My Way of Living:
pep talk

It has been a little over two weeks since 10 enterprising souls along with their gritty, dedicated support team went out with two vans and covered 250 kilometers covering Subic, Bataan and Zambales during the Chris Sports Epic Relay. By now, you have probably read all about it. Listened to the incredible stories. Heard out the grievances and lamentations. Reveled in the triumphs and cringed at the lows. As of this writing, the discussion thread that we had put together at Takbo.ph has generated 3,317 views, one of the most I had ever seen given that not too many people from the boards were directly part of it. A blow-by-blow feed on Facebook that I was painstakingly updating through my Blackberry even during the wee hours of the morning had produced an incredible 366 comments. Truly, it was a race for the ages, one that people would be surely talking about for months to come.

TPB rocks.
So why such a late entry? Nope, I haven't been that lazy mind you. It's just that with the contentious nature of how the race unraveled, I didn't want to come up with an article that was reeking of input from my hopelessly skewed left portion of the brain. With so much charged energy emanating from the after-race vibe, I thought it best to let things simmer down a bit lest I come up with material with excessive amounts of vitriol.

We'll keep it cool. Er, will try at least.

Given the relative "epicness" of the race, and the fact that I wasn't there personally for all of the legs, I guess it really wouldn't do justice if I gave a blow-by-blow like my BDM feature. We're currently working on a compilation of everybody's experiences, and if no publisher picks it up, we'll most probably post it online mwahaha. Wait on it!

So instead, I'll try my best to give you a microcosm of the race proper(there were 30 legs in all, subdivided into 3 main sections) with my personal inputs on my specific leg.

Legs 1-10
Spirits were high for our 12nn gun start as we embarked on the great unknown. Little did we know that this was to be a race to remember. Given the pace we had declared pre-race, we were bundled in the final, "elite" start wave. Some teams had already started as early as 5am, supposedly to even things out. As nervous energy abound, the teams that we were looking out for were Team Ponstan (supposedly loaded with strong, veteran runners), and a Kenyan-powered Team Runnerspeak. Much to our surpise, there was another team inserted into our wave at the very last minute- Team Timex. Through casual conversation, it was not outwardly stated that this was a sponsored team loaded with triathletes and elite runners. Dropping a faux name (Team Roundsprint?) and giving off a weekend warrior vibe, I guess this was gamesmanship at its finest. Or rather, more like a portent of things to come.

In high spirits... .

And yet anxious for what lies ahead...

As we were awaiting the starting gun, the organizers/sponsors had even put together a "showbiz" style intro, with what seemed to be a hastily organized Ponstan "Pep Squad" comprised of made-up teens gyrating to pop tunes ala ASAP while were baking in 35 degree weather . At the starting line, leadoff guy Mark/Beep Beep got into the action and showed off his "Disco" moves in the background.

Beep could give these teens a run for their money
As the starting gun finally sounded off, there was a palpable sense of nervous energy amongst the team. Extremely anxious, yet confident that our collective abilities will allow us to make a good account of ourselves. It was agreed upon collective during our pre-race prayer that we're not gunning to win at all costs. It's not the be-all end-all of our stint here. We're just going out to have a good time, soak in the experience, and anything we pick up along the way is gravy.

A prayer for guidance towards the right path

And so it begins. As I said earlier, I don't have the capabilities of doing an accurate blow-by-blow for the entire thing (it would take me forever to write it and you might get bored reading it), so I'll just recreate the first leg in detail while trying my best to faithfully recapture the rest of the legs, just to give your the overall vibe of the race at that given moment.

And so it begins... .(cue Olympic music)Land of the Lost and a budding loveteam
Beep Beep was our leadoff guy, probably the strongest sprinter on the team. A former Palarong Pambansa standout, we were banking on a solid opening salvo from him to help set the tone for the rest of the race. From the time that the opening gun was fired, we could see that he was already neck and neck with Kenyan supergal Susan from Team Runnerspeak. So off they went, and we merrily went back to our vans.

As we were heading to the van exchange point at the Pawikan Center (serves as the halfway mark of all three main sections of the race) , we noticed one big problem. The guy from "Team Roundsprint" was actually ahead. And the rotund Ponstan team captain was in 2nd! How could that be? How could they outrun a Kenyan and a 39 minute 10k dude? It could only mean one thing... .

It simply meant that they were... .

Apparently, they were so fast that they missed the turn. Quite mind boggling that the lead pack didn't have any escort to guide them. That's just so crazy. Anyway, Beep ended up going all the way back to the start line, and i think he finished his 5k in 35 minutes. By the time the dust has settled we were in 2nd place, our psyche reeling from this unexpected setback.

The Furious Chase Once Mark/Indorock was up for his leg, it didn't take long for the speedy trackster to bridge the gap between us and the first placers. Cheers abound in our van. Now the hard part. Roy, Bryan and Brando had their work cut out for themselves as they not only had to keep pace to hold off the 3rd placers, in the race for 1st place they were matched up against Cyborg-like counterparts on some of the most difficult terrain in the race. Brando was near exhaustion, and asserted that his stretched out, ridiculously incline-filled course was the hardest 8k of his life.

