My Way of Living [Search results for Time] 

I’m running a little far behind in the last few weeks.
Still heavily into delete mode, with 40,000 of my over 60,000 images deleted, or reorganized.
Not quite done yet.
There are a few things I’ve noticed when I lift my eyes from the computer screen.
By the time…
By the time I realize it’s been a hour I’ve most likely deleted a couple of thousand shots.
And there are still many more to be done.
The housework isn’t finished, the dinner isn’t planned, and Boo is hungry again.

By the time I realize it’s late and I haven’t written a blog post, it’s the next day.
All of this deleting is making everything slow because it’s reorganizing itself internally, at least that’s what it tells me. I have no idea, I just know it’s still backing up on Google backup, it’s been a long week.
I seem to have deleted something in my files, my social media icons along with some headers on my blog have been missing, it’s on my list, I’ll get to it one day. Just have to finish deleting more photos.

By the time you forget to write a new post a couple of times, it’s easier, and easier to play hookey.
So that’s how that slippery slope gets so slick.
By the time I realize that there are comments piling up in my inbox from over 3 days ago, it’s almost embarrassing to have to start the reply with… I’m sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I’ve always tried to read your blog posts, and return your comments within a day or two.
By the time that I am done this I will have to pick up the camera and take some photos again, it’s been a week, and I miss my camera. The uninspiring brown and white landscape has taken it’s toll on my creativity, it’s lurking in there somewhere, don’t worry about that.
Oh do I crave some color.
By the time I get back to regularly posting, and reading so many exciting things will have happened in blog land that it will take days of reading just to catch up. You’ve got a what? You did that? How on earth, well, my goodness…

By the time I got back to sleep after a thoughtful neighbour decided to ride his snowmobile up and down the fields here at 4 AM on a Sunday morning, it was almost 7, and my day had started once again.
And the best of all,
By the time I am done.
I’m hoping that this tail end of the polar vortex is nothing more then a distant memory, and spring is hiding around the corner. I need spring, you need spring, we all need spring. These freezing cold temperatures, and snow are really wearing thin now… it’s March, let’s bring on some better weather for everyone. Stay warm, and keep that spring hope burning in your heart.

As bloggers we work hard to write creative, and interesting posts that capture our readers attention and inspire them to leave a comment. It’s a full circle, and we all realize how many blogs are out there competing for the time readers have available, it’s like a bank account for bloggers. As bloggers we deposit the photos, banking on a creative post to give us the dividends of a comment, it’s a great payoff for all that hard work. Our readers [customers] withdraw the post [funds] by reading it, and we make our interest through the comments they leave.

We all know how little time there is for reading blogs, it’s allocated to so many other things just to keep life rolling along. A comment that the Cranky Crow left me inspired me to ask a few questions in this post… [I am paraphrasing her comment] No, I haven't spent ALL day here — I got interrupted — but, I have spent all of my allotted blogging time here today — and couldn't think of a better way to spend it. Awwww Cranky Crow, you truly are too sweet, you can read the entire comment at the end of this post, she’s a darling, and she doesn’t think that I have big feet.

It’s true, we all have only so much time to read and comment on blogs, and I am wondering what makes us all tick. So how do you decide which are your favourite blogs to read, and how much time they get? Ages, minutes, seconds? What makes you leave a comment, and what makes you click away to the next blog? And why are they your favourite bloggers/blogs, what makes them so? Do you prefer blogs with photos, or more writing? And the biggest… how much time do you REALLY spend reading blogs?

I think that we would all like to read the answers to those questions the blogging time bank may vary from day to day depending upon the reader, but it’s still nice to know that all of our hard work, and creativity is worth it.

"After 42.195 kilometers, everyone turns into furry animals with funny names"
- Anonymous

Kilometer 52, somewhere in Bataan. 7 :17 am.

Nearing the halfway mark, one would somehow grasp a palpable sense of accomplishment having completed the ultra distance already. At this point, 99% of the population would have called it a day , limping gingerly to their cars while prepping for breakfast at Mcdo 32nd Street or Paul Calvin's. But alas, this wasn't BHS. We're not pampered pansies anymore. I'm right smack in the middle of nowhere with the heat steadily climbing. At this point, you're doggone tired. And yet, the lurid element about the whole thing is you have nearly have a day to do it all over again.

Still alive and strong at the 52k mark.

Kilometer 56, still somewhere in Bataan, I can't keep track of time anymore.

An essential rule that I apply is that before every race, make sure you have ample restroom time to unload whatever needs to be unloaded. Anxiety and excitement make for a potent tummy-churning mix. Unfortunately, the "posh" accommodations at our "hotel" weren't too inviting. Suffice to say, I ran on a full stomach. Which became even fuller after ingesting practically everything that was on my "buffet on wheels", some which were completely mismatched. Thus, something had to give at one time or another. Great. So after nearly 8 hours of running, I had to go. And that's where the fun started.

I couldn't allow this to happen to meh! Ewww.
I knocked on the first house I saw. Here's a faithful transcript of the proceedings that followed :

GBM : Kuya, pwede ho bang makigamit ng CR? Kami ung tumatakbo mula Mariveles hanggang San Fernando.

Manong : Ay pagkalayo ah! O cge dito na lang pasok ka. Pero pagpasensiyahan mo na ang banyo namin.

(Opens door. Point to, er, a hole in the ground. Yeah. A hole in the ground)

GBM: Ah, ummm, ay kuya iihi lang sana ako eh!

Manong : Ah ganoon ba, akala ko dudumi ka?

GBM: Ay hindi ho, naiihi lang talaga!

Manong : Eh para saan yang tisyu?

GBM : Uuh, para sa pawis lang ho!

Manong : Whatever!! (okay maybe not, but something close to it)
Well, this wasn't a purely kaartehan decision. Squatting over the Neanderthal-like hole could have run the risk of cramping me up. After all, 56 kilometers is 56 kilometers. So as I made a beeline for the exits, I just realized I had lost 10 seconds of precious pace over that. Ugh.

It's a hole in the ground for crying out loud.

