My Way of Living:
muscle

Murphy's Law (mur-feez lo)
- humorous adage or epigram that typically connotes a situation where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

Murphy's Law. Sigh. Those dreaded two words have pretty much haunted mankind since time immemorial. Little did I know that it would apply to your fun Gingerbread scribe on a mundane Sunday morning race. Actually, I should have paid more attention to certain signs early on as a portent of things to come.

I not likey.
Prologue

Having been out of commission for nearly a month while recovering from BDM , I've been quite antsy to race again. The ITBS that plagued me in Bataan was all but gone, and I've been able to string together a couple of pain-free training weeks. I targeted the Nat-Geo 10k run as my comeback race, only because people were jumping up and down over its cool freebie shirt. Besides, the riveting (smirk) MOA flatlands should be good for my knees.

Then I realized they were charging 700 effin bucks for a miserly 10k.Hmmm... ..

No WAY.

Pricey.
Thus, I had to do some sort of rationalization to justify spending a day and a half's minimum wage on a 10k. And at MOA to boot.

But... . I really wanted that shirt. I really, Really, REALLY wanted it. So, 700 bucks equates to P300 registration then I just "imagine" I bought a cool P400 shirt plus the satisfaction of knowing that I'm actually "running for the earth" in a mall complex that was once, well, part of the sea . Makes sense right? What fun.

Never knew a runner who could turn down a nice shirt

Missed Signs

Maybe I just don't know how to take a hint. So I troll out to BHS on the last day of registration during my lunch break, was assuming the whole thing wouldn't take that long. To my horror, I was advised by the amiable manong guard at Nike Park (who incredibly knew which shirt sizes were still in stock. Promotion due.) that the Nat Geo person would come in at 1- 1:30 pm. Which meant an hour of sheer drudgery while waiting. Thus, I had no recourse but to troop to the nearest fancy coffee joint to burn time. Ugh.

He's better than some of the salesmen there.
An hour or so (and P150 poorer) later, I come in and find a mob scene. Apparently, the Nat Geo dude came in at exactly 1pm and people are jumping over one another. After I come in five minutes later to get in on the action, I am informed in the most glacial manner that they had just sold the last slots to the two ladies to my left.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

As my blood pressure went through the roof, I attempted to explain that I was there before anyone, I just stepped out to grab some coffee. Guy wouldnt budge. Sorry ser huli na talaga yun eh. DANG. This needed drastic action. Several options that were forming in my head at light speed :

1. Use my Gingerbread pseudo-celebrity status by exchanging a slot for my highly-coveted autograph or photo op.

Inherent risk : Cold, icy stare followed by "Never heard of you, you deluded fool. Security!!"

2. Use my not-so- pseudo-celebrity sister as bait by promising a nice, all-expense paid date with her in any Palawan resort of his choice.

Inherent risk : The dude would actually say yes. Gulp.

You can disown me now Ate (x_x)
Realizing that both were not exactly feasible, I had no recourse but to go for the oldest trick in the book... .

And voila, I happily walk out with bib and shirt in hand. And yet, I should have taken this near-misstep as a mere prelude what lay ahead... ..

Raceday Sunday
Fast-forward several days and there I was anxiously putting on my gear on a hazy Sunday morning, a ritual that I have sorely missed over the last couple of months. As I was traversing an otherwise traffic-free EDSA, that 80's song "The Name Game" by Laura Branigan came on. And it drove me absolutely nuts. It was like I was under some hypnotic trance, unable to change the station for nearly 6 minutes. Should have taken it as another sign. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I couldn't find a clip on YouTube due to some copyright crap but I did find the original 60's one :

A Case of the Misinformed

Now, I went there under the pretext that the race would be starting at 6 am . Or at least that was what my good buddy/blogger extraordinaire/Milo Nationals finalist Natz told me. Being the original moderator at Takbo.ph, and one of the people who taught me a lot of running stuff as a 200 lb. fattie noob, I have immense respect for the guy. So I was there at 5 am thinking I had an hour to burn. This is where the fun starts. To sum it all up, this is how the next 30 minutes unfolded :

1. Guy waits 20 minutes for Lotto-like line to parking
2. Guy finally reaches entrance
3. "Ser, pono na poh eh sa kabila na lang"
4. Guy freaks out and endures several minutes of hair pulling
5. Goes to the next parking area.
6. With about 4 cars to the entrance, hears the siren and sees the 10k lead pack lead go out.
7. More hair pulling and a lot of Exorcist-like gyrations in car.