Early hero Indorock attempts a furious comeback

The Brothers Rivera put up a gallant stand

Brando was so tired that he wanted to go home, selling "scramble" for bus fare
Mark Hernz was up next. Was a short 4.4 k route, but his inclines would have put St. Martin to shame. In spite of the searing heat and technical difficulty of his leg, he gutted it,clocking in a solid effort in the process.

Mark gutting out the punishing inclines
Leg 7. My turn. By the time the baton (er, slapstick) was handed over to me, a 2km deficit was staring me in the face. What fun. I was amped beyond belief. The long wait at the Leg 5 van exchange point had somehow sapped my energy, notwithstanding the fact that we were working from behind.

Nervous dude right here
The amiable guy from the leading team (who even wore pink, I reckon in a sign of allegiance?) even gave me a high-five as he trotted out 10 minutes ahead of me. Once the exchange process was done, I was a man on a mission. Leg description was Recreational to Intermediate. Niiice. With adrenalin pumping, I rushed through the initial, extremely downhill stretch at about a 3:30 pace throwing caution to the wind. This lasted for all of 300 meters. Then I was stopped dead in my tracks. Suddenly, the downhills were gone, and was replaced with a slow, excruciating 6k uphill climb with lush foliage that made it very hard to breathe. Nothing Recreational about this. Cars were spewing smoke at you, and crabby doggies wanted to get a piece of you.

To those who are part of my Adidas Adination Ortigas team, the St. Paul- St. Martin Combo is about 1k not counting the downhill. So think doing 6k worth of that while trying desperately to hold 5:00 pace. I could have sworn I was hyperventilating. Pace was dropping by the nanosecond. By the time I reached the 6k mark, total pace had dropped all the way to 5:57 already. Eek.

Thankfully, what goes up, goes down. I'd like to think that all the uphill training I do had some sort of residual effect. At the risk of blowing my quads, I ran the final steep downhill stretch with everything I had at that point, crushing the asphalt at 3:45 - 3:50 pace. I was red-lining it. I HAD to make up for lost time. We HAD to get back first place.

Have... to get... . first place... .

All of a sudden, with about 1k to go, I saw the leading team's dude laboring heavily. I was ecstatic!! 1st PLACE WAS IN SIGHT!

He got tired
In hindsight, I was thinking his heavyset core typical of gym habitues would give out with those extreme inclines at some point.And it did. Blazing at a pace that I could never ever sustain without the concept of team dynamic in play, I passed him! 1st place was ours!!! The rush was unbelievable and unforgettable. As I passed the support van, I was screaming "WE'RE BACK IN FIRST!!! WE'RE BACK IN FIRST!!!" I think I heard Abby screaming in the van as well . Lol.

Now, there was so much momentum gained that I even sprinted the incline near the 10k mark. 10k mark passes. Gulp. No exchange tent! I was burning out pretty fast. Then all of a sudden, my extremities were going numb. It was going upwards already. My hands then started to involuntarily shake. OMG. I was freaking out. What the heck was happening to me? Still nothing. I was panting like a rabid dog in heat. Where was the tent??? Finally, 750 meters later it was there. I rushed , signed in, handed the slaptstick over to a totally juiced Jai, and he was off! TPB in the lead!!!! The team met me with raucous cheers. I was completely exhausted, but super happy. Given that running is an individual sport, having to do team time trials was awesome. We left the leg in high spirits, knowing that I just handed over the lead to one of the strongest runners on our team.

Happy but wasted guyLegs 8 and 9 went by like a blur. Speedy Jai was still fresh from his 3rd place finish at the TBR Dream Marathon, so the guy was in awesome shape. He turned the slight lead I gave him into a significant advantage, and powerful Ronnel padded more to it as the race was starting to drag on into the night.

Dynamic Duo powers into the night.By the time Ka Totoy came up, it was pitch dark already. Being our undisputed anchor and the closest thing to an elite runner on the team, we gave "The Legend" our most difficult leg - the dreaded 6km climb up to Mount Samat. His performance was simply scintillating. He left our mouths wide agape while tackling Kennon Road-level inclines at an unthinkable 5:30 pace. If I had done the same route, I probably would have walked. Being the consummate pro that he is, there were times that he would even wave us off, telling us to wait ahead of him. Running a ridiculous incline in pitch black darkness takes some cajones, and he taught all of us right then and there a thing or two about guts.

From the eyes of a legend... .

The scene that unfolded after seemed like it was taken straight from a movie script. As fast as Ka Totoy was chipping away at the mountain, a rampaging juggernaut was hot on his heels. The strongest Kenyan runner of Team Runnerspeak was blasting away at our nearly 30 minute advantage on them, and before we knew it, they were in 2nd place. Just FYI, this was the Kenyan dude who won Rock and Run 10k, and he runs a 15 minute 5k just to put things into perspective.

In a moment of sheer drama, the Kenyan came within 100 meters of Ka Totoy as he hit the runner exchange point. One last dramatic grasp, and the lead was turned over to Beep Beep who started sprinting like a madman for the start of the next rotation, his lady love Susan in hot pursuit. Incredible effort on the Kenyan's part, and pretty much all of us had a greater appreciation for "The Legend's" incredible running moxie after that sublime effort.

