8,000 runners. Sold out slots. You have to give it to Nike to whip up a frenzy in attracting a staggering number to participate in what's essentially "just" a 10k. The latter inference is a testament to the drawing power of the shoe behemoth's crossover appeal, compelling even casual runners to pay top peso for what essentially amounts to a short run that you and your buddies could bag in two hours easy. (with matching tsismisan at BHS)
Defying Expectations
Two years ago, the Nike + Human Race was held at Subic ( check out my feature back then, I painstakingly googled it in five seconds. Let it transport you to a time when people still actually commented on blogs) as a side event to the what would be much- maligned Subic International Marathon. To those who weren't around the scene back then, that race had hydration supplies run out at more or less the 25k mark and it was so dark runners couldn't see their feet. The angry mob and the collapsed Kenyan at the finish line pretty much summed up the sorry state of affairs for that race.
Manila was not an "official" city in what was supposedly a simultaneous run around the world by Nike users, and suffice to say response and participation were tepid at best. I was there about 40 minutes before the race and it didn't even seem that there was one going to be held, so much that I had to ask if I was in the right venue. Aside from "celebrity" ambassadors (yes, I will forever consider my good buddy Bards of Bananarunning one) and Sun billboard habitue Jaymie giving the requisite interviews, there was pretty much no action going on. It was around this time that pundits were saying that the running craze had hit its peak and that it would die a natural death like badminton, billiards, and Zagu.
Admit it, you fell in line before just like the rest of us. Fast forward two years, and it seems that the doomsday naysayers need to eat their humble pie. The running community remains as robust as ever. BHS is teeming with runners even on a weekday, so much to the point that they were even given their own dedicated lane. UP is likewise packed as runners stride away till the wee hours amidst the lush foliage backdrop, and you see people running in places you never even thought were "runnable" if there were such a word. This notion is further reinforced as evidenced by the overpowering show of force presented during the latest incarnation of its signature 10k race.
A Newbie Once Again
The afternoon start time being a decent come-on given my hectic training schedule, I sauntered off to BHS in relative ignorance of where the venue actually was. I assumed it to be "the usual" starting venue ( if you're a runner who has actually joined a BHS race, you know what this means) but it turns out this race was more dynamic than others. It took me a visit to veteran Runnr gatekeeper Nikko to get to know that it was actually near the drive-thru Starbucks area. Well that's something new.
Feeling Noobie. Quite ironically, while I've probably been running longer than about 95% of the populace present that Saturday, I felt like the newbie. I didn't know a single soul, not a single familiar face in the crowd as I trudged to the starting line. Arriving early in anticipation of the mad throng, I made my way to the "VIP Lounge" to presumably pass away time. I don't why they termed it as such, there was really nothing going on save for a few cocktail tables. I finally saw a couple of Takbo.ph buddies and old hands in the industry milling about, made for some decent catch-up conversation. Even good ol' Bards was there, haven't seen her in ages. A little-known but often overlooked fact is that the two of us were supposed to host the second season of Run Radio before it got scuttled due to unpublishable reasons. At least it makes for a good inside joke. Also got to exchange some niceties with Polo Tri friend Tricia Chiongbian-Concepcion, who I last saw while we were getting blown around at White Rock (watch out for my even more delayed article sorry na). She was hosting the show with sportscaster Anthony Suntay, an old neighbor and gym friend nearly a decade ago. I seriously doubt he still remembers me although he's too nice to admit, so I'm probably just the creepy guy who always says hi. Eek.
Let the show begin.
Wow. The atmosphere was something else. Having participated in multisport or cycling races for the majority of the year where the participants rarely even reach 400, being part of the 8,000-strong hive was a strangely invigorating experience. We were whisked to the "VIP" starting area which separated us from the rest of the runners by a burly bodyguard-manned cordon. Felt sorta awkward though, I've never been part of such and who the hell am I anyway lol. And with so many "VIP"' people there, I guess you could say it what somewhat of a misnomer in a sense. Speaking of real VIP's, the favorite presidential grandson (yes, I'm referring to Joshua) made a grand entrance with some buddies three minutes before the race was to commence. He was promptly greeted with spirited cheers (or jeers, depends if you're a Kris Aquino fan) of "Bimby! Bimby!" What fun.
Bimby pa din.
Moving Too Fast
With recent sports-car collector/race director Rio tersely walking around in the background, the countdown clock was rapidly approaching all zeroes after Fitness First gal did her requisite warmup set. Former Philippine Blog Award finalist, Milo Nationals qualifier and Team Powerpuff Boys teammate Natz Garcia was clowning around with a big Ipod strapped to his arm, apparently his Garmin broke down. Naturally untrusting of GPS, he even brought along a map.
Natz not taking any chances.It's no big secret that this is my first straight up running road race since Condura, so I think I got overexcited. I started off way too fast for my own good in keeping up with the main pack, about 3:45 pace for the first kilometer. The atmosphere was tremendous and the adrenalin was pumping. However, my adrenalin sort of forgot that given that I'm preparing for a full Ironman distance race, I didn't have any hops on me. Second, I just came off three hours on the bike trainer earlier, which rendered the race into a virtual brick workout. I tapered off considerably by the time I reached the 3k mark and was fading fast. Some schmuck overtook me and gave me a cheery pat to boot, and it turned out it was tridol Javy Olives of Tri'n Hard fame who was killin it with his teammates Drew, a guy who I could have sworn was Raoul Floresca and some dudes I didn't know. Tuhog City again. Oh well. My pace was dropping fast and I didn't have any anaerobic capacity to keep up.
Habol ng Habol
Kilometer Five upwards was a struggle for me on the surprisingly tough course. The effect of the brick notwithstanding, I haven't done any interval workouts since preparing for the Olympic-distance Subic International Triathlon earlier in the year. Obviously, my OAstart didn't do anything to help my cause. I was just trying to keep up with whoever was in front of me, and the distance was starting to feel like forever. Another TPB teammate Alex Mac passed me with relative ease, damn these guys are in shape grrr.