GBM lost his nerve

First time. Ever. I was at a loss coming to terms with the fact that I was actually late for a race. No freaking way. I was unnerved that I parked my car nearly diagonally much to the chagrin of Manong guard. I could really care less. So there I was, sprinting for the starting corral, and had to muscle my way through the throng of 3k and 5k runners. Quick check-in, and I was off. Nearly 10 minutes behind everyone else.

Quare mihi Murphy?
Yeah. Why me Mr. Murphy? So here I am, with no warm-up and stretching, attempting to hack out my 10k positive split. Que Horror. 1k split - 4:22. Okay, not so bad. I felt like I was in one of those racing video games where you get a nitro boost and are passing everyone left and right. Dang, thirsty already. Haven't done this in a while. I reach for my hydration and OH. I left it in the car. Great. My kind of day.

By the 3k mark I really had to drink already. Went for a stop at the water station and the water was ... . hot. Not lukewarm. Hot. As in, ready for afternoon tea hot. Another unsolved mystery of the universe.

Mid-race tea any one?

Alay Lakad anyone?
At the 5k mark, split was at 22:58. Decen t, b ut not where I wanted it to be. The lack of preparation and race rust was glaring. Nearing 6k, that's where it happened. I got stonewalled en masse by a throng of 5k runners who were walking the narrow roads of the course. Ugh. I was forced to stop at least three times by the Alay Lakad- like procession Ahhh, the dangers of starting at the back of the pack in a looped race. Flustered, I just saw my Sub-Piolo bid fly out of the window.

Stonewalled again.

It can't get any better than this
Reaching the homestretch, I attempted a last-ditch albeit demoralized rally. Splits were improving, then suddenly I felt a slight twinge at my ITB. Hopeless. It was apparent that it was nowhere near 100% . I just had to gut out the final 1.5 k with the lingering feeling that I could blow out my knee at any time. I gingerly hit the 10k split at 49:24 , nowhere near my best time. I then gingerly jogged the final 40om, because as MOA races go, the excess distance is becoming somewhat of a trademark already. My Murphy's Law race was finally over.

10k? Nah.

Post -Mortem
After the race, I barely saw anyone from the team. Seems everyone went to Earth Run. I couldn't blame them, that was like half the price of this race. Hung out with a profusely apologetic Natzter (who offered to buy me breakfast) and galpal Beth along with multisport dude Jason after. So was the race worth 700 bucks? For the shirt, maybe. It's an open market anyway, with so many races runners have their pick of the lot. It featured a lot of booths to keep the people busy after, and I had this feeling that a lot of people there had a feeling that they were running for a good cause. It's also an exercise in utilizing the power of a strong brand to reel people in. Case study for future mid-sized races.

Ran into officemate Dette. More people running yeah!

Bromance mode with th e Natzter

Fun at the Natgeo Video Truck

Natz and Beth pointing at some weird guy
As for me, it's apparent that I'm a long way off. The knee swelled up after, so im now in RICE and Salonpas roller mode. I'll give it another shot in two weeks or so. Take it easy everyone, stay away from Mr. Murphy! I'll see you on the road!

We all talk about seizing the day living each moment to the absolute fullest, squeezing every drop out of life.but that’s sometimes impossible to do while living a real life. There are jobs, chores, obligations and emotions that demand more then their fair share of any conscious moment of living. If somehow you manage to live each second to it’s absolute fullest, my respect for you is enormous,… me I’m just trying to live in a given moment, appreciating it however brief that might be, and know I am being handed a gift so rare, that it should be gently cupped in my hands and looked upon with awe.

Yesterday was one of those rare days perfect warmish weather, birds chirping, sky a shimmering blue, the scent of spring keeping it’s promise.

