My Way of Living:
injury

Warning : You will NOT agree with this entry. 95% probability. Which is good.

I went into the BOTAK Carbo Loading Party at UP's Bahay ng Alumni with no great expectations. I was tired, long day. All I wanted was to get my singlet and race kit. And to get home as soon possible. But little did I know that I would bear witness to something that could possibly impact my life in more ways than I could think of.

Bring it on... ... .

The Parable of the Hungry Ultraman

Hungry Ultraman : May I have some pesto pasta

Waiter : Ok Sir!

Hungry Ultraman : May I have some of that Bolognese

Waiter: Um, ok Sir!

Hungry Ultraman : May I have some of that Carbonara please

Waiter : Ugh, Ok Sir.

Hungry Ultraman : May I have more of that Carbonara

Waiter : Ugh ok.

Hungry Ultraman : May I have more please, I am quite hungry and I paid a lot for this .

Waiter: ... ... ... . Ok.

Hungry Ultraman : Just a bit more... .

Waiter : Sir, there are 50 more runners which need to be fed.

Hungry Ultraman : Oh, okay. If you put it that way.

Waiter : ... ...

Hungry Ultraman : Hey, could I come back for second servings?

Waiter : Why me Lord? Why me?
First, I am not the Hungry Ultraman. Second, you can't make this stuff up. You just can't.

The Dinner Table. GBM

Dang I'm late. Got lost. Thank God Pat's here, we have a table. I'm seated at a table where they seem all seem to know each other. Sharing ultraman stories and anecdotes. It's like an old boys club, and I'm on the outside looking in. The common denominator amongst these guys is that they're nice. Really nice. Like we've known each other for a long time. Familiar faces abound. I see Sir Ronnie aka Runnerforchrist a few feet from me. I finally get to meet him in person. The Team Bald Runner guys are right next to me . They're actually amiable! I always had this impression that they were stern and warrior-like in nature. So what gives? Let's give a quick recap.

Pat, Sir Ronnie and unnamed ultraman enjoying some grub

Chillin' out

The Emcee
Better known as the guy behind the Run For Change site, Eric Passion aka Passion Runner was the capable master of ceremonies. He had the chutzpah to withstand several withering feedback screeches from a whacked out mic, his crisp quips quickly diverting the attention of the 60 or so people at UP's Restaurant of Choice.

That's half of Eric and ... . uh, half a head.

I need to go back here yum

The Race Di rectors

Ian and Neville were sharp and on point in explaining routes, rules, regulations to the group. After the orientation, you would get the impression that ultra runners have their own brotherhood, their own ubuntu.
Main takeaway - leave ultra runners out there, and they would know what to do.

Ian with screeching mic hard at work

Neville getting his point across

Marathon Man

So he's the owner of Botak. The I remembered I had seen him before, during the Takbo.ph CLP for Condura. A true running luminary, he has paved the way for ultramarathons in our country, pulling off unfathomable Trans- Europe and Trans-USA runs at a time when I was merely learning how to walk. The audience was enthralled as a slideshow showcased the highlights of his life's magnum opus. This guy could do the impossible... He didn't let anything or anyone stop him from achieving that. Nothing could ... ...

Man of the Hour

3,000 miles is no laughing matter
This is the part where you cringe

Then it hit me. Back in the day, when he told people that he would run 3,000 miles , 65 km a day, people would have told him he was crazy. That he was risking long term injury. They may have laughed at him. Mocked him even. Said it couldn't be done. Admittedly, he's a man of few words. so he just went out and did it. Just keep running, keep moving forward. No quitting.

I have always believed in the power of the human spirit, that anyone can achieve anything if they put their minds to it. I teach inspirational leadership to college freshmen, and I expound on theories which hover around the lines of something we call " a place with no limits". That if you want to achieve something, it CAN be done if you just... believe.

I am intrigued, and I would want to put my theory to the test against this rare showcase of human endurance. It's a mindset. A mindset that not everyone will agree to, but if wielded properly could produce spectacular results. When push comes to shove, can the mental overcome the physical?

100 grueling kilometers. 2 cities. Once the urge kicks in to throw in the towel... .

I'll just keep running, keep moving forward.

No quitting.

Dear Piolow,

It's been awhile. How are you? Hope the new teleserye is doing well. Also, I resent those rumors stating that you were found dead in some crazy hotel room abroad. Sigh, the trappings of showbiz eh? Anyway, I'll keep this short and sweet.

You still da man

A few weeks back, I ran the San Mig Coffee Bay Run 10k organized by Leadpack. It wasn't your typical MOA race, because the route actually cut through Roxas Blvd so you're not relegated to doing uber boring loops. Turnout was good, the temp very humid. Course was as close to linear as possible, which made for ideal conditions.

As you know, I have been haunted incessantly by my long-standing goal of finally beating your 10k time. It gnaws at the very core of my proud Gingerbread competitive streak. I have been running countless 10k's since I recovered from a 102k- induced ITB injury in a bid to finally get the Sub-Piolow monkey off my back. I thought this race just might be it.
The first 5k, I was pacing with this Kenyan chick. By the way, I didn't know she was a chick until after she took the podium for 3rd place in the women's category. My bad. Anyway, she finally broke free at the halfway mark, she just operates at a completely higher level. Huffing and puffing, I waved at some friends who were marshalling and was sort of fading until I ran into your buddy and coverboy partner Coach Rio (should I start calling him Riow?) who was blazing his way in the 15k category.

I attempted to frantically chase after him ; alas, the lechon that I had devoured at the wedding I had attended the day before significantly lessened the aerodynamics of my bilbil.

Lechon = Epic Fail

As I was approaching the line, my breathing wore harder. It was a typical Gingerbread positive split crash. But then something just snapped inside of me. I thought, enough was enough. I just need to suck it up and forget the pain. Pain now, glory later. With one last heave, I crossed the line at 47:01!!! It was like time stopped, even for just a nanosecond. Everything seemed to be moving in slow-motion. I was ecstatic. No words could express it. It was much akin to what these guys were going through -

I was finally free of the Sub-Piolow monkey. I could actually go on with my life now. Thanks for nearly one year of fun memories that you have provided me as I went about this quest, the so-called "holy-grail" of the 10k runner. Congratulations, it's a pop culture thing now. If I ever get nominated for a Philippine Blog Award again, I will dedicate it to you. And if people start calling you "Piolow" for some crazy reason, er, um, uuh, dont blame me (@,@).

The finish was good for 10th place in the men's division 10k. Niiiiice. I was inspired no doubt. In fact, I was so happy that I got out and got myself a Pomeranian puppy courtesy of the world-class Perico Kennel.

Cute noh?

And guess what his name is?

Yep. Cute puppy's name is... ... Piolow :)

Thanks for everything, and I hope to see you at an Ironman soon.

Still Your #1 Fan,

GBM

The soothing line of the Carpenters classic reverbrated through my mind as I drove out Sunday morning. The rain was steadily pouring over the pavement as I pulled out of my condo, the pre-dawn serenity of a Sunday morning punctuated by the incessant rain. I was thinking, will the run be cancelled? Then I realized the amount of preparations that are put into organizing a race. Moving it would be tantamount to a logistical nightmare. So I figured, the show must go on!