Huff, meet Puff. At around kilometer 8, I saw Ultramarathoner Abby hanging around to cheer me on, she made it just in time to see me discombobulate lol . Legacy TPB teammate Ronnel was catching up with me, and so was ultrarunner and budding triathlete Carly. I even saw a bare-chested Adobo Run and CIHM head honcho Ed Kho scurry about. As the humidity level was slowly engulfing the crisp early night sky, I limped home across the line to a high five from Rio in a pedestrian 54:xx, a mid 53 on my Garmin as there was a nominal disparity of about 200 meters. Not exactly a performance I would be proud of, but a half-decent brick time I guess. I was targeting at the very least a sub-50, dream on brother. Interestingly enough, it was still good for 110th place amongst 8,000 and if I were to base it off Javy's time, a decent performance could have cracked the top 20.Not that it matters, but that's just the competitor in me aggravated at my lack of preparation although I was really just supposed to "take it easy". Couldn't resist.
Post-Mortem
Overall, it was refreshing to be back on the run circuit again after an extended absence. Nike and Rio did a yeoman's job in providing an innovative approach to this race (including a cool flash app to track one's results) as the market continually strives to look for something new. The custom-built route was challenging and the hydration was more than adequate. I'm guessing though that not a few were disappointed that a much-touted Nike Lunar Glide USB wasn't given, a snag attributed to supplier delays. Instead, the runners had to content themselves with drinks and a Nike poster.
In retrospect, why do runners shell out that much cash even if it's "only" a 10k? Furthering the discussion, how has the running sub-culture sustained itself even if some races border on redundancy and corporate profiteering? I've come to surmise that it's not just the branding or the freebies. Running, at least for the most part, is a shared social experience. It's the camaraderie, the competition. The water-cooler kwentuhan at the office the following Monday with your officemates, heck even your weird boss. The street cred with your friends (and the lack of it if they missed it). Social dynamics constitute a powerful, dynamic and sustainable force, and coupled with looming health benefits the formula for long-term viability is in place.
It's not Badminton or Billiards. Running is here to stay, whether you like it or not.
Murphy's Law (mur-feez lo) - humorous adage or epigram that typically connotes a situation where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Murphy's Law. Sigh. Those dreaded two words have pretty much haunted mankind since time immemorial. Little did I know that it would apply to your fun Gingerbread scribe on a mundane Sunday morning race. Actually, I should have paid more attention to certain signs early on as a portent of things to come.
I not likey. Prologue
Having been out of commission for nearly a month while recovering from BDM , I've been quite antsy to race again. The ITBS that plagued me in Bataan was all but gone, and I've been able to string together a couple of pain-free training weeks. I targeted the Nat-Geo 10k run as my comeback race, only because people were jumping up and down over its cool freebie shirt. Besides, the riveting (smirk) MOA flatlands should be good for my knees.
Then I realized they were charging 700 effin bucks for a miserly 10k.Hmmm... ..
No WAY.
Pricey. Thus, I had to do some sort of rationalization to justify spending a day and a half's minimum wage on a 10k. And at MOA to boot.
But... . I really wanted that shirt. I really, Really, REALLY wanted it. So, 700 bucks equates to P300 registration then I just "imagine" I bought a cool P400 shirt plus the satisfaction of knowing that I'm actually "running for the earth" in a mall complex that was once, well, part of the sea . Makes sense right? What fun.
Never knew a runner who could turn down a nice shirt
Missed Signs
Maybe I just don't know how to take a hint. So I troll out to BHS on the last day of registration during my lunch break, was assuming the whole thing wouldn't take that long. To my horror, I was advised by the amiable manong guard at Nike Park (who incredibly knew which shirt sizes were still in stock. Promotion due.) that the Nat Geo person would come in at 1- 1:30 pm. Which meant an hour of sheer drudgery while waiting. Thus, I had no recourse but to troop to the nearest fancy coffee joint to burn time. Ugh.
He's better than some of the salesmen there. An hour or so (and P150 poorer) later, I come in and find a mob scene. Apparently, the Nat Geo dude came in at exactly 1pm and people are jumping over one another. After I come in five minutes later to get in on the action, I am informed in the most glacial manner that they had just sold the last slots to the two ladies to my left.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
As my blood pressure went through the roof, I attempted to explain that I was there before anyone, I just stepped out to grab some coffee. Guy wouldnt budge. Sorry ser huli na talaga yun eh. DANG. This needed drastic action. Several options that were forming in my head at light speed :
1. Use my Gingerbread pseudo-celebrity status by exchanging a slot for my highly-coveted autograph or photo op.
Inherent risk : Cold, icy stare followed by "Never heard of you, you deluded fool. Security!!"
2. Use my not-so- pseudo-celebrity sister as bait by promising a nice, all-expense paid date with her in any Palawan resort of his choice.
Inherent risk : The dude would actually say yes. Gulp.
You can disown me now Ate (x_x) Realizing that both were not exactly feasible, I had no recourse but to go for the oldest trick in the book... .
And voila, I happily walk out with bib and shirt in hand. And yet, I should have taken this near-misstep as a mere prelude what lay ahead... ..
Raceday Sunday Fast-forward several days and there I was anxiously putting on my gear on a hazy Sunday morning, a ritual that I have sorely missed over the last couple of months. As I was traversing an otherwise traffic-free EDSA, that 80's song "The Name Game" by Laura Branigan came on. And it drove me absolutely nuts. It was like I was under some hypnotic trance, unable to change the station for nearly 6 minutes. Should have taken it as another sign. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I couldn't find a clip on YouTube due to some copyright crap but I did find the original 60's one :
A Case of the Misinformed
Now, I went there under the pretext that the race would be starting at 6 am . Or at least that was what my good buddy/blogger extraordinaire/Milo Nationals finalist Natz told me. Being the original moderator at Takbo.ph, and one of the people who taught me a lot of running stuff as a 200 lb. fattie noob, I have immense respect for the guy. So I was there at 5 am thinking I had an hour to burn. This is where the fun starts. To sum it all up, this is how the next 30 minutes unfolded :
1. Guy waits 20 minutes for Lotto-like line to parking 2. Guy finally reaches entrance 3. "Ser, pono na poh eh sa kabila na lang" 4. Guy freaks out and endures several minutes of hair pulling 5. Goes to the next parking area. 6. With about 4 cars to the entrance, hears the siren and sees the 10k lead pack lead go out. 7. More hair pulling and a lot of Exorcist-like gyrations in car.