My husband and I worked together in the back yard, we accomplished so much, my husband the muscle, me the cheerleader. We built a composter out of old pallets, and he moved the massive pile of leaves, dirt, and rotting garden treasures that was hulking in the corner, using it as the base for a new bed, besides the chain link fence. There will be pumpkins, squash, cucumbers, and zucchini growing in that this summer.

We built a raised wooden bed out of recycled materials for more veggies… well he did, I cheered him on. Go Gardener, go gardener! Of course there is little I can do, but my back is healing, and each day is a little better than the last.

It’s not so much what we accomplished, as the beauty of the day, the feeling of moving forward together after a winter of looking out on a snow covered backyard, planning, dreaming, wishing, seeing it come true bit by bit. A day to forget daily life, and live only in the feel of the sunshine on our heads, birdsong in our ears… and blue sky in our hearts. A day so rare, I held it in my hands with awe.

To those of you who are spring starved… don’t get too excited about these photos, they are all from last year, mostly taken in early April if that makes you feel any better.

Marriage is such a balance of

compromises, you love your partner and want to keep them happy, but still find a way to totally be yourself. Gardening is a balance of trying to achieve your dreams, and batting away reality when it comes too close. Who other then gardener will have the patience to plant a seed and expect it to flourish into a beautiful plant. My little condo garden in White Rock Working with a non gardener who just happens to be the muscle behind the dream is like giving directions to a tightrope walker who is blindfolded, listening to Mozart through ear buds. It doesn’t always work.

My condo garden in White Rock, is not the same climate as up here. My husband and I stand in our backyard, it’s barren to me only apparently, faceless, brown, ranked by towering fir trees. To him, it’s open, spacious. The yard slopes back down towards the chain-link fence, that serves no purpose other then to titillate Boots into thinking the grass is greener out past it’s boundaries. We stop, plan, draw on the grass, and dream different dreams. Apparently all of the beautiful gardening photos I’ve been pinning on Pinterest all winter, and carefully showing him have not had the desired effect of inspiring him to believe that this isn’t a lot of work.

Many of these trees, and plants I grew from tiny little 4 inch pots. He’s rightfully worried that I am taking on too much, and I know that I am… but I need to be able to look out the window and see something green and growing, like veggies in beds, when he thinks we should just go to the farmers markets.

Granted it was a smaller space, and we had more abundant water. He doesn’t want the back yard cluttered, while I envision raised beds, gravel pathways, outlined gardens with hand poured stepping stone paths meandering through arbours, raspberry patches, and water features. He sees mosquito havens, and rocks being flung by lawn movers into expensive glass windows. I see blooms, he sees bust… he’s the muscle, I am the muddy boot dreamer. Never the twain shall meet? We shall see if we can meet in the middle, and both of us be happy.

• Sit in chair and look out of window at mess left after winter storm sigh…
• Sigh some more, read another seed catalogue.
• Think about cleaning up garden, think about sore muscles, and sore back…think about cleaning up garden another time.
• Think about article you read on stretching, get out of chair and stretch, sit down again quickly… you’ve hurt your back.

• Look for garden gloves carelessly thrown in cupboard last fall, realize that you have many, many singles, and no matching pairs.
• Know that Martha Stewart would have them all organized according to size, and color.
• Realize that you are not Martha Stewart, go outside with one lime glove, and one hot pink glove, who cares what the neighbours think.
• Vow to be more organized with garden gloves next fall.
• Look for gardening tools carelessly thrown in cupboard last fall, fail to find anything even closely resembling a garden tool.
• Vow to be more organized with garden tools next fall.

• Using a child’s plastic toy shovel, start to carefully dig the mounds of leaves left by winter storms covering the new shoots of your precious perennials
• Give up digging carefully, and use child’s toy rake. Destroy many new shoots of precious perennials. Oh well, plenty more were those came from.
• Realize you have just destroyed your $95.00 Peony. The one you never told your husband about yet.
• Sit in chair and look out window at messy garden. Sigh.

You see them peeking through slots in cardboard boxes, and piled on wooden racks this time each year, the brightly coloured seed packs, and flower photos blooming on bags of bulbs. To a gardener these are more then just pretty packages, they are the promise of spring that will be followed by summer.

