So you're a newbie. You more or less run 3-4 times a week, have your fair share of weekend races.You suddenly have a delusion of grandeur attack and then all of a sudden you find yourself signed on to run an insane distance. 50k to be precise. That's like Manila to Tagaytay. Friends, family, and officemates think you're absolutely nuts. The requisite "but its only 50k, some of my friends are running 100k" line is met with sheer incredulousness. So you're a newbie. You're entering uncharted territory. How do you finish the Botak 50k with no prior experience? Here are some possibilities. 1. Bribe the Botak people with foodies and gingerbreads to give you a free pass, with your name suddenly appearing on the finisher's list, freebies and photo-ops delivered to your front door. Okay maybe not. Better option - bribe 100k ultramen Pat and Dennis with foodies or maybe girlies to pace you to victory.2. Ride a Segway at 3am when no one's looking and everyone's half asleep. Get more Segways so that Rod and Timmy the Kenkoy Runner could ride along with you, their jokes would take away the pain of running 7 hours.3. Have Sam the Running Ninja utilize his powers and teleport you 40k down the course. 4. Ask the help of The Collective for a one-time shot at their alien, time-bending powers so that they could transport you 7 hours to the future, the glory of winning without breaking a sweat. 5. Bribe Tito Caloy with Emperador so that he would drive your support car for 7 hours in the wee hours of the morning, taking away from his, um, inuman time. 6. Get some tips from Rico on how to complete the race By Sheer Will. 7. Wear a Phiten titatanium necklace so you can imagine that you have something that actually helps you run better. 8. Record the voice of Coach Pojie and SF Runner Wayne giving inspirational advice and motivational sound bites. Push! Push! Go you lazy Gingerbread! Only 49k to go! 9. Get Doc Iris to give you a thorough eye exam so you could see well in the wee hours of the morning and won't fall into a ditch. Or get run over in Commonwealth. 10. Follow two simple words of advice uttered by local running legend Bald Runner - DON'T QUIT. Good luck to everyone running the Botak Ultra! :) Break a leg! Okay that didn't sound good.
Last Sunday, all roads led to The Fort as the heavily anticipated New Balance Power Race was finally coming to fruition. Ondoy's onslaught had postponed the race from it's original Sept.27 playdate, and this gave me an opportunity to get myself a slot. As some of you may know, much to my chagrin I had missed the original registration cut, which then compelled me to make the infamous "Hitler finds out he didn't make it to New Balance" video.
I approached the race with a lot of enthusiasm as I would be joining a pace group for the first time ever. This emanated from a conversation on the Takbo.ph shoutbox, which sort of went like this :
GBM : Target ko mga 1:55 ayos nako dun. 1:57 ung PR ko, medjo sagad na. VVinceth: Kaya yan sub 1:50. 1:45 pa nga. Even splits lang tayo, 5:10 pace lang yan!jix_jixee : Uy ayos yan sama ako!markhernz: Ganun ba? Kaya yan! Game! TheRunningNinja: Game ako kahit saan, walang inuurungan!GBM: !!!!!!
Meet the Gang And thus, this ragtag pace group was born. I was hoping that running within a field of excellence, I would be prevailed upon to deliver a performance far beyond the realm of my capabilities. Hence, without further ado, let me introduce you to the members of my NB PAce Group :
Pat aka VVinceth/ The Running Safety Pin
With Bunnyyy Our de facto anchor, Pat is easily the fastest and best-credentialed runner within the group. 45 minute 10k's and sub 1:45 minute 21k's are a relative walk in the park for him. It was with his relative optimism that we were actually enjoined to gun for a time that seemed to be way beyond my capabilities. Likes long walks on the beach and bunnies.
Jix aka Jix_Jixee Another known Takbo.ph speedster whose relative pace is always about 5 minutes faster than my own, it is intended that his speedy ways would tow us to victory specially in the latter stages. His favorite movie is "The Notebook", and has an inherent dislike for Piolo that science alone could not explain.
He not likey Piolo either... Mark aka Markhernz/Running my Mouth In just a few short months, this naturally athletic dude has not only jumped from a 5k to a full marathon, but has posted times most people only dream of in their lifetime. He has a penchant for not finding baggage counters, and is a full-blooded Lasallian (useless trivia)
Masel Man Mark Sam aka TheRunningNinja If other pace groups have celebrities like Jaime Zobel deAyala or Tessa Prieto, we have our own celebrity! And he is none other than... Sam the Running Ninja! One of the most recognizable faces in the blogosphere, it never hurts to have him around :P He likes fast cars, and doesn't like motorcycles, hospitals, and Gas station restrooms.
Celebrity Ninja
Starting Corral Excitement was milling at the starting corral as the 21k runners were herded en masse. I was quite happy that Extribe was enforcing the "no check-in, no-entry rule", much in the same way that Condura does it. This makes for a much more orderly assembly. +1 brownie point to them. As Mark, Sam, and myself squeezed ourselves towards the front of the pack, we realized that Pat and Jix would be banditing the race. Sweet.
Brownie point! Fun Starting Um, Horn? As people were revving up for the starting gun, the runners spontaneously burst into laughter as the start of the race was ushered in by... a foghorn. Ooooh. Good vibes.
Foghorns = Quick Laughs
A Blistering Start The first 10k was highlighted by Pat's even split strategy reaping dividends for our group, as we covered the first 10k below 50 minutes. This had me questioning my positive splitting ways, as I essentially achieved the same result - without feeling like dying after. We gradually lost track of Mark after the 6k point, and Sam was startling the crap out of us with his "fartlek-the-hills-then-grunt-like-the-Olympic-hammer-throw-champion strategy". Apparently, this primal act (like any other) zaps the energy out of even the best of them, and by the 10th kilometer turnaround our celebrity buddy had dropped behind, leaving Pat, Jix, and myself to carry the cudgels for our group.
Primal screams... are fun.
Surpise Surprise!
In a minor shocker, speedy Jix was fading badly at the onset of the Bayani Road inclines. When one of your best runners starts to labor with the route, oftentimes your thought process would get inundiated with self-doubt. Hey, if he's fading, I've got to be next. Which brings us to the next portion of this paragraph, the "Why Did Jixee Fade At NB" contest.
Could it be :
1. He had a hot date the night before who made him mutter "Running Sux" 100 times 2. His date promised him "favors" if he accomplished #1 while finishing an entire bottle of Patron in less than 30 minutes 3. In offering the proverbial olive branch, Piolo offered to hook him up with his Kapamilya friends if he stopped pacing this GBM character, if only to make his future 21k target a lot easier.
Send in your entries, correct answer gets a prize. I'll ask Jixee the answer... ... .tomorrow.
Piolo has done it again!
And Then There Were TwoWith Jix gone, it was up to me and Pat to navigate the course. Having ran with Pat numerous times in the past, including the Botak Ultramarathon, this was not unfamiliar territory. As pacers go, it's terrific to have someone like the Energizer Bunny to drag you along when you're starting to slack off. The heat was starting to set in, and I needed all of the help that I could get.
Keeps going... . and going... and going... .All By Myself... . Heading up to somewhere around the 13th or 14th km, cruise control mode was suddenly jarred when Ultraman Pat said "Una ka na". I thought, this was bordering on absurdity. No way Pat could fade, I mean, this is a guy that eats 100k for breakfast. I comforted myself in thinking this was a ploy with deeper profound meaning. In retrospect, I should have kept in mind that Pat was tapering for his Singapore marathon the following week. But at that point, with the heat of the sun beating down on me, this took me off my game plan. I had my work cut out for me then.
What's up Master Pat's sleeve?The Exag Hills From that point on, I would only see Pat one more time. He would fartlek to me, then fade back. Still no idea why he was doing that at the time. But i was steeling myself for the long haul. We had built enough of a cushion that I was on pace for a 1:49 or 1:50 finish if I kept my act together. But then... . the hills happened. Wow. These people know their stuff. What were they thinking?
Cut scene to Extribe Route Formulation Meeting over drinks
Extribe Person #1 : Why not at the end, let's add one loop around Mckinley? Drunk Extribe Person #2 : Weeeeeh. That's sooooo generic. Make it two! Bwahahahaah. Sadistic and Drunk Extribe Person # 3 : Whatever! I ain't running anyway! I hate athletic people! Make it three! Bwahahahahaahah! Chorus: Bwahahaahahahahahahaha!!!!
Scene at Extribe before finalizing race routeSo to make a long story short, they saved the hardest part of the race for last. We did practically three loops around that hilly area in Mckinley stretching to the British embassy and Enderun. Ugh. Under the beating heat of the sun,I surrendered three fat mid-6ish splits towards the end, and our hard-built lead was gone. Thankfully, it was still still substantial enough to snag me a 1:54:01 finish, good enough for a new 21k PR and 111th place amongst a very tough field of more than a 1,000 half-marathon runners. If we had hit out target 1:50 or below, that would have been good enough for somewhere around 70th place. As I said, tough crowd... because at QCIM my 1:57 was good for 47th place. More training! :)
Exhausted Gingerbread folk near the finish courtesy of the irrepresible BR blog Overall, kudos to Extribe for a good, albeit sadistic job on this race.Seriously though, I had no complaints whatsoever, this was as good as it gets in terms of race organization. Better known for their multisport events, Extribe is slowly building strong brand equity in the running scene. All of their races that I have ran so far have been very good. I know there was a slight snafu with the 10k route, a mystery that has since been solved. With all things said and done, I'm pretty sure good ol' Hitler is churning in his grave now for missing one heck of a race. :P
Cebu City Marathon 21k (30th) : 1:50:43 PSE Bull Run 10k - DNS Condura Skyway Marathon 42k (280th) - 4:56:03 Bataan Death March 102k Ultramarathon (82nd) - 17:35:53 National Geographic Earth Day Run 10k (17th) - 49:24 Asian Hospital RunNew 10k (25th) - 53:14 San Mig Coffee Bay Run 10k (10th) - 47:01 HP Fun Run 6k (1st) - 28:03 Chris Sports Epic Relay 250k (2nd) - 23:13:00 New Balance Nuvali Adventure Trail Run 15k (307th) - 3:04:23 35th Milo Marathon Eliminations 21k (45th) - 1:50:51 Powerade Duathlon Leg 2 (86th, 16th in age group) - 1:56:29 Takbo.ph Anniversary Runfest (21st, 7th in age group) - 46:32 Dean's Cup Invitational Triathlon - (56th, 9th in age group) - 1:54:15 7-Eleven Tour 500 - 3:27:28 Sonshine Cycling Festival Criterium - DNF, outlapped after 35 mins. Fort Running Festival 21k - 1:43:15 (57th individual, 1st team) Tour of Matabungkay Stage 1 100k - 3:52(188th) Tour of Matabungkay Stage 2 90k - 2:53 (163rd) Tour of Matabungkay Stage 3 TTT - 59:24 (29th) Adidas King of the Road 10k - 50:15 (75th) Powerade Standard Distance Duathlon - 2:41:54 (4th in age group) Malakoff Powerman Malaysia Long Distance Duathlon - 4:24:52 (60th) Nike Run Manila 5k - 22:34 (81st) Speedo NAGT UPLB Sprint Triathlon - 2:03:01 (38th overall, 8th in age group)
When my body gives out and my head tells me to quit, my heart compels me to struggle on. At some point, however, my head and my heart get in 'cahoots' with each other. They both demand I stop. That is when my spirit soars and their protestations are of no avail. I am propelled by a force unseen, drawn to a potential I have yet to realize. I shake off the burden of the physical and wake up to experience my dream. At last I am free... .