GBM lost his nerve
First time. Ever. I was at a loss coming to terms with the fact that I was actually late for a race. No freaking way. I was unnerved that I parked my car nearly diagonally much to the chagrin of Manong guard. I could really care less. So there I was, sprinting for the starting corral, and had to muscle my way through the throng of 3k and 5k runners. Quick check-in, and I was off. Nearly 10 minutes behind everyone else.
Quare mihi Murphy? Yeah. Why me Mr. Murphy? So here I am, with no warm-up and stretching, attempting to hack out my 10k positive split. Que Horror. 1k split - 4:22. Okay, not so bad. I felt like I was in one of those racing video games where you get a nitro boost and are passing everyone left and right. Dang, thirsty already. Haven't done this in a while. I reach for my hydration and OH. I left it in the car. Great. My kind of day.
By the 3k mark I really had to drink already. Went for a stop at the water station and the water was ... . hot. Not lukewarm. Hot. As in, ready for afternoon tea hot. Another unsolved mystery of the universe.
Mid-race tea any one?
Alay Lakad anyone? At the 5k mark, split was at 22:58. Decen t, b ut not where I wanted it to be. The lack of preparation and race rust was glaring. Nearing 6k, that's where it happened. I got stonewalled en masse by a throng of 5k runners who were walking the narrow roads of the course. Ugh. I was forced to stop at least three times by the Alay Lakad- like procession Ahhh, the dangers of starting at the back of the pack in a looped race. Flustered, I just saw my Sub-Piolo bid fly out of the window.
Stonewalled again.
It can't get any better than this Reaching the homestretch, I attempted a last-ditch albeit demoralized rally. Splits were improving, then suddenly I felt a slight twinge at my ITB. Hopeless. It was apparent that it was nowhere near 100% . I just had to gut out the final 1.5 k with the lingering feeling that I could blow out my knee at any time. I gingerly hit the 10k split at 49:24 , nowhere near my best time. I then gingerly jogged the final 40om, because as MOA races go, the excess distance is becoming somewhat of a trademark already. My Murphy's Law race was finally over.
10k? Nah.
Post -Mortem After the race, I barely saw anyone from the team. Seems everyone went to Earth Run. I couldn't blame them, that was like half the price of this race. Hung out with a profusely apologetic Natzter (who offered to buy me breakfast) and galpal Beth along with multisport dude Jason after. So was the race worth 700 bucks? For the shirt, maybe. It's an open market anyway, with so many races runners have their pick of the lot. It featured a lot of booths to keep the people busy after, and I had this feeling that a lot of people there had a feeling that they were running for a good cause. It's also an exercise in utilizing the power of a strong brand to reel people in. Case study for future mid-sized races.
Ran into officemate Dette. More people running yeah!
Bromance mode with th e Natzter
Fun at the Natgeo Video Truck
Natz and Beth pointing at some weird guy As for me, it's apparent that I'm a long way off. The knee swelled up after, so im now in RICE and Salonpas roller mode. I'll give it another shot in two weeks or so. Take it easy everyone, stay away from Mr. Murphy! I'll see you on the road!
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?
So the rain finally went away. Sigh. Would it be a good day today? Those thoughts crossed my head as I woke up at 3 am, anxiously anticipating the upcoming events of the day. I haven't run a 10k in awhile, and I would be trying to beat my PR for the distance. What was on today's race menu? The highly-anticipated Mizuno Infinity Run, touted by some to be even bigger than the industry benchmark Condura Run. Did it live up to the hype? Let us see for ourselves as the events of the day unfold.
Emeperador - 1, Tito Caloy - 0
The day started with a text message from running buddy/part-time uncle/full-time tomador Tito Caloy. In essence, he had gone drinking and obviously couldn't join the race. Oh great. That's 300 bucks lost off the bat. If he ever pays me, I'll treat you guys for taho. Promise! (don't keep your hopes up). So I ventured off to BHS alone, the silence of the sleepy metropolis an unwilling replacement to Tito Caloy's incessant pre-dawn chatter. I got there relatively early for the 10k check-in, rambling thoughts passing through my head as my anxiety level was rising by the minute.Oh man I'm alone. No one's here yet. Hey is that... . okay maybe not. Hmm they said it would be bigger than Condura? Maybe? Tito Caloy exchanged me for alcohol. I'm sleepy. Why do people wake up this early anyway? He'll never pay me. Wow they moved classes to the 22nd. I don't like this swine flu thing at all. Are people in this world really evil? Can I break my PR? I'm hungry and... The requisite hi/ hello/good luck from Takbo.ph regulars Edu and Rodel jarred me back into consciousness. By this time, the rest of the Takbo.ph gang began to file in. Nearly all of them were running the 15k. Looks like I would be waging another solitary battle here. As the 15k gun went off, the 30 minute countdown towards the 10k start seemed like an eternity. By virtue of me being really early, I was somehow stationed right in the front of the corral, a circumstantial, undeserved spot to say the least. Ansty and nervous at the same time, I attempted to strike some sort of coherent conversation with the runner next to me. Here' s the honest-to-goodness accurate transript of our conversation : Me: "Sir, buti tumigil ung ulan no?"Runner X : "Nga eh." Me: "Um, ano sir ung target ninyo ngayon?" Runner X: " Mga 40, ok na." Me: "Um, aaaah good luck sir! "Running on Empty While that went well, the gun went off. I was in 70's mode for the entire week, so the leadoff song on my iPod was Sumayaw Sumunod. While disco was blaring in my ears, I assessed how I would be approaching this. If the prevailing goal was to break 50 minutes, I would have to work around the 4:30 zone. With a mere 20 km worth of mileage this week, that ain't happening. I started out at 4:29, hitting 5:03 at the 3k mark. I was feeling gassed. Lack of mileage right there. I should buy a treadmill. Or be a member at these fancy gyms so I could use one.Anyway, at the Kalayaan Flyover I ran into Boggs, one of our students from UA&P and a speedy T2 regular. I asked hm what his target was, the response was sub-50. Can I pace with you? The answer was in the affirmative. 