On Rainy Races and Alcohol-Free Uncles I picked up Erick at Shaw Blvd, about 5 mins from my place. We picked up a groggy and thankfully not drunk Tito Caloy a few minutes later. Apparently, he had begged off from an inuman party with the kumpadres the night before just to prepare for the race. Absconding from free beer? Now that's what you call dedication! So the three of us were talking shop as we reached Mckinley at 5:15, 15 minutes before the announced race time. There was some confusion as to where the parking area was, so we had to ask around. Two marshals, one sleepy guard, and one crabby guard later we ended up in the open parking area. Note to self : 15 minutes to race time! Hurry! Warm-up running in the rain towards the starting line, I saw that the race was still surprisingly well-attended despite the inclement weather. I saw Takbo.ph gals Cherry and Ross walking around, pointed us to where the team was hanging out. The usual suspects were there, along with a morose-looking Sam akaThe Running Ninja in blogging parlance. I thought he was intensely focused on his strategy, little did I know that he had run over someone the night before. Hang in there buddy, things will be resolved soon. Takeshi's Castle Fun Times The organizers soon announced that the race would be starting at 6 am, or 30 minutes later than the announced time because of the weather. Tito Caloy was wondering if it would push through, a 16k virgin's typical anxiety in play. I nodded somewhat unattentively, my wandering thoughts fixated on my strategy for the race as the "peloton" of 3k, 5k, and 16k were gathered en masse for a common start. 10 miles. 16 something kilometers. It's my first time to tackle the distance, first crack at the famed Mckinkley Hills. I have no idea if my pace would hold here. I feel like I'm out of shape. I lack mileage this week. I should stop working and just run. Okay maybe not. This kid next to me is really loud. Did I bring enough money to eat later? Oh crap I left my camera in the car. No pix for the blog then. But then again if I brought the camera, where would I put it? What's the true meaning of love? It's starting to rain... oh great it's pretty hard ... . my Garmin's gonna get soaked... .. Wow I feel like I'm in the Takeshi's Castle starting grid... . Oh great here we go... The starting gun jolted me back into reality. Suffice to say, it was a riot. Bundling together the 16k runners with the 3k and 5k runners wasn't the high point of an otherwise well-organized race. Truly, the Takeshi's Castle analogy was not far-fetched. It was virtual bedlam. I think that the fact that the rain started to pour a few seconds before the starting gun went off contributed to a rock-concert like atmosphere, which in turn elevated the adrenalin levels of pretty much everyone. Not only did I have to contend with the rain and the slippery road, I also had to deal with rowdy kids who were jumping (yeah, jumping) on the road. By the time I had extricated myself from that mess, I figured I had lost about 10-15 seconds worth of pacing. Prior to the race, I had no idea what was a good target time for 16k . Coach Pojie said a 1:30 would be nice. Personally, I thought it was a stretch given my propensity to fade late. But I took solace in the training runs I've had lately, so might as well give it a shot. The first kilometer registered 4:53 on my 305. Right on schedule! For 10k's my preferred opening would be a 4:30, but into the great unknown that was the 10-miler, I was guessing the aformentioned pace would be sufficient. At the 3km mark , I began to pace with Docs Eric and Pinky. Doc Eric is a sub- 2 hour 21k runner, one of the strongest in the group. I thought it would be prudent to pace with him, at least get myself acquainted with the level that I am training for. Doc Pinky was actually pacing faster than us, and it turned out she was competing in the 5k. Her breakneck pace was good enough for a 5th place podium finish wohoo :) Congrats Doc Pinky, terrific run. So me and Doc Eric ran together until the 9k mark. The hills were harder than I expected. The course was living up to its billing. I accelerated in one of the steeper extended regions heading to the Heritage Park region, and once again I was alone. There were numerous water stations available, and I crossed the 10k mark at 53:50, just 10 seconds off my 10k PR. I thought to myself, I have a real shot at this. Just keep your head in it. As I sprinted downhill towards the 11k turnaround point, the daunting uphill climb to my left was a grim reminder of the tribulations up ahead. So this is what Sisyphus must have felt like Let's just put it this way. If you have no hill training at all, kiss your PR goals goodbye for this course. The return uphill stretch went for something like 3 km. My pace went down from 5:25 to 5:30. Soon Doc Eric caught up with me, a friendly face ready to boost me up in what seemed like an endless uphill battle. Even when I thought it had ended, it was still haunting me.My hammies rather. Finally, we had started our reentry into the Mckinley area proper. 4k to go! The Garmin showed us at 1 hour something! Wow! We have a real shot! Doc Eric told me that we should just go for it, and we did. We were sprinting the last 4k at a 5:05 - 5:10 pace. I made the mistake of going LT on the 15th kilometer, and I faded a little towards the end. I also saw amiable Happy Feet/Takbo.ph habitue Mon towards the homestretch, last saw him during our Baguio run. When all things were said and done, I happily crossed the line at 1:26:03, 4 minutes below my target! Final pace was 5:32., about 20 seconds behind locomotive-like Doc Eric. I was so happy, because I realized that if I maintain that pace for at least 5k more, I could do a sub -2 hour 21k! That's my secret (well not anymore) dream! Yeah! As the group congregated, the rest of the gang started to pile in. Sam came in injury-free at 1:40. Speedy, comebacking Migz got 1:32, his first since his injury. "Wala ako sa kundisyon" Erick got a strong 1:30 finish, a testament to his run-walk strategy. Tito Caloy logged in at an estimated 1:50, a wonderful time for the 50-year old 16k Virgin. Wilnar, Girley, and as mentioned earlier Doc Pinky took podium finishes in their respective categories. Overall, was a good day for the team! Afterwards, the factions of the group met at Mcdonald's Net One for a wonderful post-race celebration of sorts. Lots of photos, laughs, and goofing around :)

All's well at Earth Run

Doc T wins!

Wilnar's 5th place finish for the 5k

Coach wins too!

Rico aka Sheer Will with his "medal"

Girley aka Pepsi with the real thing So with all things said and done, suffice to say do rainy days and Sundays always get me down? With runs and friends like these, not really :) Tito Caloy Quote of the Day :

"Napasarap ung kwento ko dun sa mag-asawa, naligaw tuloy ako!" - On following Neil and Rach to the 5k route

Much has been made about the "gait analysis", a hitherto unheard of term for me before I started running. However, once my running injuries started to pile up one after the other, I realized it isn't quite as simple as slipping on the fancy looking pair out the window. Here's my post on my gait analysis experience at Second Wind, a specialty running store located in Quezon City :) Okay, so finally I have had it with my injury-causing Mr. Quickie shoes that caused me to have an agonizing Greenfield Run. I have been using an Accel lying around the house as a very poor replacement. Well at least they didn't cause me blisters. But after running it during the MOntalban LSD and using it for my regular training runs it's like I was getting more aches and pains around my quads and calves, even the heels.
I decided that enough was enough, and that I had to go and get a gait analysis just to know what precisely was going on. Highly recommended was Hector Yuzon of Second Wind. Second Wind is a newly opened shop located in Teacher's Village, QC. An accomplished ultra runner himself, he told me that his shop is envisioned to be one for runners by runners. He could train salespeople to talk about sizes and specs, but it takes a real runner to get to the crux of the matter when customers ask very specific, experience-based questions.

So without further ado, we began with the analysis. You're supposed to run with your current shoes, and I was embarrassed when he told me that that Accels were actually badminton shoes

I was made to run on a treadmill, and actual video stills were taken. It showed that I was essentially an extreme overpronator with my left foot while my right was normal. I also learned that I was a midfoot striker which is good for long distance running. Apparently , there's an acceptable degree of variance when your leg hits the ground, and my left leg was way out there. This was the reason why I get injured often. So to combat this, I was referred a stability shoe to correct the problem. Hector offered 5 choices from best to good, then had me test them on the treadmill after.
I ended up getting the New Balance 848's, and they worked like a charm during last Sunday's race, helping me set a new 10k PR

Overall, Hector's amiable demeanor and encyclopedic knowledge of all things running related helped me immensely in making the right choice. Happy customer here, and I highly recommend his shop. Lots of singlets, shades, shorts to choose from aside from of course the shoes.

Check out my gait analysis here guys. It's by appt by the way, just give his shop a call

Click to zoom and drag to navigate!
Open publication - Free publishing - More gait analysis

I posted these comments after an injury-filled 21k Greenfield Run, my first ever. To those who weren't able to read this before, it could give you some insights on what and what not to do when running your first ever 21k race :) 1. Get a nice Running Shoe! Believe it or not guys, after all these races I have been running on a 1998 retread cross trainer with the heel replaced by (gulp) Mr. Quickie. At the 14k point my toes and heels were burning, and who knows the crummy shoe may have been the reason for my injury. Mr Quickie! (shudder). Before kasi I'd just use it to run 2km outside my condo, no biggie. Never thought I'd be this hooked into running. Now, I need to buy! I feel I'm losing so much efficiency because of it. 2. Don't run more than 10k the day before the race Maybe the pros can do it. But obviously I'm no pro. I usually run kahit the Friday before the race. But because of work commitments I was forced to run on a Sat, against my better judgement, just to get my running fix and ramp up my mileage. Supposedly was an easy run, ended up doing 12k over the Ortigas MSD route. To those who had run this route with me, I don't see how "easy" could be an adjective to describe it. So my bad pasaway kasi. So newbies, keep this in mind. I feel that it may have been a factor kaya my leg broke down. 3. Get some sleep! Because of the distance and start time, I was forced to wake up at 2:45. I had like 2 hours of sleep. Not good. I couldn't sleep, body clock not adjusted. These things all pile up. 4. Never underestimate the distance. I saw several runners who were sprinting the first turn and passed our group. At the 18k mark they were throwing up on the curb and lying on the pavement. One guy said "ayoko na, di ko na kaya" to the marshal. So you have to respect the distance and avoid burning yourself out too soon. 21k is roughly from Ortigas to West Ave back and forth. It's no joke. So there! Just sharing Hope that helps our newer runners reading

Hi gang, been awhile. Hope you enjoyed the BDM series I put out for you, it was so crazy I thought it would never finish writing it. Believe it or not, I typed out the last part of that article at about 12 midnight at a Mcdonald's branch in a seedy part of Kuala Lumpur. The free WiFi was worth the "You want lady love you long time?" catcalls while attempting to grab a cab home. Eeek.