Some have dubbed it the final frontier. Well, for the moment at least. The fact of the matter is, right now there is no longer road race in the country. The Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon is in a league of its own, and dwarfs all comers to the table. Nothing even remotely comes close. Participants are either honored in hushed, reverential tones or maligned as foolhardy and ignorant.Maybe even stupid. Save for a trifling number, after KM 102 pretty much everybody would be entering the twilight zone. The first ever 100-mile race in the country sticks out like Everest on steroids to the hungry masses, the novelty of the great unknown drawing these inquisitive endurance athletes like moths to a flame. The appeal to be part of history ups the risk/reward scale on an unprecedented level, and athletes will be tested as they have never been before. How long should one soldier on, and when should one know when to quit? It is the quintessential paradox of a discipline that is fueled by blood, guts, and an indomitable will to make it to that finish line. It is a paradigm that will be revisited in recurring snippets as the tale unravels.
The few and the proud...
Prologue
"May invite ka na ba pre?" That was the prevailing water cooler topic for ultra running denizens a couple months back. As for me, the answer was a resounding NO. I wasn't too surprised though, and already had already somehow come to terms with it. After my maiden stint last year with BDM 102, I never really did anything that could be remotely considered "ultra" anymore. While my contemporaries had joined practically every "mid-distance" (if one could consider 70k as such. Really now.) ultramarathon race that Sir Jovie Narcise (better known in running circles as the irrepressible Bald Runner or just plain BR for short) had put out there, it was no big secret that I have been dabbling into multisport and cycling for the most part and had pretty much been out of the scene. So it was really no shocker. I would be lying if I said it didn't bug me though. Just to be considered for the race is a big honor already, and after all I did apply for it. Thing was,we had absolutely no idea what the criteria was for selection. Rumors abound that supposedly only 15 hour finishers would be considered. But then as the initial wave of invites came out, people who were right around my finish range were getting golden tickets, which pretty much added to my anxiety. Perhaps it was my inactivity with the PAU (Philippine Association of Ultrarunners) that contributed to it. Maybe it's just not in the cards. Sigh. We all move on... ...
Then one day, as me and Abby were walking around BHS , i get a buzz on my Blackberry. Thank God for instant email. When that header said "Jovenal Narcise", my heart skipped a beat. When I saw the subject line " Letter of Invitation to the BDM 160", I let out a yelp of joy in the middle of the walkway. Okay maybe not, but you get the idea. Abby got hers at pretty much the same time.And why shouldn't she? I'm probably the only guy in the country who has a girlfriend who runs 102 kilometers faster than he does. Happy night.This was what I wanted right? Right? But... .. I haven't had any long-distance training. Nada. Zilch. Farthest I've ran in a year was 21k. Oh my. With one fell swoop, suddenly the ball was in my court now.
Decisions, Decisions
When the announcement first came out, the race was actually meant to be BDM 151, 151 kilometers representing the cumulative total distance including the train ride of the Death March prisoners to Camp O' Donnell in Capas, Tarlac. However, there was a clamor to increase the distance to just over 160 kms to make it the official 100-mile race in the country. When BR acceded, the wheels in my head were suddenly turning. I suddenly have a shot to cross one off the old bucket list. After a prolonged period of soul searching (that took roughly about 30 minutes) I had made my decision. Obviously, you know what that decision came out to be. The die had been cast. No turning back now.
Forming the Crew
Perhaps unbeknownst to many, the support crews that you tag along for these races aren't of the prototypical cheerleader rah rah kind, which is a common misconception. It's not fun and games, it's not a street party. If at all, the support crew may even undergo more stress than the runners themselves. They are awake during practically the same time frame, and undergo constant anxiety on their runners well being. The crew has to be part inspirational leader, part drillmaster, part nutritionist, part nurse and part driver. They are perhaps the most integral supplementary element to the success of the race, and their relative efficiency could provide the final difference in toeing the fine line between life and death when push comes to shove (I'm not kidding).
Last year, I got my buddy AJ, my internet legend uncle Tito Caloy and random/seasonal friend RV (by virtue of six degrees of separation he somehow got ensnared into this) whom I met just on the day itself. They were all somehow under the impression that this would be a fun, all-night drinking session with me somehow running in the background. Of course, given the shock and stress that they were suddenly, unwittingly subjected to, they forever hold a "BDM card" on me, that they can pull as they wish. Warning to BDMers - this is prone to general abuse, so choose your crew wisely. Smirk.
This year, Abby agonized over the decision on whether to run or not. She was one of what seemed like only ten women who had qualified for it, and the chance to make history was tantalizing. On the flipside, while she was in phenomenal shape she scarcely had any run training. Crucial year in setting up her business, and I guess at one point we all just have to draw the line with priorities. With much trepidation, she decided to hold it off for next year and I hope to make it up to her then. With her addition though I finally have the benefit of not just a seasoned runner on the crew, but an veteran ultrarunner who knows what it takes to get to that finish line.
I've been bugging AJ, who worked harder than anyone last year in keeping me alive out there, to once again be part of my crew. After incessant faux rejections ( no way in hell he would turn down the possibility of two BDM cards to pull), he finally "caved in" after my assurances that this would be the "last". Which was what we said last year. Hihi.
Internet legend Tito Caloy (old Takbo.ph joke, just google my old material) wasn't supposed to be part of the crew this year and was an 11th hour callup because we needed the extra hand. He had all but retired from the running scene and promptly returned to his competitive drinking roots. His son, my cousin Mel (but we call him Shtuey, go figure) was ostensibly going to crew me, back had to back out at the last moment due to his slated thesis defense. I told him "yung thesis pwede naman ulitin, eto once in a lifetime lang to!" Bad Kuya GBM.
The final piece of the puzzle was Duart, who along with myself and AJ have formed a decade-long triumvirate dating back from our days as gangly freshmen at DLSU. He was crestfallen at missing my maiden campaign last year, and was determined to make it up this year. My energetic buddy not only signed on in a jiffy, he even provided the Innova which would become our support car.
The only crew that matters... .With everything in good stead, now all we could do was wait for our date with destiny.
The Briefing
The race briefing is an annual tradition wherein everyone makes the pilgrimage to Camp Aguinaldo to hear last minute instructions from BR. It is also the last chance for you to take hang and socialize with your "batchmates" in a somewhat lucid manner, you may be even lucky to snag a helping or two of lechon. The whole thing is pretty and cut and dry, but one slide of BR stood out to everybody that night.
Don't blame the RD!
D-Day
The advantage of having the race start in the morning is that your body clock is not out of whack. You can sleep like a normal human being and you don't have to be a zombie the first leg or so. With the rest of the team following after office hours (too bad it wasn't an official holiday pfft), me and Abby hitched with TPB bud and BDM 102 partner Mark Hernandez along with soon-to-be marathoner/TPB wifey Bea. While waiting for them at our pre-arranged BHS meeting spot, we see an Audi TT roadster park just in front of Rox. Oohhh fancy. Oddly enough, the silhouette inside was waving to us. Was someone trying to pick up Abby in broad daylight? Que Horror. Amusingly, it turned out to be none other than our good friend Rio with his new toy. The afro gave him away. Soon after Mark and Bea would arrive, and we were well on our way. Last year, I wasn't too happy with our place. This year, we decided to check-in at the MC Lodge, highly regarded by practically everyone and much nearer to KM 0. Place was cool, rooms were just slightly smaller but much cleaner and with better appointments. Of course, I pretended not to see the "295, Aircon 3 hours special" sign outside. Groovy.
It's the place to be We had time to burn, so we scoped out the place for landmarks for the crew and made sure all the gadgets were charged up. Thing I love about the place was that there were like 7 sockets in such a small room. FTW. To "relax" me we were able to set up a mini-DBD on my laptop and I was able to sneak in an article in there (hapit). Around 6 pm Saturday, we had many different choices from their five-star chef for our last supper of sorts.
Bon Apetit! Finally, some shuteye. The crew (and I expected nothing less) got lost and arrived close to midnight. After what seemed like a couple of hours we all had to get the ball rolling. The pressure was mounting. More pressure came forth (my blood pressure,that is) when my crew told me they had a P600 peso dinner. BDM card, BDM card. After what seemed like an eternity, we left the lodge and went on the starting line.An almost unmistakable cornucopia of anxiety, excitement, and fear was distinctly palpable within the car's constraints. I had worn my exact finish line outfit from last year as some weird pamahiin. Out with the old and in with the new, and in a few moments we would be seeing history unfold before our very eyes. The calm before the storm The pre-race events usually consist of a bunch of souvenir photos,some scattered well-wishes and a lot of prayers. Now, there's also the annual rendition of the US and Philippine anthems. Last year, BR gave a "soulful" rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, (much to the enjoyment of the crowd and much to his chagrin after all the ribbing he got after lol) and this year it was US Armyman Gilbert Gray's turn. Pretty straight up, stoic but no doubt amiable fellow. Remember when we all saw Robocop without the mask? This guy is a dead ringer both in looks and demeanor. I was hit by a sudden burst of nostalgia. It seemed just yesterday that I was here, a greenhorn to the entire enterprise. Sigh, how time flies. After the requisite "class picture", the 59 brave souls on that fateful Saturday morning were off at right around 6am. Destiny and glory were waiting, now the onus was on us to do our part.
With the crew at KM 0.
I hope to replicate this pose at the finish line
The Endure Multisport Ultramen Let the madness beginThe race with no equal started off without much aplomb, with runners trotting warily in lieu of blasting off on all cylinders. Surely, these veterans knew better. Some were setting a faster pace, and only time could tell if they could hold it. After all, this was the biggest battle of our lives right here. I opened the race with buddies Mark Hernandez and OJ Giron, a couple of familiar faces that I hoped would make the journey a lot more meaningful. And in hindsight, hoping that once we enter our own Battle of the Bulge, our own private Normandy, we would all be there to keep each others sanity in check. They had a fairly ambitious goal though- finish the race in 24 hours or less. While I felt that was purely wishful thinking for me given my fitness level, the plan was to just hang with them as far as it takes me. I mean, these guys were in phenomenal shape. OJ coaches nearly full-time and Mark has been on a tear on the running circuit as of late. I would have my work cut out for me but I couldn't allow myself to be left behind.We start out conservatively, alternating a brisk jog and walking the entire 4k incline. Many are passing us at will while BR passes by in a van and chats us up. Our man is in a good mood this morning, in stark contrast to last year's drillmaster barking on a megaphone. Ordinarily, a competitive junkie like me (and I'm pretty sure these two have that same genome in them) would go nuts at being passed so... . effortlessly. But this wasn't a 10k. The reality was, we had 153 more kilometers to go. Just the thought of it scares the hell out of me. What did I get myself into again?