2km later he was about 400m from me already. I was zapped. Not happening. Not today. Nice kid though. You'd like him too. The Alchemy of Blood, Guts, and Condura Memories Past the turnaround point and going back up the Kalayaan Flyover, the route quickly evoked memories of the Condura Run. My first major race ever. I remember walking up the steep gradient of the killer flyover. I remembered wanting to quit. I remembered just plain quitting, the heat overpowering my psyche. This is so stupid. Maybe I can just go back to playing poker. At least I'll earn some cash. It's sooooo hot. My feet are killing me. Ayoko na. But if I quit now, I'll never live it down. So I soldiered on. I remembered digging deep within myself just to finish.The pain in my legs was excruciating . I was running on empty. I could hardly breathe. As I was fast fading at that very same flyover last Sunday, those powerful memories were flashing through my head at warp speed. Was I biting off more than I could chew? Am I way over my head in doing this? Does competitiveness have its limits? Is it a sin to strive to be the best at each and every thing you do? Fight or Flight My legs were on fire, the lungs all but out of it. I wanted to give up. But as I descended the Kalayaan Flyover while struggling my way into a 5:50 split, I realized that I only had about 3-4 km to go. Only 3-4 km of pain and sacrifice to go. I thought, just survive a couple more minutes of total exhaustion and you'll feel terrific about exorcising your demons for the rest of the week. I think that right there is the microcosm of "push" - when your body has absolutely nothing more to give and you unabashedly ask it to give more than it ever had.I ran that last 2km stretch, that very same area where I had walked not too long ago, like my life depended on it. I take pride in putting a premium on passion in my everyday travails, in leaving your heart out there on the playing field. It's fight or flight, and I chose to fight. Before I knew it, I could see the chute. Powerful Takbo.ph big man Mond passed me over the final 400m, I could give no more. But even as my body gave out its last hurrah, the clock glanced 51:30. Oh my. I had did it. Getting to the end of the chute, my 305 stopped at 51:38. I pumped my fist and was overjoyed at a blood and guts victory over the most daunting opponent of all.The Aftermath Truly, the whole team was blessed that day. Nearly everyone I talked with set a new PR. Among others, head honcho Jinoe took a new 15k PR, and Bong Z. hit his sub 55 target. I'm so happy because everyone is rapidly improving across the board. As with most of the runners, we were pleasantly surprised to receive a finisher's singlet instead of the advertised shirt. And it fits! In addition, Mizuno saved the biggest surprise for last, announcing that the race was actually a time trial in preparation for next year's event dubbed 1.10.10. The winners would be contingent on how much one had improved from this year's time. Truly, another coup from Mizuno, one that we would all be eagerly awaiting. Afterwards, the group went straight to Mcdonald's Net One for some much needed refueling, the place slowly becoming our favorite post-race BHS breakfast jaunt.
A sea of White, Black, Yellow, Blue... . and Orange?
Ellen and Doc Roy with Migz lurking
Natz, Doc Lyndon and Rico
Matinee idol/speedster Bong with Pepsi and Ms. Morrison
The "Hard Core" Takbo.ph team
Me with Second Wind proprietor/ultramarathoner Hector
Running Couple Neil and Rach at Mcdo Net One
Chillin' out after a messy Mcdo Breakfast So there. When all things were said and done, numerous PR's fell, sunny skies and even sunnier smiles abound. Despite the anxiety and sacrifice, despite the blood and guts spilled on the road and the overpowering urge to quit when you were beaten down to the ground... ... It turned out to be a good day after all. Tito Caloy Quote of The Day :
" Di ako makakasama sayo, ako'y niyaya, napilitan, napainom, napasubo" - On choosing Emperador over Mizuno
"After 42.195 kilometers, everyone turns into furry animals with funny names" - Anonymous
Kilometer 52, somewhere in Bataan. 7 :17 am.
Nearing the halfway mark, one would somehow grasp a palpable sense of accomplishment having completed the ultra distance already. At this point, 99% of the population would have called it a day , limping gingerly to their cars while prepping for breakfast at Mcdo 32nd Street or Paul Calvin's. But alas, this wasn't BHS. We're not pampered pansies anymore. I'm right smack in the middle of nowhere with the heat steadily climbing. At this point, you're doggone tired. And yet, the lurid element about the whole thing is you have nearly have a day to do it all over again.
Still alive and strong at the 52k mark.
Kilometer 56, still somewhere in Bataan, I can't keep track of time anymore.
An essential rule that I apply is that before every race, make sure you have ample restroom time to unload whatever needs to be unloaded. Anxiety and excitement make for a potent tummy-churning mix. Unfortunately, the "posh" accommodations at our "hotel" weren't too inviting. Suffice to say, I ran on a full stomach. Which became even fuller after ingesting practically everything that was on my "buffet on wheels", some which were completely mismatched. Thus, something had to give at one time or another. Great. So after nearly 8 hours of running, I had to go. And that's where the fun started.
I couldn't allow this to happen to meh! Ewww. I knocked on the first house I saw. Here's a faithful transcript of the proceedings that followed :
GBM : Kuya, pwede ho bang makigamit ng CR? Kami ung tumatakbo mula Mariveles hanggang San Fernando.
Manong : Ay pagkalayo ah! O cge dito na lang pasok ka. Pero pagpasensiyahan mo na ang banyo namin.
(Opens door. Point to, er, a hole in the ground. Yeah. A hole in the ground)
GBM: Ah, ummm, ay kuya iihi lang sana ako eh!
Manong : Ah ganoon ba, akala ko dudumi ka?
GBM: Ay hindi ho, naiihi lang talaga!
Manong : Eh para saan yang tisyu?
GBM : Uuh, para sa pawis lang ho!