Kilometer 57, still somewhere in Bataan. Time is the last thing on my mind right now.

I had AJ and the gang look for anywhere clean. This was slowly turning into a national catastrophe. Option number one- Funeraria Hidalgo. Pass. Option number two - a clubhouse inside a subdivision. Problem was, the clubhouse was at least 500 meters away from the gate along the highway. Great. I didn't even dare consider riding the car because obviously it isn't allowed. With the temperature steadily rising , the extra 1k did not help any. I was losing hard-fought time and pace with these detours.

To further exacerbate things, the efficascent oil that we had been using for rubdowns apparently did not jive well with my fancy P650 sunblock (ulk) and well, the sun itself. My legs felt like they were literally burning. Like you poured an entire bottle of Omega on it or something.Bad decision! Dang. By the time I had finished going to the restroom and had the efficascent oil washed out, I had lost more than 35 minutes already. Great.

It burns, it burns.Km 65, somewhere hot in Bataan. Around 10 am.

After that fiasco, crew chief AJ told me that Abby had just passed me. I hadn't seen her since the start of the race so I decided to catch up with her and say hi. At least I could somehow make up for some lost time. I tempo ran about 3k at 6:20 pace just to get to her. She was in full focus mode, and even my fun Gingerbread jokes would not work on her. She would later tell me that if she had any energy left, she would have punched me in the face. Smirk.For a certain stretch, we were going back and forth. I would leave her, then she would catch up as Aj and RV would methodically hose me down and drape me in ice-cold towels because the heat was somewhat of a joke already. It was fun though, because it was like we were sharing two support cars. Carina, Joni and Z all helped immensely in hosing me down and giving me foodies.

Shared support rocks!

Good morning towels save the day!Abby had a crazy yet effective strategy that entailed NOT STOPPING at all. She even brushed her teeth while on the go. Amazing.

Amazing!

Eating the dust of intense Abby.

Taking up the cudgels for alpha males everywhere.

Km 70, somewhere very, very hot in Bataan. I could care less what time it is.

It's hot. Really hot. Exag hot. Scrambled eggs on the pavement hot. Somehow, I couldn't quite describe to you how ridiculously hot it was that day. Only later on were we informed that the heat actually hit 41 degrees on the thermostat. If you factor in the heat seeping out from the asphalt, it could have easily been hotter.

HOT. The only way I was able to survive was by being soaked in ice cold towels and being hosed down head to foot every 10 minutes. Everything was starting to look like a mirage. I was starting to be extremely crabby brat to my crew already. I refused to eat anything, even a Jollibee spaghetti that would have been yummy in ordinary conditions. AJ was force feeding me, and I would throw away food when he wasn't looking (heheh).

I hate GBM... .

Need a hosedown...

More hosedowns... .

It came to a point where my words had escaped me already... ..

Km 72, I don't know where the crap I am. It's time... to quit?
No. NO. NO!!!! Just as I was settling into some semblance of a comfortable second wind along with a good rhythm with the crew, I felt a familiar pain on the outer edge of my left knee. Visions of walking the last 12k of Globe Run For Home last year came flooding in. No. Not today. Please. As the dreaded pangs of ITBS started to kick in, I was panicking inside. I have 3/4 of a marathon to go, I can't put weight on my knee anymore. A combination of frustration, panic, exhaustion and sleep deprivation suddenly all kicked in, and before I knew it the tears were welling. Good thing RV's shades provided my macho image some decent cover. How the crap was I supposed to finish this thing?? Sob. Sniffle. Mommyy.

End of the road for GBM?I was at an all-time emotional low. Depression. Angst. Abby just ate away at the lead I had built. Now she was gone. Everyone was passing me. Doc Art and Argow were going strong as I struggled mightily to catch up. Alas, my body simply had nothing left to offer. And here I was, legs pretty much a useless pile of rubber. I was already thinking of a lame excuse for not finishing. Sigh.

Thank God for AJ. As my best bud/crew chief, his calm and rational words implored me to solider on when I couldn't get up for the count anymore. Check your competitive streak at the door. Forget your lead. Pace. Time. Whatever. Forget who passed you. That doesn't even matter now. The one thing you should be concentrating on is to finish this race in one piece. We didn't go all this way just to see you quit. Later on he would tell me that he should have watched all the inspirational movies he could, because he was running out of lines. Lol.

Good thing AJ watched a pirated DVD beforehand.
Ice. Massage. Tourniquet. Prayers.

And the madness continues.

Bromance of the year?

Kilometer 80. I saw the Lito Lapid Sign So This Must Be Pampanga.

Kilometer 72 to 80 was probably the roughest stretch of the entire race for me. The pain on my knee was immense, and I was continually on the verge of quitting. Everything seemed to grind to a standstill, inch by painstaking inch seemingly rendered in stop-motion animation. What felt like five kilometers was in reality only one. In my deranged, sleep-deprived state I was admonishing the crew for being too far in between stops (to aspiring BDM support crew out there, it's an occupational hazard). I told them, Every 500 meters!!! I would learn later on that they were actually waiting for me at 200 meter intervals. Oops.

Crunch Time in Pampanga.

Kilometer 82. People speaking in tongues. I think I just saw Grimace in front of me. 2pm?

Fading. Fading badly. At this juncture, I feel like there's nothing left in the tank. I must have fallen asleep while running, as i was jarred back to consciousness by the afterburn of a bus that was about 2 feet away from me. I felt like climbing an summit-less Everest. I was all alone, and weird thoughts were starting to get into my head. Like, !@@##$%%!!!! was I doing this to myself???!!!

Enter Mark. A regular pacemate during the road race season, this athletic wunderkind seems to never tire at all. At just the precise moment that I was completely spacing out, his presence helped me greatly. The casual conversation took me out of my zombie-like state, and just having someone around seemed to have a tremendous effect on my sanity. We felt like we were in some bizarre reality show, and we would somehow manage to alternate between incessant laughter and incessant whining. Heading into the homestretch, I was really liking our chances.

Move over Marc and Rovilson?

