The phone rang early the other day, it was my Mom, there was a problem with the TV, your Father has the flu, and you know how he loves his TV. The “I’ve been on the phone to the help center, but somehow it’s just gotten worse, and I can’t see the buttons on the clicker… can you come over and do you think you can fix it” required a quick response. Us to the rescue… well more him, then me… I still can barely work our own TV. All for rescuing MIL’s in need he said he would give it a try. First question from the us, the TV emergency response team, was did you change the batteries in the clickers? Oh yes, indeed, they did, and they were from a new package. Good, then let’s diagnose this problem. My parents are from a generation before computers, and color TV’s, this is not second nature for them. The current bothersome TV is from a different planet than the rest of us.
Dad’s vote from his sick chair, was to toss the 3 year old TV, “since they have never been able to get it to work properly, and go out and get a new one.” Translation, his inability to hear it when it’s blaring has nothing to do with needing a hearing aid. If you’re throwing it out, I’m first in line. My Mom’s solution was to “just turn it off, and let it cool down, your Father always has it on, that’s the problem.” 40 minutes later waiting for the help center, during which time my parents alternated giving advice, and arguing over which battery was smaller a AA or a AAA, a very patient technician finally picked up the phone. First question was “have you changed the batteries in the clicker. Each solution he suggested was tried with no avail, until he asked for the 3rd time, are the batteries OK. “No they are fine, they said they just changed them.” Please try and change them again he begged.
It worked. Thank goodness. Turns out the package was out dated, and the new batteries were accidentally mixed up with those that were old. The ride home was mostly a silent one, thoughts of getting older swirling in our heads, we know it’s going to come, and when it does will we know it, and what will we be like, and who is going to fix the TV clicker then? I have no idea, I guess all we can do is brace ourselves, and make sure the batteries are fresh.
I was going to be sensible this year, without heading into it full tilt but it’s begun, the seasonal marathon of back aching spring fever, garden lust that signifies getting out in the garden.
Spring has suddenly shown up at the door, her bags overflowing with tufts of green stuff hanging out at the seams. Although the colors she has painted the decor are still brown, there is a slight green tinge and that’s our signal to dive in. No amount of winter training will equip us for the long marathon to come. The early morning wake up calls before the sun shows it’s hand, the “should I just get up and get outside despite the dark” thoughts. The late darkening evenings getting just one last garden raked, and prepped before the mosquitoes show up. The absolute joy of seeing anything emerge from that frozen brown soil. All winter I’ve walked through miles of rugged rural roads dodging ice and snow patches, slipping along with crisp breezes freezing it’s way through layers of scarves and gloves. When the roads were clear enough I’ve biked between late winter snowstorms, warm in the sun, cold in the shade. On inclement days the tread mill has been my friend, and none of it prepares me for that first real day of gardening. Warming up before grabbing the tools is futile, just get in there and get it done, time is a wasting, and we are already late as it is. Neighbours emerge from their den’s looking pale and rested not seen all winter. Some are tanned from winter get away’s, they will be the ones that groan the loudest, you pay for what you got. Soon the air will be filled with the sound of raking, clipping, pruning, and digging. Translucent recycling bags, and piles of branches will appear at the end of the driveways, like gaily wrapped gifts for spring, while residents walk with crooked posture for a few days.
My 80 year old neighbour insists on his yearly stunt of blowing the accumulated fir needles off his roof despite my worry about his falling off and breaking something. We’ve offered to do it for him, but stubborn farmer genes do not age as fast as the body does. I rake the dead leaves from the garden beds with one ear listening to the sound of the blower stopping, my signal to look up and spot him. I mentally run through my first aid steps in case he were to fall. The shivering dichotomy of frost covered morning grass, and layer shedding afternoon sun with down vest, and gloves in the AM, sunglasses and t-shirts in the afternoon. The soil is cold, and so are our muscles, but we will both warm up as the season progresses. The snows hold onto frequently smaller patches and reveals what been hidden for the past 4 months.
The workouts, the walking, the biking, will not prepare you for the hours of squatting, bending, raking, clipping, and late that night we wake to the solitude of a evening TV show playing to a audience of snoring people and realize that this is gardeners boot camp. It’s hard, it’s fast, and it’s painful, but I would have it no other way. Bring on the gardening games, we are more than ready. You may have noticed that my watermarks are a little larger today. Many thanks to Lori @ Family Trees May Contain Nuts for letting me know that someone has been stealing our images and claiming them as their own, even being so bold as to put their copyright on the bottom of the post. Despite Copyright declarations on my sidebar, watermarks, and the metadata that I have embedded in all of my photos they feel that they can just do what ever they feel like with our images. While I advocate the pinning of my images to Pinterest as long as there is full credit, and linking back to my blog post, I do NOT allow use of them for any other reason without my written permission. Good for you Lori for catching this, and thanks again for taking such quick action. Lori has outlined the steps you can take here should you find your images stolen. Let’s all be vigilant, and if we see someone else’s images stolen let them know about it.
I must admit to being perplexed with people who don’t love cats. I mean, what’s there not to love… warm, sleek, furry, glossy, [scratching the furniture, knocking down the plants… ] Cosy on your feet, purring, [loves to head butt you in the early hours of the morning.] Waking up at 4 am, makes it so much more special when they let you sleep until 6:00 am.
Bird watching, chirping, doors in, out, in out, in… out? [Make up your mind, it’s freezing standing here in the doorway, and it’s too early in the morning to do this.] Brings you dead grey treaties with furless tails… [tries to teach you to hunt.] Cuddles in the evening, watches TV from your lap. Soft furry meows, raspy tongue. Underfoot… ouch well it’s your fault your tail was there. “I’m so sorry, it’s my big feet, here let me pick you up… ouch, don’t bite me, it was your fault, not mine.”
YOUR TAIL IS IN MY TEA! Get your tail out of my tea. Ugggghhh… Who said you could jump on the computer desk anyways? Right… me. And here I thought it was sooo cute. Was going to take a photo and put it on my blog.