Cooling down after a performance for the ages
Whew. What an Epic! And guess what? We're only a third of the way!

But I'll have to stop there.

Because it was at this point that from a genuinely enjoyable race, everything seemed to connive against our success. Among others, I'd rather not discuss how I was stopped right smack in the middle of my 2nd leg ostensibly for "fast forward purposes" along with a totally moronic penalty by a high strung race director who wouldn't give the time of day to any opinion apart from his own.

I don't want to come out with unhappy memories out of this remarkable experience. I'd rather remember Beep and Susan's epic battle racing at 3:00/km pace down the insanely steep downhill of Mt. Samat in total darkness. Or how Brando valiantly tried to fend off "Cyborg" when he just popped out of the darkness. Or how Bryan's tremendous managerial skills established a semblance of order in our team.

One last comeback left in us... .

In a team full of competitive runners who usually duke it out over the weekends, I am proud of how the team came together to overcome adversity in making a concerted effort to go down on our shields with honor. I'll never forget screaming my lungs out when the team pounded out a last-ditch comeback effort, gutting out minute by painstaking minute culminating in Ronnel reclaiming the lead for TPB at leg 29. Truly, you can't make this stuff up. In spite of everything, we still had a chance to win it all at the very last leg. I have misty memories of how Ka Totoy, his body wracked in intense pain and battling 37-degree heat, ran with his heart on the pavement in overtaking the game PNP runner for 2nd place on the very last kilometer.

All for glory...

Because you see, this race meant much more to us than the figurative silver (thanks Mark Mulder) that we weren't even acknowledged for. It was more than the P360 finishers shirt, the P20 Pocari Sweat and P50 picture that awaited you at the line.

It went beyond winning or losing. It was about sticking to our guns when the going got beyond tough. It dealt with working within the rules even if they were seemingly be made to be broken. It was about getting back up and giving it your all after you've been kicked down incessantly to the curb.

Respect. Sportsmanship. Camaraderie. Ain't that what it's all about?

It's been a completely seminal experience for me. It's changed me in a lot of ways too.

To Beep, Mulder, Roy, Brando, Bry, Mark, Jai, Ronnel and Ka Totoy, it was my distinct honor to have raced with you guys.

To our wonderful support team Abby, Maan, Bea, and Doc Eire - thank you so much for sticking by us and sticking for us.

I am very proud of each and every one of you. I'm proud of TPB and what we stand for.

Because no matter what had happened in those fateful 23 hours...

I wouldn't have had it any other way.

TPB 2010 Baby!

Hey boys and girls! Been out of circulation for a bit, but contrary to popular belief no I have not retired to some Caribbean Island. Or got married. Anyway, got this awhile back from my buddy/coach Ed Kho and figured it was a worthy cause. It's called The Bottle Run, and the run is actually er, this weekend. And you have until, um, tomorrow to register (wow, breaking news. Yeah, I know. Sorry na.)

It's for a worthy cause!The guy behind it is Iliac Diaz, he of the chick-flick/serial romantic genre of the 90's. He has this crazy idea to build a school using bottles to help Ondoy/Ketsana/Pepeng victims. What? Bottles? Into a school? But hey, after his parlay as the local version of Dermot Mulroney (Google lang katapat niyan) the guy actually went out and got an Ivy League education. So he most probably knows what he's talking about.

It's his first movie!

If I did this pose I'd probably look gay. In all seriousness though, it is a mighty good cause, and there's still time to register! You guys have today and tomorrow! Have fun with it and help rebuild lives in the process!Oh, did I forget to mention you guys are encouraged to bring bottles during the race? Here's the official presser.

The Bottle School Run

Runners Could Be Advocates

Last year, a million young school children’s education was disrupted and about 2,800 pre-school classrooms were destroyed due to the typhoons Ondoy and Pepeng.

This year, through the pioneering efforts and innovative solutions of MYSHELTER spearheaded by the country’s noted social entrepreneur Illac Diaz, a one-of-kind run-for-a-cause dubbed as The Bottle School Run will be staged at Bonifacio Global City on June 13. All proceeds of this noteworthy race will be used to replace and rebuild a damaged school in Taguig using a ground-breaking architectural model – school classrooms mainly made of soda PET bottles.

Now, runners of all persuasions are invited to actively take part in a unique racing event to create a community-based, people-empowered solution which starts with building ecologically-sound and architecturally-revolutionary classrooms for children aspiring to pursue a path of literacy and knowledge.

The Bottle School Run is a distinctive race for seasoned and beginner runners, alike, as it provides them an opportunity to become advocate runners who could champion an honest cause, a solution that can change the world. It sets a symbolic backdrop where the chase of each participant runners for individual personal record enables beneficiary children chase their dream of obtaining education.