Cat walking BDM?
Kilometer 87. Guagua,Pampanga. Need air.
At this point,we were alternating between giving up and giving a motivational speech to one another. The heat wasn't cutting us any slack at all. We were trying to play the numbers game if we would still make cutoff. We sure were a sorry sight, me stopping every 5 minutes due to the ITB, Mark due to severe cramps. Our run-walk ratio was plummeting by the minute, two warriors extended to the very limit. At a certain juncture Mark just sat on the sidewalk and said he was giving up, he didn't care if he would be swept anymore.

Being able to empathize with what he was going through, I gave him my best Braveheart, pain-is-temporary-quitting-is-forever speech. And soon after he was shuffling along behind me again. Pure blood and guts. It was winning time, and suddenly all of the stopovers we were making had made it into a race against time.

William Wallace is da man
Kilometer 92. San Fernando, Pampanga. Two and a half hours to finish 10k.

From this point on, everything seems like a blur to me. From what I recall, I lost Mark, there were people fighting in the eskinita ( !@#$^!! wag mong bastusin gerlpren ko pare!!) and the pain in my left knee grew in intensity with each pause. My crew was pulling out all the stops to ensure that I made it. The pain was incredible. But to quit this near, after all that you've been through? No way in hell. If you told me that I had to roll down the road just to fini sh, I would have.

Don't even think about it GBM.

Kilometer 101. City Capitol. 4:50 pm.
36 straight hours of lucidness. Mariveles. San Fernando. Finally, the insanity was coming to an end. At that precise moment in time, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Just sheer unbridled joy at making it through this life-altering journey, along with tremendous gratitude towards those who had made it possible. Words escape me now. I had said too much anyway, and those of you who had made it this far must be deathly bored.

The high is like nothing you could ever experience. Nothing even comes close. BDM is a beast. I must have told myself I'll never ever do this again at least 20 times. It humbles you. It strips you down and swallows you whole. It changes you.

After all that I just went through, only then did I understand the intricacy of it all.Why these warriors go through all that pain. That suffering. Why would they willingly subject themselves to that type of punishment over and over again?

The long journey over... At that precise moment in time, as I was approaching the finish line, as I was hearing all the cheers, it all made perfect sense. It's not something that can be encapsulated by a mere scribe's hyperbolic lamentations. It's something you have to experience yourself. So with that said... .

See you at BDM 2011. :)

"To describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."- Hal Higdon, running coach

As of this writing, I am still recovering from the effects, both physical and emotional, of my first-ever marathon. Yes, my very first full mary. The big V word. Surprised? Yes, your fun Gingerbread scribe was a veritable newbie at the Condura Skyway Marathon. Although not a stranger to the distance having completed a 50k ultramarathon eons ago (okay maybe it was just last year), this was my first stab at racing a 42k. So how did it go? Let's do a quick backgrounder first.

Always the running event of the year

"The will to win means nothing if you haven't the will to prepare." - Juma Ikangaa, 1989 NYC Marathon winner

Having never actually "trained" for anything before and content to do mindless Gingerbread jagging with more emphasis on pacute than pakondisyon , I had planned for Condura to be my debut marathon as early as October. Using a program concocted by buddy/masochist/monster Edward Kho of Conquer Corregidor fame (he threw down a scintillating 3:27 by the way) , I proceeded to immerse myself in the so-called science of the sport. Tempo runs. Intervals. Ladders. Hill Work. Yasso 800's. Things that had sounded absolutely Greek to me became staples of my everyday routine.

Much to my surprise,the effects of the program were immediate and remarkably consistent. Each race seemed to incredibly usher in the advent of a new personal best. By the time that Condura beckoned, I had chopped 6 minutes off my 10k time and about 37 minutes from my 21k. Brimming with confidence, I had high hopes for my debut marathon. Feeling as good as I've felt in years, this Gingerbread newbie was ready to conquer that breezy, mid-morning party in the southern sky.

Newbies have it hard.

"The marathon can and will humble you. " - Bill Rodgers , four-time Boston Marathon winner

I really had no idea what to expect. Certain "scientific" calculations had me primed for a highly aspirational time based off my 10k and 21k results. But I had my doubts. While my speed work was fine, I had been remiss on my Sunday long runs - a byproduct of increasing family and work demands. The longest runs I had put in were two 30k dingers, and even if I felt in my gut that this was lacking, my innate stubbornness was telling me that my training and heart would somehow bring me home. Misguided naievity? But then again, this mindset has somehow paid dividends in the past. Let's see how the whole thing unravels with my retro race diary,I'll even put in a time stamp so it's like we're actually there.

Retro Race Diary?

2:30 : I wake up in a dazed, zombie-like state, the anxious effects of having roughly three hours and 37 seconds worth of sleep written all over my face. As with most newbies, I could barely sleep the night before. Tossed, turned, then eventually settled on watching an illicit copy of Spirit Of The Marathon. Thank God for YouTube. Much to my chagrin though, I didn't cry. Sob.

3:30 : With no traffic to contend with, I had an unexpectedly easy time parking. Hydrobelt? Check. Ipod? Check. Condura 2009 "street cred" spare shirt?Check. Wallet and license? Um, er, gulp. I'm screwed.

3:45 : After spending about 10 minutes getting lost looking for the starting corral, I finally saw my running buddies. Admittedly, I'm tense. Tight even. Too many thoughts going on in my head. Strategies. Nutrition. Pace. That Yeng Constantino song that's always on Love Radio. Fudge, I give up. I have come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I'm getting myself into. P.S- I got some grief for showing up in white shorts. UGH.

Yeng Constantino Fanboy?

4:00 : Well-modulated (and perhaps well-paid) host leads a fun countdown that seemed half a second behind. He must have been sleepy. It's funny how he prods people that "we have a wonderful surprise for you ", when it's so obvious that he's referring to a fireworks display to open the race. Anticlimactic to a certain extent, but made room for some unintentional comedy.

Host : 3, 2, 1... .. and now here's your surprise!

(eerie silence)

Host: Here! Game! Now na! Now! Now!

Fireworks are always fun though, awesome start to any race.