They are hopes, and dreams, and admirations of beauty. Of times spent reflecting on a day in the garden, the gentle ache of newly wakened muscles, and dirty hands. Of the joy in finding that first flower bud on a new plant. Of seeing a fresh shade of green, and the banishing of the brown winter blahs. Of conversations with neighbours over fences, and the smell of newly cut grass, as children’s voices in play scatter like a dandelion seeds into the breeze.

Those packages offer a glimpse of glorious moments when the summer sun has gone down, and the luminous glow of the flowers still remains in the fading light. When the cold drink in your hand has formed droplets that fall onto your skin, and you realize that summer is truly here. And you believe for that moment that it will last forever, that this time, it won’t leave…

The bulbs may be packed in plastic, but they are sprinkled with hope, doused with creativity, and watered with imagination. They are there to banish the snow that lingers like a unwanted guest, to dispel the grey skies, and bring joy to a otherwise bland month. They are promises in a package, and they are so much more then just a pretty picture to a gardener. They are spring, turned into summer.

Holiday cheers to everyone! So how was your Christmas? Got the gift you wanted? Gained 10 lbs worth of holiday blubber just in time for the next race? Let's take a look at some random stuff you guys have been sending in over the Yuletide season.

Were you naughty... ... or nice?Mr. GBM, Merry Christmas! I was just curious, what's your Christmas wish for Piolo? - Maya S.
Hi Maya! Happy Holidays to you! Hmm, what do I wish for my favorite celebrity foil? I wish him the best of health in 2010, a couple of blockbuster movies here and there, and since he has accomplished all there is to this running thing, move on to the next level - Ironman 70.3. No really, this running is going to be super boring for him. He should leave it behind, lest he pull a muscle or heck even develop ITBS. Multi-sport, oh yeah that's the way to go.

(Santa, I've been a good boy this year... ..)

Looks like so much fun Piolo, running is boring. Right? Right?

Hi GBM! Came across your blog last week and I'm liking your posts. My friends and I aren't in any way acquainted with the basics of running. I hope you can blog about what runner-wannabees like me should know including the basics like what to wear, what to bring when running, warm up and cool down exercises, shoes, places to run, gadgets and such. Am I asking for too much? Hope not Ü - Lilly C.

Hey Lilly thanks for the kind words, it inspires me to come up with more fun stuff for you guys :) Anyway, as for your request, there is a volominous amount of information on the net that could help you out. If you want to make your way through the clutter, log on to Takbo.ph and check out the numerous threads that would cater to your running needs :)

As for your other queries, in a nutshell here's what I could give you. :

For Warm-up and Cool Down Exercises, you could check out this link. I Googled it and in 2 seconds this is what came up.
For the right shoes, that sort of depends where you live. If you live down south, you could check out Runnr at Bonifacio High Street, and their knowledgeable staff there will do a gait analysis to find out what's the right shoe for you.

If you stay at the QC or Pasig/Mandaluyong/Marikina area, there are Second Wind branches at Teacher's Village and Ortigas Home Depot which offer a similar service, and you could chat up shoe gurus/ultrarunners (meaning they have ran distances longer than a marathon, which means they're beyond cool) Hector Yuzon and Neville Manaois for a personalized consultation.

As for the others, either I come up with an article about it or I'll email you, because I'm... holiday lazy :P

Holidays have rendered moi into lazy Gingerbread blubber
Ginger, I just want to know if you running the Condura Marathon? And if you did, how long do you training for it? I am planning to join the skyway run. Tnx. - Aris N.
Thanks for dropping by Aris. Yes I am doing the full 42k this time around. It's THE running event of the year and it's a cant-miss. I am actually in the middle of a 12-week program for it, and am set to taper about second week of January. If you are planning to run across the Skyway, you should be joining at least the 21k. Am wishing you all the best and hope to see you there!

I can hardly wait.
Kamusta Kuya GB. Tatanong lang po, sana mas magupdate po kayo, tenbits kami ng utol ko. Ang huliing takbo po namin ay yung Celebrity na 5k. Pabati nga pala po kay Kuya Hernan dito sa Tandang Sora. TY po. - Ramil M.