Don’t whip your tail around like that, you will get the monitor all wet. Stop please stop, I will do anything if you will just jump down, go…lie down. NO! I will not feed you again, your tail marks are all over the monitor, now it’s got wet streaks all over it. Yes, I know that the curser is cute, and looks just like a bug on the screen… oh, don’t bat at it… Boootsiiiie. Get down, no that’s not the kind of mouse you can catch, that’s my mouse, for MY computer. When I said get down, I meant get off of the computer desk, I can’t see over you…
Oh… you want to lie down on the computer desk, in front of the monitor… you are such a cute baby… Sweetie, come look at the cat, how adorable he is… he wants to blog too.
Hi mga Tropa! Tito Caloy is bak! At tatapusin na natin ang ating nasimulan, medjo nakabwelo na tayo ng ayos. Maganda ang naging usapan namin ni kumpadreng Vino Kulafu, at ngayo'y ganado na ulit ako ihayag sa inyo ang aking sanaysay sa nakaraang Subic na takbuhan. Pasensiya na speed bagal tayo, mahirap palang mag type sa linstak na laptop na to, di na ba uso typewriter o kaya steno ngayon?
Tapusin na, umaandar metro ng talent fee natin
Ang Unang Takbo Ni Mike
Nang hinatid na namin ung mga tropang babanat sa full marathon, bumalik muna kami sa hotel nina Mike at Makoy dahil may mga isang oras pa naman bago mag simula yung karera. Nakatulog ako, nasilayan ko etong pamangkin ko na ang daming etse buretse pa sa katawan, tatakbo lang! May relos, pero naghahanap ng signal. May dalang mga Gatorade pa na boteng nakalawit. Aba, nagpabango pa! Daig pa tsiks sa kaartehan. Eh di yun, umalis na kami at balik na kami sa Remy Field. Sarap ng buhay ng mga to, ako drayber!
Kasawa puro tsiks, maiba naman
Taya na lang tayo sa Lotto!Pagdating namin dun, parang walang karera! La masyadong tao. Ayus to ah. Akala ko nga tatakbo lang sila sa oval, paikot ikot parang daga. Buti na lang inde. Ayun, noong nagsimula na, boring na boring ako. Niyaya tuloy ako nina Pareng Vic na mag coffee. Sosyal tayo men, di kape, coffee! Nabawasan tuloy breads ko, eh shempre nakakahiya naman kay Boss Vic, eh mukhang bigatin pa naman baka sabihin di tayo "in". Sabi ko nga, habang andito na tayo, tumaya na tayo sa Lotto baka manalo!
Ang masama niyan, pagkalayo pala ng coffee coffee namin , aba eh tapos na pala si Mike, tawag ng tawag. Pagkabilis lang palang matapos ng bata na yun! Nagtampo pa ata dahil wala siyang tropa sa finish line. Naabutan ko't iniinterview pa ang loko para sa TV. Showbiz! Feeling!
Matagal na Paghihintay Ay sus. Etong si Mike gustong antayin ang resulta nung karera. Maganda ata placing. Akalain mong nagantay kami dun ng tatlong oras wala pa din? Batong bato nako men. Nakailang barbeque na kami, ilang Bulakenyan na ang natapos, pinatos ko na ang magpakodak kay Japeth Aguilar, wala pa din? Sasabihin ilalabas na, may dadating na egoy, tapos ala antay nanaman. Aliw nga yung emcee, sabi dalawa daw ang nangunguna, isa daw Pinoy. Pagtawid, dalawang egoy! Na kwentong kutsero nanaman kami. Sa bad trip ni Mike, umalis na lang kami para suportahan ang mga tropa na matatapos na sa marathon, ang balita daw nagkakagulo na.
Tropang Lotto
Bilis ng Bulakenyan
Pinatos ko na si Papa Japeth , pogi!
Walang Tubig! Saklolo! Nang dumating kami dito, andun na ung mga tropang Takbo.ph, puro tsiks! At ang masaya dun, kilala nila ako. Kahit di ko sila kilala, ngiti pa din ako, feeling close diba. Noong andun kami, doon ko nasagap ang balita na nagkaubusan ng tubig. Lahat ng mga nakikita ko wasak na wasak na, namumutla na. Ang masaklap nun, si kumpareng Sam, bumigay malapit sa amin. Parang si Kristo! Nahulog, tumayo, tapos nahulog uli. Kaawa awa talaga. Tapos nung kukunin na ng ambulansiya, bumangon bigla at tumakbo kahit gegewang gewang. Yan ang determinasyon!
Nakakatuwa ang bayanihan na ipinakita ng ating mga tropa. Kahit di na kilala, basta mukhang nangangailan o kaya basta't pogi, agad na nagbigay ng tulong - tubig, masahe, kiss. Ay sakin lang pala un. Hahahahaahah dyok lang!
Ha?? Walang tubiiig???
Pangpagana!
Walang Kapagod pagod si pareng Jet !
VIP treatment si Doc sa mga chikasNakakalaspag ding tumulong ng ganun. Medjo nagtagal kami dun, tapos bumalik pa kami ng Remy Field para antayin ung mga nakatapos. Alam mo kung saan ako napapabilib? Talagang walang iwanan ang grupo, antayan talaga. Yan ang pamilya. Masaya ako't nakilala ko kayo. Dahil kadalasan, kayo lang may kilala sakin eheheh.
Kumain ang mga gutom ng manok at Crispy Pata sagot ni Bossing Rico, nakauwi kami mga alas dose na. Nakow, nakalimutan ko may karera papala ako! Puyatan to!
Ako Naman Ang Tatakbo!
Ang sakit ng ulo ko. Parang napalaban ng Johnny Blue, kahit di naman. Parang akong lalagnatin, tulog na lang kaya ako uli? Grabe diba. Punta ko dito pero di naman pala ako tatakbo. Kaya kahit wasted na wasted ako, bumangon na din ako. 3:30 yan, dalawang oras lang na tulog. Habang naghihilikan ang mga makisig na tropa, tayo'y lalarga na. Teka, humihilik pa si Mike ah... ..
Maaga kami dumating dun. . May oras pang mag picture picture. Tulad nito -
Bagay ba? Ay di na pala pwede naunahan ako. Medjo huli na ng nagsimula ang paligsahan, ang dami kasing tao na nasa finish line. Ano ba naman un diba, magsismula ka sa finish line? Kasama ko si Mike, si Timmy at ung chikas, si Tracy ba un. Pagkagandang dilag, kung tayo'y bata- bata lang baka sakaling makaakyat ng ligaw. Kami kami ang natakbo. Pero, ikwekwento ko pa ba sa inyo? Ang dami nyo nang nabasang ganito, eh speed bagal naman ako kaya wala namang saysay. At isa pa, nagagalit na si esmi sakin, kailangan ko pa daw maglaba't magsaing.
