 times to stretch, with bystanders chiding me "Koya okay kay lang ba? Gusto mo ng sopdrink?" I forced a smile. With about 20 kilometers to go, I wasn't quite sure if I could even make it to the run portion. Maitawid na lang. Each kilometer took what seemed like an eternity to complete. As I entered T2, the full rack of bikes confirmed the sobering realization that I pretty much threw away my race right there. A fat,juicy, 3:15 split was staring me in the face. With my "pet" discipline up ahead, I guess this is make or break for me. Question is, how much did I have left in the tank?
Playing through the pain
Just before the rice cooker, 10km into the run
I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this. Spurred on by an incredible rush of adrenaline, I was calling on every single ounce of fight left in me to pull this off. I lost 25 minutes on the bike, but I figured if I could gain that back on the run then all would be well with the world. I ran a sub-25 5k , and just cleared a 58 minute 10k. I have a real shot at redemption here, and why not with the wonderful weather relegating the feared rice cooker into mushy lugaw. I was passing people left and right, each tuhog serving as a boon to my broken body and exhausted spirit. Alas, it just wasn't meant to be. Too much to ask I guess. The back tightened up real bad somewhere around 13k, and it was both a mental and physical struggle from that point. I never stopped fighting though. The final stretch saw me trudge painfully through a 7:00 pace performance, but I still kept on passing people. Cramps caught up with me sometime around 20k, may pahabol pa matatapos na nga lang. As I finally crossed the line, the look on Abby's face was one of both joy and relief. Apparently, she was worried sick wondering what had happened to me. But hey, I made it! My self-inflicted journey of pain and suffering was over in six hours and 37 minutes, and would you look at that I'm still in one piece.
Never say never, it's always possible.
Epilogue
It's pretty obvious that this wasn't my best race, not by a long shot. But I take solace in the fact that I overtook 107 people on the run leg, even with what I consider a substandard run split. There were a lot of positives to be taken from the race, I was happy with how I fought back when it was so easy to quit already. Overall, it was quite the experience. I'd willingly do it again next year and come back strong, wherever it may be.
Random Student : Hi Sir GBM! You're back from Cagayan De Oro! GBM: Yeah, sure was a lot of fun! We ate so much! There was so much food! RS : Yeah! Looks like it too! GBM: Um, what do you mean? RS: Ah, er, uuh nothing! I said you're looking good! GBM: You said somethinggg! RS: Well, it just looks like you gained um, er, a couple of pounds? GBM: Are you serious? I just ate, or maybe it's in my clothes! I actually lost weight!
RS: (Of course you did) But hey that's a good thing! A lot of people aren't eating nowadays! GBM: You're really kidding right? RS: Uh, er, of course! (weirdo) Random Student 2 : Hey Sir! Wow looks like someone had one too many pastels. Those things are good! Random Student 3 :Hey Sir you're fat! Guess you stopped running eh! I think it looks cute on you though... . GBM: NOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
(wakes up in cold sweat)
Thank God that was a dream. Specially for those like me who are daytime workaholics, I am assuming a lot of you go through the same thing. You know - we work our butts off in training, run into a rough spot at work, we're stressed out like hell and are just plain too tired to run. And in the process we negate all the gains we had made. Or worse - shudder - we gain back all the pounds we had lost.
As I had reiterated in the past, the main reason I ever started running was to lose weight. After the Botak Ultramarathon, I went down to as low as 160. Right now, throw in my ITBS recovery and stops to Cebu, Cagayan De Oro, and Butuan for work (and all the foodies that came with it) , im walking around at 165. Still not the 195 pounder who lost all forms of self-esteem a year ago. But hey, isn't our worst fear to just regain the fruits of all our hard work? Not because we wanted to, but because we are mired in circumstances beyond our control. So what do we do? Here are some practical tips based off my experiences where you could at least curb the weight gainThis week's feature dwells on how to avoid becoming a jumbo Gingerbread person when going on a business trip.
Lay off the booze. Yeah yeah I know. When on a business trip, this is easier said than done.With all the stress and weird sense of freedom, it's always fun to let yourself go. But remember you could be getting as much carbs in one San Mig Light as you would in 1 cup of rice. Hence, 6 beers = 6 cups of rice. Eek! Don't even start counting the pulutan and bar chow.
You disappoint me son. Easy on the local delicacies. Cebu has CnT Lechon, Bacolod has the countless inasal restos, Peking duck is always fun in Hong Kong sidestreets. The point here is, oftentimes we would get carried away, and would end up trying everything out. Guilty guy here. Remember, as much as these goodies can excite any hot-blooded gourmand out there, we have waistlines and 10k times to worry about. Snap out of it. One plate of CnT Lechon = Acceptable. 1/2 kilo of CnT Lechon = shame on you glutton.
But it's just half a kilo... ..
Assume that you won't be able to run. During my last business trip, I cockily told myself - yeah I'll bring my running gear, see the city routes and maintain my mileage. Guess what? Didn't happen. Not even close. When you compress so many meetings into one day, I doubt if you would have the energy to sneak in a run. Why am I saying assume you won't be able to run? See above. Bring your gear, and you would be tempted to eat all the lechon, pastel and Peking duck you come across because you could "burn it off tomorrow morning". Trust me on this, you'll be doing yourself a favor.
After going the trip, these uphills seem a bit harder... .
Buy pasalubong for friends and family, not for you. See all that yummy pasalubong? There's a reason they're called pasalubong. Meaning, they're for loved ones. Not you. Try to have your fill while you're there. Just let it go and let your loved ones partake of it when you get back. Or else, you'll end up maintaining the weight gain even when you get back. Comprende?
Just... one... . more... . box... .
Know the flight schedules of your running buddy flight stewards/attendants. Weird huh? Well get this. On two successive flights from Cebu and Cagayan, guess who was the head steward/purser on my flight? None other than marathon man/ Takbo.ph habitue Ziggy. Unbelievable, got a big kick out of it. And my stomach surely got a big kick out of it, because my kind friend would always drop off a big doggie bag of the inflight snacks for "take out". I have no idea if Ziggy is just really nice, or if it's some weird ritual with em' cabin crew. Thing was, with no snacks in my hotel room, I am pretty sure I wiped out the contents of that little bag - 1o or so Happy Peanuts and about 6 packs of those yummy biscuits with filling. Gak! Felt like 3 pounds right then and there. ZIggy is still the man though, most folks would kill for his job :)
Ziggy is da man
Epilogue
Random Student : Hi Sir GBM! You're back from Cagayan De Oro! GBM: Yeah, sure was a lot of fun! We ate so much! There was so much food! RS :Yeah! Looks like it too! GBM: (this isn't happening) What... what do you mean? RS : I mean... . you look like you had a great time! GBM : (sigh of relief) Awesome! I'll see you in class!
Random Student 2 : Hmm... Parang Tuma... RS: Nah, baka bagong kain lang. O masikip ung barong. RS2 : Baka nga. .. Bagong... bagong kain lang. RS: Anyway, want to try the pastel he brought us from Cagayan? RS2: Awesome!
Who cares about this weight crap anyway? Care for a shot???