Registration for The Bottle School Run starts on May 29, Saturday and lasts until June 11, Friday. Registration centers are:

Planet Sports Trinoma (1pm to 8pm)

Planet Sports Alabang (1pm to 8pm)

New Balance Glorietta (1pm to 8pm)

Taguig City – Fort Bonifacio Satellite Office, 3^rd Flr, Market! Market! (9am to 5pm)

Distance categories are 3k, 5k, and 10k. Registration fees are P200 for 3k, and P300 for 5k and 10k. All participating runners are requested to bring two bottles with a 1.5 or 2 liter size of any soda brand on race day. Gunstart times are 5:30am (10k), 5:45am (5k), and 6:00am (3k).

For further race details, please visit www.bottleschoolproject.org. Inquiries may be directed to thebottleschoolrun@gmail.com or to Liza Fumar, Co-lead, TheBottle School Run, through 0927 284 54 36. Alternatively, interested parties may contact Edward Kho, Race Director, through 0915-9990187.

So the rain finally went away. Sigh. Would it be a good day today? Those thoughts crossed my head as I woke up at 3 am, anxiously anticipating the upcoming events of the day. I haven't run a 10k in awhile, and I would be trying to beat my PR for the distance. What was on today's race menu? The highly-anticipated Mizuno Infinity Run, touted by some to be even bigger than the industry benchmark Condura Run. Did it live up to the hype? Let us see for ourselves as the events of the day unfold.

Emeperador - 1, Tito Caloy - 0

The day started with a text message from running buddy/part-time uncle/full-time tomador Tito Caloy. In essence, he had gone drinking and obviously couldn't join the race. Oh great. That's 300 bucks lost off the bat. If he ever pays me, I'll treat you guys for taho. Promise! (don't keep your hopes up). So I ventured off to BHS alone, the silence of the sleepy metropolis an unwilling replacement to Tito Caloy's incessant pre-dawn chatter. I got there relatively early for the 10k check-in, rambling thoughts passing through my head as my anxiety level was rising by the minute.Oh man I'm alone. No one's here yet. Hey is that... . okay maybe not. Hmm they said it would be bigger than Condura? Maybe? Tito Caloy exchanged me for alcohol. I'm sleepy. Why do people wake up this early anyway? He'll never pay me. Wow they moved classes to the 22nd. I don't like this swine flu thing at all. Are people in this world really evil? Can I break my PR? I'm hungry and... The requisite hi/ hello/good luck from Takbo.ph regulars Edu and Rodel jarred me back into consciousness. By this time, the rest of the Takbo.ph gang began to file in. Nearly all of them were running the 15k. Looks like I would be waging another solitary battle here. As the 15k gun went off, the 30 minute countdown towards the 10k start seemed like an eternity. By virtue of me being really early, I was somehow stationed right in the front of the corral, a circumstantial, undeserved spot to say the least. Ansty and nervous at the same time, I attempted to strike some sort of coherent conversation with the runner next to me. Here' s the honest-to-goodness accurate transript of our conversation : Me: "Sir, buti tumigil ung ulan no?"Runner X : "Nga eh." Me: "Um, ano sir ung target ninyo ngayon?" Runner X: " Mga 40, ok na." Me: "Um, aaaah good luck sir! "Running on Empty While that went well, the gun went off. I was in 70's mode for the entire week, so the leadoff song on my iPod was Sumayaw Sumunod. While disco was blaring in my ears, I assessed how I would be approaching this. If the prevailing goal was to break 50 minutes, I would have to work around the 4:30 zone. With a mere 20 km worth of mileage this week, that ain't happening. I started out at 4:29, hitting 5:03 at the 3k mark. I was feeling gassed. Lack of mileage right there. I should buy a treadmill. Or be a member at these fancy gyms so I could use one.Anyway, at the Kalayaan Flyover I ran into Boggs, one of our students from UA&P and a speedy T2 regular. I asked hm what his target was, the response was sub-50. Can I pace with you? The answer was in the affirmative. 2km later he was about 400m from me already. I was zapped. Not happening. Not today. Nice kid though. You'd like him too. The Alchemy of Blood, Guts, and Condura Memories Past the turnaround point and going back up the Kalayaan Flyover, the route quickly evoked memories of the Condura Run. My first major race ever. I remember walking up the steep gradient of the killer flyover. I remembered wanting to quit. I remembered just plain quitting, the heat overpowering my psyche. This is so stupid. Maybe I can just go back to playing poker. At least I'll earn some cash. It's sooooo hot. My feet are killing me. Ayoko na. But if I quit now, I'll never live it down. So I soldiered on. I remembered digging deep within myself just to finish.The pain in my legs was excruciating . I was running on empty. I could hardly breathe. As I was fast fading at that very same flyover last Sunday, those powerful memories were flashing through my head at warp speed. Was I biting off more than I could chew? Am I way over my head in doing this? Does competitiveness have its limits? Is it a sin to strive to be the best at each and every thing you do? Fight or Flight My legs were on fire, the lungs all but out of it. I wanted to give up. But as I descended the Kalayaan Flyover while struggling my way into a 5:50 split, I realized that I only had about 3-4 km to go. Only 3-4 km of pain and sacrifice to go. I thought, just survive a couple more minutes of total exhaustion and you'll feel terrific about exorcising your demons for the rest of the week. I think that right there is the microcosm of "push" - when your body has absolutely nothing more to give and you unabashedly ask it to give more than it ever had.I ran that last 2km stretch, that very same area where I had walked not too long ago, like my life depended on it. I take pride in putting a premium on passion in my everyday travails, in leaving your heart out there on the playing field. It's fight or flight, and I chose to fight. Before I knew it, I could see the chute. Powerful Takbo.ph big man Mond passed me over the final 400m, I could give no more. But even as my body gave out its last hurrah, the clock glanced 51:30. Oh my. I had did it. Getting to the end of the chute, my 305 stopped at 51:38. I pumped my fist and was overjoyed at a blood and guts victory over the most daunting opponent of all.The Aftermath Truly, the whole team was blessed that day. Nearly everyone I talked with set a new PR. Among others, head honcho Jinoe took a new 15k PR, and Bong Z. hit his sub 55 target. I'm so happy because everyone is rapidly improving across the board. As with most of the runners, we were pleasantly surprised to receive a finisher's singlet instead of the advertised shirt. And it fits! In addition, Mizuno saved the biggest surprise for last, announcing that the race was actually a time trial in preparation for next year's event dubbed 1.10.10. The winners would be contingent on how much one had improved from this year's time. Truly, another coup from Mizuno, one that we would all be eagerly awaiting. Afterwards, the group went straight to Mcdonald's Net One for some much needed refueling, the place slowly becoming our favorite post-race BHS breakfast jaunt.