I love fireworks.
4:15 : For some insane reason, I thought I could hang with the big boys on this. I started with a pace group that included Junrox, Totoy, Chris and Wilnar, all certified monsters. Why the uncalled for bravado? Once again, I have to reiterate that I have no idea how to approach this. I'm a serial positive splitter in the short to middle distances. So I guess I was sticking close to home for this. Also, the idea was to maintain a 5:00- 5:10 minute pace for the first 21k, something not completely unattainable based from my previous results.

Note to self : Every time I'm with Wilnar in a pace group, something crazy happens. For instance, this 10k race in BF the plan was to open with a 4:30 min/km pace. Race begins. Less than 5 minutes later I can't breathe. Glance to watch - 3:45. Yeah!
So here , less than 3k into the race, I was straining. Not so much, but noticeable. Glance to watch - 4:30! 4:30!!! Whatever happened to 5:10? Wilnar has done it again! With a rabid fear of bottoming out later on, I motioned to the speedsters that I would be falling back.

And with labored b reathing defining my every step, I was all alone once more.
4:51 : 51 minute 10k. 3 minutes slower than usual. I think am doing good. I feel the pressure. I feel.. like I'm fading. What? No way! This early? As I go down to Buendia coming from Kalayaan, people are starting to catch up with me. What is going on? Seems the ol' mental makeup is shaky today. Team Hardcore Ultraman/Frontrunner Magazine progenitor Jonel "Bugobugo" Mendoza caught up with me, and it was a tremendous blessing that he was there. The pleasant conversation towed me through the near-entirety of Buendia, and for awhile things seemed... okay.

5:15 : Entering the Skyway. Being a 10k runner last year, this was my first time. And it sure was awesome. Well, until the part that I couldn't breathe anymore. Gasp. What to do what to do. Not good. Hey, my first and only time to be on the Skyway for free! Yipee! Gasp.

Conquering... . is easier said than done
5:30: Ominous statement of the day from some random guy who kept on talking to me on the road - "You're going too fast, you're going too fast! We have to take it slow or we burn out right away". Sounds like my ex-girlfriend on our first date. Smirk.

Let's take it slow? 5:39: They say that too much thinking can kill a man. And it's true. I fussed so much about my strategy that I ended up doing things I never really do. I walked all water stations, ostensibly to save on energy. But each time, the person I was running with was so far off that I couldn't catch up anymore. I felt my heart rate plummet every time I stopped. Something was going to go awry. I could feel it. Jonel disappeared from the horizon. So did Takbo.ph buddy Kampugers (don't judge me, it's a term of endearment) when I took a break. Panic was setting in. I was going nowhere real fast.

5:59 : Halfway mark. 1:59. In the vernacular, tipid na tipid? At nine minutes off my regular time, the prevailing mindset here is that the energy I'm conserving will get me through. Celebrity sighting : Jaymie/TBR. She looks awful strong out there. I could have sworn she was running with white compression shorts model/Runnr guru OJ. Gave a lame, token attempt to run with them, and poof! I eat dust. Note to self : Buy white compression shorts.

Classic OJ here.
6:30 : Pain (p

n) - An unpleasant sensation occurring in varying degrees of severity as a consequence of injury, disease, or emotional disorder.
Pain. Yeah. At roughly the 25k mark, I was in a lot of it. The pressure, over-analyzation, and a glaring lack of long runs most probably caused a way premature case of cramps and wall-bonking. Really odd. At Baldie Rizal Day 32k, at around the same point I felt I could have gone all day. Here, I was spent. As runner after runner passed me, the prospect of a strong finish was slowly slipping away.

What was really happening at 25k

7:00 : Getting hot. Am starting to slip into a dazed, zombie-like mode. Oftentimes, I'd try to latch on to people I know, casual conversation helps take your mind off the pain. Oftentimes I'd stop. Mentally, I'm in shambles. I thought I prepared well enough for this.

7:15 : I just realized for the first time that hey, it's nice here in the Skyway. Awesome even. I was so engrossed with all this competitive running-related crap that I'm starting to forget the little joys of our sport.

Find the joy in it GBM!
7:25 : Badly fading toward the latter stretch, I saw Condura boss Pat Concepcion along with his pseudo entourage. In a terrible daze, I willed myself to run with their group if only to get towed a kilometer or two.With the cameras rolling, he must have been wondering who was this weird character running behind him, posing for pictures even with a weird smile. Aaah the joys of Gingerbread anonymity.

It pays to be part of the Patcon entourage7:30 : Sound bite from Milo National finalist Vener/Run Unlimited nearing 32k - "Musta newbie? Tara let's go konti na lang! Mag 6mpk tayo!" As much as I wanted to, my legs had already gone to some Carribean island sipping ice tea on the beach while I had to drag their useless carasses around. Hmph.

7:50 : Oh thank God for the Takbo.ph aid station! Having manned this in the past, I was never really able to fully grasp the value of this altruistic initiative until I was on the receiving end. While experiencing a level of pain somewhere in between "roasting over hot coals" and "multiple astral projections", there's no better salve than warm smiles from supportive friends with a side helping of healthy encouragement. I was so warped by this point that when I ran into moody buddy/podium regular Zinnia on her bike, I have reason to believe this following conversation actually took place :

Z : Just a couple more meters to the aid station! We have stuff for you there!
GBM : Grunt. Uuuuuuh.
Z: Hoooooooy!! Are you okaaay?
GBM : Uuuuuuuuuh

Z : Anyway, just go there! Zombie!
I was so overjoyed to have recovering speedster Mac and an unknown, muscular man we shall just call "Manong" massage my weary legs. I guess it's the only time I'll ever thoroughly enjoy a massage given by two , er, men. Que handed me a banana, and Sir Amado's snapped up some pictures. All these served as a welcome respite, and I felt like I was on a rejuvenated high entering the homestretch.

Manong's steady hands did the trick8:20 : Kalayaan Flyover redux beckons. Been a worthy adversary on so many occassions. I think I've solved it though. But... . not... . on... .. this... . dang I gotta walk. Kalayaan Flyover 7, GBM 6.