Balding Ranner?
Pang Profile Pic DawBasta ang nangyari mabilis ang pacing namin, mas mabilis dun sa pacing ni coach dati. Halimaw tong si Mike, nagpapalipad! May update pa kada minuto kung gaano na kami kalayo at gaano kabilis. Maganda ang kurso, maganda ang tanawin pero puro ahon. Ang bad trip lang dun, ung mga pulis nagyoyosi sa gitna ng karera. Clean living pa naman tayo kaya di maganda un. Tatakbo ka nga para lumakas ka sabay titira ka ng tabako.
Ayun, nung bandang huli medjo pinupulikat na ako, pero binubuhusan ko ng tubig para mawala. Nauna ng konti sakin ung tatlo, at natapos ako sa loob ng 2:33, ewan kung maganda un pero mas mabilis sa dati. Bad trip lang men, wala namang binigay na tubig o medalya pag tapos ko.
Enjoy si Timmy at Tracy
Wasak pero hapi hapi pa din Pero ayos lang. Nagenjoy talaga ako sa pagpunta sa Subic at makabanding ang mga tropa. Grabe talaga mga kamandag ng mga yan, inaaya ako mag BNO kung ano man un . Nakakatuwa. Ang gusto ko naman tirahin sa susunod ay ang full marathon! May mga tips ba kayo para kay Tito Caloy? Sa aking pagtatapos, ako'y nagpapasalamat sa lahat ng mga aking tagasubaybay, pasensiya kung naboring kayo dito. Hanggang sa uulitin!
This is the time of year that I wished I lived in a all white house, with white pickled wood floors, white carpets, white furniture, white everything. Now maybe the first thing through your mind is, white is cooling. But there is a much better reason for a white decor at this time of year. I want to live with white decor because of all the dark wolf spiders who will show up like the great big hairy monsters that they are. Who decided August is the month to run rampant through my ground floor condo looking for a date? And why my place? This is no bachelor pad, and frankly we are not hosting the Bachelorette! For some reason I am hosting my very own bachelor/bachelorette party, and the prize if you are unlucky at love is a close encounter with a can of hairspray, which works wonders if you are overcome by screaming fits when you see a spider. Nothing like a permanently frozen glistening little lump of bug eater on your carpet to calm down those fears. Not that I do that any more, honestly, I am just threatening them, and I am over the screaming fits, ah. really, I am. Single dark [handsome hairy fella], seeks SFWS [single female wolf spider] for mate, must have fuzzy legs, and voracious appetite for insects. Let’s meet at Jane’s place. NO WAY BUDDY !
Looking for love, and finding the can of hairspray is not what these contestants had in mind when they slithered through the smallest gap of the screen, oozed through any available crack, skipped over my bare feet, and scuttled through the towels as we reach for them while blinded by water from the shower. Shivering yet? If not, I envy you, really. Tell me how do you cope? Hey, did you just pick up your bare feet and perch them on your chair, admit it, you just spent a few seconds looking at the floor, didn’t you? I know only that I look everywhere before I reach, every step I take, every chair I sit on might have a contestant, and as the hostess it’s my job to set them clear. You belong outside, not in my bedroom, nor my tub, no I don’t care if you were thirsty, stay away from my clothes, stay out of my living room! And don’t eat Bootsie! I mean it! This is a outdoor only venue, you are free to hang out on my deck, lurk under my planters, perch between the rocks, and skitter through the hosta’s, I know you will anyways. You might give me a heart attack when I see you, but at least I know where you are, outside, where you belong. i won’t squirt you with water, I won’t spray you with pesticides, [much as I so do desire to drench the place, I won’t], and I won’t squish you, inside or out.
You don’t belong in my living room, during this month of loooooooove. The other night I was watching TV and there was a great big honking one running across the floor. Gar offered to squish it, [I do love him so] but I declined thinking it would leave on it’s own accord. It’s still there somewhere, and I am stocking up on hairspray. So contestants, if you are looking for love, please compete outside. This is one party you don’t want to win the grand prize of hairspray at.
It’s tinder dry, brown, and crisp. There is a massive [at this time 100 + hectares] forest fire raging in Peachland, which lays in the central Okanagan in British Columbia. That’s only a hour and a half from our place. Homes are being evacuated, it’s so bad the highway is closed near Peachland. My neighbours are havingcampfiresin their backyardevery night during thefireban, a re these peoplespecial?Why don’t the rules applyto everyone?
They have a fire pit burning in their lawn, during a fire ban, in a area that is full of large trees, dry grass, and houses. I can smell the smoke every night that they are thoughtlessly burning in their backyard.
I am worried for the people who live in Peachland, the TV news showing billowing smoke, the burning area growing by the minute, fire consuming everything. Water bombers, and helicopters are doing what they can, fire fighters are on the ground, but as it stands right now, they don’t know if it will do more damage before they contain it.
This is a threat that we all live with in the Okanagan, wild fires, lightening strikes, and burning houses. It’s reality in a dry climate, and with a active fire ban you think that people would be a little more concerned. They don’t seem to care, and it’s frustrating that we can’t pin point exactly who is burning campfires. There seems to be a real live, and let live mentality around here, if your neighbours are lighting fires during a fire ban, just ignore it and be a good neighbour. Is it easier to do that, and take the chance of a spark igniting, then saying something?
We saw a large plume of black smelly smoke making it’s way up to the sky the other day, someone burning garbage probably, no one worries.except for a few of us. I have to wonder if the rules only apply to some people, and if those that break them really care if anyone else is hurt. Smouldering…
With the pressure of his gingerbread duties increasing by the day, Gingerbreadman decided just to go away from it all to chill out, lest he implode and flatline like a pancake. The chosen destination was Pearl Farm, located in the durian-infested land of Davao. Will he survive the travails of Northern Mindanao? Will he battle it out with the Abu Sayyaf? With running taking a back seat for the first time in ages, our tale unfolds in the witching hour of a dreary Saturday in Ortigas
Chateau Gingerbread, 4:00 am
*Yawn*. (u_u) Oh lord this is so stupid . Why did they ever create this thing called check in? My flight is at 7:30. Why do I need to get there 2 hours before? Must... sleep... .. sweet sweet bed... I'd wake up this early for race but for a flight? UGH. OH GOD the DOG gave me a LICK on the PECKER. His name is Stroganoff but I should have named him Yuckzilla or Slobbomania. I better get outta here... . Ptooey.