A sea of White, Black, Yellow, Blue... . and Orange?

Ellen and Doc Roy with Migz lurking

Natz, Doc Lyndon and Rico

Matinee idol/speedster Bong with Pepsi and Ms. Morrison

The "Hard Core" Takbo.ph team

Me with Second Wind proprietor/ultramarathoner Hector

Running Couple Neil and Rach at Mcdo Net One

Chillin' out after a messy Mcdo Breakfast So there. When all things were said and done, numerous PR's fell, sunny skies and even sunnier smiles abound. Despite the anxiety and sacrifice, despite the blood and guts spilled on the road and the overpowering urge to quit when you were beaten down to the ground... ... It turned out to be a good day after all. Tito Caloy Quote of The Day :

" Di ako makakasama sayo, ako'y niyaya, napilitan, napainom, napasubo" - On choosing Emperador over Mizuno

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

Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole. I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.
- From William Ernest Henley's Invictus

While this seems like the start of something special... .

There's always a story behind a story. And isn't that the fun part?

Prologue

D-Day ,7:00 am.
As the rest of the brave Bataan Death March 102k Ultramarathon warriors were already on their way to Mariveles, Bataan for a full day's rest before the madness begins at midnight, I was, er, in Ateneo. Giving a talk. Yup. gotta love undelegatable work on a Saturday. Which just so happens to be the day of the biggest race of my life. Aaah. Ce'st la vie.

The Support Crew

After some last minute vacillating and a lot of hemming and hawing over supplies, me and my support crew finally left Manila. As I had mentioned in a previous post, my ragtag team was led by best buddy AJ, who they used to say was a dead ringer for Christian Bautista (when he still had hair), immortal internet legend Tito Caloy, and AJ's friend RV. Who at the time, I did not know personally. A near-stranger helping you out on a life experience? Awkward! Suffice to say, he's a tremendous, stand-up guy. And given the circumstances, if you told me that Grimace was to be my support crew, I would have said yes.

Team GBM!

How about meh? =,(

Somewhere in the middle of Pampanga, 4pm

AJ : Just to put things into perspective, from the Petron where we started in Mandaluyong up to this point, that's 102 k already. Ganun kalayo tatakbuhin mo.

GBM : !!!!!!!!!! (x_x)

Villa Imperial, Bataan. 6:30 pm.
So we finally made it to our hotel, if you want to call it that. Most of the Takbo.ph gang were there already. I had Googled the hotel a day before, and it said it "wasn't DOT accredited". I should take these portents of things to come more seriously next time. I had made arrangements with "General Manager" Susan in the crudest way you could imagine (through text, duh. What online reservation?), and told her we would probably get there at 2pm. Given that we got there nearly 7pm, I asked the affable and "machika" caretaker (the only "Hotel" "GM" I've met in pambahay and tsinelas) for a discount.Gave 50% off. Pero secret lang daw. Well, guess the secret's out then. :)

The accommodations were well, yeah. I'd rate it a half star. There was an orchestra of flies in the room, making it a veritable malaria trap. "Babaygonan" na daw muna. I promptly made a beeline to Abby's place to seek refuge with her team while AJ and the team went out to buy some supplies.

With ultra monsters Dennis and Vener upon arrival

Fun before the storm?

Villa Imperial, Bataan. 8:30 pm"Babaygonan" essentially meant that our room would turn into the virtual Auschwitz of flies afterward. They must have thought that it was better to run BDM 102 with me. I tried lying down, was sneezing within 30 minutes. Visions of that creepy crawlie hotel scene in Ocean's 13 came to mind instantaneously.

We'd rather run BDM!
Villa Imperial,Bataan. 9:00
About to leave. Tito Caloy sort of wanted to loosen up. And we all know what that means. The rest of the crew promptly acceded. Gak.