Anyway, I'm running this just because I felt so guilty for missing the presser, my car arrived late and so that's that . In a nutshell, wat's the spin on this? Out of town, flat course, sunset race. Nuff' said.

I wanna run this...

I'm hopeful that the ITBS injury I sustained during BDM would be completely healed by the time this race comes around. It sort of has sentimental value, as it was maiden race was my first ever 21k. You should have seen me. Check out this passage from an ancient blog entry of mine :

Get a nice Running Shoe! Believe it or not guys, after all these races I have been running on a 1998 retread cross trainer with the heel replaced by (gulp) Mr. Quickie. At the 14k point my toes and heels were burning, and who knows the crummy shoe may have been the reason for my injury. Mr Quickie! (shudder). Before kasi I'd just use it to run 2km outside my condo, no biggie. Never thought I'd be this hooked into running. Now, I need to buy! I feel I'm losing so much efficiency because of it.

With matching trucker cap, basketball shorts and weird shoes.How fast time flies. I think I finished my maiden half-mary at 2:28 that day, then I could barely walk after. Lol. Anyway, here are the details for the race. Seems pretty straightforward. And just in case you have never ever been to Enchanted or Tagaytay ( fun life you lead eh?), I put in a map of how to get there for good measure. Sunsets sound good. See you all there!

Greenfield City Sunset Run 2010
Sta. Rosa, Laguna
April 24, 2010
500m / 3K / 5K / 10K / 21K

Registration Fees:
Category – Slots – Registration Fee – Race Features
(Kids – 500m Dash) – 300 – Php100 – Finisher’s Kit (Kids are for 12 years old and below)
3K – 1,000 – Php 400 – Race No., Singlet, Timing Chip, PhotoVendo, Race Analysis
5K – 1,500 – Php 550 – Race No., Singlet, Timing Chip, PhotoVendo, Race Analysis
10K – 700 – Php 600 – Race No., Singlet, Timing Chip, PhotoVendo, Race Analysis
21K – 500 – Php 650 – Race No., Singlet, Timing Chip, PhotoVendo, Race Analysis, Finisher’s Medal

Registration Areas:
Regular In-Store Registration: March 22 to April 11, 2010
– Planet Sports – Trinoma
– New Balance – Glorietta and Shangri-la Mall
– Athlete’s Foot – Alabang Town Center
– R.O.X. – Bonifacio High Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig
– Greenfield City Sunset Run Booth – Paseo, Sta. Rosa, Laguna

Late In-Store Registration: April 12 to April 17, 2010
– R.O.X. – Bonifacio High Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig
– Greenfield City Sunset Run Booth – Paseo, Sta. Rosa, Laguna

It's sorta near EK and that cold place with Bulalo. Yum.

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

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

The few and the proud...

Prologue

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

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

Decisions, Decisions

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

Forming the Crew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Briefing

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

Don't blame the RD!

D-Day

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

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

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

With the crew at KM 0.

I hope to replicate this pose at the finish line

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nag two bottles pa kami ng Red Horse kagabi"

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

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

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

Isolation Therapy

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

Me, Myself, and the Long Winding Road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sight for sore eyes at KM102

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasa gutting it out after 5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cruise Control

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

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

Twenty Four Oras

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

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

Daytime Shocker

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

Hopefully, it would all be ours.

100% Pure Guts

Digging Deep

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

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

Breakfast, anyone?
Wrong Mistake

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

I need to start running. Now.

Malayong malayo pa Kuya... .

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

Panandaliang Ligaya

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

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

Rule #1 : Don't listen to strangers.

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

Rule #3 : " 5k" is relative .

The Final Showdown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."- Hal Higdon, running coach

As of this writing, I am still recovering from the effects, both physical and emotional, of my first-ever marathon. Yes, my very first full mary. The big V word. Surprised? Yes, your fun Gingerbread scribe was a veritable newbie at the Condura Skyway Marathon. Although not a stranger to the distance having completed a 50k ultramarathon eons ago (okay maybe it was just last year), this was my first stab at racing a 42k. So how did it go? Let's do a quick backgrounder first.

Always the running event of the year

"The will to win means nothing if you haven't the will to prepare." - Juma Ikangaa, 1989 NYC Marathon winner

Having never actually "trained" for anything before and content to do mindless Gingerbread jagging with more emphasis on pacute than pakondisyon , I had planned for Condura to be my debut marathon as early as October. Using a program concocted by buddy/masochist/monster Edward Kho of Conquer Corregidor fame (he threw down a scintillating 3:27 by the way) , I proceeded to immerse myself in the so-called science of the sport. Tempo runs. Intervals. Ladders. Hill Work. Yasso 800's. Things that had sounded absolutely Greek to me became staples of my everyday routine.

Much to my surprise,the effects of the program were immediate and remarkably consistent. Each race seemed to incredibly usher in the advent of a new personal best. By the time that Condura beckoned, I had chopped 6 minutes off my 10k time and about 37 minutes from my 21k. Brimming with confidence, I had high hopes for my debut marathon. Feeling as good as I've felt in years, this Gingerbread newbie was ready to conquer that breezy, mid-morning party in the southern sky.

Newbies have it hard.

"The marathon can and will humble you. " - Bill Rodgers , four-time Boston Marathon winner

I really had no idea what to expect. Certain "scientific" calculations had me primed for a highly aspirational time based off my 10k and 21k results. But I had my doubts. While my speed work was fine, I had been remiss on my Sunday long runs - a byproduct of increasing family and work demands. The longest runs I had put in were two 30k dingers, and even if I felt in my gut that this was lacking, my innate stubbornness was telling me that my training and heart would somehow bring me home. Misguided naievity? But then again, this mindset has somehow paid dividends in the past. Let's see how the whole thing unravels with my retro race diary,I'll even put in a time stamp so it's like we're actually there.

Retro Race Diary?

2:30 : I wake up in a dazed, zombie-like state, the anxious effects of having roughly three hours and 37 seconds worth of sleep written all over my face. As with most newbies, I could barely sleep the night before. Tossed, turned, then eventually settled on watching an illicit copy of Spirit Of The Marathon. Thank God for YouTube. Much to my chagrin though, I didn't cry. Sob.

3:30 : With no traffic to contend with, I had an unexpectedly easy time parking. Hydrobelt? Check. Ipod? Check. Condura 2009 "street cred" spare shirt?Check. Wallet and license? Um, er, gulp. I'm screwed.

3:45 : After spending about 10 minutes getting lost looking for the starting corral, I finally saw my running buddies. Admittedly, I'm tense. Tight even. Too many thoughts going on in my head. Strategies. Nutrition. Pace. That Yeng Constantino song that's always on Love Radio. Fudge, I give up. I have come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I'm getting myself into. P.S- I got some grief for showing up in white shorts. UGH.

Yeng Constantino Fanboy?

4:00 : Well-modulated (and perhaps well-paid) host leads a fun countdown that seemed half a second behind. He must have been sleepy. It's funny how he prods people that "we have a wonderful surprise for you ", when it's so obvious that he's referring to a fireworks display to open the race. Anticlimactic to a certain extent, but made room for some unintentional comedy.

Host : 3, 2, 1... .. and now here's your surprise!

(eerie silence)

Host: Here! Game! Now na! Now! Now!

Fireworks are always fun though, awesome start to any race.

I love fireworks.
4:15 : For some insane reason, I thought I could hang with the big boys on this. I started with a pace group that included Junrox, Totoy, Chris and Wilnar, all certified monsters. Why the uncalled for bravado? Once again, I have to reiterate that I have no idea how to approach this. I'm a serial positive splitter in the short to middle distances. So I guess I was sticking close to home for this. Also, the idea was to maintain a 5:00- 5:10 minute pace for the first 21k, something not completely unattainable based from my previous results.

Note to self : Every time I'm with Wilnar in a pace group, something crazy happens. For instance, this 10k race in BF the plan was to open with a 4:30 min/km pace. Race begins. Less than 5 minutes later I can't breathe. Glance to watch - 3:45. Yeah!
So here , less than 3k into the race, I was straining. Not so much, but noticeable. Glance to watch - 4:30! 4:30!!! Whatever happened to 5:10? Wilnar has done it again! With a rabid fear of bottoming out later on, I motioned to the speedsters that I would be falling back.