All I ever wanted was to be loved... ...
Somewhere in Edsa, 5:30 am
Tito Caloy : So what airline are you taking?* GBM : Cebu Pacific. Didn't I just tell you that before we left? Tito Caloy : What a crab. GBM: Why shouldn't I, you still owe me 350 bucks from that Mizuno no-show of yours Tito Caloy : Ohhhh, that. Ah, eh, I'll give it to you later, um, all I have are thousand peso bills and I don't wanna break them. GBM: ... ... ..
Tito Caloy : ... ... ...
(awkward silence)
GBM : Ugh,I can break it, I have change... .
Tito Caloy : Aaaaaah... . Yeah of course. Anyway, have I told you of that time when I dated Doc Vicky... ...
GBM : Sigh. This internet celebrity thing is really getting to him... .
* courtesy of Google Translate
70's Casanova here
NAIA Terminal 3, 7 am. Counter Girl in the Coffee Shop where the Chicken Sandwich was horrible.
Hi. You don't need to know my name. It's not that you guys would care . Okay okay for the sake of discussion maybe you could call me something. Call me... Chastity. Anyway, I'm the girl that works the counter here at the fancy coffee place here in NAIA- 3. And everyday, I see people flying out into the great unknown, fulfilling their hopes and dreams. Exploring hitherto undiscovered lands, savoring life to the fullest. How I envy them. Except for this chump. Yeah, the one in the baduy yellow shirt and oversized weird watch. Was never a Kris fan. I thought Phillip Salvador was cute though. What a freeloader. He bought a paltry chicken sandwich and he's been sleeping here for nearly 2 hours. What a loser. I am so tempted to record his snoring and turn it into the next novelty hit for Lito Camo. Oh, the king is awake. Finally going to get some peace and quiet here. But hey, at least he's going somewhere. ... .He just talked to someone on the phone, I presume it's his chick. His voice turned really cheezy. Sigh. At least someone cares for him... .. Pearl Farm. So that's where he's going. I wonder where that is. Hay. One day, I'll get my chance. I'll get my shot ... . Someone will love me and show me the world too... ..
It was so much better when he was seated there...
Boarding Gate. 7:20 am. GBM
Boy, that was the most emo counter girl I've ever seen. Freaky. Too much of that Jake Cuenca/Kim Chiu telenovela. Anyway, we're boarding now. Ouch the dude from Cebu Pacific tripped on the Indian guy's laptop charger. Indian dude is steaming. Which is weird. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around. Boarding time. So many people in masks. A single sneeze sets off an exponential series of leering looks. I should have taken that vitamin C Gingerbread Gal was giving me. *sneeze*
The Swine Flu got em all... ... .
Cebu Pacific Flight 5J750, 8:00 am. Kajo. Stop checking me out. Duh. Anyway, my name is Katherine Josephine. My friends call me Kajo for short. And yeah, I just looove being a flight attendant. I mean, you meet so many cute guys. And pilots! Oh I'm sooooo happy they put me in the same crew as my buddies from flight attendant school! They called us the Queen Bees because we were all prettier than the rest. Any else who disagrees is just jealous. As for the work, ugh I hate how these people think I'm they're nanny or something. Why do I have to be nice to THEM? So many questions! Requests! Duh! Duh! They're going to give me worry lines. Look at this old man. Help you with your luggage? Help yourself ! I'm like half you size DUH you expect me to help you? Can't you see my dainty hands? What's with these people? We're here to look pretty! Not carry luggage! Ugh. Unlike this guy. Cool shirt. Did you know I modeled for the I am Ninoy Campaign? I appeared on screen for 2 seconds! That's 2 more seconds than you'll ever get on national TV. Anyway, he ain't half bad even . But he looks crabby. Or sleepy. Or maybe I'm not his type. Hmph. That CANT happen. I'm EVERYONE"s type. If that's the case, he's on my X list for this flight. HMPH . I'll show him.
I'm going to give him the evil eye I swear Cebu Pacific Flight 5J750, 9:00 am. GBMOkay, flight's going okay, unusually high amount of pressure on my ears though. Are we traveling at a higher altitude? Guy next to me is leaning on my shoulder. He snores too. How sweet. And what's up with these flight attendants? They are soooooooo sooooooo crabby. They're frowning and they look totally unapproachable. They're sorta pretty, I'll give them that. Sorta. But they strut around like they own the place, and project a vibe of "I'm prettier than all of you". All these girls are so surly, it's like they took all the b___hes of their training class and put them in one flight. I mean why would they get into this line of work anyway? They could give my 4th grade Math teacher, the one we nicknamed "Groucho Marx"., a run for her money. It's awkwardness 101 here. I'll just sleep this off, I'm pretty sure those frowns will turn into wrinkles by the time they're 30. *snore* (to be continued)
I had just come back from my Bataan fun run weekend and had been pretty much detached from humanity when I got an email from the Runrio gang inviting me to the "Runrio Trilogy Awards Night".
I thought to myself, showbiz na ba si Rio ngayon? Funny thing was, in my semi-vegetative state after my 160k jagging, I actually declined, thinking the event was Monday night. Hard to go when you're walking like a BT (bagong tule) sorta character. Much to my consternation, Runrio "Social Media Director" (hihi) Vimz would tell me that the staffers were aghast at such a lurid reply. Thankfully she explained that my brain couldn't be in one place after the weekend, my apologies for being souped.
Anyway, as I would only understand later, the event was meant to honor the runners who completed the Runrio Trilogy, in addition to a smattering of special awards. Open bar, buffet courtesy of Paul Calvin's,celebrity sightings... . the place had the feel of the Oscars.Okay maybe not, but you get the idea It was the perfect synthesis of giving back to a community who has supported his burgeoning enterprise, and an ideal post-marketing/good PR vehicle for his sponsors. No wonder our main man was in a wonderful mood last night. Here are some of my notes from last night :
Nice.