Pangparelaks muna!

Na relaks nga!

Just what I need, a wapaked crew chief.

KM 0, Mariveles, Bataan. 10 pm.
We arrive at ground zero without much aplomb. Souvenir photos at the line and with BR were being snapped incessantly as one could sense a palpable feeling of nervous anticipation in the air. Just a couple of hours more!

With the one and only BR

Ominous sign of things to come? Tito Caloy could care less.

142 brave warriors. How many will make it?
KM 0, Mariveles, Bataan. 11 pm.
As promised, given that BR had dubbed this an international race, the national anthems of the participating countries were played. Nope we didn't have Martin Nievera or Charice Pempengco singing. Instead, BR gave us a full-throated rendition of not only Lupang Hinirang, but the Star-Spangled Banner as well. Raucous applause followed. For the record, no one volunteered to sing the Japanese national anthem.

BR beats Martin any day.

Km 21, Somewhere in Bataan. 2:13 am.
Okay. Still a bit surreal. After talking about this race everyday for several months now, I still couldn't belie ve that I was actually doing this. Was running under the pretext of making good time while under the cover of night. I took great pleasure in doing my best Sir Amado Castro impression in race walking the first 10k uphill. I was actually outpacing some dudes who were running, much to their consternation. Funny, I ran into them later and they resorted to race walking as well. Fun. Was occasionally bolstered by Abby's crew ( Joni, Z, Carins, Pepsi and Carina) screaming "Go Sweetie!!". Such sweet gals. P.S. It was dark. Really dark. The blinkers that we had bought for P149 from Ace Hardware were working perfectly. Steal of the year. P.S. #2 : Tito Caloy is shnoozing in the car while AJ and RV were busy recording everything I drank and ate. Joyride much?

P149 blinkers are the bomb
Km 42, still somewhere in Bataan. 5:31 am
Hit the marathon mark at just over six hours. This is usually game over for most people, myself included. It's a little bit hard to fathom that I'll have to do it all over again plus a near-half mary. I shuddered at the mere thought. But I got myself into this, now I have to back it up. Dhen z and Sam had just passed me somewhere, both of them au naturel in full Bataan Superbods mode. Slight cramps were coming up from time to time, and I had to rely on several efficasent oil rubdowns from AJ.
Up to this point, I had ran a good portion of this stretch with BDM 2009 veterans Ronnie de Lara/ Runnerforchrist, Raiza Tulan and Odessa Coral. Amidst the eerie silence, the casual conversation helped immensely in keeping me sane. Some fun sound bites :

GBM : So Raiza, how did you train for this?
Raiza : I was in Boracay yesterday, sunbathing.
GBM : !!!!

Sir Ronnie : So how come I don't see you listed on TopBlogs anymore?
GBM: Well, I had mine removed. Loads of those sites are SEO-driven, Google-ad moneymakers that don't even remotely resemble blogs. So what's the point right? You could try Alexa though.
Sir Ronnie :Is that a free service?
GBM: Of course, you just type in your site and it gives you your ranking in the whole world. You can even download a widget to put in your blog. Fancy, eh?
Sir Ronnie : I can't believe we're actually talking about this after running for 6 hours.
GBM : Me neither. We're weird.

Raiza : Hello there support crew friends. Are those jellybeans?
AJ: Er, um, they're Skittles...
Raiza : But I like jellybeans!
AJ: Um, but we don't have jellybeans...
Raiza : I don't eat Skittles!
AJ : !!!

Raiza likes her jellybeans.We were also jarred from time to time by an ambulance-riding BR barking out "THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING", Robocop-style, to runners ahead of us who weren't running in single file. Whew.

I just realized that Robocop was also bald... .. KM 50, still somewhere in Bataan, 6:45 am
After more than 7 hours of running, I finally reached the first and only pitstop. BR had prepared some goodies for the runners. It was a fun scene actually, because it resembled more of a camp. Carina was cooking noodles for Abby, who was about 5 kilometers away. People were making a beeline to take showers. I was thinking, no freaking way. It would be hot soon, and people here were chilling. I couldn't stay too long here, am not as strong as these people. So I made a quick wardrobe change (into my Botak Ultra singlet, just for fun) changed socks (no blisters, thank you BodyGlide!) white nyort nyorts (homage to OJ Giron) and promptly sped off.

Nearing Km 50... .

Quick wardrobe change at KM 50 camp... .50 down. 52 to go. The sun was slowly making it's way up the early morning horizon. This is it. This is what would separate the men from the boys. I'm bracing myself for the pain. The suffering.

Little did I know, it would be coming much sooner than I thought.

(to be continued)

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

The View From Within. 3 days to go.

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

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

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

History In The Shadows. 1 day to go.

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

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

Wishful thinking as the crowd listens in

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

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

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

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

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

The last of the Mohicans coming through.

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

Minutes and Seconds. 4:35 pm

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

Fighting a losing battle.

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

Red lining on empty

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

No. Man. Left. Behind.

Peace By Inches. 10:40 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not so fast Elvis.

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

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

He was finally one of them.

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.