And with labored b reathing defining my every step, I was all alone once more.
4:51 : 51 minute 10k. 3 minutes slower than usual. I think am doing good. I feel the pressure. I feel.. like I'm fading. What? No way! This early? As I go down to Buendia coming from Kalayaan, people are starting to catch up with me. What is going on? Seems the ol' mental makeup is shaky today. Team Hardcore Ultraman/Frontrunner Magazine progenitor Jonel "Bugobugo" Mendoza caught up with me, and it was a tremendous blessing that he was there. The pleasant conversation towed me through the near-entirety of Buendia, and for awhile things seemed... okay.

5:15 : Entering the Skyway. Being a 10k runner last year, this was my first time. And it sure was awesome. Well, until the part that I couldn't breathe anymore. Gasp. What to do what to do. Not good. Hey, my first and only time to be on the Skyway for free! Yipee! Gasp.

Conquering... . is easier said than done
5:30: Ominous statement of the day from some random guy who kept on talking to me on the road - "You're going too fast, you're going too fast! We have to take it slow or we burn out right away". Sounds like my ex-girlfriend on our first date. Smirk.

Let's take it slow? 5:39: They say that too much thinking can kill a man. And it's true. I fussed so much about my strategy that I ended up doing things I never really do. I walked all water stations, ostensibly to save on energy. But each time, the person I was running with was so far off that I couldn't catch up anymore. I felt my heart rate plummet every time I stopped. Something was going to go awry. I could feel it. Jonel disappeared from the horizon. So did Takbo.ph buddy Kampugers (don't judge me, it's a term of endearment) when I took a break. Panic was setting in. I was going nowhere real fast.

5:59 : Halfway mark. 1:59. In the vernacular, tipid na tipid? At nine minutes off my regular time, the prevailing mindset here is that the energy I'm conserving will get me through. Celebrity sighting : Jaymie/TBR. She looks awful strong out there. I could have sworn she was running with white compression shorts model/Runnr guru OJ. Gave a lame, token attempt to run with them, and poof! I eat dust. Note to self : Buy white compression shorts.

Classic OJ here.
6:30 : Pain (p

n) - An unpleasant sensation occurring in varying degrees of severity as a consequence of injury, disease, or emotional disorder.
Pain. Yeah. At roughly the 25k mark, I was in a lot of it. The pressure, over-analyzation, and a glaring lack of long runs most probably caused a way premature case of cramps and wall-bonking. Really odd. At Baldie Rizal Day 32k, at around the same point I felt I could have gone all day. Here, I was spent. As runner after runner passed me, the prospect of a strong finish was slowly slipping away.

What was really happening at 25k

7:00 : Getting hot. Am starting to slip into a dazed, zombie-like mode. Oftentimes, I'd try to latch on to people I know, casual conversation helps take your mind off the pain. Oftentimes I'd stop. Mentally, I'm in shambles. I thought I prepared well enough for this.

7:15 : I just realized for the first time that hey, it's nice here in the Skyway. Awesome even. I was so engrossed with all this competitive running-related crap that I'm starting to forget the little joys of our sport.

Find the joy in it GBM!
7:25 : Badly fading toward the latter stretch, I saw Condura boss Pat Concepcion along with his pseudo entourage. In a terrible daze, I willed myself to run with their group if only to get towed a kilometer or two.With the cameras rolling, he must have been wondering who was this weird character running behind him, posing for pictures even with a weird smile. Aaah the joys of Gingerbread anonymity.

It pays to be part of the Patcon entourage7:30 : Sound bite from Milo National finalist Vener/Run Unlimited nearing 32k - "Musta newbie? Tara let's go konti na lang! Mag 6mpk tayo!" As much as I wanted to, my legs had already gone to some Carribean island sipping ice tea on the beach while I had to drag their useless carasses around. Hmph.

7:50 : Oh thank God for the Takbo.ph aid station! Having manned this in the past, I was never really able to fully grasp the value of this altruistic initiative until I was on the receiving end. While experiencing a level of pain somewhere in between "roasting over hot coals" and "multiple astral projections", there's no better salve than warm smiles from supportive friends with a side helping of healthy encouragement. I was so warped by this point that when I ran into moody buddy/podium regular Zinnia on her bike, I have reason to believe this following conversation actually took place :

Z : Just a couple more meters to the aid station! We have stuff for you there!
GBM : Grunt. Uuuuuuh.
Z: Hoooooooy!! Are you okaaay?
GBM : Uuuuuuuuuh

Z : Anyway, just go there! Zombie!
I was so overjoyed to have recovering speedster Mac and an unknown, muscular man we shall just call "Manong" massage my weary legs. I guess it's the only time I'll ever thoroughly enjoy a massage given by two , er, men. Que handed me a banana, and Sir Amado's snapped up some pictures. All these served as a welcome respite, and I felt like I was on a rejuvenated high entering the homestretch.

Manong's steady hands did the trick8:20 : Kalayaan Flyover redux beckons. Been a worthy adversary on so many occassions. I think I've solved it though. But... . not... . on... .. this... . dang I gotta walk. Kalayaan Flyover 7, GBM 6.

8:30 : So near yet so far. Nearing collapse, I am dazed, confused, and running completely on empty.

8:40: This seems to be the longest 3km stretch of my life.Oh my god. You have got to be kidding me. When is it going to end? Just as I am about to sprawl on the pavement, I run into running bloggers Vicky (incredibly running a marathon on a whim! Awesome!) and hot bod Rodel/Argonaut. We are all pretty much in the same boat, literally crawling. Peace by inches. Have... . to... .. gut.. this... out.

8:45: Trying to fartlek my way home, I almost collapse into Argow, "Kristo" -style. I have absoulely nothing left to give.

8:55 : One last stab at glory, no way I'm finishing this like a cripple. Months of training leads to one last tempo run. One last burst of speed to bring it home. Don't give up now!

Last shot at glory... 8:56: And it's DONE! Yeah!!!!! Was never happier to see a finish line. The most agonizing 42.195 kms of my life done in 4:56:03. I wanted to cry... but the tears wouldn't come. Must have been the dehydration. The marathon has chewed me up, spit me in pieces and brought me to my knees. Friends say I am pale, and a massive headache follows. I can barely walk straight.

I missed my goal in a bad way.

But you know what they say about marathons? When you cross the finish line, no matter how slow or fast, it will change your life forever. And I firmly believe that. As all of this was starting to sink in, a stark realization suddenly dawned upon me. I'm... I'm a marathoner now! A real one! I'm now officially part of the .1 of 1% of the world's population to have finished one! The time doesn't even matter. What matters is I crossed that line in one piece in spite of the overwhelming urge to just flat out quit. I felt like I have left my blood, guts, and soul out there.
And at that exact moment, at that time and place, in spite of the terrible physical beating I took...

I was at peace. And overwhelmingly happy.

Guess that's the spirit of the marathon for you right there.

p.s. I can't wait to get back out there again :P

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heat training this early never hurt

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

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

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

It works. It really does.

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

Quest 825 Cycling at PCL's Jala-Jala Classic

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

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

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

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

Powerpuff Boys. TPB. The crew with the can't-miss singlet has steadily garnered a cult ever since a highly controversial runner-up finish during the inaugural Chris Sports Epic Relay 250 Race. In the months that had passed since their cause celebre' , the open-source singlet had become a veritable fan favorite amongst running denizens. Perhaps because of the fun color, but more so because a lot could relate to the scrapping, never-say-die attitude the team exhibited during its maiden campaign.

It's fuchsia.
With team running events few and far in between, not a few wondered when the men in fuchsia would ever don their proud colors again. Would they ever get a shot at redemption? Alas, a rare opportunity presented itself - The Fort Running Festival. 30 runners to a team, best cumulative time wins. The yahoogroup immediately went off the hook as the team scrambled to search for possible members, given that the original team only had ten competing members .

In the mold of the original team, the closest thing to a competitive sub-elite team was formed. These are dudes who may not be considered as "elite", yet showcase an advanced level of fitness in consistently placing in the upper percentile of local races. I guess people could relate because you don't have national -team level professionals , but ordinary working people with day jobs who have dedicated themselves to a committed healthy lifestyle. Weeks turned into months amidst numerous roster changes due to a laundry list of reasons. The final lineup comprised of a motley crew of marathoners, ultramarathoners, triathletes, mountaineers, running veterans, greenhorns, and one running ninja.
I had quite the experience with the team during our Epic Relay run, certainly one of the highlights of my year. Even if I was one of the central figures in our "controversial" finish, the goodwill generated by the entire experience overshadowed whatever bitterness ensued. That said, I couldn't wait to race with these guys again. Much to my chagrin, it was scheduled on the same day as the Speedo National Age Group Triathlon, which I had been preparing for. So I essentially passed for this race. In yet another twist, registration slots sold out like hotcakes three weeks before, which practically never happens. Thus, I was left without a race! Great. Blessings come when you least expect it though. Regrettably, someone had pulled out from the roster due to injury days before the race, and they were scrambling to find someone on such short notice.