Manong : Whatever!! (okay maybe not, but something close to it) Well, this wasn't a purely kaartehan decision. Squatting over the Neanderthal-like hole could have run the risk of cramping me up. After all, 56 kilometers is 56 kilometers. So as I made a beeline for the exits, I just realized I had lost 10 seconds of precious pace over that. Ugh.
It's a hole in the ground for crying out loud.
Kilometer 57, still somewhere in Bataan. Time is the last thing on my mind right now.
I had AJ and the gang look for anywhere clean. This was slowly turning into a national catastrophe. Option number one- Funeraria Hidalgo. Pass. Option number two - a clubhouse inside a subdivision. Problem was, the clubhouse was at least 500 meters away from the gate along the highway. Great. I didn't even dare consider riding the car because obviously it isn't allowed. With the temperature steadily rising , the extra 1k did not help any. I was losing hard-fought time and pace with these detours.
To further exacerbate things, the efficascent oil that we had been using for rubdowns apparently did not jive well with my fancy P650 sunblock (ulk) and well, the sun itself. My legs felt like they were literally burning. Like you poured an entire bottle of Omega on it or something.Bad decision! Dang. By the time I had finished going to the restroom and had the efficascent oil washed out, I had lost more than 35 minutes already. Great.
It burns, it burns.Km 65, somewhere hot in Bataan. Around 10 am.
After that fiasco, crew chief AJ told me that Abby had just passed me. I hadn't seen her since the start of the race so I decided to catch up with her and say hi. At least I could somehow make up for some lost time. I tempo ran about 3k at 6:20 pace just to get to her. She was in full focus mode, and even my fun Gingerbread jokes would not work on her. She would later tell me that if she had any energy left, she would have punched me in the face. Smirk.For a certain stretch, we were going back and forth. I would leave her, then she would catch up as Aj and RV would methodically hose me down and drape me in ice-cold towels because the heat was somewhat of a joke already. It was fun though, because it was like we were sharing two support cars. Carina, Joni and Z all helped immensely in hosing me down and giving me foodies.
Shared support rocks!
Good morning towels save the day!Abby had a crazy yet effective strategy that entailed NOT STOPPING at all. She even brushed her teeth while on the go. Amazing.
Amazing!
Eating the dust of intense Abby.
Taking up the cudgels for alpha males everywhere.
Km 70, somewhere very, very hot in Bataan. I could care less what time it is.
It's hot. Really hot. Exag hot. Scrambled eggs on the pavement hot. Somehow, I couldn't quite describe to you how ridiculously hot it was that day. Only later on were we informed that the heat actually hit 41 degrees on the thermostat. If you factor in the heat seeping out from the asphalt, it could have easily been hotter.
HOT. The only way I was able to survive was by being soaked in ice cold towels and being hosed down head to foot every 10 minutes. Everything was starting to look like a mirage. I was starting to be extremely crabby brat to my crew already. I refused to eat anything, even a Jollibee spaghetti that would have been yummy in ordinary conditions. AJ was force feeding me, and I would throw away food when he wasn't looking (heheh).
I hate GBM... .
Need a hosedown...
More hosedowns... .
It came to a point where my words had escaped me already... ..
Km 72, I don't know where the crap I am. It's time... to quit? No. NO. NO!!!! Just as I was settling into some semblance of a comfortable second wind along with a good rhythm with the crew, I felt a familiar pain on the outer edge of my left knee. Visions of walking the last 12k of Globe Run For Home last year came flooding in. No. Not today. Please. As the dreaded pangs of ITBS started to kick in, I was panicking inside. I have 3/4 of a marathon to go, I can't put weight on my knee anymore. A combination of frustration, panic, exhaustion and sleep deprivation suddenly all kicked in, and before I knew it the tears were welling. Good thing RV's shades provided my macho image some decent cover. How the crap was I supposed to finish this thing?? Sob. Sniffle. Mommyy.
End of the road for GBM?I was at an all-time emotional low. Depression. Angst. Abby just ate away at the lead I had built. Now she was gone. Everyone was passing me. Doc Art and Argow were going strong as I struggled mightily to catch up. Alas, my body simply had nothing left to offer. And here I was, legs pretty much a useless pile of rubber. I was already thinking of a lame excuse for not finishing. Sigh.
Thank God for AJ. As my best bud/crew chief, his calm and rational words implored me to solider on when I couldn't get up for the count anymore. Check your competitive streak at the door. Forget your lead. Pace. Time. Whatever. Forget who passed you. That doesn't even matter now. The one thing you should be concentrating on is to finish this race in one piece. We didn't go all this way just to see you quit. Later on he would tell me that he should have watched all the inspirational movies he could, because he was running out of lines. Lol.
Good thing AJ watched a pirated DVD beforehand. Ice. Massage. Tourniquet. Prayers.
And the madness continues.
Bromance of the year?
Kilometer 80. I saw the Lito Lapid Sign So This Must Be Pampanga.
Kilometer 72 to 80 was probably the roughest stretch of the entire race for me. The pain on my knee was immense, and I was continually on the verge of quitting. Everything seemed to grind to a standstill, inch by painstaking inch seemingly rendered in stop-motion animation. What felt like five kilometers was in reality only one. In my deranged, sleep-deprived state I was admonishing the crew for being too far in between stops (to aspiring BDM support crew out there, it's an occupational hazard). I told them, Every 500 meters!!! I would learn later on that they were actually waiting for me at 200 meter intervals. Oops.
Crunch Time in Pampanga.
Kilometer 82. People speaking in tongues. I think I just saw Grimace in front of me. 2pm?
Fading. Fading badly. At this juncture, I feel like there's nothing left in the tank. I must have fallen asleep while running, as i was jarred back to consciousness by the afterburn of a bus that was about 2 feet away from me. I felt like climbing an summit-less Everest. I was all alone, and weird thoughts were starting to get into my head. Like, !@@##$%%!!!! was I doing this to myself???!!!