Just out for a weekend fun run with friends... .The Lolo Diaries
At one point, we run into a group led by the "grand old warrior" himself, the ageless Victor Ting. If you see your old man lounging around in the sala watching TV or discovering this fascinating thing called "internet" while forwarding you funny emails (just as we did in well, 1999), this guy puts them all to shame. Imagine, his apos must have it good. No way they are losing an eh ang lolo ko mas magaling sa lolo mo argument. Like, "eh ang lolo ko tumakbo mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac" End of conversation. The ageless wonder somehow had it in him to drag his 66-year old legs across a hundred miles side-by-side with runners young enough to be his grandchildren. Mark told me he could never catch the old codger during the test runs no matter how hard he tried. Thing was, he was maintaining such a ridiculously efficient, no-stopping strategy that it was practically impossible to keep up with him. Perhaps in utter embarrassment at being shown up, we finally caught up with him eventually. And here are some snippets of what I got from a living legend.
" Dati may 100k na , diyan sa may Burnham sa Baguio. Bata pa si Jovie, alam niya yun. Tumakbo ako dun! Paikot ikot nga lang kami."
"Mabagal lang tayo. Sanay tayo sa mabilis pero dito mabagal lang tayo malayo layo pa to"
"Nung 1981 sa Manila International Marathon sub-3 yung marathon ko"
"Nag two bottles pa kami ng Red Horse kagabi"
Hmm, maybe that's his secret. Damn, you mean our very own "super lolo" was a sub-3 hour dude the year before I was er, born? I suddenly conjured visions of myself running in 2041, with a young buck chatting me up at the 31st Runrio Trilogy Anniversary Run
Kid : Lolo, sigurado po ba kayo na kaya nyo pa? Tubig po? Malapit na lang, wag po pilitin. Lolo GBM : Bah. Alam mo ba noong araw eh natakbo ako mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac?Patakbo yun ni Presidente Narcise dati kada taon Kid : Um, er, ah ganun po ba? Waw. Talaga lang ha. Sige lo, init lang yan. Inom ka na lang ng tubig nagdidiliryo na po kayo. Lolo GBM : Totoo! Anong akala mo nagbibiro ako? Eto ipapakita ko pa ang silver buckle ko bilang katibayan (lifts up singlet to show buckle) Kid : Yuck indecent exposure! DOM! PEdo! Security!!!!!!
Talo Lolo mo sa Lolo ko. Kids. Pffft. As I was snapping out of my misguided daydream, I realized that the urge to do the number two was somewhat compelling enough to tell the crew about it. Abby texts back, we found one in 1.5k, that ok? Of course that was okay. I was thinking, the earlier I get this out of the way the better. Last year was an utter nightmare, first try I was shown a hole on the ground, second try I had to run nearly 1k inside a subdivision just to make it to their clubhouse and I nearly fell asleep inside. They even thought I passed out. This year there was no such problem as the crew found a very nice spot right around the 20k mark ... .. inside an Iglesia ni Cristo church. As Abby assured me that my presence there wasn't bordering on anything sacrilegious, I was successfully able to execute probably the fastest and most efficient pit stop ever. Thank you INC, I owe you guys one.
Isolation Therapy
During that break, I had lost Mark and OJ. I kept on looking back, and I asked a Team Ungas van where they were and I was given the impression they were far back. So I was all alone. Felt like I was making good time though, pace at a rock solid 7:30. Much to my consternation, it turns out that they were actually ahead of me. Finally back with my buds, it was supposed to be all smooth sailing from here. It didn't last long though. One pit stop later and the group was once again splintered. What I couldn't understand was why was it that I was the one getting ahead when I'm the weakest runner in our group by a mile. Perhaps, was I doing something wrong? Going too fast? Not even. With no sight of my, I just had to trudge on.
Me, Myself, and the Long Winding Road.
All by myself... . don't wanna be. All by myself... .. anymore.
As the bars of the seminal Celine Dion classic rang through my head, I was thinking, this wasn't how I wanted my story to unfold. It was supposed to be packed with stories of guts, glory, and the will to continue. Of camaraderie and an unspeakable bond with brothers who share the same iron-clad mindset in helping each other succeed through seemingly insurmountable odds. It would have made for great drama, the piece that would finally nail me my first Philippine Blog Award win... .. a tale of hardship, friendship, and sacrifice through... .
Wait, who am I kidding? It's just me, myself, and the road. The sheer drudgery is getting to me. It's pretty much... . mundane and er, unexciting. It's a microcosm of your typical countryside life, and it's a change passing by here during the daytime. Aside from regular contact with my crew and the occasional chit chat with other teams, it's pretty much me and a bunch of nameless faces along the road who keep getting me engaged in this incessant cycle that never gets old :
Bystander : Koya, san kayo galing? GBM : Mariveles Bystander : San paponta koya? GBM : Tarlac Bystander : !!!!!
Enter Celine Dion chorus here I think in my frustration, I was speeding along faster than I had intended to. As I was approaching the 32k mark I had already passed Frontrunner EIC/Ultra strongman Jonel and the super lolo Vic Ting group. I also saw a focused Pat Alcomendas seemingly struggling, the mere fact of which seemed to blow my mind. He prodded me to go on, was worried if any nagging injuries were manifesting. A quick check on the 310xt, 7:04 pace. Eek. Much faster than what I had intended to hold, and fearful I might gas out later. Relax. Breathe. Malayo pa to.
Manong pacing me to Tarlac. He lasted 30 seconds.Crew check The gang was pretty impeccable at this point. Abby would send me inspirational messages from time to time (hihi) and that never failed to give me a boost. AJ and Duart were on point, although Duart was like a man possessed perhaps in his haste to make up for lost time last year. AJ was mostly chilling. Tito Caloy, was , well, being Tito Caloy. His moral support is invaluable to the endeavor, let's just keep it at that. As I would learn later, Abby was garnering a certain following amongst our provincial folk with her "eye- popping" running outfit which would seem more at home within the comfy asphalt of BHS rather than the concrete jungle of the Bataan countryside. Hey, it's comfy!(rejoinder for fear of future retribution) Warning Signs As I was nearing the marathon mark I was beginning to slow down a little. Ill effects from a fast start? Five hours and a half into the whole thing, my left foot was beginning to feel sore. Also noticeable was that I kept on doing a really weird overpronation move with my left foot, for some reason it would pronate inward and the sole of the shoe would keep on hitting my right ankle. I noticed this mechanical flaw would only come out towards the latter part of anything north of a marathon. And now I'm slowly flagellating my right ankle. Fun.Rule of Thirds Amidst the madness, I decided to divide the race into three parts to keep my head in there - 0 -50, 50 - 102, 102- 160. Within each division I would chomp them up into bite-size and easily digestible 10k portions. That way you don't lose yourself mentally, it's easy to get overwhelmed and deflated when there is too much emphasis on the big picture. I have seen many of my comrades fall by the wayside when this kicks in, and all of us are susceptible at any given moment. As I was doing my mental calculations, the man who had taught me these valuable lessons just caught up with me. It was Jonel! Finally, company! Part-mentor/Frontrunner slave driver, he was coming on strong and as we approached the 50k stretch in Abucay the conversations we had invigorated me. I reminded him that I still owed him breakfast for losing a bet with him on Condura ( I had a lame 4:14, he dropped a 3:47... . after doing a test run. Incredible.) We run into Robocop Gilbert Gray, who must have been bored with our pace and left us soon after. He would eventually finish 10th in a steady, methodical, um, serious performance. We reach the 50k mark around six and a half hours in, BR and Mrs. BR were there to greet us. As we would later on discover, we were both in the top 20 at this point. So far so good. I take the opportunity to stretch out and sit down a little, I actually arrived ahead of my crew. Learning from last year's lessons, I didn't spend too much time here, heck didn't even wait for a costume change. Jonel had an even faster T1 (if you would consider it as such tri-geeks) and was already ahead of me by several minutes. "Just" 110k to go, it should get interesting from here. An Accidental Bromance Back to my lonesome. I don't if growing up alone is a key factor to some deep psychological crap inside of me, but I hate being alone. I hate eating alone, I hate going to the mall alone. Ironically, although I usually train alone I'm not exactly thrilled about it. So sue me, social being here. So once again, it's driving me nuts that I'm by my lonesome. At this point, Jonel was long gone already and was too strong to chase down given I'm going through the motions of a swoon already. So back to the drudgery. My left foot is starting to bother me already and it's starting to get hot already. Many have lost their way on this national highway, and I had no intention of succumbing in my solitude. That's until I notice a semi-familiar face going back and forth with me. Semi-familiar because I knew that dude was Paolo Osmena, a veteran who is no doubt exponentially stronger than me. Someone also said he had the legs of a female supermodel. Of course, I deny all allegations that this came from me. Anyway, for what seemed like a 15k stretch we would settle into this bizarre pattern where I would surge ahead of him after running 1.5k straight, then once I rest with the crew he would come surging back and establish a big lead then the cycle replicates itself. While I felt I was pacing better than him as it seemed he was in some sort of pain, his advantage was he would only stop every 5k. Does that mean I'm a Gingerbread sissy for stopping as often as I did? Probably. Soft-baked mush. But at this point, at the back of my head I was trying to conserve as much as I could, long ways to go. Eventually, this seemingly "cold war" was driving me crazy. I ran up to him ( he was favoring the opposite side of the road) and struck up a conversation. And he turned out to be a very affable albeit tired fellow. His plantar was killing him, but more than anything he was questioning why was he feeling a notch short on probably his most important racing day of the year. He felt he had more than trained for this, so many long runs and hours put in, and yet here he was feeling exhausted less than halfway through. In retrospect, this same malaise may have struck a lot of my fallen comrades. But then again, we'll never really know. Every runner out there has their own unique story, and the entire gamut of emotions that are transmuted into one ethereal body of work make this journey unlike any other.I tried to boost my newfound friend's flagging spirits by telling him that even if we were feeling horrible now, we were still well-entrenched in the top half of the draw. And as much as we felt that we were sucking, those who are still behind us must be sucking too. Of course, that wasn't necessarily true, but I had to say something. He was asking if we walked from that point to the 160 line, would we make it? Perhaps, maybe. But we have to make it to 102 first. Obviously, we wouldn't if we did. But it takes an ultrarunner to know anothers suffering, and at that point you do what you could to help them go forward. On a downward spiral Somewhere nearing KM 70, I was really beginning to feel exhausted. Nearly nine hours in, I was slowly tapering off. Either I left my newfound buddy somewhere or he left me, but I just lost him at a certain point. I was really slowing down and my pace had plummeted to 8:30 cumulative. After what seemed like ages, finally I saw glimpses of different souls. Which was great. And they were passing me left and right. Which wasn't. OJ came out of the woodwork after what seemed like an eternity and was still dropping 7:30 pace effortlessly. I tried latching on but I was already slowly fizzling out. Don Ubaldo was making a rally from behind, he soon passed me as well. And buddy Mark passed me as well, looking fresh as ever. So this is all it would come down to. Just as with all my races, just as with my marathons. A very promising start only to choke at the end. It's a recurring theme, a recurring problem. Maybe ... maybe there's something wrong with what I'm doing. Maybe the problem is... . me. There is no greater dagger to one self-confidence than when one is getting passed left and right by your fresh-looking colleagues. It exacerbates a malignant notion slinking in the shadows. While racing the biggest race of one's career, the last thing you would want to happen is for self-doubt to creep in. Extraordinary circumstances call for an extraordinary effort, and no way are you going to pull that off without a certain modicum of self-belief. But isn't that what ultra running is all about? When both the will and the body have been broken, do you have enough to bring you home to that line?I want to puke. I'm dizzy. Maybe I was just being too brash. Who was I anyway, thinking I could just step in here and do a 100 miler without any serious long run training?These guys have been training for a year now. I didn't belong here. I knew I was in decent shape but I guess that just wasn't enough. I'm in pain, everything is painful. Maybe I should quit now and just suck it up later. Oh great Argow just passed me again. He does that every year around these parts. He's very strong. I wanna puke again. This was a big mistake. Where's Tito Lito Lapid? Maybe I could start to rally here just as I did last year. Finally, the crew is here. Maybe I can show them that I am still strong, get something good energy going. Good thing I have shades on. They can't see a defeated man's eyes.