While it's not exactly GBM saves the day, because I'm really just a roster filler, I was overjoyed at the prospect of donning our pink colors once more and just having an awesome time with the gang.

D-Day
The team met beforehand for a quick pep talk and to finalize all remaining logistical concerns. We also wore the Adobo Run promotional bibs that our buddies at Paul Calvin's Deli hooked us up with. To quote that dude in Ocean's 13, I felt like I was in a " field of excellence". Some of these guys I had never met before, but I was well aware of their running pedigree. The ones I did know, these were stacked with very strong runners, top-tier stuff. Original TPB members abound too, practically everyone from the Epic Relay campaign was there. As much as the atmosphere was light and relaxed, there was a subtle yet palpable feeling of pressure.

I had to deliver. I couldn't let these guys down. Not while wearing these colors.

And So It Begins
The gun went off without any warning, and so were off. I was particularly worried because I have been putting more effort into bike and swim training, and my supposed bread and butter running capabilities were pretty much non-existent. Got to pace with low-key original Takbo.ph moderator and Philippine Blog Award finalist Natz Garcia, one of the strongest runners I know. A past Milo National finalist, his season-long spartan approach to training manifested immediately as I could barely keep up with his machine-like pace. There was jostling on the route, some starting out crazy fast. I was a goner by the 7th kilometer. Gasp. Wheez.

Halfway Mark
Settling down to a more comfortable pace, I got to hang on with speedy TPB pioneer Mark Mulder, our short-distance specialist who was making his debut at the pikermi distance. Always helps to have someone act as your metronome, keeps you from slacking off. Entering Bayani and Heritage, we were hanging tough even as a mass of people from another race got us off-tangent for a couple of moments. Note to self: You should go inside Heritage Park more, it's actually beautiful inside. Ran into original TPB skipper Brian Rivera (who regrettably skipped the race due to injury) and Doc Eire there snapping up photos and mouthing words of encouragement to us.

Pain amidst beauty at Heritage for the TPB Boys
3/4 of the way

Last 15k. As me and Mark were laboring on the way back to Bayani Road, I was telling him that if we just gut out that last uphill at the Essensa area, we'd have it made. Silly me. They keep on adding these fun uphills in a never ending variation of all possible Fort Routes. Running on fumes, don't even know how I'm sustaining this. Mark is lagging back a little, from what I would later learn were shin issues. Just a bit more... .

Last Kilometer
Surprisingly, I still had some spring in my step, so I was pouring it on with Mark right on my tail. Strong finish, let's go for this. Only, the finish line was coming in too... early. Aww shucks. I clocked in at 1:43 on a 21.3 course, which would have meant a phenomenal 7 minute improvement over my personal best. Extrapolating that pace to the full distance (and there's no doubt in my mind that I could have held it, lowered it even), it would have come out to a high 1:46. Not bad,still a personal best. As much as personal records are nice though, this was one race where the team came first.

Near the chute Vindication, Retribution
Though this race lacked the inherent drama of Epic Relay, there still was a lot of suspense with it. As the TPB crew piled in one by one, we had no idea if the aggregate time of the team would be sufficient to win it. Further exacerbating our anxiety was the fact that Running Ninja Sam, a regular sub-2 hour finisher and BDM 102 veteran was racked with cramps somewhere along the route. Tough break. In our heads, our worries about teams making up the distance were only overshadowed by our worries for a fallen comrade.

Time seemed to stand still. Finally, we saw Sam limping through the line in a gutsy 2:30 effort. Cheers abound. Now all we had to do was wait for the official announcement.

I was chatting with Abby when suddenly I heard awards host DJ Chloe of 94.7 call out the winners of the team event ... .

TEAM POWERPUFF BOYS!

Oh my. Bedlam ensued. Suddenly, 30 pastel-decked guys were rushing the stage like a victorious soccer team at the World Cup. It was noisy. Very noisy. I honestly thought the stage would give way. Celebration indeed! It was particularly sweet for the pioneer Epic Relay team , who not only lost the championship under highly questionable circumstances, but also saw our runner-up finish completely unacknowledged . At least for one fine day, we were champions. Indeed, victory is sweet.

And in deference to a completely forgotten aspect of racing, something had slipped our mind, because it's usually reserved for the pros - we had won something! In this case, cash! A cool P15,000! Ah. The spoils of war.

Beep Beep can't take his eyes off the prize

We win at last.

Post-race breakfast at Paul Calvin's

Victory celebration at Joey Pep and launching of dri-fit TPB shirts

They say life goes around in karmic cycles. I guess this race is a prime example. Thank you to all those who have supported us through our ups and downs, we truly appreciate it. As for the team, it was an honor racing with you guys. I wonder where the next adventure will take us?

Wherever it may be, I'm pretty sure the boys in fuchsia will be ready for it.

So you read the header and it's gonna be one of those reviews again. Yes, it's one of those write-ups that would hinge on my verbose and completely un-expertlike opinion. But before we talk about this... .

Let's go back a couple of years... ... .

OBMC High. 1999.
As I had mentioned before, was never really a fan of Adi Dassler's creations. Okay maybe I was . Once. I took the plunge a long time ago, from a time and place that seems to have been relegated to the far recesses of my mind. Wore the Kobe Bryant KB8 "Feet You Wear" shoe during my senior year just because they looked so different from any basketball shoe that was on the market at the time. It was the new "in" thing. And in high school's ever changing lexicon of social stratification, different + new = social status level up.

My ticket to high school social status nirvana
Lord I'm such as sucker for effective advertising (x_x). I thought they were the coolest things ever, bragged about them incessantly, could have sworn they improved my standing from "freaky tall geek" to "he's just really strange don't mind him he has cool shoes anyway".

Geeky GBM got a boost with them chickies

But then the real test came when I had to play ball with it. With a lot of confidence, I went up for a fancy "tapboard" (people who played high school ball could relate), made my best Kobe impression and BAM I fell with a thud, breaking my ankle in three places. Strangely enough, my juvenile incarnation blamed the Adidas shoes for that, swore it to high heavens, and never wore another pair again... ..

Until now.

Flash forward to 2009, and lo and behold I have a pair of Adidas Adizero Tempos staring me in the face. Literally begging for a shot at redemption. Like a scorned lover acceding to one last shot at reconciliation, I took a leap of faith and went for it. Did it work out? Let's see how my 3-week dalliance with an old flame has worked out so far.

What's on the label :

It is a lightweight running shoe designed to give runners comfort and support over long distances. ForMotion stability adapts to the ground for improved handling and stability and the pro-moderator medial support device prevents overpronation. The TORSION SYSTEM gives midfoot integrity and adiPRENE in the forefoot maintains propulsion and efficiency.

The air mesh upper gives maximum ventilation and the perforated EVA tongue gives additional lightweight comfort and breathability. The dual-layer anti-microbial adiLite-respoEVA sockliner controls odor and gives added step in comfort. Finally, the adiWEAR outsole offers the ultimate in high-wear durability.

Dazed Reader, through SMS : WOAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH. You're talking Greek here! What the fudge was that all about???

Okay, okay. Let me give it a shot.

What I understood of the Adidas jargon mumbo jumbo :

The cushioning system of the shoe is backstopped by its hyped- up Formotion technology utilizing Adiprene 45 . The logic behind it is that you have a well-cushioned heel but not enough to make it bounce around during hard runs. Note, too much bounce = pain and suffering . Some more seasoned runners may view this as completely "babying" heel strikers, but that's one of the reasons why the Tempo is quite enticing to newbie runners.

In addition, mild overpronators can count on the shoes aptly named pro-moderator system to negate the level of pronation, utilizing two plastic heel plates that slow side-to-side movement.

And if just to avoid more jargon, the shoe has features which make it very breathable inside and minimize stitching, while providing good forefoot touch-off cushioning for the fast people out there.