Ramil, salamat sa pagbisita. Minsan kasi sobrang busy ko I only have time to make one article. Depende din yang kung madaming races or presscon. Pero promise, try natin iupdate more. Bagal ko kasi magsulat (x_x) Kamusta Kuya Hernan, salamat sa suporta! (para tayong radyo ah hehe)

Hi there Luis. I'm trying this out just to see if you will actually publish it online. Long-time lurker of your site, even when you had that logo with the man stretching and magulo pa siya. Laki na ng pnagbago niya, saludo ako. Was just curious, sa mga dati mong stories lagi mong binabanggit si Gingerbread Gal. Ngayon wala na. May... . nangyari ba? Haha sorry ha napansin ko lang kasi, you don't have to answer kung personal - Patricia G.
Hi Patricia, um, next question please? Haha kidding lang, thanks for the visit. Wow you were lurking even back then? You mean people actually read that crap I used to post? Woaah. I don't even have a backup copy of that template, but for those who never reached it, there are some thumbnails of that bygone era here.

As for your question, oh gaks how showbiz :P (preps for showbiz answer) Ehem. Well, since you pointed out her non-inclusion in our body of work, I guess you have your answer right there :)

This is... . embarassing :P

That's it for the holiday mailbag folks! Keep on running and watch those waistlines everyone :)

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

Tricked out racer here

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

Cheers to a bygone era

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

Not my sorta thing

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

Looks weird but could probably send your kid through college

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

It's complicated.

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

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

Car... .. or bike parts?

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

You could put a down on that house already.

A practical fix.

Wheels

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

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

Helmets

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

He's faster already

Cycling Shoes/Cleats

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 minutes later, same result.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just suck it up brother.

Welcome to the cycling world.

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

Only the number of times you get up...

Everyone has a way to deal with stress, and I find that kneading bread dough is a great one for me. The bonus is that we end up with a really nice loaf of bread, or dessert in the end, and the house smells great. The kneading part counters all the calories, so it’s a win, win situation… can you smell the bread baking? Of course this pumpkin bread has no calories in it, it’s dairy free. Yes, I am sure you believe that one.

I made this pumpkin pull apart bread the other day, so it is dairy free, but it’s not gluten free, I just had a little nibble… well, maybe slightly more then that. Kneading is a art form, I remember my Mom teaching me when I was young, once you know how, it’s like riding a bike again after all those years… it just comes back. The rhythm of the push dough, and pull dough… the smooth elasticity of the gluten, [does it mean anything that I keep misspelling gluten?].

There is a smooth comfort in being able to pummel a piece of dough and watch it come back to life. With a yeast dough, the more you push, pull, and smear it, the nicer it is, and how much in life can we do that to?

So the next time you feel a burst of stress coming into your life, grab some dough, and knead away at it, the results will surprise you, stress free, firm arm muscles, and a really good loaf of bread.

The recipe that I used was adapted from one I got off of Pinterest, but you could just add some extra sugar, and about a 1/2 cup of pumpkin, along with some spices to a ordinary recipe. The dough is sprinkled with brown sugar, and spices, I used melted coconut oil to be dairy free. It turned out really good, and actually was quite simple to make. There is no after photo, because it was gone that fast… Kneading to push something around No bun intended…

Looking back,I was never really a swim kinda guy. You know how kids get sent to all those cool summer camps? Swim camp, tennis camp, basketball camp, anything to keep you preoccupied while school's out. I got... .. French lessons and exotic coin collecting.Great. I firmly believe that my overprotective mother was so concerned that I would get "injured" in this "big strange world" out there that instead of doing 500 meters at the pool I was downing 5 gallons of ice cream. All while watching Wacky Races on the i-Channel with this newfangled Sky Cable thing.

Poor kiddo.So to put it succinctly, I never had the benefit of those summer camp skills. I was pretty good with a Sega Mega Drive though (don't you just love all these Senti Sabado 90's references). Never really thought much of it... . much of my teenage and college life you could always just fake it by sort of wading in the shallow part and yapping it up with the gang during those sembreak trips to Bora.Thus... . not knowing how to swim didn't really matter. I rarely did anyway. I grew up. Got a degree. Went into the corporate world. Gained 40 pounds. Swimming was the farthest thing from my mind. It's like the staple party trick that you just couldn't seem to pull off but could care less if you could, like tying the cherry knots with your tongue or blowing plastic bubbles from little Chinese-made tubes.