Put up or Shut up From KM 70 onwards I was a dead man walking already. Abby was getting increasingly agitated and worried. My left foot was bothering me severely and I could barely move without significant pain. The crew was taking turns massaging and spraying, and ice cubes on my face seemed to help. I had to stop every kilometer, and finally we just changed my fancy Adidas socks into less fancy Adidas socks which were much more laspag and looser.
Which at that point I felt was what I needed. I had lost a lot of ground and this was all really getting to me. The competitive nut in me had wanted to do well in this race, showing everybody "it could be done" on a cross-train base. I had a chip on my shoulder if you would call it that. However, at this point that chip could have been easily mistaken for a heavy cross, as I was in heavy suffering.More stops. More pain.
Tirik mode. At that monent, I could never put a premium on the value of having an experienced ultrarunner like Abby on my crew. Her relentless approach last year worked wonders, and left my whiny self eating her dust. While everyone was sort of freaking out at my disheveled state, she was resolute in whispering to me "Tiis lang babe. Not too many breaks. You can do this. Just keep on moving forward, sayang time. I took solace in that and soldiered on. If I couldn't be strong, at least someone was being strong for me. And I could feed off that. And the journey continues... . Of Pain and Detours As my slowly deteriorating carcass was slowly marching through the dusty Pampanga highway, without a doubt I was a broken man both mentally and physically. I had a losers mentality and was already looking for reasons to quit. Km 80 could have been a world away and i wouldn't have known the difference. My pace had plummeted, my strategy out of sorts. What had started out as a promising race was going down the drain on account of a left foot that was swelling ridiculously. Each attempt at running was rewarded with pain, pain, and more pain. Masakit na. Ayaw na. What exacerbated things was that the crew took a left somewhere, ostensibly for a 1k detour. That 1k detour turned out to be 3.5k of hell without a support crew. No drinks,no nothing. Much to my consternation, turns out they could have just gone straight and ignored it, all the rest of the support cars were there. I was down and out. Suddenly, nightfall was approaching. How could I even dream of hitting 160k when I'm running on nonexistent fumes here? As I finally catch the crew after nearly four kilometers of non-existent support, it seemed like the end of the line for me. Battered, exhausted, I sat down somewhere near KM 80 and nearly collapsed while sitting down. Abby was very concerned already. She kept on muttering Just keep moving forward babe, you can do this. I believe in you. AJ and Duart were searching for inspirational quotes from their bag of tricks as well.Somewhere, seeing such a concerted effort from my team ignited a long recessive notion from within. In my frustration, I suddenly came to the realization - why the heck am I acting like such a sissy? I had already done this before! I'm a vet for crying out loud. Let's get this done! My swagger, which had somehow taken an inopportune time to take a VL, came back just in the nick of time. With renewed vigor, my head back on the right frequency, I went back out there with that predator's mindset that had been sorely missing for several hours now. Pain is just a word One slight problem. Energized as I was, the pain was slowly bordering on "enough to make me yelp" proportions. My form must have been god-awful. Anyway, I kept on whining like some lame greenhorn until I sort of just got fed up with myself. This was a war, and if I was going down I'd do so on my shield. In a journey not wanting of inspiration, there are some times that you just had to get the job done yourself. If some other people along the way saw me angrily muttering to myself, here's the inside scoop on what that was going on. Wimpy GBM : Ouch. Aray. Ang sakit na talaga. DNF na tayo koya, uwi na tayo please? BDM Vet Hard Core GBM : Ano ka ba?! Sali sali ka dito tapos aangal angal ka jan? Bwiset! Wimpy : Waaaah but it hurts so baaaad and I'm soooooo tired =,( Hard Core : You joined this stupid, the pain is to be expected. Duh! Do you seriously expect to run this long with no pain? You have got to be kidding me! Suck it up chump! You a tough guy or a wimp? Wimpy : Sungit mo naman... .. Not that I've degenerated into schizoprenia, but I needed to kick it up a notch if I had any intention of getting through this. I entered Km 80 a man possessed, suddenly I was hitting 8:00 pace with ease. The foot was extremely bothersome, but my mind and psyche were clear. Just keep moving forward. Dammit man. Get it together. Fighting for the fallen I had hit upon a fantastic formula that worked wonders for me and allowed both for enough rest and enough traction towards the goal. The support car would be there every 1k, so what I would do was that I would run for 1k, rest or sit down for a bit once I reached the car , walk 300 meters then run the next 700. It worked so well that it seemed that I could sustain for extended periods. Somewhere around the mid-80's I was shocked to see Bea and Dan around the route. But... . Mark was so far ahead of me right? She told me he had fallen behind a little to rest. As I probed what happened, I was told he was just tired, that's all. Ah, the typical swoon. But we all go through it and he would no doubt bounce back from it. I told Bea that I would be waiting up for him, a reprise of last year's end-game partnership seemingly forthcoming. My sudden resurgence suddenly catapulted me back into the thick of things. I ran into Singaporean ultra runner Kelly Lim, who told me she didn't know the way and was lacking in supplies, apparently her support crew was way behind. I instructed the gang to give her whatever she needed. I told her she could hang with me if she wanted, but her pace seemed way too strong for my injured left foot and methodical strategy.She thanked me and went on her way. The curious thing about the entire exchange was when she told me she was measuring her pace in steps. Not sure if that's a culture-specific thing, but I found it to be quite the novel approach. In the dark recesses of the land where tocino and sisig are king, the pain was considerable but I was sticking to my 700-300 run walk strat. Eerie headlamps defined shadowy figures identifiable only by their reflectorized vests, as we traversed a Kapampangan neighborhood that seemed to be comfortable in blithely ignoring us.Still, every time I would see a runner closing in I would ease up and check if it was Mark doing one of his trademark comebacks. Alas, it was another unfamiliar face marauding in the darkness. Where the heck was he? The crew was surprised at what seemed like a strong second wind from me, as I was arriving faster at our stops than what was previously trending. As I approached KM 90 in that tricky poblacion area that drove us nuts last year, turns out they were buying dinner at Jollibee and only AJ was left in the van. Before I could even ask him what our foodies were, he let go of a grim, tersely worded statement that rocked me to the core. Nag DNF na daw si Mark ... .. I couldn't believe it. Nearly 14 hours in, emotions were running high already. I was crestfallen, heartbroken. Like I could feel his pain myself. It was as if the enemy had successfully shot down one of my own. My lips quivered. This was my buddy, we had willed each other to the line last year. AJ even massaged him towards the end (he never let me forget). We were supposed to replicate that success this year. We've been in many wars together carrying the TPB bannerall season long and he was in phenomenal shape. He had trained so hard for this, as well as anyone I knew. I was at a loss for words at how that could have happened, more so that I knew how much he would fight to keep a DNF off his record. I was beside myself, I felt I let a friend down. Maybe if I were there I could have implored him to go on, helped him out bit by bit till he regained his senses and strength. Suddenly, sadness turned to worry. It had to be really serious for him to stop at that point. I implored AJ to give me more details, he didn't know either. Mark dropping out put a quick check on my own mortality. Reports would later come in that more and more friends were falling by the wayside. In my exhausted, sleep-deprived state, the pull of our close-knit fraternity dropping like flies emboldened me to push on. If there were an ultrarunning version of that scene in 300 where the captain goes berserk after his son gets decapitated, this was probably it. I hit 7:30 on my 310xt for a kilometer split at a time when the cumulative average was already around 8:40.
NoooooooooooooooI had to go on. For Mark, for everyone who had their dreams dashed by fate's cruel, unfeeling turn. It could have been me, could have been anyone. But I'm still around for a reason. This is for them. I have to take it home for them. Now let's get it done.
Let's do it for them. Just Get It To 102 At this point last year, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Just a wee bit more. I wrote : The pain in my left knee grew in intensity with each pause. My crew was pulling out all the stops to ensure that I made it. The pain was incredible. But to quit this near, after all that you've been through? No way in hell. If you told me that I had to roll down the road just to finish, I would have. This year, while I was presumably in better shape I was already slowing down significantly as I went past KM90. The adrenalin from my rallying cry around the plethora of DNF's had faded and the exhaustion was creeping in. As I marched on into the night, I was reminded on just how ludicrous the entire enterprise was in running the equivalent of nearly four marathons in 30 straight hours. Last year I barely made it in one piece to the line. This time around not only do I have to clear 102 kilometers, I have to run all the way to another province just to finish, 58 long kilometers away. Seriously. Who in the right mind would do this? I was dwarfed by the magnitude of the task at hand. As I was going through another late swoon, Wency, Chito and a couple of other warriors caught up with me. With differing run/walk patterns, we would alternate bursts of small talk along with taking the lead. I was weakening at this point, and I felt all alone . Mentally, making it to 102 meant the safe haven of a warm meal and the prospect of resting for more than the couple of seconds I had been giving myself for practically the entire journey.I kept on muttering just get it to 102, all will be well after. With pacers allowed 102 onwards, I was counting heavily on Abby, AJ and Duart to get me through in one piece. Before I could get there though, two pairs of shiny eyes suddenly hit my lamp. Dogs. Wild Dogs. Before I could even react, these uncuddly canines were chasing after me like I was a steak on two legs. At this point, this is truly the last thing you need. I just froze and walked calmly as their agitated, bloodthirsty growls resonated along the grim highway.Lucky.