Pedigree

The Tempo has been touted as the "performance stability" shoe in the Adizero series, providing the benefits of a lightweight racer along with enough stability to prevent you from blowing up your plantar or ITB. To those relatively unfamiliar with the Adizero line, these have been touted to be the lightest in their class, and have the distinction of being the shoes running legend Haile Gebrselassie used when he broke the marathon world record at Berlin.

Haile on Yellow Adizeroes en route to the WR

Weight Implication - Injuries, Training and Racing
Its main selling point is that at barely 300 grams, the Tempos are nearly a 100 grams lighter than my old light stability shoes. Upon wearing them, you would barely feel that there's any resistance there at all. You can accelerate without the weird clunky feeling. At first, I was very apprehensive to try these out, as they look like the eye candy shoes you would wear to the mall and it seemed to me that any form of running on these would blow out my knee. Initially thought that these were limited to neutrals, but after nearly a month of using them, the injuries have thankfully been nowhere in sight. And to think I was coming off a bout with ITB. Whew.

Still look good despite taking a beating from the rain

After a few weeks on this, an attempt to use my old light stabs gave the feeling of having ten-pound weights on my foot. The difference was very noticeable. How noticeable? A good example was my tempo training on consecutive days. Same splits, same level of fitness, different shoes. With the old shoes, my best split was a 5:10/ km. The following day, same thing, I miraculously lowered it to a 4:40. I highly doubt I could have shaved 30 seconds off my split in a day. Was it the shoes? Placebo? Whatever it may have been, happy camper right here.

Racing-wise, two weeks later I set a 10k PR of 50:14 with the Tempos, shaving nearly a minute and a half off my previous best. The time was good enough for 26th place at Ayala Eco-Dash, which made me an even happier camper. Pertinent factors to keep in mind : No changes in training, weird level of fitness coming off an injury. Could it have been the shoes? You be the judge of that.

Other stuff that you need to know, just in case:

These are NOT wide shoes. When you first slip into them, coming from say a Mizuno or New Balance, your feet would feel constricted and with no wiggling room. I'm a US size 12, and these usually afford sufficient toe allowance. These ... did not. First time I ran on them they were so tight that I got near blisters on my toes.

I was about to completely give up on them and sell them to the people at Takbo.ph (even if I knew that they're going to ask for a ton of discounts) when the pain started to... disappear. Now I don't even notice it's there.It took about two weeks worth of break-in to get the job done. So for the well-endowed people out there, either you adjust your size or break it in well before racing it.

Final Take

Overall I find this to be the quintessential, aesthetically pleasing shoe that strives to synergize both form and functionality. For neutrals to mild overs looking for a highly serviceable speedwork or raceday shoe, this brings significant eye candy points to the table with decent stability to boot. Should you fall under this category, this is a very strong option right here.

So how would I evaluate the three-week reco with my old flame? Love affairs come and go, that's the nature of the beast. As one leaves for greener pasture, another comes in to fill the void. Everything that happens in between? Oftentimes forgotten. But sometimes, all it takes is a single spark to reignite the connection.

I hated Adidas. They broke my ankle.

But after three weeks of PR's and good races...

Guess old flames aren't so bad the second time around.

As I glanced anxiously at my 305, the grim reality was sinking in. Unless I pull of an Usain Bolt, there was absolutely no way I would be hitting my goal. I need to leave everything out there. Right here. No tomorrows. A final push, one last heave for glory netted a 4:53 final lap... .

And I missed it by 15 seconds. Damn.

Thank God for Google Images

But wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves. It all started on a stormy Saturday night at Glorietta 4 ... .

GBM: Miss, may I register for the 10k? Thank you.
ECO-Dash Counter Girl : Eto po. 300 lang.
GBM: Hmmm. Where's the singlet?
EDCG: Ay, naubos na po, nung Sunday pa.
GBM: Aaah, ok.

(walks away, opens race packet, goes back)

GBM: Miss, why do you have two bibs? That is quite... unconventional .
EDCG: Ay Sir, ung isa para sa harap, ung isa sa likod. First time niyo ho ba?
GBM: Uh... . It's actua..
EDCG: Okay lang ho, kaya ninyo yan, basta hinga malalim lang.Nauso na nga yang ranning na yan eh. Nga pala sir, rain or shine yan tuloy!

So for 300 bucks I ended up with 2 race bibs, a bit of a weird conversation... . and that was pretty much it. Not that it actually matters - I heard a lot of gripes about its "minimalist" design - but I was hoping to get more bang out of my 300 bucks. Internet legend Tito Caloy was supposed to grace us with his presence, but was apparently caught up deep in training for the San Mig National Drinking Finals. So I went out on a dreary Sunday morning, in hopeful anticipation of the great unknown, what with so many intangibles put into play.

"Secret" Training
If you have been following this blog from time to time, then you're probably aware of my well-chronicled struggles against the menace that is ITBS.

Gone for good?
Forced to drastically cut down mileage , I put in a couple of duds at some of our recent races. I was already thinking, Am i done ? Is that it for me? Visions of a surgically repaired Samboy Lim and Shaun Livingston looking like ghosts of their old selves haunted me. What if I'll never regain my old form? Through the thankful intervention of a higher power, I have been running relatively pain free for the past several weeks. That's when I decided to flat out just go for out it. Serious training for two weeks, harder than I ever trained before. I was going to secretly target a sub-50 time for this race, if I fail I could just say I was "pacing" someone. So what did I do exactly?

If I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret anymore, right? :) :p

The Case of the Missing Ipod

In an extremely weird twist of fate, I lost my beloved iPod the day I learned that my quest for that elusive Master's degree was finally over. Ahh. My life seems to be in bittersweet symphony right now. But what should I do? I find it extremely hard to run without music, I seem to be grossed out by my own snarly breathing.

Will give dog for ipod
Thankfully, I found a weird-looking Mp3 player lying around the house, the type you could get for 500 bucks at the mall. 256 mb, no song randomizer, weird shape. Sold! At this point, I would have brought a Walkman to the race if need be.

If you ever ran with one of these, thanks for visiting my blog Master!

The Race Itself

Okay, let's be practical. Due to the nature of this belated post, by now you should have already read a plethora of blog entries outlining how drenched we were, how there was a lack of marshals along Bayani, et.al. Obviously, I won't go there - your time is more precious than mine. Instead, let's go straight to the crux of the matter, punctuated by the precise songs blaring from my cheapo Mp3 player in homage to my newly departed and dearly beloved Ipod.

Kilometer 1 - Dreamgirls Theme (not a word)

Jesus Christ and Mary it sure is cold! I don't think I have ever started a race at this temp, it's even colder than when we did Botak Baguio. Oh shoot , crappy Mp3 player auto adjusts its volume everytime you turn it off. It's .. it's not loud enough! I still hear my own breathing! Crap. Where do they make this thing anyway? Rain is pouring down pretty bad, I don't have time to get it out of my hydrobelt. Yes it's that pathetic I need to squeeze it into my hydrobelt. Opening pace is at 4:29, think I could have gone faster but the rain is slowing me down. Just passed a runner who is complaining about the rain audibly. Hmmm, chess isn't so bad once you get used to it.

All you got to do is dream...

Kilometer 2-3 - Do You Believe In Magic - Loving Spoonful

So I got out of the bane of all runners this side of town in one piece. The Kalayaan Flyover was my first major hurdle, and I did a 4:44/5:03 on it, first time I ever hit a sub-5 split on it. People walking all around me. Yes, it does get the best of you. Given that 82.67% of all Sunday race routes pass through this point, I'm guessing it doesnt have too many fans.Much like an untamed beast in the wilderness, oftentimes you can but just hope and pray you live to tell the tale. Relatively unscathed, I come flying downslope. Current total pace is at 4:45. So far so good.

Yup, never heard of em' either

Kilometer 5 - VST & Co. - Sumayaw Sumunod

Wow, these drivers are crabby! You woulwd think that they'd be more relaxed on a Sunday morning. The honking was reminiscent of Edsa Dos. Unfortunately, seems that we're the subjects of their profanity-laced tirades. They should go to the Kanye West School of Charm.

It's just like rush hour traffic, only on a Sunday. Why so angry?

Completed the halfway point at 23:48, that may just possibly be my best 5k split ever. Route reminds me of my Globe Run for Home debacle. Is this my day of vindication?

Sumabay sa mga bagong tugtugin ngayon... .

Kilometer 7-8 - Eraserheads - Huwag Kang Matakot

As much as I would like to imbibe the E-heads spirit on this, the pressure was so intense it was hard not to be. The homeward bound Kalayaan Flyover won this round, dropping me to a 5:22/5:34 split, breaking both my body and spirit. The pressure was getting to me , and I was starting to panic inside. Total pace had dropped to an even 5:00, which meant that I would be missing my target. More panic. I need to make up time. But I'm zapped out. Must... soldier... on. Just 2k more... ...