Enter Mark. A regular pacemate during the road race season, this athletic wunderkind seems to never tire at all. At just the precise moment that I was completely spacing out, his presence helped me greatly. The casual conversation took me out of my zombie-like state, and just having someone around seemed to have a tremendous effect on my sanity. We felt like we were in some bizarre reality show, and we would somehow manage to alternate between incessant laughter and incessant whining. Heading into the homestretch, I was really liking our chances.
Move over Marc and Rovilson?
Cat walking BDM? Kilometer 87. Guagua,Pampanga. Need air. At this point,we were alternating between giving up and giving a motivational speech to one another. The heat wasn't cutting us any slack at all. We were trying to play the numbers game if we would still make cutoff. We sure were a sorry sight, me stopping every 5 minutes due to the ITB, Mark due to severe cramps. Our run-walk ratio was plummeting by the minute, two warriors extended to the very limit. At a certain juncture Mark just sat on the sidewalk and said he was giving up, he didn't care if he would be swept anymore.
Being able to empathize with what he was going through, I gave him my best Braveheart, pain-is-temporary-quitting-is-forever speech. And soon after he was shuffling along behind me again. Pure blood and guts. It was winning time, and suddenly all of the stopovers we were making had made it into a race against time.
William Wallace is da man Kilometer 92. San Fernando, Pampanga. Two and a half hours to finish 10k.
From this point on, everything seems like a blur to me. From what I recall, I lost Mark, there were people fighting in the eskinita ( !@#$^!! wag mong bastusin gerlpren ko pare!!) and 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 fini sh, I would have.
Don't even think about it GBM.
Kilometer 101. City Capitol. 4:50 pm. 36 straight hours of lucidness. Mariveles. San Fernando. Finally, the insanity was coming to an end. At that precise moment in time, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Just sheer unbridled joy at making it through this life-altering journey, along with tremendous gratitude towards those who had made it possible. Words escape me now. I had said too much anyway, and those of you who had made it this far must be deathly bored.
The high is like nothing you could ever experience. Nothing even comes close. BDM is a beast. I must have told myself I'll never ever do this again at least 20 times. It humbles you. It strips you down and swallows you whole. It changes you.
After all that I just went through, only then did I understand the intricacy of it all.Why these warriors go through all that pain. That suffering. Why would they willingly subject themselves to that type of punishment over and over again?
The long journey over... At that precise moment in time, as I was approaching the finish line, as I was hearing all the cheers, it all made perfect sense. It's not something that can be encapsulated by a mere scribe's hyperbolic lamentations. It's something you have to experience yourself. So with that said... .
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.
47:53 . Those were the numbers flashing in my head as we were awaiting the starting gun. What's so significant about this figure? To those who have been hanging out in caves lately, matinee idol Piolo Pascual turned the general running populace upside down with an earth-shattering 47:54 performance at Timex, a staggering time for someone whom purists term a "non-runner".
Meaning, he doesn't exactly eat, sleeps and think running as, er, the rest of us do. Thus it has been a sort of rallying cry to beat his time at all costs, if only for my "eating-Piolo's-dust-then-waking-up-in-cold-sweat-at-3am" episodes to cease.
The Venue Aptly dubbed the BF Pasko Run, The Village Sports Club played host to this race, which turned out to be a welcome respite from your usual diet of BHS and UP runs. By my estimate, the race had about 400-500 runners, and gave off the warm, communal vibe that "south" races typically offer. Pretty good deal too - for P350 you get a dri-fit singlet (very wearable) and an RFID tag. Not bad at all.
The Reinforcement
The so-called "Kanto Boyz" pace group ( someone please think of a better name) had its debut at New Balance with mostly positive results for everyone. So it didn't hurt that we had an elite reinforcement to help bolster our cause. One of the nicest guys at Takbo.ph, Wilnar had always told me that he never enjoyed too much success playing basketball, and that it was one of his biggest frustrations.
Evil Basketball Teammate : Wala kang shooting! Wala kang depensa! Lay-up lang, airball pa! Pangtakbuhan ka lang eh! Wag ka na lang kaya maglaro! (throws ball forcibly to Wilnar)
(pan camera to Wilnar with lips quivering, and with mist building in corner of eye)
Wilnar : Makikita nyo... . sisikat din ako... .. may araw din kayo... ..
You mean you don't want me on the team no more?Then he had a Eureka moment - why not he move into a sport that involves running... . and pretty much nothing else? That he did, and the rest is history. A 40 minute 10k and 3:38 marathon later (not to mention a TNF trail runner-up finish) and he is well-entrenched as one of the strongest runners in our group. He tagged along out of sheer boredom, and I successfully pitched him the idea of anchoring the pace group along with Pat. Surely, having the presence of such strong runners could only help the rest of us improve our times.
Wilnar with Internet legend Tito Caloy The Mass With not too may people around, it wasn't exactly a logistical nightmare for the organizers in terms of their pre-race onsite registration and singlet claiming. In short, things were running smoothly and it seemed that we were going to start on time. Come 6:00 am, we were all revved up and ready to go as the host was reading out sponsor names. Then, she called on one last guest - the neigborhood parish priest to give the opening prayer.
Opening prayers are well, opening prayers right? They typically last for about a minute. But Father was obviously on a roll, and could care less about heat or starting times. Not that I blame him though ; his line of expertise culls influence from a higher power. Thus, he could make us wait all day if he wanted. In common parlance, this would be a walang palag moment. And it made for a heck of a lot of unintentional comedy.
As the "opening prayer" (with matching responsorial psalm) hit the 10-minute-and counting mark, the runners around me were going absolutely crazy as they could NOT get mad even if they wanted to. For your enjoyment, here are some sound bites from within hearing range :
"Father, patawarin ninyo ako pero magkakasala ako kung tagagal pa to"
"Counted na ba to para sa Misa mamaya?"
"Uy san ung misalette?"
"Sana naglabas muna sila ng Monoblock"
"Oist bastos patayin mo nga iPod mo may Misa!"
As the final "Amen" reverberated across the starting corral to racuous cheers worthy of World Youth Day, the host (who looked as uncomfortable as any of us) immediately started the countdown. And so it begins... ..