8:30 : So near yet so far. Nearing collapse, I am dazed, confused, and running completely on empty.

8:40: This seems to be the longest 3km stretch of my life.Oh my god. You have got to be kidding me. When is it going to end? Just as I am about to sprawl on the pavement, I run into running bloggers Vicky (incredibly running a marathon on a whim! Awesome!) and hot bod Rodel/Argonaut. We are all pretty much in the same boat, literally crawling. Peace by inches. Have... . to... .. gut.. this... out.

8:45: Trying to fartlek my way home, I almost collapse into Argow, "Kristo" -style. I have absoulely nothing left to give.

8:55 : One last stab at glory, no way I'm finishing this like a cripple. Months of training leads to one last tempo run. One last burst of speed to bring it home. Don't give up now!

Last shot at glory... 8:56: And it's DONE! Yeah!!!!! Was never happier to see a finish line. The most agonizing 42.195 kms of my life done in 4:56:03. I wanted to cry... but the tears wouldn't come. Must have been the dehydration. The marathon has chewed me up, spit me in pieces and brought me to my knees. Friends say I am pale, and a massive headache follows. I can barely walk straight.

I missed my goal in a bad way.

But you know what they say about marathons? When you cross the finish line, no matter how slow or fast, it will change your life forever. And I firmly believe that. As all of this was starting to sink in, a stark realization suddenly dawned upon me. I'm... I'm a marathoner now! A real one! I'm now officially part of the .1 of 1% of the world's population to have finished one! The time doesn't even matter. What matters is I crossed that line in one piece in spite of the overwhelming urge to just flat out quit. I felt like I have left my blood, guts, and soul out there.
And at that exact moment, at that time and place, in spite of the terrible physical beating I took...

I was at peace. And overwhelmingly happy.

Guess that's the spirit of the marathon for you right there.

p.s. I can't wait to get back out there again :P

Sunday morning may be

when the time officially changes, but Monday morning is when you are walloped by the reality of it all. It’s not during the weekend that you notice the change, it’s all along the week. The day you are slightly late to work, or a appointment, because your body is still in another time zone or just zoned out. Meal times seem to creep up on you, “oh is it time for dinner already, Bootsie” he uses it to his advantage, reminding us of meals now a full two hours before. It’s cat time… don’t ask.

We all seem to complain about losing that hour, no one likes it, everyone is befuddled.

So I propose that since most of us really dislike the feeling of a lost hour taken away suddenly in the dark of the night, that we lose it instead in minutes, in increments, instead of a full hour at one time. A minute here, a minute there, maybe steal 5 minutes when I am waiting at the red light. Or take a few away in the line up at the grocery store. Feel free to take a few minutes away during the time I am on perma hold, grasping the phone, and trying to tune out the tinny muzak…

Believe me, we won’t notice it at all, in fact we might be grateful. A new time of change… are you up for it?

Editor's Note : This is well, um, about a month late. By the time you read this me and the Quest boys are already on our way to the Tour of Subic, our final multi-stage race of the season. But hey, just read it and hopefully enjoy it nonetheless, I probably spent more time writing this than I have been training. Due to recent changes in my work flexibility, expect a steady stream of backlog features on my recent races trickle in with the week. In chronological order. Cheers.

Quest 825 recently competed at the Pilipinas Cycling League's Immuvit Race Against Time Tour of Clark leg, held in, uh, Clark. It was a three-stage humdinger spread over two days and the team acquitted themselves decently given this wasn't our "base sport" if one would call it that. Here's an inside look at the pain, the agony and the glory behind this particular bike tour.

Prologue

Executive Cycling is one of those "hobbies" that I had gotten into as part of my multisport training. While triathletes in general are expected to go on long training rides to augment their preparations, not everyone has the cajones to join these multi-day, multi-stage races that would require one to ride and latch on, Tour de France-style, to a peloton ( or in the simplest way I could explain it, a big bunch of skinny guys riding their bikes at full speed separated by about hair's width from each other). Why even bother going on to this blatant invasion of personal space, where the slightest human error can cause everyone to crash like a deck of cards in a chain reaction ? We are all familiar with how drafting benefits cyclists through blocking the wind, that's why it is outlawed in most triathlons. But try hanging out with about forty other guys as a big pack, and your speed and efficiency jumps exponentially. It is a highly taxing discipline that requires both aerobic and anaerobic aptitude. Obviously, the inherent risk factor is part and parcel of the whole enterprise.

Alas, a strong bike split race target usually necessitates either superior genetics (dream on) or a solid cycling background ( you have a shot). Given that I am sure I wasn't blessed with the former , I have thus embarked on a journey of self-improvement on two wheels. This is my first full season competing on the executive cycling circuit, having debuted last year at Bike King's Tour of Matabungkay and participated in several other one-day races and tours from that point. Given that Quest actually started out as an executive cycling team, our participation in this race was a no-brainer.

On the day itself, after a late departure from Shell NLEX at around 5:30 am the determined gang scurried off to Clark for the tour's first stage, a 47.7 km Team Time Trial race.

Stage 1 - Team Time Trial. Bittersweet Symphony.

The Team Time Trial event or TTT is usually considered the glamor event of each tour leg. Given that cycling is more of a team-oriented sport vis-a-vis the rest of the multisport disciplines, the TTT is taken as a consensus of any given team's strength and caliber. Such is the importance of the event that rumor has it that some teams intentionally rest their members through earlier stages to preserve their legs for this relatively short event.

According to a passage I blatantly stole from Wikipedia, "the main principle behind a TTT is that a few riders can ride at the front of the formation slightly above their aerobic threshold while others draft behind these riders. The riders then rotate, allowing some riders to recover while drafting behind fresher teammates. A rider who is riding at the front is said to be taking a pull. Accelerations require harder efforts, and therefore it is desirable to have a smooth, steady pace. Different riders have different power outputs, lactate thresholds and aerodynamics. In order to equalize the efforts in order to not burn some riders off too early, the weaker riders take shorter pulls and stronger riders take longer pulls, all at the same speed to minimize the change in pace. A rider finishing a pull usually rotates to the very back of the formation, and the rider who was formerly behind this rider takes over. " Hmm, sounds complex. But the idea is, the team who could sustain the fastest pace without burning each others guts out is the winner.