One of their last albums before calling it quits

Kilometer 9-10. Amy Winehouse - Rehab.
They say that running is just as much mental as physical, sometimes even more. I completely agree, 100%. Here I was , on the cusp of beating one of my biggest running goals, and I was doing a completely chokejob. Mentally, I was messed up. I was freaking out and panicking. Prematurely celebrating, I was even thinking of a title for the blog post already. Physically, I was spent. Blatant lack of training. A quick, anxious glance at the 305 showed 45:00 with a little over a kilometer to go. Running on fumes, a blatant attempt to let it all hang out was hatched.

However, the grim reality was sinking in. Unless I pull of an Usain Bolt, there was absolutely no way I would be hitting my goal. More panic. I need to leave everything out there. Right here. No tomorrows. A final push, one last heave for glory... .

And I missed it by 15 seconds. Damn.

Gut-wrenching. I broke down mentally that last two kilometers. Got caught up in the moment so to speak. Wasn't able to deliver. On the precipice of success, I blinked. And in that nanosecond, I missed the bus. At the highest echelons of all sports, this is what separates the men from the boys. The winners from the pretenders. It's that requisite mental toughness designed to take you to the next level.

I think I need to go to rehab after this

Overall, it was a bittersweet moment. I still set a new 10k PR at 50:14, lopping of a minute and a half from my pre-injury best. Was a tremendous day for Takbo.ph denizens Sam, Vicky, and Argo as they all set new records on their 21k times. Tremendous improvement. Keep up the good work guys!

PR people with podium gal Carins

John Lloyd an d... Luis?
In retrospect, this race taught me a lot about myself. Getting so near, only to falter in the end inspires me to do even better next time around. To quote William Ernest Henley, "my head is bl oody, but unb owed". Indeed, we all live to run another day.

And sometimes, in the greater scheme of things

That's all that really matters.

Editor's Note : Results just came in, wanted to add that this performance was good enough for 26th place amongst 532 runners in the category, my best finish ever :P

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 now with 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.

But this time, we're taking the plane :)

As I attempt to write this, one glance at the clock reveals I have exactly 25 minutes to somehow pull this off before lunch break ends. Aaaah... . trappings of the harassed yet decidedly sanguine corporate warrior. 24 Minutes. Yikes.

Why hello old friends. Did my five fans miss me? Running four months without a single article, I find it hard to fathom I could go on that long without any output. Alas, that's the reality I dwell in nowadays. No articles, no presscons, no fluff pieces, no nothing. My last official piece of written work was the cover story I did on Ani De Leon for Frontrunner, and even that I only saw about a month after it came out on stores. Contrary to popular belief, I have not retired nor have I been holed up in some cave. What happened was... .. I got a new job. Goodbye academe (at least for the meantime) and hello corporate life. Anyway, the long and short of it is that I'm suddenly encumbered with an exponentially more challenging gig coupled with the fact that my workplace is now on the other side of the map. The flexibility that living 5 minutes away from your office has brought for the last couple of years is now a distant memory.

It's a new way of life, yes. Somehow lost in the muck was the fact that I'm still actually training for an Ironman. Or rather, the Ironman 70.3 to be held at Camsur this August 14th to be more accurate. Oh my. Training? Ano yun? From being in the best shape of my life several months ago, I am merely fighting to finish at these races. I can only cringe at not being able to pull my weight for my Quest 825 Tri Team, more so with so many synergistic partnerships on board for us. Robbed of all forms of mileage, each step towards that finish line is more akin to a test of the human spirit rather than a competitive test of fitness. Sigh. How much I envy this dude.

Nevertheless, you guys know I'm as game as anyone out there so I'll still give it my best shot. I've hacked out my last two races on shameless guts alone, because to be very honest with you, I don't have much of anything left. Foolhardy perhaps, but somehow I always have this crazy notion that I could pull it off. And while the results haven't been pretty, I'm still hanging in there. A sub-3 hour target finish at the Olympic-distance Subic International Triathlon turned into a 3:08 debacle with an unexpected implosion during the run portion. Lack of training? Check.

Hanggang porma na lang. Next in line was the Tri United Matabungkay triathlon, a 2k-60k-15k humdinger that serves as the warmup race for Camsur. A lingering back injury (I'll explain later) rendered my bike leg into pretty much a leisurely spin, and once again cramps did me in over the final 5k of the run portion. BDM 160 champ/Quest Tri buddy Wilnar even barbequed me with a kilometer to go despite gaining more than 30 minutes on him from the swim. Yeah, that bad. Lack of training? Um, check. I was even compelled to do pushups at the line, a consequence from a friendly bet the team had for the bottom three finishers. Wilnar owes me a drink. Not that I'm complaining though - in spite of all the crap that went down I still somehow managed to hit the elusive qualifying time for the Timex 226 triathlon in Bohol by the skin of my teeth. Timex 226 is the first full Ironman distance (3.8k-180k-42k) race in the country over the past nine years so its a big honor just to make it there. And with thirty-four seconds to spare, it could have gone either way. Whew.

Which brings me back to Camsur. It's supposed to be the far reaching goal, the big shebang. And suddenly I'm on the hook for an even greater challenge this December. In a season where I also finished my first 160k race, this seemingly perverse proclivity towards pain and suffering is starting to ignite deep, burning questions within myself. Like, "WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?" But hey, it's a fun life and we only live once right? Might as well go through it with a bang.

With roughly a 70% reduction in training hours and mileage, this one goes out to all the corporate warriors out there - how the hell could you reconcile a microscopic training window while training for a long distance triathlon without your wife kicking you out of the house? Here are some rudimentary tips I have cobbled together. I'm not saying they would necessarily work for you, but I think what I'm trying to say here is you pretty much don't have a choice. Smirk.

Don't let it happen.
The Art of The Three-Hour ,Er, Sleep

With so little time on your hands your first priority should always be to fulfill all family duties and work you bring home, keeping the missus (or mister) plus the kids happy. Where does that leave your training regimen? If you're a zero work flexibility dude like me, it's usually the first to get wiped out. The solution? Learn how to sleep on three hours so you can still wake up at 4 am in the morning to do your 60k-15k brick at MOA.
Now, if you end up falling asleep at your board meeting, load up on two bottles of Cobra beforehand. Drink it. Straight. Bottoms up. Everything. Better to be a doped up zombie than a sleeping fool.

It never hurts.

Lunch Out... . To Run With every minute ever so precious, try to sneak in some much-needed heat training mileage for the Camsur "Energy Lab" by eschewing lunch altogether. Screw food, gels are cooler. While everyone is engrossed in water cooler chatter and tsismis step out of those Van Heusen' s (or high heels) and discreetly step into those K-Ona's. Wear a visor low to render you unrecognizable to a potentially lunch-outing boss. Once done, rush to the office john and splash on as much water as you could on your face, then come out whistling "ang init, sarap maghilamos no?"

Pasimple lang. Maximize your weekend. Understatement of the year. If you work half-day Saturdays like me, that leaves you with roughly a six-hour Saturday window and a half-day Sunday window (if you actually go to church. Or have a family. Or a semblance of a life. If not, kindly ignore. In the most anti-scientific manner possible, cram all three sports plus a gym workout into that window. It works great. promise. You can finish your race if you don't mind extreme discomfort, pain, suffering, agony or the specter of some random injury popping up. During the weeks leading up to Tri United and during the race itself, my back had as much pliability as my octogenarian grandpa. As i said, I don't necessarily endorse this. It sucks, it really does. But to theeveryday working dude/dudette out there, do we really have a choice? See you at the line in Camsur people, I sure as heck hope that there are no more pushups waiting for me there. And if I may add, it feels mighty damn good to be blogging again. :)

Being injured sure does suck
You'll start to think you're running out of luck
When used to running to start your new day
Being deprived of what you love sure ain't okay

Surely the injury must have been your fault
Like a wound that needs a bit more rubbing with salt
But who else should go out and take the blame
The only question you ask is "Will I ever be the same?"

Being in recovery ain't very nice
You're slowly getting fat from eating all that rice
Boredom is horrible, every second, minute, and hour
Please change the channel, I'm sick of Gandang R

You're envious of your friends and their LSD's and races
If you're gone for any longer you'll start to forget their faces
You may even need to start looking for a brand new hobby
Knitting or coin collecting now seem none too shoddy

Trying not to run is the worst thing ever
The more you force it, the more you may run never
You're going cold turkey, your head light and hazy
A few more weeks of this and you'll go completely crazy

In your lonesome you think "maybe it isn't for me"
Guess that's what happens when you badly injure your knee
Boredom pervades, you resort to creating rhymes
But even your dog would agree it's a lot of wasted time

When all things are said and are done
All you ever wanted was to really just have fun
You look at the happy times that happened way back then
And you eagerly await

The day you run again... ..