If I'm not mistaken, this used to be Alchemy. Apparently, it died a natural death. It is now... . Decagon. Naman kasi, gigimik lang dati tabi pa ng Tiendesitas. Not exactly the place where you want to get the party poppin. You might see your Mommy buying Palawan chicken and Spanish sardines on the way out.
In fairness, the place looks wonderful. Sosy. 5'11 carb-starved models abound, to the merriment of the ogling running denizens. Funny, but for some inane reason I suddenly waxed nostalgic. Why? I know it's hard to believe now with my shriveled nognog Gingerbread looks, but more than a decade ago me and TPB ultra bud Mark (we had the same "handler" for a time geez) were trolling like events called "ushering" in industry jargon for about P3,000 a pop in fun places that went by names from a bygone era like Mars, Euphoria, and Fat Willy's. Sigh how time passes. Wait, the line is moving. Move it Mr. Gurang mann.
Grainy Photobooth pix upon entering. Too many reds on the hue. I'll take the free Photobooth any day though.
Nice that people had badges identifying them as awardees. Nice touch.
Rio is channeling David Ruffin today with his tux and glasses. If you don't know who David Ruffin is, igoggle mo na lang.
Man of the night
He checks up on me and Abby after Sunday's gig, apparently he's just like you and me. You know, he also checks out pix on Facebook. The man is in the know. We chide him on his new Audi TT toy, just before we were leaving for Bataan we saw some frizzy haired guy in a roadster waving, turns out it was him. In typical self-effacing manner, he says "utang lang yan". With the way he's puling in paper, he could have went in and bought it like a quarter pounder from Mcdo.
Back to civilization for Abby and GBM
No sight of my good buddy Piolow here. Pfft.
Food was very good, good job Jay Em! Di bitin with the choices. They really spent for it, not the "para masabi lang" buffet.
Funny how Endure Multisport teammate Pio somehow manages to wind up on a table with the two hosts (Tricia Chiongbian and the other dude, Coy?Boy/Bhoy Ramos. If he's famous or some sort of celebrity forgive me, I don't get to watch TV anymore), Venus Raj, and the current Rio girlpren. He somehow also manages to wind up on stage for a drinking game. Fun times.
Practically everyone is an awardee, it feels like graduation. With my nametag saying "guest", does that mean I'm like the parent? Or the tito na napilitan and sumama for the kainan?
Happy awardee
Jaymie sighting, and she later wins the Hyper Blogger award. Fun distinction, and I never knew that mild-mannered Jaymie and "Hyper" could be stuck in the same sentence. They should have just gave it to Sam the Running Ninja. Oh I forgot he's semi-retired.
Majority of the people are having a good time. The ones who are really having a good time are those at the open bar. Wait, is that Abby?
Philippine All-Stars steal the show with a sensational number. Whenever you brand yourself as such, you have to ensure you're pretty damn good. These guys never disappoint.
In related news, Pedz the Running Atom was hypnotized when the All-Star gals did some rhythmic bellydancing. I'm not telling, just saying. :P
Is it just me, or is Unilab Active Health Prez Alex Panlilio the long lost brother of Paolo Bediones? No homo, just speaking for the estrogen in the crowd.
The little montages before the special awards were 50-50 on the funny scale.
The AVP's were well made. Actually, the whole event was. It had that professional feel about it, apparently they have this whole event organizing thing down pat.
Just when the crowd was losing energy All-Stars are sent out again to wake the people up. Why do I get the impression this was an impromptu number? It seemed like an intervention, the number was bitin. Still good though.
Six Cycle Mind comes in, apparently they were commissioned to do the Runrio theme song. Rock Star vibe with matching shades indoors. Ooh.
As part of their spiel, Tricia and Boy/Bhoy/Coy are incessantly prodding the running madlang people to well, er, get drunk and just make tomorrow "recovery day". Dead silence. Apparently, people take tempos over tequilas around these places.
Finale is weird, as they try to pull the U2 vibe, yet people weren't really minding them. They were all glued to the adjacent stage where Rio was poppin' with the All-Stars to the theme song. He gives credence to the theory that runners aren't meant to be dancers. Of course, that's my own original theory and suddenly I don't feel so bad anymore.
At least he was down for it.
All awardees get loot bags. Lame guests like me don't. Nice. Everyone goes home happy. After a trip to the open bar of course.
That's it folks, overall was a good event and another first in the industry. Good luck to everyone running the 2011 series!
As if to celebrate our first year here we even had a bit of sunshine. But that’s not why this post is late. We went to the farm, walked down the long road to the creek watched the weak sunlight streaming through the cedar trees as it attempted to reach the ground. But that’s not why this post is late. We had homemade “frozen” fish a chips and barely noticed that they weren’t from the best fish and chips in White Rock, it’s all about change, and those days are far behind us now. There is no real takeout up here, we’ve made our peace with that part of our new life, but that’s not why this post is late.
We toasted the previous year with some sparkly wine, although not made in this region, this being famous wine country it could easily have been.
And then happy, and slightly warm, sitting on my couch, having just finished two glasses of sparkly wine, fish and chips, and a long walk gathering greens for Christmas, I fell asleep.
I woke up a few hours later, with the high pitched warbling's of a PBD special on the TV of a Celtic version of “Danny Boy” giving me rather disturbing dreams, and that is why this post is late.
You know what they say… wine woman and song…And that’s why this post is late.
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?
“Hey Jane, are you up there?” I hear my husbands voice from down in the basement, darn, busted… again. More then likely the sound of the computer chair being dragged over his head on the floor above gave it away. Back to work I go cleaning up the basement with him. Do you sneak in a littlebloggingthroughoutthe day, when no oneis looking?
“Dinner will be a little late, and it might be a bit burnt.” I announce this to Boo our cat, and my husband as they are sitting in their favourite chair watching the evening news. “Blogging again” he asks with smile. The man knows me much too well, and he has heard every reason in the world as to why dinner is: late, burnt, nearly raw, non existent, forgotten, or something quick, and simple.
Blogging is more fun then housework, TV, cooking, or feeding the poor cat. “Hey honey, the cat is starving, can you just… ” He knows that I am in the middle of a post, and don’t want to lose sight of the idea before I get it on the screen.