Walang Palag :) The Peloton Falls Apart... Very Quickly
Apparently, the anxiety of waiting too long got to my pace buddies, and they shot off the starting block like a bunch of maniacs. I simply could not keep up. Given four good training days the week prior, it was expected that I'd be operating at a higher level of fitness. I was fading very badly, about a hundred meters from the rest of the gang. The I took a look at my 305. 600m... . at 3:45 km/min.
Wha?? 3:45?????? What the fudge??? What happened to our even split strategy? No wonder I felt like dying. I assumed the rest of the gang was running at a 3:30. And to add more to our quandary, Mark suddenly shot out like Usain Bolt and overtook everybody, even Wilnar and Pat. We assumed he did a Max HR 3:00 split, but what the heck was my good buddy thinking as well? Amidst all this confusion, I tried hard to normalize my breathing and get my wits about me. We still had a LONG way to go.
Peloton falls apart... very quickly.Getting it together
I gradually settled down, and eventually passed Mark (who must have been completely gassed by his fartlek move) and Jix ( winded by the horrible start as well) I once read an article on Ryan Hall, and his coach was saying that even if you go just ten seconds faster than your intended pace, your fallout could be as much as 60% over the course of the entire race.Suffice to say, I was extremely gassed. And mind you, the course was not easy. It was a sustained rolling course, with the incline at the Tirona area mimicking Mckinley quite accurately. There wasn't as much "completely flat" ground as I had expected. My anaerobic reserves have been depleted very early, and I felt i was running on sheer guts. The fade was starting to kick in... .
The Man In KOTR Red
It was not the first time we had met. At PIM, we were going at it the last 2k. Obviously an experienced runner, he was really, really strong and I was trying my best to use him as a target. Here, we met again, and it was a seesaw battle. Fading badly and with smirking Piolo hallucinations in front of me, I decided that every second counts. And this guy was my key. I would try overtaking him, then he'll catch up. We''ll go neck and neck, and he'll pass me. Was like a boxing prizefight. However, in my diminished positive split state, I felt he was definitely stronger, and he eventually put in a quick burst that left me gasping. Nonetheless, that precocious pseudo-rivalry no doubt slashed precious seconds off my time. I eventually passed him, but not after he had slowed that to pace with what I assume was his wife.
So to the Man In KOTR Red, whoever you are, thank you for the push. And I look forward to running with you in future races again.
KOTR 2007 singlet = Strong, experienced runner Bittersweet Endings
Suffice to say, I didn't beat Piolo.A fat 5:17 split at km 9 all but sealed it. Missed the bus by 39 seconds. But still a happy run because I took in a 48:33, good enough for 22nd place in the race. Wilnar took 14th, Pat 19th, Jix 27th and Mark 32nd. Not bad for a crazy start. I still believe that if we had maintained an even split we had a shot at it.
One last thing. I would like to acknowledge the honesty of our new Takbo.ph members Mike and Eden, hubby and wife team. Eden was mistakenly awarded 3rd place for the ladies 5k, when in fact she had only run 3k. Some sort of mixup. They could have taken the loot and ran. But they told me about it, and I relayed the info to the organizers so that the rightful winner could be called. Now that's what I call a class act!
Overall, nicely organized community run with matching raffle at the end. Of course given my luck at raffles, I didn't win anything. At the Takbo.ph Christmas party I won... .. English proficiency lessons. I guess that says it all. (x_x)
Congratulations to Tiffin and Zinnia for taking podium finishes in their respective categories. RFID worked pretty good this time, a variance of only 8 seconds from what my 305 registered. I genuinely enjoyed this, and I'd give it a go again next time around. Congratulations everyone on your respective finishes! Keep on running to burn away those Christmas Party fats haha :)
I was never really a marathon fan. Some people do 5, 6 of them a year. In three years of running I have done two. No, this new race cooked up by Pat and Ton isn't my third. It's actually my second marathon. Ohhh. Surprise surprise. For a guy who has run 102 kms and is planning to tackle 160 in a couple of weeks, you would probably think that I'd have a higher propensity towards long distances. Paradoxical? Yes, perhaps. But we're not here to dwell on the philosophical and introspective trappings of why I'm not exactly your neighborhood marathon man. I'm here to tell you all about my bittersweet journey, so let's get started.
The Background
Funny thing, in relative terms I scarcely had any preparation for this. No fancy 12 week program. No fancy 16- week program. Done that before, didn't quite work .Why? Beats me. Maybe I overdid it, maybe I just wasn't at the requisite fitness level yet. Anyway, after doing mostly maintenance work for sprint distance triathlons, I started "training" for this some time December. I was obviously out of shape, so I figured if I took on a couple of long runs and amped up my mileage, the rest would take care of itself. While this admittedly unscientific approach would undoubtedly draw the ire of online running guru the Self Coached Runner, it came to the point where I somehow had to reconcile my multisport commitments and the specter of BDM 160 hanging over my shoulder. Oh great, BDM. Yeah. But let's save that story for another day.
D-Day, 2:00 AM
While most people had a relatively good night's rest, I barely had any shuteye owing to some last minute Gingerbread errands (don't bother asking). So I'm sleepy, crabby. I feel sick. Ultramarathoner Abby is in zombie mode, but she's still cute. I need a pick me upper. I chuckle when I recall that "Viagra-as-a performance-enhancer" argument. Hey, one day I may just be crazy enough to try it out.
D-Day, 3:00 am
Straighttalk -you know how you just want to get that Number 2 out of the way, but no matter how you force it, well, er, nothing? And at the most inopportune time once you arrive at the venue and nalamigan ka, patay na? It's happened to me before, I sure as hell hope it won't happen again. So how do we remedy this relatively unexact science? You tell me. Send me your best suggestions, winner gets a prize. Snap.