Some days you just don't have it.

As my previous post stated, I was harassed to death last week. Zero mileage. Didn't run at all. Still in iffy recovery from Botak Ultra. But me being me, I just had to take a swipe at it. A shot at a 21k PR on a chip-timed raced cutting through Ayala was way too juicy for me to resist. Just had to. Recipe for Disaster? Let's see how this morning's proceedings unfolded.

Not today GBM.

Pre- Race, 4:30 am

GBM : Tito, wake up!
Tito Caloy : Gising na ako!
GBM: Seriously?
Tito Caloy : Eh di pa ako natutulog!
GBM: Why would you do that? We have a race!
Tito Caloy : Ang ganda nung palabas sa Cinema One alangya yung kay Richard, Eskapo! Di ako natulog eh!
GBM:!!! Ugh, see you in ten.
Tito Caloy : Ayos cge ipapakita ko sayo ung bagong sapatos ko Adidas running na running ang dating! 6 tawsan bili ko!
GBM : !!!

He'd rather sleep in the car

Km 1 - 10 . Great things start from small beginnings?

When we got to the starting line, the race was just minutes away from starting. The rowdy gang helped fuel the electric atmosphere, the looming excitement of an actual chip-timed race bursting through the seams. It was funny really, because you saw people sprinting, then stopping, at the mat.

I though I had the strategy down pat. But I was wrong. Obviously, barely running in the two weeks prior took its toll. Also, something I read in BR's blog was nagging at me as I was racing through the first 10 kilometers. After an ultra, you will definitely lose some speed. You need to get back to tempo training. Well, not only have I NOT done any tempo training. In fact I haven't run at all. So logically, it's going to turn out pretty badly. My wind wasn't there. But it still wasn't half bad though.

At the 5k mark, I registered 25:32. At the 10k mark, slight fade at 55:30 but pace was still in contention for my goals. I'm at least 4 minutes off my usual 10k pace but I was thinking (or at least trying to convince myself) that I was merely "pacing". Since when did a positive splitter "pace" the first half of the race though? Still, I felt I could hang on. Seeing the rest of the team on the initial loop had me thinking I'm doing decently. I thought I was on the way to a good day... .

10k - 14k. Disaster strikes.

At the 10k mark I'm starting to slow down. Oh no. But not a major dropoff. Noticeable. Come Kalayaan flyover , my "vaunted" incline skills had deserted me. Then I realized it has been nearly a month since I have hit the St. Martin slopes. So much for that. Still, I felt I could ride the fade. Second wind would push me through. Just get me past the Kalayaan flyover and I'll take care of it in the flats.
Then IT happened. At the 14k mark, I stopped for some 100 Plus on the water station, then sprinted away. The abrupt start/stop brought about a searing pain on the side of my knee that was too great too ignore. I tried to run it off, but I couldn't put any weight on it. I tried walking it off, the pain was just exacerbated. I tried stopping and stretching. It went from bad to worse. My pace had dropped down to 7/km now. Oh no. This ain't happening. We are doing so well. Just 7 k more to a new PR! My pace was down to a 5:45 now. Still salveagable. But the pain. Oh the pain. Add to this the mental strain of people passing you. So many people. I had to stop. Walk. Ouch. More ouch. When Takbo.ph rookie and Jumbo Liempo friend Pio overtook me, I was both happy for him and panicking inside. My hard earned lead was slipping away. Big Time. I saw main man Bong Z, slimmed-down Timmy and monster Ed pass me. When rookie/nice guy James paced with me for a while, and when I couldn't even sustain what felt was an 8/km pace and he had to leave me behind, I knew that was a veritable death knell. As I entered the inclines of Bayani Road, a site of successes past, a former sanctuary turned Death Valley.

I can't run anymore. Dammit. I want to cry. But then that would affect my macho image. Arrgh. I want to run! I can't! Everyone's asking what the crap happened to me. Rod and Carlo just passed me. Ain't it great when you have friends who show genuine concern for you? But argh. I'll try to run again... ARGH ouch ouch. I can't. Sob. This sucks. I want ... to... quit? =,(

The spectre of my first ever DNF was very much real. The pain was pretty significant at this point. Each attempt to try and gut it out ended up bringing more pain. At least the last 5k of Botak ultra I was still able to run. This... . I simply couldn't. Add to this the strain of everyone passing my sorry carcass. Let me let you in on a little secret. I hate being passed. It gets to me. I'm a competitive guy, not just in running. But here, I was crumbling amidst the throes of my own mortality. It's hard to express in words the combined feeling of frustration, disappointment, exhaustion and pain that I was going through. It's barely 14k and change. How the heck can I get to the finish line when I can barely even walk anymore?

14k-21k. A friend in need... . is a friend indeed.

As I was losing hope exponentially by the minute, I was suddenly witness to the fact that life's little blessings come when you least expect it. As I had completely given up hope, along came training/pace buddy/carpool mate Bong Yu. He saw me struggling. Told him I wanted to quit. He could have left me, he has his own race to run. But in the spirit of friendship and supreme sacrifice, he told me he would keep me company! Unthinkable! You would sacrifice your race for me? Yeah why not, I'm still in recovery from Milo 42k anyway.
Oh man. I was overwhelmed. Bong encouraged me to just keep my head high. There are other races. Stop trying to run, what will you achieve? It ain't even worth it. You don't have to keep on proving yourself over and over again. You need a break anyway. Stand straight when there are girls passing by so that you keep your poise and still look macho. Maybe they'll think we're 8 minute pacers or something. Ran into a real pacer, Second Wind proprietor/running sage Hector who stopped and gave me some advice on the injury along with some words of encouragement.

The 7k trek to the line was painful. The encouragement and light conversation made me feel so much better. Everyone was passing us at this point. Even Mary Genie passed us. We found it amusing that she was ahead of Tito Caloy, Coach and Neil . Good ol' Tito Caloy was gloating over the first ever time he would get ahead of me in a race. Okay maybe not. But he was genuinely concerned. Didn't matter anymore. I was good. Happy that a friend was actually there for me. As the sun was beating down, a 15/km walk pace told me that we would cover a mere 3k in 45 mins. Eek. As we neared the finish line, the rest of the Takbo.ph boys helped us pace the final km for added support. It looked like a scene from the Beat It video as we were approaching the finish line.

Now that's what you call team support!

Couldn't have done it without this guy.

As racuous cheers from the Takbo.ph gallery met two fallen gladiators, I couldn't help but wonder that in spite of my worst-ever finish, in spite of having to suffer the ignominy of walking the last 7k and limping through the finish line, I was actually happy. Happy that I didn't DNF when it was the easiest choice I could have ever made.Happy to see that in actuality, the spirit of friendship trumps the spirit of competitiveness when circumstances call for it. Lessons will be learnt from this race, and while my injury is showing blatant signs of ITBS I am hopeful for a strong comeback. I am truly thankful for being blessed with good friends who keep on popping up at an opportune time and help me get through. One day I'll make it up to you guys.
Some days you just don't have it.

But on some days... .

It doesn't really matter at all.

Tito Caloy Quote of the Day:

"Habang tumatakbo ako meron kaming dalawang chiks na nakasalubong sabay sabi 'Hi Tito Caloy'! Ayos diba? Kahit di ko kakilala nag hi na din ako eh!"- On enjoying the trappings of newfound internet fame
Philippine Blog Awards Verification Code : PBA09r4qqo72

Dear Bug, yes, you, the one that ate the stem off of my never seen it bloom yet Day Lily. Thanks, and I say that with all the sarcasm your little bug brain can understand, which given the size of your brain, and I think calling it a brain is generous, isn’t that big.

Thanks a million… bug, what

you did really bugs me.

I mean, what, you couldn’t wait for it to bloom, and then eat it? It’s already ages behind everyone else’s Day Lilies, and I would like to know what color it is before winter sets in.

Then Bug, you added insult to injury, and ate the buds off of 3 more plants, or was that your friends?

Did you have some little bug party where you guys all went wild in my garden chomping away at everything.

Let’s go willlllddddd. Well that really bugs me. Maybe it’s time for me to think about some organic BUG KILLERS, yes, bring out the big guns, that’ll teach you.

Next time you want to party, go and do it at the neighbours house. Bugged……