That's hard.You know what happened next. Fat guy gets into running and loses 40 pounds. Fat Guy is no longer fat after running 102 rounds. Not-so-fat-guy bought a bike and tried this duathlon feat.And then one day he woke up and decided he wanted to be a triathlete.

The impossible dream?Suddenly, my early childhood deficiency came to the fore in a bad way. Triathlete? Maybe more like a Try-athlete, as klitschy as that sounds. Obviously, a triathlete who doesn't know how to swim is somewhat of an oxymoron.So what the crap was I supposed to do?The easy way to go about it was to just let go of the dream. Heck, maybe we're simply not meant to do certain things. Some people freeze up in public speaking, and some can't sing to save their lives. I can't swim to save my life either, so maybe I should just stick to what I know.Maybe it just wasn't meant for me.

Decision TimeI gave it a long hard look. I'm never one to back down from any challenge, but trying to do something that sent shivers down my spine, and at a competitive level at that, seemed a bit of a stretch for me.But then again, that would mean walking away from the dream... ..Pros. Cons. Contemplation. The setting Ortigas skyline cast its gentle shadow on me as I stood on my terrace, my gaze trailing off into the sunset. Should I play it safe? Could I withstand a lifetime of regrets and what if's , all because I never bothered to try?What would you do?

What pill?I chose the red pill . Time to face my fears and man up.Let's give this swimming thing a shot.Home-cooked "training" Emphasis on "training", because quite frankly, I had no idea what I was doing.

Duh.I'm more of the self-help kinda guy. Even with running, I took pride in the fact that I was a self-made man. Not that I abhor any form of outside advice or input, but it just seems that I do better when I learn on my own. So with much bravado, I set out to find as much material online as I could to learn this swim thing.Turns out, swimming is nowhere close to running. And learning on my own was easier said than done. I tried watching countless YouTube videos from all these online "gurus" saying conflicting things. Became part of countless swimming mailing lists, which I came to realize was merely an avenue to spam you with their products. I even downloaded the fun Mr. Smooth animation that supposedly allows you to emulate a "perfect" stroke free of any idiosyncrasies.

He doesn't smile too much.The end result of all these efforts?Epic fail.The info overload from differing viewpoints was a little hard to take in. I mean, for running, you just well, er, run. Once you can ride a bike, it's pretty much muscle memory. But I realized that swimming is a discipline that focuses a lot on technique. Technique that this stiff-armed Gingerbread character did not possess. The quick, rapid improvement that I was supposed to shock everyone with never saw the light of day. Sob.To further exacerbate things, the competitive nut in me got me in trouble again. The Dean's Cup is a UP Law-organized tweener sprint distance triathlon comprised of a 750m swim, 20k bike and 5k run, and for some reason there was this crazy itch in me to join.

With an initial foray into duathlon, there was a certain comfort level with the bike, and the run part is a given. But that 750m of swimming seemed more daunting than 102 kms of running to me at that time. Nevertheless, the "how will you ever learn if you don't bother to try" paradigm got to me again. And before I knew it, I had deposited my cool P1,250 reg fee and was on my way to either multisport glory or the bottom of the pool. (Ulk)Slight problem - Date of Payment : July 22, 2010.Date of Race : August 1, 2010.Sheesh.