BHS, 3:45 am
The drive from my place took like 7 mins. Thank God for C5. Now if only it would actually stay that way during our regular hours of waking existence. I arrive and meet the TPB boys at ROX. Some interesting sidelights : Brando getting ITB a week before Condura, which sucks because he has been submitting better splits than anyone else in preparation for his first marathon. He's going out on a limb (hopefully not literally) in giving this a fair shot. In related news , Ronnel doesn't have a race bib. Rumor has it that his mom threw it out while doing some cleaning on his room. Ouch. Random sightings : BR posing with a couple of gladhanders and fans. He's running as well. Couple of powerful triathlete friends and well as non-friends ( I don't mean that in a hostile way, that just means I am not on their radar) trolling the grounds. The much hyped, much slimmed down Bearwin Meilly. Couple of Kenyans. Our Kenyan TPB teammate. Wait, there's a Kenyan TPB dude? There's a steady, palpable zing in the air, you can almost feel it. For most if not all, this race serves as the culmination of months and months of hard work . Fitness First Gal goes up the stage ( is it just me, or does Fitness First Gal seem a couple of bench presses away from reaching Chynna levels on those pecs?) and does what she does best. The game's afoot. Let's get it poppin.
Km 10. Moving too Fast.
Dammit, I started too fast. Here I go again. Made the mistake last year, made the same mistake this year. My theory is, if I start from behind and things go awry, I don't have enough in me to pull a negative. So I'm thinking if I work hard enough while I'm still fresh, perhaps I can put myself in a position to get that elusive sub-4 while just soaking in the pain. Hmmm. Sounds like a plan. Blood and guts. Kaso, I opened at 5:00 pace. Aside from the usual monsters (e.g. Junrox, Wilnar), I think I'm pretty much hanging with the big boys here. I feel strong. Maybe this will be a good day after all. 10k split : 50:17
Km 21. Losing Steam.
I'm losing pace. Endure Multisport/Quest 825 buddy/mamaw Erick G. just passed me at breakneck pace (he ended with a 3:50 or better if I'm not mistaken), this after a long bike ride the day before. Geez, this guy is constantly reshaping any paradigm that may have been out there before. Multisport star Retzel , who as always downplayed his running capabilities, looked very strong. Ronnel ran it anyway without a bib and breezed by me. Ditto for Beeps. I am starting to regret both my lack of running fitness and the chutzpah for starting out that aggressively. By this point I am running with a feisty, determined Brando. I am trying to hang as much as I could but I don't feel good. Whoever thought running the Skyway was "fun" should try this out. We're fighting, hanging. Sige lang. 21k split : 1:52 something.
Km 32. You Only Get What You Give... ..
Is it just me, or does it seem that the Skyway is taking forever to end? I mean, last year it didn't seem to be this tough. Wat a whiner. But hey, I asked for this. I am struggling, losing pace by the minute. Some semblance of cramps are starting to form. By this time, Brando had left me to eat his dust. Multisport stars Javy Olives and TJ Isla emerged from behind and were still very strong. I knew that they had a 3:45 target, and if only I could hang with them maaaaybe I could get out of this in one piece. I was successful for a kilometer or three. Alas, I was on the fast track towards a precipitous free fall, and I just couldn't match their pace. Maybe next year. TPB buds Joms and Mark pass me towards the latter part of the Skyway, I'm bottoming out already. Col. Bong from Quest passed me and boy did he look fresh. Oh the horror, my worst fears coming true. Last year, at 32k we were already at the Buendia Takbo.ph support station. This year, we were still traversing the endless slopes of the scenic yet treacherous Skyway. To make matters worse, that crazy guy with glasses who always runs topless has just about reached me. Crap. Is he running or doing a jiggly dance? How... . hypnotic.
Km 37. Panandaliang Ligaya.
Cramps. Shooting up incessantly up my calves every 5 mins, I am relegated to a shuffling motion that is eerily reminiscent of a penguin in heat. I can only look forward to the Takbo.ph aid station knowing that Abby and the rest of the gang was there. I have served in these support stations before, and the boost you could get from them is invaluable. I enter to raucous cheers and my girl giving me a fresh supply of cold drinks and food. Talk about a pick me upper. Alas, psychological highs could get me no further with this one. Before I could even finish the banana I was chomping a new set of cramps hit me. Hard. This time even the quads were locking up. I'm still fighting. Maybe I still got a shot. I've slaved long and hard to put myself in this position. It's winning time. Get it together Luis. Let's go! Km 37 split : 3:22
Ultrasupport!
Km 37-42 So near yet so far.
Ironic that I'm only 5 kilometers from my goal with 38 minutes to spare and yet that finish line could have never seemed any farther. I can hack a 5k in 20 and change if I'm actually in good running shape (rarely happens, if ever.) But obviously this is a different ballgame, and with each attempt to "run", the lactic acid factory in my legs seemed to just produce more and more of the wonderful substance. My calves, quads, and all those other parts i don't know the name to had completely locked up already. Leading up to Kalayaan flyover, I guess this was the lack of a dedicated marathon program haunting silly ol' foolhardy me. This is a classic choke if I ever saw one. Work hard since 4 am only to throw it all away during the last 5k. Undoubtedly frustrating was the fact that while I was sprawled on the floor wincing while a marshal was "inspiring" me to go on, at least 50 people were passing me left and right. Ugh dammit. Right at the very end. I guess could have used that Viagra right now. Frustration, exhaustion, I can't quite explain the whole gamut of bittersweet emotions running through my head. As debilitating as the pain was, I was physically and mentally spent. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and soak in a hot tub. That final 5k stretch was a sorry sight, and as much as those Photovendo proxies did a god-awful job with the pictures ( just speaking for the whining masses), they did a wonderful job in not capturing my wincing, whiny profile during this final stretch. As I entered that final chute amidst a cacophony of cheers, once glance at the clock showed I had missed my goal miserably. 4:14. Dang. Even that final strong finish was ended abruptly by both my legs locking just as I crossed the line. Pfft, so much for that fun finish line picture. Any other way, I was just glad it was over.
Epilogue
In retrospect, it was a bittersweet finish for me. I'll take it as a moral victory. Because even if I fell just short of my goal, I felt if I had strategically approached it differently the result may have been more favorable. Nevertheless, for a guy who hadn't hit that distance in nearly a year, I guess an improvement of 42 minutes in just my 2nd marathon aint too shabby. Maybe we'll get it next year.
In the meantime, where can I get that Viagra... ...