When inspiration strikes I must go to the computer and translate what’s in my mind, that itchy little voice that speaks to me, even if it is a bad time. So far I have held off blogging in the middle of the night, but that’s only because I would have to get out of bed, and go downstairs, turn on the computer and wait for it to fire up. But then again, I could always keep the laptop by my bed…
Do you sneak in bits and pieces of blogging daily? Do you tiptoe away from others, saying I just have something important to attend to… or are you a all or nothing, this is my only time to blog, don’t you bother me now kind of blogger? Do you steal away to check the comments, read a few other blogs, and maybe leave a comment or two? Of course we are all curious how other people find the time to blog… so share, even if you have to sneak away to do it. Tiptoeing away… Now before I forget, you still have one more day to get your guess in as to who will get snow first, Connie, at Far Side of Fifty, or us. See this link for details.Contest closes at midnight Friday
intertwined with such mysterious events that sometimes we just have to shake our heads at the wonder of it all. Why on earth does your hair look marvellous the day you get it cut? What’s with that, the weeks before the appointment you struggle, well at least I do… and if your stylist is sick and cancels your appointment, and you’ve left it a lot too long between sessions… I guess that you would deserve to have your hair look like a cross between a rat’s nest, and a flock of birds for the last few weeks.
Why do birds poop on your vehicle in the middle of winter when there isn’t any unfrozen water to clean it off with… is that the gratitude we get for feeding them all winter? And why is it that when you finally manage to make a Doctor’s appointment, the symptoms go away, and you seriously consider cancelling it… but you know if you do they will come back? How many times has that happened to you?
Folk remedies… someone in my Mom’s building swears by celery seed for sore feet. After having Plantar Fasciitis [sore feet] for much too long, I’m willing to try anything. They work, kind of… go figure, well at least they work if you eat lot’s and lot’s of them. I’m experimenting with eating celery to see if it works also. I am trying to replace potato chips with celery… both are crunchy, one is salty, and tastes great, I’ll let you know how that one works out.
Parking spots, why is it when you spy a open spot at the store, someone always comes along and grabs it before you can get closer? Ever had that happen to you? Speaking of parking, with the snow gradually leaving many of the driving population are floored to find out that there are actual lines denoting parking spots in the lots. Shockingly enough, they still park any which way they can. No excuse anymore.
Any of life’s little perplexing mysteries bothering you lately? The Man Cold? Word press, or Blogger? Is it possible to share the TV remote control? And my most perplexing… will we ever agree on a temperature for the house? It’s either too hot, or too cold.
A foggy morning, cold and damp. We head off to Fort Langley, the birthplace of BC. The site of the original Hudson's Bay trading post, and now a national park.
A lovely small town atmosphere permeates this quaint and historic little village. Most of the newer building following guidelines to maintain the continuity. It is a coveted place to live.
We drove by the antique cemetery, with the fog rolling past, perfect for a Halloween month.
There is a restored train station complete with a caboose.
Antique stores abound, with shoes stores, restaurants, coffee shops and churches all lining the streets. You might even recognize the Fort Langley Hall, from various movies on TV.
During my college years I worked weekends at this tiny building, in exchange for watercolor lessons. Every time a train passed by, not further than 3 feet from the walls, I would have to run and grab all the pottery falling off of the shelves.
Fort Langley remains a favorite place for us to slip back into time, and always offers some great photo opportunities.
If you are of a certain age you might remember the days when almost everything was closed on Sundays. Family dinners meant setting out the good china, and maybe even the real silver. No one cut the lawn at 8 am, and there was definitely no blow drying of the driveway mashing the quiet. Sunday drives were the most excitement that you saw, and everything was quiet in your neighbourhood except for the birds chirping. Now we have sports practices, and Sunday store openings.lawn cutting starts at 7:30, if not earlier, radios are blaring, dogs barking, the neighbourhood rushing everywhere, and it makes me nostalgic for the good old days when Sundays were silent.
Not a oppressive silence, it was family time, we took Sunday drives, watched movies on TV, played outside, went to Church, or Sunday School, and generally had a great time.
What happened to those days? When did it become so popular to cut and trim the grass on Sunday mornings? Let’s bring back the silence of Sunday. Let’s put away the mowers, the blowers, and the weed wackers, the power tools,… for one day. I know you work all week, and you don’t have time to get to it on Saturday, but lets give it a try. Relax, let the weeds thrive, let the lawn go lush with the extra days length… cut it one evening when the light is golden. Cut it early Saturday morning if you must, but leave Sunday silent. Stop working on that noisy project with all of those power tools, turn off the radio, walk the dog, play with the kids, pull out the BBQ, just leave the noise behind. Please.
In the midst of yet another lawn mower starting it’s endless circling of the grass, the noise drifting from a radio blaring, and the incessant dog barking, it makes me yearn to hear the silence of Sunday’s. What about you?
Writing a blog post takes time, energy, thought, and preparation. You might start with a original idea, or a burst of inspiration. If you are the prepared type, a plan, editorial calendar, post it note, or book of ideas. Some know exactly what they want to post.
There are those of us who are sitting down, and writing as we go. One eye on the clock, the other mentally urging our computer to download photos faster. Whatever works. There can be great blog posts dashed off in 15 minutes. I've written posts in mere minutes, by the seat of my pants, my favorite TV show was coming on…and I wasn't going to miss it. Just don't tell the blogging police. Then there are other posts that seem to take days to show up, get themselves organized, and written, and rewritten, and done over again. One consistent aspect in blogging will always be that good content, and images are going to be be something that your readers will want to engage in. To read, to comment on, to share, to enjoy. While each of us is unique, and has our own style, setting our own personal standards there is nothing wrong with challenging ourselves to do a little better. We all have our favorite bloggers, the ones that speak to our hearts…they have a great sense of who they are. We might like the way they write, love their photography style, or are interested in the subjects they cover. They get their unique voice by constantly improving their writing, and photography. Great content means tweaking, and improving before you hit publish. Blogging is not a matter of how many words to write, or how many photos to include. You can have the shiniest, fanciest theme, tweaked by a designer…but it's a beautifully wrapped present with nothing inside the box if the content is poor quality.
The amount of followers your blog has, tens, hundreds, thousands, whether you post on Word Press, or Blogger, is no where near as important as the content. Good content stays around…it resurfaces, it's pinned, and tweeted, shared on FaceBook. And although it can be challenging sometimes to do it, it's well worth it in the end.