Over here at the local scene, the TTT event is usually dominated by powerhouse club Fitness First. As for us, the team had steadily improved from last season. To give you some perspective, these things are usually an hour or less of lung-busting, intensely anaerobic, invective-filled fun. There's usually a minimum of five riders and a maximum of nine with the fifth rider to cross for the team coming in as the time to count. Thus, in theory the more people you have on a team the better the chance for your team members to conserve their energy. The thing with our team was, we had more than nine eligible riders, so we split into two teams. I was bundled with Team 2. On my side was team captain Deo, team manager and Ironman 70.3 World Championships finisher James, Army Col. Bong, veteran endurance athlete Ronald, TTT newbie Karlo and myself. All were capable time trialists in their own right, and ultimately this stage would all come down to teamwork and execution. But the paceline was beset with problems from the very beginning... .

A Shaky Start

Right off the bat, we were beset by unforeseen problems. With some teams a no-show for Stage 1, our release time was pushed forward by several minutes. This was exacerbated by the fact that we arrived late at the venue. To make a long story short, we barely made it to the release time and Ronald was caught up with something, forcing him to ride with Team 1 who had a later release. Thus we had one less comrade to stifle the wind and down to five riders, we were left with no room for error. We had been in a similar position at last season's Tour of Matabungkay, and the pressure- wracked, nausea-inducing experience was not exactly one to relish.

Completely out of sync for starters, we struggled to maintain the paceline. With no actual practice but having a general idea of what to do, the team eventually settled down with our speed hovering at about 35-36kph. So all's well and good. Problem was, Karlo was straining under the frenetic pace and it showed through his pained look specially through the inclines near the Fontana area. Now, we all knew that it didn't matter if the four of us kept up this pace - it was the fifth guy's time that would count. So we had to slow down. Frustratingly enough, we were passed by about three teams while going through this process. But this was a team effort, and no man could be left behind.

Man down... ...

At about the 40k mark our paceline was terribly falling behind our target already and was pretty much broken apart. With no breathing room to spare, each of us weren't taking way-too-long turns towing the line and it was starting to show with the suka pace that we were maintaining. Captain Deo and James had valiantly went back to provide the needed support for Karlo, but the effort had gassed them out. With but a few kilometers to spare, we were all running on fumes. The cycling gods finally decided to spare us a break and with about 500 meters to go the entire team managed to get intact in crossing the line with a 32.14kph ave, good for 23rd of 25 teams. Apparently, Team 1 was beset by their own troubles in finishing with a 35.29kph average for 18th place, seemingly below par for their capabilities. These results in no way did us justice at all, and essayed that even if our individual riders were quite capable on their own, there needed to be a strong degree of teamwork at play to maximize our results. Having less riders also exacerbated the situation. Drained and searching for answers, the Quest gang all set off for a quick lunch at SM Clark before stage 2 was due to commence in a few hours. Yep, you read it right. A few hours.

Wasted, rowdy, hungry bunch after TTT

Stage 2. Circuit Race. Lost in space.

The Tower Burger I had eaten from KFC had not gone down yet, but we had to go. Once again, this proclivity towards being late had us on a mad rush. The dour weather conditions were not helping at all, conjuring visions of crashes amid slick roads. Stage 2 was a 60km circuit race, which true its name counts several loops across the same course. In a stricter sense, some use the term criterium interchangeably to describe similar races, although those are usually shorter in nature and involves removal from the race once you get lapped by the leading pack. As a newbie cyclist last season, I haphazardly joined one of these crits which was stockpiled with old pros and looked more like a laughingstock more than anything else. The manongs watching were heckling me miron-style as I trudged along as the last cyclist to be removed from the course.. I'm guessing the aero helmet did nothing to help my case. Oops.

Di halatang newbie.

A year and a couple more thousand kilometers under my belt, I revisit the concept of the circuit race. At the very least, I hope to get the helmet part right. Anyway, going back to the race. Massaging my still sore thighs, the peloton set off amidst a moderate climb in Fontana that was the highlight of the course. The climb was fine, but having to do it several times over at full speed zaps out your legs one way or another. The first loop was designated as a friendship lap, presumably to serve as a weird form of warmup. Once that was over and done with, the cyclists went on a mad dash that would require every bit of anaerobic juice (at least for lackeys like me) on you to keep up. So I was able to latch on to the main pack, albeit the tail end of it. Predictably enough, my suspect conditioning gave way and I splintered with a group of about five riders, by my estimation about ten seconds behind the main packing. And here's where the fun started. Just as I was gaining some semblance of a rhythm, the guy towing us along took a wrong turn, bringing us all along with him. In the fifteen seconds it took us to get back on the course, the lead pack was out of sight. Great. I was slightly perturbed by what happened and I was left with one other guy. So while rushing to get back in it, at an intersection the marshal was signaling to turn right. Or at least I thought so. Turns out his hand gesture was connoting a "stop" to the other cars (geez how could we mix that up. But yeah we did) and I was off-course again. This was a longer distraction, about 30 seconds. By the time the entire thing was sorted out, I was all alone on the course, deflated and demoralized at such an unseemly turn of events.

I thought of abandoning the race altogether, but then again I'm not a big fan of DNF's. Sot suffice to say, it was like riding an ITT over the final couple of laps, a lonely, solitary route that most would not even bother completing. I even saw a crash along the route, which as I would learn later on involved national triathlete Kim Mangrobang, who was due to compete at the Elite Under-23 ITU Asian Championships in two weeks. She would later share that one of those hyperaggressive junior riders cut her, resulting in a crash on those slick roads. Sort of reminds me that in order to be successful in cycling, you just have to be plain fearless in taking risks. I guess it's still something I have to learn over time.

Loner...