Yes, Yes YES!
Those were the words ringing in my head as I was sprinting to the finish line at yesterday's Philippine International Marathon 10k race. Not prematurely as was my folly in the numerous times I have faltered in the past - I made sure the celebration came when the mat was right in front of me. I took time to savor the moment... and sought to retrace the twists and turns leading up to it.

Finally! Yay!
What's the big deal?
To some, a sub-50 finish may not seem like a particularly big deal. But to me, it takes on a certain measure of significance as it represents the pinnacle of a particularly tough climb from the recesses of an unhealthy downward spiral. Not to mention finally getting past a mental hurdle that had incessantly gotten the best of me. I was actually so close to giving up on it already. Just let it go man. It ain't meant to be.

Not in the blood
Why was this the case? I was thinking, maybe I just don't have it in me. You know how some people are just natural athletes? Introduce them to running, and right off the bat they could run a 45 minute 10k split with no training at all. I was never one of those people. Not even close. Blame it on poor genes. I have had the benefit of having totally unathletic parents, unless you consider competitive eating a sport. In high school, could never run the fastest, nor jump the highest. My friends could touch the basketball rim. I could touch the ... . board. I even tried killing myself with Jumpsoles, ever remember those things? Nah, didn't work. Not in the blood I guess.

My Dad could take this dude any day, name the place
Humble BeginningsMy first 10k was a 1:28. In what was to be a precursor to my positive split strategy, I started out really fast... . only to bottom out during the 2nd half. I had no conditioning to speak of. I was also um, fat. 205 lbs. Gak. I was so conscious of my pata that I wore jogging pants. Yeah, the baggy type that was all the rage in the 1990's. I seemed to have been passed by every Tom, Dick and Harry along with Jane. Depressingly, I nearly threw up at the finish line. Yeah. Talk about being out of shape.

Grandpa beat me fair and square

Getting Ambitious
Long,painstaking hours of lonesome training later and I found myself clearing the sub-60 and sub-55 marks in rapid succession. Hey, I like this. I'm actually... getting to be good at this. Admittedly, I'm a competitive running junkie. Don't know if that's a good thing, but I constantly benchmark against the very best runners in our group. I want to force myself to get better. Wanting to take my game to the next level, I discovered that lowering the bar from 55 - 50 was becoming exponentially harder.

Wanna go up the ladder? It's harder than you think.

Breakdown City

My best shot came at Ayala Eco-Dash. Let you in on my thought process during those crucial final moments :

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. ... and ended up missing it by 15 seconds. Damn. Oh the heartbreak.

Breakdowns put you in esteemed company
This is It?
In an attempt to finally slay the ghosts of 10k breakdowns past, I had resolved to join this year's Philippine International Marathon. Good friend/"doping like effect coach/Conquer Corregidor head honcho Edward Kho told me "this was the flattest course I have ever ran". Knowing that the route would take me across Roxas Blvd, I said to myself,hey, maybe I'll get lucky this time.
I rushed to get to the venue as early as 3:30 in a lame attempt to meet Sir Jovie aka Bald Runner to get my 1,000 Km club shirt. No such luck. I was there 3:30, took me about 40 minutes to find a parking slot. By that time they had already gone off for the start of the 42k. Boo. Maybe next time.

So in short, I waited for several hours until the 6:00 am gun. Former President FVR actually dropped by, gave us runners in the front rows a quick pep talk. He seems like a nice guy. In hindsight though, don't they all?

Panic Mode
As the race began, I was a little off-tangent because everyone next to me was sprinting like a madman. You sort of get caught up in it. Or maybe that's just the sheer lack of conditioning, nursing flu-like symptoms all week. Took me some time to get into any rhythm whatsoever, and the splits showed it - 4:13. 4:35, 4:55. Oh no. It's not supposed to go down that fast . Nooooo!!!! Breathe. Relax. And just as I felt I was getting my bearings back, i ran right smack into the last thing I wanted to see - a flyover. So much for a completely flat course. Noooo. I felt my sub-50 dreams evaporate right then and there.

What a waste. I lost pace with those two flyovers. Tried pushing it, but knocked the wind out of my sails right after. Losing pace rapidly. And my woes were compounded by the 5k contingent at their turnaround point, as I had to labor through a veritable "Alay Lakad" crowd. At the 8k mark, I had a 5:17 split (worst of the race) with no relief in sight. I could barely breathe. Legs weren't there anymore. Call it a day. Game over.

Freaking out was more like it.
Digging Deep
Then I thought to myself. Here I go again. At Eco-dash, I gave up mentally. I just threw in the towel. Then came the realization - just 10 more minutes of agony for the glorious satisfaction of victory. I once read a quote that said "when it starts to really hurt, that's the time to push it even harder" You have no idea how much those little snippets actually helped. Digging deep, I went headhunting and went after a really speedy guy wearing a KOTR 2007 singlet. Setting aside the pain, I went for broke, knowing each second wasted brought me farther and farther away from my dream. The 9k split was starting to look encouraging. 44:10. I can do this!
I ran like there was no more tomorrow. All of those days training in the rain, in the heat, at 4:00 am in the morning - this was what it all comes down to. Right then and there, you had to leave your blood and guts on the road. There simply was no other way. You HAD to want it. It wasn't going to present itself on a silver platter. And upon hitting the line, I was numb at first. Then it registered. 49:12. Oh yes. Yes. YES. I finallly did it! I finally breached the sub-50 mark!!! Yahoo!!!