Bad Doggie.As I allowed my blood pressure to settle down a few notches, I just realized that I still remembered quite distinctly each nuance this final stretch had to offer..I remember everything - my shuffling gait, the left to the eskinita, the cheers, the hug from BR. Everything is all still so vivid. Even amidst being embroiled in all this physical suffering, the reassurance of being in somewhat familiar conditions was invaluable. Soon, we would be leaving the comfort of these toiling grounds for a stab at the twilight zone. I check my watch. I actually have a shot at a 102 PR. In what was probably not the smartest move to do at that point , I yearned for a strong entry into KM102 so I "tempo ran" that final kilometer going as low as 7:00. At I approached the famous eskinita Abby, AJ and Duart were there to ensure I didn't get lost. I ran strong into the train station sixteen hours and 30 minutes after I had began to a cacophony of cheers from the remaining crowd, an hour erased from last year's finish. 102 kms done. 58 to go. Last year, this was the scene of our greatest triumph. Now, it is where we begin our greatest battle... .
A sight for sore eyes at KM102
Just like the good ol' daysPrelude To The Pain Finally, some semblance of "real" rest! I had worked long and hard for this so I would savor each second of it.I took off my shoes, got to stretch amd lie down for a bit, wolfed down a Burger Machine "double longga burger" for good measure. I heard some of the other warriors took a quick snooze as well. The 310xt got a fresh charge on Endure Multisport buddy/creative whiz Gerard Cinco's (of dimsumandsiomai fame) car charger. He was also kind enough to lend me his Garmin 405 to bridge the gap. Eternal thanks bro!
We put Salonpas on the throbbing upper arch of my bothersome left foot, some on the calves. Otherwise, I was okay. Or so I thought. Coming in at around 16:30ish, I decided to burn 30 minutes to simulate a 17 hour split , which more or less gives me 13 hours to complete that final 58k. I had fulfilled my short-term goal to bridge it to my pacers while keeping my sanity. Now the real challenge begins.
First up was AJ, my de facto crew chief from my BDM 102 campaign and eternal buddy. The plan was for him to cover anywhere from 5-10 kilometers while buying Abby some valuable shut-eye before she came on.. While not exactly a regular running denizen, AJ was a former UAAP Volleyball MVP and could count on his natural athleticism to take over should push come to shove. He was hyped up and raring to go as a strange new world awaited us out there.
BDM Card #2 right here.But before anything else, a couple of hiccups. First, for some incomprehensible reason I couldn't get my laces to stick.Perhaps the tender left foot had something to do with it as I was being OC with the tightness , but it took us at least five minutes to get the whole thing right. Talk about a momentum killer. Second - just get the heck out of the train station. Fast. We had traversed all around it, amidst what seemed like an abandoned rice paddy. A dog came right out and threatened to attack us. We were warned about the dogs, but seriously this was ridiculously way too early in the ball game. Much like the guardian pacer he was, Hasa bravely shooed the rabid dog away with his "shout and make gulat the doggie move". He would later confess that his cajones were being seriously compromised already, but he had to at least "pretend" to be strong in my severely weakened state. Thank God it worked. We finally were able to navigate our way around the labyrinthine area... only to wind up about 100 meters from where we had started. We could even see Sir Rene and Camilla Brooks from where we were. They probably thought we were messing around. Sheesh.
Apparently, it wasn't as simple as we thought.Crash Into Me We had wasted an inordinate amount of time just getting out into the main road, and I was deathly paranoid of getting lost at such a crucial juncture. My absence at that crucial, final test run was now coming back to haunt me. On the way to Macarthur Highway, I had AJ ask practically every manong if they saw runners along the route. Even if the answer was always in the affirmative, the eerie absence of support cars was agitating me. After asking like thrice, Hasa was like Ano, satisfied na? I probably muttered something unintelligible as a reply.
I tried to get on with the 700-300 formula that had worked so well for me, but after a solitary kilometer I felt sick. I was crashing. Hard. Again. Could the strong push leading to 102 drained my last reserves? I was hitting more than 17 hours of the road already. I guess the relative unfamiliarity of the terrain all added to this notion brewing in my head . Once I hit 103k , I was in no man's land. Pessimistic realities were beginning to form in my head. Damn, ang layo pa. Wala na akong ibibigay pa. I implored AJ that all I could do was walk first. All of a sudden, it seemed like I was in a daze. Parang high. To make matters worse, our support van was nowhere in sight. Apparently, Tito Caloy went freestyling on the route and insisted on the "Macarthur Highway" route that he knew... . which was going to Bulacan. Apparently, I wasn't the only one bonking. Try as I could, the legs were not responding. I was doing the tukod move at a higher ratio than at any point in the race. I almost even fell into AJ at one point. We were barely moving. Once again, fears of a late game choke were getting to me.Good thing that this was an all-too-familiar sight for my friend, having seen me buck injury and dehydration during the previous campaign. He still had his mental notebook full of pre-memorized inspirational quotes, but he didn't pull a single one. The one he did drop though, was probably the one that mattered the most. Kung sa akin nga lang pap, kung kaya lang kitang samahan ng 50k gagawin ko. A poignant moment in a journey made possible not by one man's singular effort, but by the collective sacrifices of those who share a single-minded determination to tow him to that finish line. Infused by a sudden stream of positive energy, it was just the thing I needed. Habol ng Habol Big steps lang. I tried running but gave up seeing that my "run" and AJ's walk were roughly around the same pace. So what's the point. Our progress was miserably slow. After close to an hour, me and AJ had only covered four ridiculous kilometers using this tactic and time was slowly ticking away. I was trying to get myself together by convincing myself that this hour long walk would serve as the much needed "rest" to help me once Abby came on. In pretty bad shape though. Ironically, AJ was somehow relieved when Duart offered to take over pacer duties. Apparently his surgically repaired knee was acting up, a heroic effort for a friend in need. Too bad I was too preoccupied battling my inner demons to fully appreciate it at the time
Hasa gutting it out after 5k
Duart raring to step up to the plate Once Duart had donned the official pacer's bib, we were off. He was jacked and amped up, perhaps a little too much for me in my rapidly diminished state. Given the horrid start to this final leg of our journey, we somehow had to make up for lost time. Around 19 hours in, I was fading badly and I sore in too many places than I could describe. My buddy, who was always the smartest guy in our class a decade ago, was hellbent on helping in any way he could. Some useless trivia : He once missed AJ's UAAP championship game, and was so disconsolate about it that he attended every single game the following season. Now that's what you call friendship! I am lucky to have him on my team.
He was listening to my instructions as much as he could while dropping the occasional motivational line, and we were making some semblance of progress. Pap, mental lang yan. Bumibigay na ang katawan pero it's all mental. Not sure if I got it verbatim but that's pretty much what I could remember.We had another mad dog episode, and he was brutally honest in telling me he wasn't exactly too thrilled with them wild doggies. A noble effort from my bud to keep me in there, but it was clearly bothering him. In short, at this point where my brain had pretty much short-circuited, I scarcely had any energy to to help him out against any anxiety as much as I wanted to. I needed to be carried, not the other way around. Another point of concern was when he told me he suddenly became dizzy, no doubt a byproduct of the sudden stress put upon his sleep-starved system. As much as Duart was shrugging it off, a glance on my watch was telling me we weren't trending well.
If only them Tarlac doggies were this cute At this rate, once Abby came on we might be too far behind already. But Duart still had 5k to go, and he seemed quite enthused with it. As much as I wanted to have my bud finish his full leg, the reality was that I needed Abby in there both for the physical and emotional boost, and I didn't think I could hang on for 5k more.As rhythmically disjointed as our current little sortie was, I was hanging on to the hope that once she came on, everything would fall back into place. I labored heavily with each run, my pain-wracked body slowly being battered into submission. At only 115k in, we were nearly 20 hours out there. 10 hours for 45k? In this state? I pushed the panic button and told good buddy Duart we had to cut short his stint. Always the proud warrior (he's already planning his own BDM 102 stint for next year. AJ is his support crew chief which rocks, problem is AJ doesn't know yet.), he seemed visibly bothered that I had cut his stint short. I scarcely had the energy to explain things, just muttered that it was all about "strategy"whatever that meant amidst his half-serious protestations. Once Abby saw her number called, she shifted to work mode instantaneously and snapped on the bib and my hydrobelt with baon gels. With one of the best ultrarunning pedigrees amongst all the pacers, she's a tremendous boon to my campaign. In the middle of the night, in some unknown highway, we had some serious catching up to do. Both literally and figuratively.
Super Abby to save the day Longest. Date. Ever. As we ventured into the great unknown, the "reserves" that I was storing during AJ and Duart's combined 10k stint somehow helped. The more I realized that we were running into Angeles City (yes, Angeles City. And yes, I started in Bataan, 20 hours ago.), all the more that the enormity of the entire experience was getting to my head. Each step was heavier, every breath more labored than ever. We started out strong thanks to Abby pushing the pace, but alas I couldn't ride out the heavy fade. My mind was starting to play tricks with me already. If there was such a thing as a "running pseudo lucid dream", I was probably doing it already. It felt like my brain was kicking into " dream mode" - while I was still running. Seemed like a bizarro mix of both a dream and a hallucination at the same time, and the line between fantasy and reality was severely blurred at this point. No idea if I was dreaming or not anymore.
Sabaw I regain a semblance of reality to the faint sobs of my worried girlfriend, who had been rock steady and strong the entire time. Apparently, I was already lying down the concrete pavement at some Angeles City bridge, my submission to mortality compounded by a suddenly biting wind. She was at a loss for words, the complexity of being a pacer tasked to bring you to the line intersecting with that of a petrified loved one. Diliryo. Yes, that's what they call it. I want to quit already. So many people have fought the good fight and called it a day already. Maybe I should do the same. ...
An emotional turning point... .A Walk On The Dark Side Somehow, Abby's resolute pleadings got me back on my feet again. However, as we plodded our way to Tarlac it was becoming harder and harder with no relief in site. The thermostat suddenly dropped out of nowhere and I started to shiver uncontrollably, to the point that my chest began to hurt already. I was forced to wear the only warm thing available - Tito Caloy' frumpy windbreaker. As much as this was the last place where you could be judged for a fashion faux pas, I took it off the moment I got warmer. Smirk. At this point I could only run for about 200 or so meters before stumbling around the dark, dusty abyss en route to Tarlac. It was a painful, arduous process. I would beg for a chance to sit down. Abby was adamant. Sayang time. Kaya pa yan. What a whiner. So many of our fellow warriors had passed us already, some I haven't seen since the start of the race. Gosh, I must have lost so much time already. Two enigmatic, shadowy figures emerge from the woodwork, plodding ninjas who had seemingly lost their way. Turns out it was the veteran ultra duo of George Dolores and Ralph Salvador, battle tested warriors who were likewise succumbing to their demons within. Aabot pa ba tayo?Di na namin gagawin to uli, kalokohan to! Seeing two proud veterans fighting their demons to the very end seemed to embolden me. If they are still in this... . no reason I shouldn't be. You know how they say that in a marathon your second wind kicks in just when you need it the most? I had used mine hours ago. That third and fourth? A distant memory. I'm running on empty here as we were approaching the 130k mark. A quick glance at the trusty 310xt. Not good. Not good at all. At this rate, there would be no way would be finishing within cutoff. I felt my dreams slowly fading, dissipating before my tired, weary eyes. The body had given up, the pain too immense. My spirit a meek spectator to the entire spectacle. Abby was slowly getting exhausted trying to coax something out of me, to no avail. But inside of me, a different storm was brewing. So that's it?This is how it's all going to end Luis? You just plain gave up? You bothered so many people, spent so much money, put yourself through this much pain, only to fail at the end? Think of how the Facebook statuses would come out tomorrow, how people would be sympathetic to your stupid excuses. Keep this crap up, and you will fail. Are you content with the whole "just making it to the start line is a victory" crap? You came here with a specific goal in mind. You want that buckle right? You want the cynics to shut the hell up right?? Are you going to quit on Abby? On Hasa and Duart after everything that they have done for you? On the five people who will read your story on your crappy blog? What a damn lousy story that would be. More than anything, do it for yourself. Do you want to be remembered as a quitter forever?