I eventually crossed the line in what seemed like forever, much to the bewilderment of my teammates who figured I'm slow, but not THAT slow. Adding to my chagrin, when the results were released I was mistakenly placed in Excutive A, registering as the last rider to arrive in the division of the strongest executive riders. Oh the horror. Once everyone was accounted for, we all headed back to our hotel to freshen up and reflect on the day that was.

The Lighter Side

After a hearty buffet dinner prepared by the PCL people, the team retired to our comfortable villa at Fontana. We later indulged in the company of veteran elite triathlete Rayzon Galdonez and top executive cyclist Makoy Almanzor. You often see these guys in the heat of athletic competition, and it was refreshing to hear them dispensing race advice in equal doses with classic wisecracks. Here are some of my personal favorites :

Rayzon : Yung nakasabay ko sa run na elite na foreigner na babae nung Camsur, tinanong ako, "Are you Okay?" Ang sagot ko, "No, I'm not Okay. I'm Rayzon. Rayzon Galdonez pleased to meet you what's your name?"

Makoy : Panalo talaga ang Red Horse. Pag sa Red Horse, puro Tama, walang Mali!

With hearty laughter resonating from our living room, I quietly retired to my comfy bed, knowing that we would be in for the long haul for the Stage 3 road race the following morning, the longest leg in the tour.

Yum.

Stage 3. Road Race. A Valiant Effort.

An early breakfast at the nearby Mcdo served as preliminary fuel for the 118 km race that would pretty much replicate the TTT route, only it adds a relatively tough stretch on the outskirts of town to make for several 23k loops. We even ran into my Team Powerpuff Boys buddy and ultramarathon star Junrox Roque ( who's starting to become a force to be reckoned with as well in the short-course triathlon scene) hanging with his executive club Aboitiz Power, a team loaded with strong, veteran riders. For one, at least we all have knack for sausage Mcmuffins early in the morning. Having had our fill amidst the friendly banter, we make our way back to the hotel to get geared up.

We're Late Again

As you may have noticed throughout this feature, this is starting to become somewhat of a recurring theme. For some inexplicable reason, even with considerable lead time, we somehow end up rushing towards the starting grid, making it with less than five minutes to spare. As the peloton was finally released for the conventional "friendship" lap, my thoughts were drifting towards the specter of somehow churning in a creditable performance with my thighs already beaten down from the previous two stages. Word was going around pre-race that last year the peloton took it "easy" during the first few laps because of the relative toughness of the course. With this in mind, I was thinking perhaps I had an outside shot at keeping up this time around.

The friendship lap was relatively brisk, and it comforted me that I was pretty much within the same line as the main pack. So far so good, the whole gang was in sight and I was getting a good feeling about this. The rolling course was not easy though, and I pondered on how I could keep up with the frenzied peloton once they released us. The rain had gone away and the sun was slowly starting to beat upon us. Long ways to go for this.

As my luck would have it, the peloton was released just before the Fontana incline. Great. The funny thing with cycling is that the barometer for success and failure is measured in seconds , seemingly indiscernible nuances spelling the difference between victory and defeat. About a second or two before the peloton was released, my mind inexplicably wandered to some mundane subconscious trapping. And before I knew it, poof. Everyone had at least a five second lead (a lot) on me, and by the time I managed to get my bearings I was speeding along at 45 kph in a vain attempt to catch up. I passed by our team captain Deo and screamed "Habol tayo Kap!!" knowing very well that the slightest let up and we kiss this race goodbye. I raced uphill with cajones-shrinking gusto, and before I knew it I was converging with a fairly-sized group who dropped from the lead group. The pace was frenetic, right around 35-36kph during the early juncture and my lungs seemed to be bursting from the sudden rush. As we stretched out into the highway, a familiar uniform pulled up next to me, and I was overjoyed that Kap had mustered enough to make it into the safety of the chase pack. Save for the TTT, I have been working mostly as a loner for the entirety of the tour so this was certainly a welcome development.

Hanging On

The middle laps saw the chase pack dwindle from a high of as many as twenty to roughly about eight or nine guys. The tough course was unforgiving and the heat and humidity were starting to bear down on us. On the flats we'd hit it in the 45's, then would be focused on the low 30's in a bid to conserve. Slowly but surely, we were getting there and actually putting in a creditable performance by our modest standards. As we were lurching towards the halfway mark , we were quite surprised to see Col. Bong struggling alone against the crosswinds. A strong, consistent rider, we were not accustomed to seeing him get dropped by the peloton . He hung around with us until the feed zone, at which point we just lost track of him. We would later find out that he dropped out of the race after feeling the aftereffects of flu-like symptoms from the week prior. With our reserves slowly being depleted and the sun beating down heavily, it was an interesting proposition to just drop out as well and call it a day. But maybe we had enough to still hack it out... .

Going Down Swinging

As we approached the final lap, our original group had pretty much dropped like flies one by one, and with roughly 20k to go it was just me, Kap and two other dudes. We would take turns on the trangko in a bid to conserve energy, but from this point out it was pretty much all guts and glory. Me and Kap would alternately fade out from the group, then claw back with every ounce left knowing that getting dropped at this point could pretty much mean a knockout blow to one's aspirations of a good finish.

With about 10 kilometers to go entering the homestretch, I felt like I was bonking big time. The other dude fell behind and Kap was still going strong. I told myself, I fought so hard to be in this thing all morning, why give it up now? I figured, might as well go down swinging. As your body bottoms out its reserves and gradually starts to shut down, that's where one's mental fortitude is taxed to its utmost. So with as much effort as one could muster, my battered body was somehow able to throw down 37kph for about a 2 kilometer stretch to catch up with Kap, who I gather didn't even noticed that I was gone. Crossing the line together in 4:06 with the last of the Mohicans was as gratifying a finish I ever had in a cycling event. Checking my race data, the finish time was a bit misleading because of all the long stops we took at the feed zone, and the actual speed we maintained was practically 30kph over a distance that mirrors a Manila-Tagaytay roundtrip. None too shabby I guess for someone with marginal, intermittent training at best. Yipee.

Made it.