100% Canadian Content All images and text created and copyrighted by Jane Vandervoort 2015 If you enjoyed this post, please consider clicking on the share buttons below, I would greatly appreciate it.
Oh please tell me that you get these color crushes also, you know vintage pink, retro turquoise, tantalizing teal, it’s so intense right now. All I want to do is envelop myself in these colors, dip everything with light teal, throw down some turquoise accents, and add dashes of this vintage pink.
It might be the late spring we are having, and the feeling like we are so behind every other garden around, but I am enamoured of these colors right now. It’s nothing more then a color crush, but oh it feels so sweet and vintage-y.
These roses make me think that they should be pinned on the collar of a waitress named Flo, who has bleached blonde hair, and a great big heart, and a soft southern drawl. Wasn’t there a waitress named Flo in a TV show?
I am so in love with them, the roses that is, it’s not funny. I don’t know a waitress named Flo, or anyone else that goes by that name, but I can clearly see her standing there with her turquoise uniform on, and her big hair.
What colors are you crushing on right now? Do they stay constant, do you flirt with bold, tangle with the pastels, or do you go all out with brights? And how long does your crush last?
I need to know, after all, no one wants to be in love alone. Crushing…
Carolyn from A Glowing Ember [who just moved up to the Okanagan] asked how on earth I could find the time to still blog while in the middle of a move. Well, I blog for relaxation. We are moving from White Rock next to the ocean, to the Okanagan, and doing it in two and half weeks. Kind of a rush, both in the form of actual work, and the feeling that it gives you. The first thing most people ask us right now is “are you excited, and then are you stressed out? Not as excited as we should be, it’s been a whirlwind, lot’s and lot’s to do, and reality hasn’t hit us yet. My car was also hit and damaged the first weekend of our build up to the move, and it’s taken lots of my time. And as for stress, no, not stressed. Tired by the end of the day, but not stressed. That cup of green tea, and a cookie sure tastes good when you finally sink down into the couch for the night. Bootsie is snoring on the pile of blankets strewn around, and the boxes piled up everywhere make it pretty hard to see any of the TV. So I escape to the other room where the computer still is accessible, and blog. Reading blogs, commenting when I can find a minute, and writing about what is happening to us relaxes me. Excitement comes over me in little waves whenever I relax. It’s really happening! We are moving. And then I look around and see what has to be done still, and reality takes a bigger step into my life. But that’s OK, remember the phrase, “be careful what you wish for.” We wished, and prayed, and dreamed, and now it’s happening, so I am going to enjoy as much of it as I can. This is what we wanted, and we are very fortunate to be able to get it. Only a few more days until we move, it’s almost here. Some mornings when I get up to check my blog roll, I can hardly believe it’s coming true. Soon I will be blogging from the land of snowy days, and warm hearts… come with me. It’s a adventure.
This previous post may be slightly familiar to my long time blogging friends, the subject resonates in my heart, I’ve freshened it up, so it’s worth reading again. For my newest blogging buddies I hope you enjoy the read. Originally posted last summer… the changes in our weather make it the perfect time to share it again. “Summer here is so fleeting… blink and she is gone through the door to meet up with Autumn.”
Mercurial, undependable, temperamental, feisty, and quirky. She stays for a short while in our world, holding in her hands the glow from a sunset so beautiful it makes your heart skip a beat. She is Summer, and as she whispers to you with a warm breath that blows away the clouds, you fall in love quickly and want her to stay forever. Her time brings peerless skies so wide they feel like they must be made of pieces of a quilt seamed together to cover the earth. She stands there promising days of never ending barefooted bliss, soft light cotton clothing that glides over skin, sandals, flip flops and outdoor fun on freshly cut green grass, blossoms in the hair. Scent on the breeze, tart lemonade that lives forever in our memories. A beauty, she has been revered, treasured, photographed, painted, written about, and sought after. We long to meet up with her in winter, we hope for a visit in spring, and her leaving us is lamented in Autumn as we pack away our summer things. Summer is cold, crystalized ice cream treats wrapped in soggy paper, paid for with sticky coins held tightly in pudgy childhood fists, the first transactions of impending consumerism. White boxy vans with colourful hunger inducing signage traverse the neighbourhoods, piping tinny music that is reflected nostalgically in parental eyes. The jarring sounds of a tinned polka cuts through walls and windows, floating down neat suburban streets, bouncing off of the hot pavement of water parks.
Children slip from their languid pools of heat puddled in front of TV’s, banging front doors shut, dashing off porches towards treats. Popsicles stain their short, tanned legs like tattoos. Rivulets of sweet melted syrup, track, and map in the dust covered skin acquired from walking on golden sun bleached grass in bare summer hardened feet. Summer is salty ocean waves white caps, and grey sandy beaches. Fresh water lakes filled with shiny trout sparkling in glimmers of sunlight that peer from underneath docks. It’s deep, green blue depths of scary water, learning to swim, float, and sinking like a stone.
She’s bare feet tangled in flip flops in the bottom of a roughly painted boat, long grasses swaying under water as you glide softly over them. Drops splashed from paddles skipped upon water fresh tasting on the lips, sun baked faded life jackets who’s musty smell wafts over the tropical fragrance of coconut suntan lotion. Summer’s responsible for sprinklers spreading diamonds that cling onto branches in the backyard. First stolen kisses, giggles, sun soaked skin, and icy cold, sweating glass. Lanterns filled with citronella candles, plunked on picnic tables, chequered clothes, and homemade potato salad with pickles. We measure her girth by degrees, while speaking of her with abandon, complaining when she is too intense, and wishing when she isn’t. Summer can burn you with the slightest touch, or caress you gently, and lull you into a soft nap in a cottage chair by the lake.
And then Summer pauses to take a breath, gather her remaining energy, and gives us it all with honesty, the breathtakingly vibrant sunsets, soft glowing dawns, and days of hot golden light, that slowly ease into cool nights, and relief from the heat. When the scorching sun carries itself lower in the sky and the fruit trees are a laden with their bearings, gone is the harsh, bright shrillness of the early season, this is summer in her waning years, warm, wise, and wistful.