On life support and needing a miracle Desperate times call for desperate measures. When all else was failing, I swung for the fences with nothing left to lose. How? Simple, really. I pissed myself off. Yes, you read that right. I was trying my darn best to piss myself off. Before my brain decided to shut itself down completely, I had this bright idea that the only way to save my race was for my adrenalin to go into overdrive. It's the fight or flight paradigm at play, and I gave it one final heave. If this failed, there was nothing more I could do but accept that maybe this wasn't really meant for me. It's a sober reality that I would probably deal with for the rest of my life. Everything was hinging on this. I couldn't fail. I REFUSE to fail. Luis : NO!!! I CAN'T LOSE! I PUT TOO FREAKING MUCH INTO THIS!! QUIT?? NOW?? YOU GOT TO BE !@#$ KIDDING ME!! LET'S GO!! Abby : ???!!!! The result was nothing short of spectacular, For one completely inspired, ethereal stretch, everything just clicked. The adrenalin was overflowing. All the pain disappeared., not a trace. I was running like I just started on one of them BHS races. Abby was shocked out of her wits, but kept pace as much as she could. We were passing the others at will, and it was just an incredible turn of events. At a time when we were covering about 4 kilometers an hour tops at around 15:00 min/km pace, we zoomed to an unfathomable (given the circumstances) 5:50 min/km pace. Even I myself was shocked. In plain and simple terms, we had earned back that extra hour that we had lost earlier with the effort.
And in one fell swoop, we were back in the game.
Cruise Control
We had to slow down eventually and fall back into a run/walk pattern as it was Abby's turn to bonk. The sudden speedwork zapped her, and our support car was nowhere to be found. AJ and Duart were plotting our trends in between naps, and they had missed out on the sudden surge. They were at least 5 kilometers away and couldn't seem to find us in their best Keystone Cops routine. Abby was running out of water and Gato as the sudden anaerobic spurt was getting the best of her. With the national engineering boundary for Tarlac in sight, it was somewhat my turn to keep her in there. Eventually the groggy gang caught up, likewise shocked at the little stunt we pulled off.
The adrenalin had worn off and everything was starting to hurt again, but at least Abby was better. As we soldiered on into the wee hours of the new day, we were comfortably settling into a pattern that we had first used when I paced her for the original Rizal Day 32k. It entailed choosing targets from within the prevailing landscape and run to that with no excuses. Let's run to the green house. Waiting shed. 2nd big telephone pole. From this point forth every second counted, each second running providing us a bigger buffer for what promises to be an explosive endgame.
Twenty Four Oras
Set a target. Run.Walk. Rest. As we were nearing the 24 hour mark entering the Tarlac capitol, I was fighting with everything I had. I could scarcely believe that I was still here - alive, standing, running and with a real shot at taking this home. Good vibes. Even the boys were egging me on. Let's do this pap. Let's take this home.
Hitting the 24 hour mark was a poignant, goosebump inducing- milestone. But it wasn't over. Not just yet.
Daytime Shocker
Shocking, because I was still here. Because Abby was approaching 30k pacing me with nary a sign of fatigue. But the single most shocking, absolutely mind-blowing thing that jolted our senses was seeing a crumpled, hobbling figure on the other side of the road. It was Tatay Jonel. I last saw him just after the 50k mark and had figured he had finished hours before.. He looked deathly pale, and our attempts to ask what was wrong were met with some semi-lucid hand gestures, presumably gesturing us to go ahead. Another dagger straight into our hearts. .If I were Daniel- san, he was Master Miyagi. If this were a war, that was our general right there. And right now our general was telling me to leave him and let him be. Reluctantly, we had to pass him, taking painful solace in the thought that this was his battle to face, his mountain to conquer. Just a bit more, and glory would be his.
Hopefully, it would all be ours.
100% Pure Guts
Digging Deep
The sun was starting to beat down and the pain on my left foot was off the charts. Any form of movement would generate a certain level of pain that seemingly only a shot of morphine could negate. Nevertheless, the excitement was building, and we were trending well as we were entering the 140k mark. I could sense it in Abby's voice. We got this babe!! Just a bit more!
Meanwhile, the crew was on chillax mode. A supremely confident AJ was already looking at breakfast plans while Duart was doing a little premature celebrating
Breakfast, anyone? Wrong Mistake
I was trying to amp up every step as we were hitting the right turn that was supposed to lead us to the Capas National Shrine. Pain was mortifyingly bad, I've run out of adjectives to describe it. If my Garmin was correct, we just had 13 more kilometers to go to glory. You know how towards the latter part of a marathon, say around 40-41k, you just attempt to block out everything in an attempt at a strong finish? I was trying to pull off the same thing here. In my head, we got this, let's get it over with. As we reached the crossroad, me and Abby ran into Coach Rey Antoque for the final pangtali which serves as your time stamp (they have a knack for just appearing out of nowhere). I asked him how much further, 12k na lang daw. But my strategy was thrown into disarray when veteran ultra dude Ron Sulapas, still very much in the game, told us it was more like 18k out. 18k??You have got to be kidding me. Coach just said 12k! Abby was getting pissed off because we couldn't seem to get a clear picture of much further we were going. Even AJ and Duart weren't quite sure. Thankfully, Doc Art somehow managed to catch up with us, and he seemed to know the way. Amidst the last-minute chaos, a glanced at my watch. If it were 18k more... .
I need to start running. Now.
Malayong malayo pa Kuya... .
It's getting to be hot. Really hot. Once again, the lack of a test run couldn't have been more evident as we entered the busy, winding streets going to the shrine. For someone who had made it to to this point relying heavily on pace, distance and time projections... . now I didn't have the slightest damn idea where we were going. Or how far we were. Abby was starting to look a little bit wasted, but was tremendously effective as a drillmaster/inspirational leader. The pain, oh God I don't want to think about the pain anymore. I knew that they were all blistered up, but at this point that was the last thing on my mind. Just wanted this over and done with. I tried asking a tricycle dude how far off we were from the shrine, and was met with an incredulous reply that serves as the header of this paragraph. Digging into what seemed to be my 7th wind already, I was spilling my blood and guts onto that pavement already. Malayo pa ba... ..
Panandaliang Ligaya
AJ and Duart were scrambling to get distance projections and to give nearly per kilometer support for us. This was the final stretch. Winning time baby. I had gone through so many up and down cycles that I had lost track already. The term "threshold of pain" has been redefined several times already that I may just end up giving it an altogether different meaning after the whole thing. Quite truly, it takes a different animal to tame this distance. I would whine incessantly, the lack of a clear goal bothering me. AJ kept on trying to explain the projections but nothing was entering my brain. Both me and Abby were at the mercy of the elements, and right now it wasn't showing that much.
After what seemed like an eternity of pain, the gates of the Capas National Shrine beckoned. Me and Abby were going nuts, the joy was impossible to contain. She kept on telling me that she was proud of me. But wait, there was a catch. To successfully complete the distance, we had to do an extra loop past the monument and back to do a full 100-miler. We were all told of this beforehand. Problem with me was, in my semi-delirious state we thought it was pretty near. I could swear that someone said 5k na lang! Malapit na!
Rule #1 : Don't listen to strangers.
Rule #2 : Never, EVER take "malapit na" at face value.
Rule #3 : " 5k" is relative .
The Final Showdown
Pain. Suffering. Guts. Determination. It's been such an emotional rollercoaster for us and I couldn't stop thanking Abby for willing me to this point. We got news that there have been only been less than twenty finishers, maybe I could even crack the top 20. So all we need to do is cruise, relax, game over. We couldn't have been more mistaken about the entire thing. You know that feeling when you know the race is over and your levels start to normalize? Then all the aches and pains come in? Of course it's normal.
My problem was, it happened to me just a couple of kilometers early.
AJ and Duart were intentionally withholding it at that time, but they knew that the full route was a 4.5 killer uphill and back to cover the missing 9k from the original 151k historic route. Our first inkling was when we saw TPB icon Junrox Roque looking spent, probably the first time I ever saw him him in that state. Argow, OJ, Kelly Lim, I haven't seen them in hours and yet there they were on the homeward journey. Two things. Either they had all slowed down like crazy... . or that final stretch was so far out and difficult that it took them forever to get back. I wasn't about to put my money on the former.
That last 4.5k uphill stretch ranks as probably the greatest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced. After 150 kilometers of running over nearly 27 hours , an extended uphill stretch is the last thing you would ever want to see at that point. Everything was sinking in, my system rejecting everything. I was puking out the gels, and even Gatorade was nauseating. The heat was simply unbearable. I wanted to collapse. Every labored step would elicit a pained yelp from me. If I were to capture a microcosm of the suffering and sacrifice of the actual Death March, I was going through it right there. Abby was compelling me to move forward, but she was in tears as she could see, feel my suffering so near the goal.
Mybody and mind have both shut down. I have squeezed every last ounce of humanly strength that I could. There is... . nothing more. To the last drop. The uphill climb seems to be endless with no relief in sight. Going up the hill with my eyes closed, I nearly fall over Abby. My battered soul lets a blood curdling yell, a final testament to the flawed limits of human physical endurance. Truly, why did I ever subject myself to this anyway? When will it ever end?
Alas, I refuse to be denied. This is it. This is my moment. When all is gone, the spirit will always remain. I am running on utter fumes and Abby is willing me to that line. Because as one would realize when doing ultramarathons, , this " war" that I've been harping about since the very beginning is not fought on a battlefield with guns or soldiers or generals. It is fought in the inner recesses of your own mind. Drawn out into the outer fringes of your own heart. YOU are your greatest enemy... .. and greatest ally at the same time. It is a dichotomy that has no equal, accessible only to the chosen few who dare tread that fine line.
Suck it up. Pain is temporary. Glory is forever.