Habol ng Habol. With barely two weeks left to prepare, I was scrambling. If I were an egg, I'd be the farthest thing from an easy over. I mean, ano nanaman ba tong napasukan ko? Some people wait months, even years before going for it. Yet here I was joining on another whim. I've come to realize that there are two kinds of athletes within the late adopter bubble- those who want to join with the best training possible so that they could rock it out, or those who join just to see if they can finishand set a yardstick for themselves. Obviously, I belong to the more daring (and should I say foolhardy)latter group.Palawan Chicken Swims In utter desperation, I was fortunate to have friends to help me out. Takbo.ph/Endure Multisport buddies Rico Villanueva and RJ Bumanlag helped me out at the Ultra pool one rainy Sunday afternoon. It was my first time to swim at Ultra, and I was daunted by the size. I had never swam 50m straight before in an Olympic size pool, and it was quite an experience of the lung busting kind. One lap was enough to knock the wind out of me. And you're telling me I had to do this 15 times during the triathlon? Whaaaaat??Significant confidence was still gained though, though I think my stress level shot up a couple of notches. We celebrated a good swim by partaking of sumptous Palawan chicken at Tiendesitas, one of the best dishes I had tried in a while.Waitress : Ser, may kasama na poh na apat na kanin yan... RJ: Ay miss baka sobra yang kanin, tatlo lang kamiRico: Oo nga, baka pwedeng kanya kanyang kanin na lang?Waitresss : Ay di na poh pwede ser package na poh yan. (15 mins later)RJ: Miss, isa ngang extra rice!Rico : Er, uh, ako din miss!GBM : Make dat three!

You have got to try this, take my word for it.One Step Forward, Ten Steps BackWith this newfound confidence, I ventured out(perhaps a bit too haphazardly) to further strengthen my swim skills albeit with poor rudimentary form. A quick visit on a stormy night at the Army pool near Mckinley proved to be a serious speed bump, just when I was gaining momentum. Visibility was next to nil, couldn't see crap. And as I would get to learn later, the pool was shaped in such a way that bouyancy was greater, making for a much more difficult swim.Right smack in the middle of a lap I felt that the pool was so heavy. Soon enough I was tiring rapidly, and before I knew it I was hyperventilating. Meaning I couldn't breathe. Which meant I was freaking out and drowning. Yes, drowning. I tried hanging on to the lane dividers or buoys. Crap! There weren't any! Flailing, panicking. Oh boy, what a disaster. I finally managed to make it to the shallow part of the pool quite shaken and shaking, but more bothered that I had lost my nerve just days before the race.Whatever faux swimming mojo I had before that session just flew out of the window.I couldn't get myself to a pool in the days after. I considered withdrawing from the race altogether, just give up this stupid nonsense. How can I be a triathlete if I can't swim?Once again, maybe it wasn't for me... ..More soul searching. The decision was agonizing. I didn't want to be labeled a quitter. Maybe I could never forgive myself if I bailed. But what if I drown again?With time running out, I ended up with the its-up-to-God move.(it sounds better in the vernacular)I leave it all to a higher power now.

Drowning is not a fun thing.D-Day Race day beckons. Armed with zero confidence and a goosebumps at the mere sight of water, I entered the transition area for body markings at UP with much trepidation. What if I make a monumental fool out of myself in front of everybody? What if I drown well, die? My would- be career would have been over before it had even started.Add in the pressure that this was my first official race under the banner of Endure Multisport, and you have an idea how my brain was functioning before the race. What if I mess up? Would they fire me? Eeek.

Smiles beforehand a mere facade to the anxiety withinSplash So here we go. Moment of truth. Like a salve to sooth my nerves, we were advised that the 750m swim portion would start at the deep, 10 foot part of the pool. Oh great. No one told me the salve came from the makers of chili plaster. I hung on to the pool ladder for dear life and kept to the back of the pack while waiting for our wave to be released.For me, this wasn't just the focal point of the whole race. It was make or break time.

Sob.A final heave, and I was finally done! 750m in 33 mins, how awful. But still, it felt like the weight of the entire world was lifted off my shoulders. I trotted off to the transition area, which was like 300 meters away, my mind set on one thing - making up for lost time.Mash A super slow T1 didn't help at all, and in my mindless zeal I nearly went out with everyone zooming by at full speed. The course was the Acad Oval had an extended, slight downhill followed by a false flat on the other end. I tried going out with guns blazing, but alas I'm not that strong of a biker yet to make it all up. I was passing people, but not as many as you would think.The exhaustion of the swim along with the heat were also getting to me, and was slow up the inclines with no cleats working for me. I overestimated my biking ability and thought I could take it in 40 mins. Not even close. I limped home to T2 in 55 mins, which meant I was barely above 20 kph. Eek.