We know that she won’t be around forever, each moment savoured like a drop of honey spilling from the spoon. Sweetly etched on our heart the crunch of a home grown carrot, just pulled from the hot earth, the taste of fresh picked fruit, the singing of a bird at dusk. The sound of the light hitting the blossoms, as a camera captures their reflection. With a slightly regretful glance over her shoulder she takes her leave. Emptying a space for us to usher in Autumn. Glancing back with a fond look, flitting in and out of our warm days, and cooling nights, she is blowing a kiss goodbye. A short visit, never long enough, leaving us with gentle faded memories, tan lines, bug bites and bliss.
Some of you asked if there was something going on the other day when I posted about gone fishing, nope nothing exciting at all, no reason, just… well read on and find out for yourself. Ever have one of those really good days? When the sun shines, and you think about writing a really happy blog post. But you decide to go out for a drive first to enjoy the rare winter sunshine. Because after all, life is about living in the moment isn’t it? And then just as you raise your cell phone to take a quick photo of a old barn as your husband drives down the highway a little too quickly to really capture anything, but you have to try, your phone rings. And you get to go out for lunch, unexpectedly, and isn’t life just generally good? And then after you get home, the sun is shining, and wow, did you see how the sunshine highlights the dusty floor, you had better vacuum, and then you should really sit down and write that blog post. But first you grab the camera and take a few shots. Then it’s almost time to make dinner, but as you sit with a cup of tea, and realize you kind of forgot to write a blog post, you think, I’ve had a really great day and I’m just going to sit and relax for just another minute… or two. Life is about living in the moment isn’t it? And then I will write a blog post, I really will. And the next thing you know is it’s much later, and you still haven’t written that blog post. And dinner isn’t made. There is a great show on TV after dinner, you think you will write that blog post after you watch the show. Sure you can. The next thing you know, you’ve almost spilled the cup of tea all over yourself, because, well, you kind of had a little nap. It was a eventful day, and life is all about living in the moment isn’t it? And now you should really write that blog post. After all, you more or less promised to post it didn’t you. And yes, your feet are sore from the long walk that you took today, and it was so cold outside that you were sleepy when you sat on the couch, but now it’s time to write that blog post. But life is all about living in the moment… so you sit for just another moment. Oh dear… you fell asleep again. Now it’s late, and you still need to write that blog post. The cat is snoring besides you, the husband has gone to bed.
And you have a great idea for the post. What was it again? Right, you can’t remember… could you claim to have nothing to write about, and write about that, but hey, didn’t you do that last week? Well, maybe they forgot, but they will understand, after all you had to go out for lunch, the sun was shining, it’s almost expected to live in the moment. And you certainly had to vacuum, no one will hold that against you. That’s important, and so was making dinner, and all that. Blame it on the weather. Now what were you going to write about? Stop nodding off, stay awake, live every moment, life is about living in the moment. n ot nodding off in the dark. Now you really should write that blog post. Wishing all a very Happy Valentines Day!
It’s not that hard to find something to love about this cold wintery month. Sometimes you need to dig a little deeper under that thick downy coating of white to find it. We are currently shovelling, and blowing through a EPIC, [yes, they used all caps] breaking snowfall.
It’s a whopper, we can’t find the truck, or the driveway, and it was ploughed the day before. My entire garden is just one undulating mound of glossy white sprinkles… no shrubs, bushes, or plants are visible. Transit shut down in the AlmostBigCity nearby. Two snow days for schools, something that hasn’t happened in 45 years. The “Old Guy”s are telling us that they have never seen this much snow in such a short time. This in a part of snowy Canada that is used to big snowfalls. Considering most of the old guys are in their 80’s and 90’s, hence the term “Old Guys” I will have to take their word for it. My measly 3 winters here doesn’t really give me much perspective on it. Other then, it was oh my gosh cold that first winter, and the snow seems to stay around forever.
Branches have been cracking off of our giant towering Fir trees… piling up in the yard like a mound of pic up sticks. Not the kind of game you want to be playing when the trees are doused with so much snow they threaten to crack at one more snowflake. When the overly doused mounds of snow start to fall from a thirty foot tree… ”AVALANCHE” Just don’t be standing underneath one when it happens. So many of you have nice things to say about January, here are a few of them.
Lady Fi: loves January with it’s vibrant sunsets. And she takes the most beautiful shots of them.
Donna says: I love January for the warm fires, cold fresh air, gorgeous snowy landscapes and yummy bowls of steaming soup. So true Donna.
Carolynn said: What I love about January is the days get longer and we're one step closer to Spring.
Blondie finds: inspiration, those goals, the projects, the long forgotten pleasures of needlework or a crossword puzzle. And says she can finally relax.
Lorrie tells us that:I like January because it's a good excuse to stay indoors, wrap up in a throw by the fire and read just for the pleasure of it.
Nancy finds the:snow covered ground and frosted trees are definitely more beautiful than the brown, dry landscape without it
Power has been out twice, and most likely will happen again, so I am writing as quick as I can, saving as I go… fingers crossed, toes frozen.
“The Boo isn’t impressed with being inside but doesn’t think that going outside is any better.” He has this perplexed look when faced with mounds of snow where only a few days before he could walk on the shovelled paths. We are taking as it comes… it’s beautifully white, and it’s nice to see the deer prints in the front lawn in the morning. Here’s a bit more of the wonderfully January things you had to say.
Country Gal likes the fresh air: I love bundling up and going outside in the snow and cold for a walk or to play with my Miggs, especially on a sunny winter day then when I come in I feel invigorated and all fresh aired out.
Judy has a great attitude:I'm looking forward to each season, that is my new year's resolution.
Carla loves January for many reasons, and:January also is the start of one of my favourite TV shows, Downton Abby.
Diana wrote the most beautiful sentence: But we had a bowl of blue sky embroidered with clouds, arching from horizon to horizon.
Pamela knows that:January days are already getting longer.
Stephanie mentioned that:January days are already getting longer. And they are.
Ann will be busy:January is the month of birthdays.
Laura knows that January:makes me realize how much I love spring which is one day closer with each passing January day.
Ellen’s cheering for January:January's not a bad little month it just needs some appreciation!
Cristal loves January because:the days are ever so slightly longer.
Tamago is very adventurous:What I enjoy in January, or any cold days, is to have hot tea along with ice cream!
So I’m off to wade through the white stuff, it’s up to my knees, and you all know how tall I am. January Joy to all.