Everything is just a blur now, unraveling in my head as some high- definition, stop-motion slideshow. That final agony of running downhill. Running into Cebu ultragal Haide Acuna who was going strong as she entered her own final battle. Entering the monument while running at full speed, tears streaming down our cheeks as the magnitude of an accomplishment that couldn't have been farther from reality was slowly sinking in. The unbridled, once-in-a-lifetime joy of finally crossing a finish line 29 hours and 30 minutes after I had left its counterpart a hundred miles away. Hugs from the man who gave me a chance to show my mettle when very few believed I could do it. Hugs from a crew who didn't have to do it, but did anyway for the sake of a friendship that has stood the test of time. Hugs from the best girlfriend in the universe, who gave so much of herself to the endeavor and whose unshakable, iron-clad belief in my ability when even I myself had lost faith proved to be the winning quotient.
I said it once, I'll say it again - BDM is not for the faint of heart. But for those who dare, it will provide that introspective journey that life in general is largely bereft of . It affects you. It changes your emotional blueprint, and shakes the very foundations of your self-belief at its most visceral level. It's a life's experience's life experience, providing you with tall tales of glory and determination meant to be passed down from this generation to the next.
To those who are wondering if I will ever subject myself to the same, er, unique experience in the future, the answer is a big resounding NO. Never. Never ever.
But then again, wasn't that the exact same thing I said last year?
T he runners were all hyped up and ready to go, the excitement and anticipation of months of training reaching fever pitch. As the organizers counted down the seconds, you could feel the palpable tension amidst the..
81 runners. How many will make it?
Wait.
We're getting ahead of ourselves.
There's always a story behind the story. And isn't that the interesting part?
Prologue
Gingerbreadman with Gingerbread Driver, 4 pm Saturday.
GBM: Let's go to Libis, I need to buy a blinker from a bike shop.GBD: Okie ser! You go biking biking?GBM: Nope not biking, the blinker was just required for my race, it's at 1 am later.GBD: Ah! So you go biking biking at 1am? Dat is so eeshcary!GBM: We're not going biking, it's a run.GBD: Yes ser, biking run!GBM: No, I mean, running, two feet.GBD: Ah! JAGGING! Wow ish so erly por jagging ser! GBM: Quite a long jog indeed, about 50k .GBD: WAW! R U SERYOS SER??GBM: GBD, Magtagalog na lang tayo... GBD: Hay salamat ser! kamao pala kayo mag Tagalog!GBM: Teka, iba na un ah... .
Sleeplessly Anticipating
"Excitement" would be an understatement as I counted down the seconds, minutes, and hours before the single greatest challenge of my relatively nascent running career. During the time I was supposed to be sleeping, I was frozen in a zombie-like state. Everything seemed to be moving in freeze frame. I was glued to my laptop, the Takbo.ph shoutbox a looming rhapsody in motion, all but frozen in time. I was bored. Antsy. Couldn't sleep. And everytime I did try to sleep, the Gingerbread Dog was all over me. Bad dog. His birthday is coming up by the way, 2 years old this August 21. I'm planning a CLP and all of you are invited. Yeah. As I said, I'm antsy. Next paragraph please. Sorry for the 30 seconds of your life you'll never get back.
I'm just trying to help! HBD to mehhh! You're invited! 8/21!
Of Support Crews and the Ultimate Emperador Sacrifice On the path to fulfilling my dreams, I ran into a major obstacle - who the heck would support me? No way I could survive the distance without any form of help. My college friends are either getting married ( Note to self : Tick tock... . Tick Tock... ) or being stationed abroad. No way could they support me. I don't wanna hassle Gingerbread Gal, that's too long of a grind. So looks like I need to call on the last people on my list, the ones that I really didn't want to bother - the Gingerbread Dad and no less than internet legend/favorite uncle Tito Caloy. They had given up their commitment to support me on the journey, and Tito Caloy cancelled his Emperador LCLP with the kumpadres. Sob. Imagine, he gave that up for me? Must have been torn. Poignant moment right there.
GBM : Thanks for helping me out Dad.
GD : No problem son. I will just bring you there and meet you in the morning, am no spring chicken anymore . Tito Caloy will take over.
TC : Gigimik lang yan... ...
GBM : !!!!
TC: Gano tayo katagal dun?
GBM: Max of 9 hours?
TC: May chicks ba dun?
GBM: !!!!!
Gingerbread Dad and internet Legend Tito Caloy all set
Official Gingerbread Support Car
Yellow Cab, 11:20 pm Saturday
I am nervous. Really. I mean, I am gunning to run a distance that I have never tackled before, not even close. A lot of people would not subscribe to that. But hey that's just me. It would kill me if I didn't try. Classic Gingerbread hard-headedness there. Meeting place is Yellow Cab Julia Vargas and the two elder Gingerbread folk are early. Early but... . they ordered a Pizza! Whaaa? It's 11:30 already! We might be late! Gingerbread Dad bought like 40 Gatorade bottles along with oreos, chocolates, and ... pizza. You'd think we were going on a children's party or something instead of an ultramarathon. Children.. hmm. Just made me remember a conversation with Gingerbread Mom over the phone while chilling from her lofty perch.
GBM: Yes Mom I'm running a 50k ultramarathon. I may even go for 100 if I'm still alive.
GM: Aww that's so great son!
GBM: Uh, yeah? It's running from UP to Commonwealth then SM Fairview then retrace the whole thing back to UP! It's a big deal you know! I'll be famous!
GM: Awww that's wonderful! How long will you be away?
GBM: I'll be running for 8, 9 hours straight! Very few runners are crazy enough to do it!
GM: Wow, very nice! Very nice! Make sure you won't run come nightfall it's dangerous!
GBM: Ugh, its at 1am Mom.
GM: Well then make sure you're home in time for lunch! It's Sunday and you rarely go here! Take care! Do you have money?
GBM: (The way our conversation is running you would think I'm just going out to the mall to watch a movie or something. Old people. What fun. )
Starting Line , 12:59 am
T he runners were all hyped up and ready to go, the excitement over the culmination of weeks and months of training reaching fever pitch. As the organizers counted down the seconds, you could feel the palpable tension amidst the crowd. There was a definitive buzz. Neville and Ian had given last minute instructions, car stickers and banners already distributed. Class pictures were taken. Niceties were exchanged among the brave souls, a pall of both uncertainty and anticipation slowly falling over the group. 81 have come to defy the odds and enter the hard-knocks, no-frills world of the ultramarathon. As the starting gun went off and the group started going en masse past the utilitarian starting line banner, you get to think... how many of them would be here to cross the finish?
Newbies getting tips from the ultra vets
Sir Ronnie aka Runnerforchrist and Takbo.ph running bud Doc Sherwin pre-race
They will keep us safe
Pat's lucky charm
Race directors par excellance Ian and Neville for last-minute instructions
The starting line beckons... .
Kilometer 10, 2:10 am. What's the Rush?
Amidst the helter skelter start, me and TNF 100 vet/ Takbo.ph buddy Pat were left bundled together for the first 10km of the run. For some insane reason , we thought we were way behind the pack. And for an even more insane reason, we ran the first 10k in 70 mins. Apparently, for runners of our skill level, that is tantamount to a virtual death knell in ultra terms. As you see the story unravel, the implications of such a brazen move would have significant ramifications on the two of us as the race wore on.
I can do this...
The bunny is the key
The 1st and 2nd placers of GIG Run pose for a bit
Km 11 - 20 , 3 am. The Endless Roads of Commonwealth Ave.
The route looped back to base camp at Ylanan before we set out to go to Commonwealth. I was starting to think that this breakneck pace was not prudent at all if I was to go the distance. So I signaled to Pat to leave me behind. As I went out to Commonwealth, I realized that the road to success would be a solitary one.
Mundane sights on a road that doesn't end The very same route I have traversed endless times in the past by car didn't seem like it would end. An interesting twist was that I had to pass by the Quezon CIty circle as well, going through the overpass twice.
The sight that greets tired wannabe ultramarathoners I never realized that thing was that long. Once you had completed that part, you would be passing what seemed like a never ending road. Twists along the way - Tito Caloy finally tracked me down, gave much needed support. I was expecting him to look sheepish or bored to death, but he looked genuinely concerned. Naks. Scene after Tito Caloy had given me some much-needed refreshments :
Unknown Oldie Runner : May tubig ka b a diyan? Tito Caloy : Ah, eh, meron UOR : Pahingi naman TC: Ah, eh, cge eto UOR: Gatorade meron? TC: Um, oo, pero... .. UOR: Pahingi na din. Baon. Malayong bakbakan to. TC: !!! GBM:!!!
(runner speeds off)
TC: You're welcome! GBM: What the fudge was that all about?
Sight for sore legs
Generous Guy Tito Caloy having a drink. No not that kind. Along Commonwealth I also repeatedly ran into veteran ultra dude Kiko (who actually went on to finish the 100k. Kept on offering him an Oreo or Gatorade. Or something. Refused every time. "I'm good, thank you." Classy, nice guy. Ultra Marathon tips on-the-go that I got from him :
1. Walk the inclines. Always. Don't even think about it. 2. You should have no injuries or funky feelings at the 50k mark. If you do, don't even think about it. 3. Eat real, whole meals. Planning on eating Oreos and chocolates the whole time? Don't even think about it.
Sage advice from ultra vet Kiko helped me surviveI took his advice to heart... . thus I ended up not thinking at all :)
Km 22 - 30 , 530 am. The long uphill to SM Fairview.
Upon reaching the very end of Commonwealth and hitting the turn to SM Fairview, evil voices in my head were slowly picking on my psyche in the dark solitude of that fateful Sunday morning.
You gotta be crazy dude. This is a route that BUSES take. You are so far off. You're alone. It's so dark you could get mugged. In your excitement to maintain an "ultra pace" your friends are at least an hour ahead of you. You're slow. Just quit and get back to your pampered , softie lifestyle. Go... go ride your support car and go home to Daddy.
Thankfully, I did my best to tune out these thoughts that would make Norman Vincent Peale turn in his grave. And Tito Caloy was resolute in not letting me rot on the road. He would show up every 10k or so, and just the mere sight of someone to talk to would sustain reanimate me. Thank God, he didn't desert me! Blood is thicker than alcohol! I've been running for nearly 5 hours straight already. Must not quit. Just as I was completely losing my sanity, I ran into the group of veteran ultraman and Takbo.ph buddy Ronald. Was a big group, and we ended up pacing until the aid station at SM Fairview where cold water and camote nourished us. The last sigh of fresh air before the final push. Its much akin to that slight lull before the Battle of Helm's deep in LOTR.
SM Fairview will never look the same again
Brief respite before the final push Km 30 onwards. What happened??
The events of what happened from this point on were all a blur to me. It's like a lucid dream. A real, live one (to the younger readers, kindly google "Vanilla Sky"). Essentially, the absurdity of a quick start combined with running for what was to eventually be eight hours began to catch up with me. Laundry list of what happened to me until the finish line :
Cramped up both legs at 35k mark
Knees tightened at 37k mark
Couldn't run well at 37k mark
Lost Tito Caloy until QC Circle Part Deux. He was ensnared in a running conversation with an old lady along Fairview on magnets (huh?) and he couldn't extricate himself. Ugh.