My mind drifted to all those past failures, those past trials. The inherent lack of athleticism. How the goal had seemed so lurid to begin with, and steeling yourself for the eventuality that maybe you just didn't have it in you. Just let it go man. It ain't meant to be. It probably never will be. Basking in the glow of victory, i was happy, overjoyed even, that for one day at least... .

It actually was. :)

My Grade 12 Economics teacher will forever be in my mind for telling us about the “Pop” wars.” He was a total geek before being a geek was popular. Mr. Sims was short, pudgy, and wore horn rimmed glasses on his balding forehead that he constantly misplaced. He had the obligatory white plastic pocket protector that is the trade mark of all geeks. But he could explain complicated information in terms that we understood, and that’s why we loved him.

He explained how only two large companies can have the lions share of any market, with the third getting by with much less, using Coke, Pepsi, and 7up as examples.
He taught us that any market share will be dominated by only two opposing companies, and a smaller portion is left over is for the third largest in the market. Pepsi, and Coke battle it out, 7up gets a smaller share. Anything not taken up by those companies is left over for the smaller companies.
Blogging is similar, there are the power bloggers, those who jockey for position, and have the majority of followers. There are usually a couple of top bloggers who compete with each other in their niche for the majority of the market share.
Then there are the smaller naked niche bloggers like us. We blog about what interests us, from our families, to DIY’s projects, tablescapes, and gardening. We have our followers, our faithful's, our long time readers, we love, and cherish them.
This is great, and if you are contented with what you have, it’s all good, like I said, it’s a big village, and there is lots of room for everyone, no matter what you want.
If that’s you, feel free to skip to the bottom part of this post.

If you want to discuss more about this then read on.
I’ve been exploring what’s out there in blog land, and it’s a interesting buffet of ideas. Take it, or ignore it, as you choose… but there are predictions that the blogging world is changing, evolving, and the reason that many of the seasoned bloggers have a following is because they have been around a long time. Julie DeNeen in her Fabulous Blogging post calls them “Firsties” those that started blogging when it first started. She says those bloggers have a distinct advantage because they were around when it was all fun, new and they have a loyal following.
There’s also a lot of talk that business’ are taking over the blogging world, content marketing is over, and it’s never going to be the same again.
But my favourite is the longer post, shorter post debate which is now being run over by the comments on, or comments off debacle.
Yes, some wild and crazy bloggers have decided to turn off comments to their posts.
Now before you think that might happen here, those bloggers are the big guns, the top dogs, the power bloggers. They can afford to do that, we can’t.
We are the naked niche bloggers, the ones who write about a menagerie of many things.
The Naked Niche bloggers are all about villages, friendships, and building relationships together. Some of us would like a bit more exposure, maybe a few more clicks, and more revenue on our ad’s, some are happy with what they have now. What ever you choose is fine.
That’s not the issue.

You can start reading here if you skipped the above part:
The issue is how can bloggers who would like to see new faces in their villages, and expand their reach do it without trying to squish themselves into a tight little niche, but still manage to keep our current audience? How do newbie bloggers find and join in a village in order to start populating their own village?
I had a well written post all planned on this topic, it had all of the items the experts said it needed to be successful, the pinnable first image, the bullet points, and the short paragraphs for those hard of attention, it even had the captions on each paragraph.
But it just didn’t ring true to me, it wasn’t my voice.
That’s not to say that I am ignoring what is being written and posted about blogging out there, I will always find it fascinating, and might try a few new things myself. That’s just me.
So here is what I am proposing.
How about every Monday, I mention a blogger who is struggling, trying to find their audience, hoping for some more villagers, or maybe even thinking of giving up blogging. You could nominate someone, emailing me by Friday, [my email is on the sidebar] and I will write about them on Monday. I’ve a few in mind, but need more.
If you partake in social media platforms, Facebook, Pinterest, Google +, then maybe you could take a minute to “like” or “+1” or even link to that blogger if they are on those platforms. Share the love so to speak.
And if you know someone who has the same interests as they do… could you introduce them around? Hey, have you seen “so and so’s” blog, you might be interested in reading it.
Even though we all have our own individual villages, and some of the villagers overlap, together we are a enormous company, that rivals any of the big power bloggers.
Lets pay it forward, this is really a nice thing to do for each other, and we are all nice bloggers, that’s our niche. This is our strength.
There is one other easy peasy thing I would like to ask you to do also.
If you think that a blogger has written a great post, worked hard, made a effort… please spread the word, click “like”, + 1 them, mention them to other bloggers. It only takes a minute and it’s worth doing. Maybe they will return the favour one day.
We are a huge group, those of us who blog naked… lol… not “naked, naked,” you know what I am talking about.
We are nicheless… and as Elaine commented on my previous post, that makes us a niche now doesn’t it.
The Emperor does have some beautiful clothes after all.
We are a village, and it takes a village to write a blog, so let’s get to it.