Speed BagalDash Having no bike shoes has one lame advantage - it makes for a fast T2 transition. I took off my helmet and sped off, according to my teammates, "like a man possessed". Gigil na gigil daw. And for good reason. After trudging through a survival swim and a lame bike, here I was at core discipline. I couldn't wait to get out there. I run a high 21 minute 5k, maybe I could make up for lost time. Of course, we all know that ain't happening. My body had been beaten down severely at this point, and the heat was scorching. Legs felt like they had weights strapped on to them. Managed to pass several at the back end, but not enough to make a dent on my time. As I was sprinting towards the end and my entire team was egging me on, I came to the realization that Hey, I'm actually doing this! I survived!

Just a little more... As I crossed the line with an otherwise pedestrian 25 minute run split for a 1:54:16 total, the sense of accomplishment was overwhelming. Didn't matter that I was last on our team to finish, 56th place overall and 9th in our age group. I was particularly proud that although I utterly sucked out, I won my battle against the water. The phobia was messing with my brain, and I'm happy I stood up and fought it.The route I took was unconventional, and some if not most may not subscribe to it. But to the competitive people out there who wish to take a stab at something new, always remember that nothing is impossible if you only bother trying. If a guy like me with no prior swim skills (and who first encountered an Olympic-sized pool two weeks before the race) could hack it, so could you.

Happy guy.I'm a happy guy. I faced my fear and won a staredown with it. And I'm back to actually tell all of you the tale. My first try at my first tri. Always special the first time around eh? And to think it all came oh so close to never happening... .No what if's here.It matters not how straight the gateHow charged with punishments the scrollI am the captain of my fateI am the master of my soul - from William Ernest Henley's Invictus

We’ll have to rethink taking up tater farming, because the reality is it’s hard work. Really hard work, no wonder they invented machines to plant potatoes… bending over for hours to plant potatoes and onions may work muscles you didn’t know existed. We are sharing the garden space at my Sister’s farm, it was always the spot that my Mom and Dad gardened in, but he is unable to get to it this year. So we are the chief planters, and waterer’s… hope that we didn’t take on more then we can handle, it’s a lot of work.

We got the taters in the ground, and watered.it’s been so long since I planted taters, or onions, [you don’t really have the room on a small patio] that I forgot how. So there we were reading the directions on the back of the bags… was that 6 inches deep, and 12 inches apart, or 12 inches deep, and 6 inches apart…

It took a few hours to plant, and water them.that was a lot of onions, almost 400 I think. Hope the other share croppers like onions, they will be eating a lot of them. We have a few beds marked off, there are more to do, it’s such a huge garden, and here my Dad keeps wishing for more space… I told him there is more then enough room for anything they could plan on planting… and someone has to water, right?

And then I go ahead and make plans for beans, peas, carrots, squash, pumpkins. And zucchini, if i can’t grow zucchini up here with all the heat, I won’t be able to grow it anywhere. It was always a bust for me down at the coast, and it is one of my most fav veggies… all the other gardeners had them coming fast, and mine just couldn’t grow.

Cucumbers, and basil, herbs, and tomatoes, hot peppers, and eggplants… yep, I’m in deep.

You know those jobs that call

out to you as you pass by? The counters that could use a swipe, the curtain that needed to be straightened, the clothes that should be folded and put away? I ignored them all today… and went outside to putter in the garden. Puttering is all I can do out there, the garden muscle being the husband and he was otherwise engaged.

There isn’t a lot that I can do that doesn’t require back power… it’s not worth it to hurt it again, now that it’s almost healed. But those little outside jobs call to me “move me”… sighs the sad little clump of creeping phlox, “it’s too dry here. “Stake me” yells the Peony, “I’m starting to grow too tall for you to do it later.” “Divide us so we can bloom this summer,” calls the daylily.

And so I putter, bend slowly, get up even slower. Learning to creep, and crouch, squat when lifting anything… what a sight I must be. Who digs holes in the ground when they are down near the ground? Me, it’ s better that way, there is less stress on my back.

Once I sit down, I get up slightly stiff and somewhat slower then usual, but oh so happy to have those little puttering jobs all organized before the weather gets too hot. Or the mosquitoes come out to play… which ever comes first.

So, sorry if I am lagging behind in returning your comments, but I get there as soon as I can to visit your blog. The flowers in the garden are calling too loudly, and I have to keep them happy.