Was escorted by two scooters at 35 k mark. Seriously thought I was the very last runner. For someone who takes solace in the fact that he cracked the top 60 of his last 10k race, this was a terrible blow to the psyche that added exponentially to the mental strain he was already going through
Ipod went dead at 40k
Voices in head became louder at 40k
Saw Mcdonald's icon Grimace running in front of him at 41k mark
9. Openly considered quitting at 41k after seeing Grimace 10.Became fast friends with two gentlemen of an advanced age who were ditching the 100k ultra because they couldn't go on any further . Sakit ng tiyan ko hijo, masakit! 11.Quick fist pump at 42k mark. First full marathon. Wohoo! Oh great 8k more to go 12.Received encouraging phone calls from Takbo.ph pals Rico, Rod and Edu at 42 mark, reviving me from a semi-comatose state 13.Decided with finality that shooting for a 100k would land me in the hospital. I need the money from my job. Hospital would TAKE money I don't have away from me. Easiest choice I ever made. 14.Tito Caloy gives encouraging advice to call it a day with a smile. 15.Met by the most raucous ovation one could ever ask for at the 45k mark from the Takbo.ph family. I almost cried. Oh wait hold the tears. 5 more kilometers to go. 16.Bromance partner Rico aka Sheer Will paced me for the longest 5k of my life. Would possibly wilted if I was alone. 17.Best finish of my relatively nascent running career - screaming friends, a medal, parent and fun uncle in the crowd. Tons of cameras clicking away. With the racket going on you would think I won the damn thing. Felt like a gazillion bucks.
Eternally grateful for the 5k push
A final, painful run for glory
Happy Gingerbread Dad
Tito Caloy comes through for the Gingerbread Clan
It was all worth it... .
Because of these guys and gals
So there. Whew. That's my story. A dichotomy that unraveled as the layers of my soul were stripped down to its barest, purest form. A guy who yearns to be on top of the list ends up on the bottom. One who yearns to be fast ended up taking it very slow. Who went through the entire journey in independent solitude, only to rely on the kindness and thoughtfulness of others in order to finish.
I came in to test my limits, to prove that the mental faculties of an individual trump the physical every time. I came in with a chip on my shoulder, to show that I have the ability to go over and beyond what people expect of me. I came in... . with lofty expectations.
81 hopefuls. 47 made it. In the end, when everything was said and done, amidst the warm company of family and friends...
I was just so happy to be there and savor the moment with them.
There's always a story behind a story. Isn't that the interesting part?
Confession time. I have never completed a full marathon before. Not even close. As a newbie, my ambition has led me to so many different avenues that I would never, ever, would have considered seven months ago. At the time, a 5k would have been a major coup. Heck, I was 30 lbs. overweight. I needed to DO something. Some months and minor successes later, here I am on the cusp of a potential life experience. I signed on for the Botak 50k ultramarathon. Yeah, crazy guy. Jumping to an ultra without doing a full mary. Not too many people knew this.So the secret's out. But hey, we only live once right? I wanted to do Milo but I'm out on official business on the 5th. So this would have been my last shot at testing my limits for the next couple of months. So why would a guy who has done 35k max try to pull this off? Why would you thrown caution to the wind when people say it cannot be done? Let us see how the story unravels.
What chain of events led to this?
A place of no limits
I teach a module to students called "The Drive To Succeed", a class that handles how to go past any obstacles from a marketing and sales management perspective. It tackles how the human mind can overrule any obstacle, be it physical or mental. It's a good ploy to get students past paralyzing stage fright when presenting. It teaches them to be hotwired to succeed.To be stubborn, resilient, and driven when common sense would dictate that it cannot be done. Now, I'm thinking, can these theories be harnessed to pull of the impossible? Can I use these powers of the mind and make the big jump?
The 100k flirtation
As crazy as running a 50k was, my crazy side was ignited after attending the Botak CLP . Watching slides of Botak founder Cesar Guarin traverse insane distances led me to openly declare my intention to try and pull it off. Wrong idea. Adjectives to describe the reactions from friends and family -disdain, disgust, wariness, exasperation, anger. But hey, that's why they're called friends and family. They care for you and your well-being. They argue with you to death and roast you. But in the end, even if they don't agree with you, you could still be assured of their unwavering support. That's the beauty of it. So okay, it's a stretch. A big one. But I told myself that if I were still alive at the 50k mark, if I could so much as walk, I'll go for it. As it turns out, running distances that you usually take a car for was much harder than I could conceivably imagine.
I've always wanted to go back to Corregidor Island. The bastion of our final stand against the Japanese conquerors of yesteryear emanates a certain sense of tranquility, indelible relics of a forgotten war amidst an austere setting seemingly frozen in time.
So much... history happened here.
The last time I went there, they were still showing Pinoy Wrestling and Takeshi's Castle on Channel 13 and Jestoni Alarcon was all the rage with his Golden Buddha movie. Back then, the likes of Rita Avila and Christina Gonzales did "ST" films. Nowadays, we just call them "indie" films.
The most famous mustache this side of Rudy Fernandez
Okay so you get the point, I haven't been there in ages. That's why when Takbo.ph boss Jinoe gave me the opportunity to actually visit "The Rock" of Bataan, I jumped at it. Parameters were simple, yet I somehow understated the gravity of the event I was getting into. I thought it was your typical, run of the mill media meet and greet. Little did I know that it would actually entail... ... running.
The Cast
Only a couple of brave souls actually made it to the trip, either because they were afraid of Jap ghosts or they were still nursing a hangover from Friday night. I was advised that I needed to be at the Sun Cruises dock before 7 am. Once I got there, I only knew one person and that was Marga, better known as the head honcho/creative brains/fun person behind Run Radio. Hosts Jaymie/TBR and Jay/Prometheus Cometh were conspiciously absent, apparently they had to attend to other matters.
As I was introduced to the rest of the group, I slowly realized one thing - I was in the company of athletic, good looking, smoking hot... ... ... ... men. Which would have been awesome. If were a screaming teenybopper fangirl. Attempting to somehow find a niche in this group whose chiseled jawlines were much more akin to a reality show cast, I strived to use my running "expertise" to hold my own. That eventually led to conversations like this one :
GBM : Oh yeah, actually I nearly broke 50 minutes during my last 10k, am so happy! Imagine, I missed it by just 15 seconds! 15 seconds! Would you believe that?You could do it too with the right training.
Hunk #1 : Yeah of course of course. I felt the way when I hit my first sub...
GBM : Sub 60? Oh yeah that's easy if you want I can pace you! You can do it! I can help you!
Hunk#1 : My first sub-40 ... ...
GBM: (x_x) !!!!!!
Or like this... .
GBM : Yeah yeah I'm actually an ultramarathoner, I did 50 kilometers. You know how people do marathons? I do more than that. That's so long, took me forever to do it . One day, perhaps when you're not too busy shooting commercials, you can try it out as well. But I'm warning you, it aint that easy to... .
Hunk #2 : Oh yes of course. When I did 100k in Vietnam, I almost gave up at kilometer 70. But I persevered and finished it!
GBM: (@,@) !!!!!
Oh God I'm such a poser. I'm with real pros. Hot, movie-star quality pros. I'm so lame next to these guys . And while I would neither confirm nor deny if these actual conversations actually took place, I soon realized that these guys were awesome.
In all seriousness though, Pinoy Ultra Runner dudes Joms and Carlo along with lawyer/blogger Raymund were such nice fellows. We met race organizer/coach Edward Kho, who among others is known for taking triathlete Javy aka Tri'n Hard to new multisport heights. In related news, he immediately clarified that he had no relation to the doctor of scandalous fame. Deadringer though, ladies take my word for it.
Corregidor Gang
The Start
Having come in at nearly 10 am, the heat was sweltering. After taking some welcome photos and leaving our gear, we went about our business in simulating the race route. Edward had mapped out the route 2 weeks prior, and this run was to primarily remeasure the distance in miles with GPS. Imagine. An actual race route which would cut through some of the richest historical heritage this country has to offer. My interest was particularly piqued at the prospect of getting an early look at this.
And so it begins... .
Awe-inspiring views
Marga is all revved up and ready to goSo as we dashed out of the projected starting line, we were all brimming with excitement. Speed was picking up, literally gliding through these paths marked by the ghosts of wartimes past. This would be a cinch. As I was thinking this would be an easy day at the office, we hadn't reached more than a kilometer until suddenly there was a collective gasp amongst the group. And we stopped. O... . M... ..G.
Are you freaking kidding me?
The Hills
Bolstered by the sudden onrush of adrenalin from our giddy start, we were stopped dead in our tracks as a severe incline stared down at us. It rivaled the toughest uphill I have ever encountered, which was when I ran the Botak Baguio 21k race. This made me realize two things - First, the race would not be a walk in the park. And second, woe to those who would suddenly sprint at the start only to be pitted against the veritable Sisyphus stone of uphills. After you think you have cleared one... .. there's more... . and more... .. and more to come.
This... . is... hard.
So long boys! The Essentials As always, I'll pass on making you use your precious time reading a terse mile-by-mile account of the proceedings. These are the things you need to know - we were tracking and remeasuring the route using our 305's, and the route was more or less 30% trail. The proposed distance is 10 miles, more or less 16 kilometers to those unfamiliar with that other measurement unit thing. If you want to see the race route, check it out here. Don't count the extra 1k though, that's me huffing and puffing my way back to the hotel.
The race is all set to go on November 29 at Corregidor Island. Registration will be limited to only 750 participants, with special packages that may include rooms and ferry transfers already. The reg fee is tentatively set at P1000, and this would be inclusive of a singlet, roundtrip ferry, island entrance fee, and lunch buffet. That is not a bad deal at all, considering some races will charge upwards of P600 for a singlet, timing chip, and a big dent to your wallet. So don't procrastinate on this opportunity guys, you want a repeat of NB again?
So why would you join this race again, given that these uphills are absolutely crazy?
Because of the views... ...
The trails... ..
And it's incomparable history... ..
In my opinion, this is actually a race that provides a unique appeal to a wide spectrum of runners. For the elites, the insane course could provide a pretty decent 10-mile warmup in a unique setting. For the serious runner, it would give a tremendous uphill/trail workout that would surely augment their current training program. To the recreational runner, this provides a wonderful opportunity to break away from the usual BHS-Mckinley-UP-MOA race routine, even for just a weekend. It could be a chance to hang out with you running buddies in a tremendous setting, take some awesome photo ops, and get in a good run/walk mileage builder in the process.
They say that oftentimes the ghosts of the past are oftentimes just that - ghosts. Ghosts that are relegated to the realm of the forgotten, disjointed memories that live on in the form of dinnertime anecdotes and fireside camping fodder. Truly, the heroes of Corregidor are but vestiges of a past that lives on through these seemingly tall tales. But as the essence of their sacrifice was forged through very real blood, tears, and an indomitable will to survive, surely they deserve something more... . fitting.
Perhaps by revisting the site of their greatest victory in synergy with the sport we love, the ghosts of wartime past would once again live on - if not for us, but perhaps for our children and their children as well.
History easily forgets. But people don't. See you at Corregidor everyone.