Epilogue

Overall, the team had a very creditable finish. Erick stuck with the Executive A main pack in all the road stages, which is highly indicative that he is racing at an extremely high level right now. Cycling main man Julius showed his worthiness to be promoted to the "A" level by nabbing 2nd runner-up podium honors in the 35-39 division of Executive B. The rest of the team all showed traces of significant improvement from the last time we raced here, so we all went home happy. A somewhat unfortunate accident during the last stage marred our good vibes though as Wilnar crashed in a freak accident with only a lap to go, bringing down three riders with him from within the peloton. He suffered a nasty gash on his forehead, but in typical manner he played it down even if he looked like one of them WWE wrestlers who open wounds on their forehead with their hidden razors.

That notwithstanding, it was a creditable effort with tons of room for improvement. As for me, it's back to the drawing board on how to get back into top form. Maybe I'll grab a Red Horse while I'm at it. Puro kasi tama diba, walang mali. :P

After you have been blogging for while you find that you have built a village of like minded people who read your blog, comment, and interact with you as you do with on theirs.

They are readers who share parts of their lives, just as you share parts of yours while enriching, and adding diversity to your life.
Bringing up blogs on your device is like diving into a good book, answering a phone call from a old friend, or getting a email from someone you haven’t heard from in a while. It’s catching up, it’s keeping track, it’s finding out.
It’s comfort food on a cold night, crunchy salads on a hot day, that first sip of your favourite beverage, it’s also about knowing that you have good friends who have your back.
Blogging is laughter, tears, joy, and sharing some sadness along the way.
It’s opening up, and closing in, building a tight circle, but at the same time stepping back and opening up your arms wide to welcome new readers.
Learning about new people, cherishing old friends, finding inspiration, and sometimes being uninspired for short periods of time until something strikes you as a good topic for a blog post.
It’s about blog breaks, and the dreaded “blogitis,” posting everyday, posting once a whenever, and that sometimes not knowing what to say turns out the best posts.
It’s about sitting at the computer tears running down your face, heart breaking for someone you have never met in person, and most likely never will.
And it’s about the times too numerous to count that laughter that has echoed through the house when those same people make you laugh out loud, and family asks what’s so funny?
It’s the blogging world, it’s complicated, simple, fun, and sometimes feels like work, until the scale tips back to a more balanced level. The balance is a personal one, each of us will find ours.
So this day, now six years after I published my first blog post, my friends raise your glass for all of us.
By this time over 1128 posts, 23144 comments left on my blog, countless blogging comments made on others, it’s just… stats… that’s all they are, numbers.
The real numbers that count are the friendships, the relationships that I am part of, the knowledge that there are people out there who understand and appreciate me, and that I understand and appreciate them.
It’s being a part of something so big it’s changed history, one typed word at a time.
Raise your glass to the new bloggers, shiny and bright, keep it up, don’t despair, you are doing a great job and are on a journey of discovery, it’s going to be one heck of a ride so don’t give it up just yet.
Celebrate the long time bloggers who have helped clear the paths to our villages, pitched in to build our huts, and helped out as we decorate them. They are the friends who cry over our disappointments, and cheer us on when life is good.

Blogs lost, started, found, revamped, renamed, posts good, mediocre, and heartfelt. It’s about building a community, one word at a time, one comment at a time.
It’s about not knowing that naked is the new normal, until everyone starts to say hey… yes that’s me. And you realize that it’s not about clothing optional, but choosing to blog about what you find interesting.
It’s blog posts written late at night, and those that wake you up before dawn, demanding to be written down, before they are forgotten.
It’s putting in the years, marking the “blogaversaries” and realizing just how important it is to raise your glass and celebrate, acknowledge the effort and emotions that we put into our blogs.
Change, diversify, grow, and learn as you go along, be sure to make new friends, and cherish the old.
Because we are bloggers, and this is what we do.

It’s the long weekend here in Canada, and for most gardeners that marks the time to plant, and the busiest time for garden centers. For seventeen years I have missed spring, each and every time it rolled around. Sixteen years working in a garden center, and the last spring renovating, and selling our condo meant spring was something other gardeners did, and I did part time if at all.

I am finally fully relishing spring this year without any reservations. I loved spring in a garden center, it was the most exciting time, full of customers, and shiny new plants, but our personal gardens suffered for it. And this is the first time in a long time that I can look outside and see planted gardens, and not boxes of product needing attention.

Up here our spring is a little lagging, but we have lilacs blooming almost everywhere now… one thing the Okanagan does to abundance is lilacs. Hedges, plantings, bushes, trees, shrubs, all lilacs, and all colors. Seems like every yard but ours has lilacs in it, we took a fragrant, and colorful walk through the neighbourhood last night, and now we are on the hunt for our own lilac bushes.

They are proving to be a little hard to find who would have thought, but I will persevere, and find some for our yard. And then we too shall be lilac laden.

Sure there is lots to do to prepare for Christmas. There are cookies to bake and the tree needs to be brought in, the mantle decorated, more lights outside, lights inside. All manner of things need to be done. But we are running on Bootsie time… And when you run on Bootsie time, there is always time to explore the yard, watch the birds, and take a nap.

It doesn’t matter if there are crafts waiting to be finished in the studio.

Photos to be shot, ornaments to be hung, or plans to be made.

It’s Bootsie time, and there are all sorts of amazing smells for him to explore.

Time spent with Boo is time well spent.

Different Strokes for different folks. Horrible cliche, but when it comes to devising running strategies, training programs, shoe recos - you will get a plethora of answers that are oftentimes night and day in terms of theory and approach. The series would be dealing with the different strategies that runners utilize on race day, and the ramifications that arise from it. Hopefully, you will be able to deduce what is best from you.

The Runner's Taboo - Romancing the Positive Split The positive split. You hear it all the time around running circles in hushed tones, a seeming taboo approached with the same derision and mistrust as one would give the Illuminati. What's so wrong with it? Why do people view it with so much disdain? Let us take a closer look. Eat my dust, I'll see you later! - Newbie In plain and simple terms, a positive split entails that one would be running the first half of the race faster the second . C'mon, admit it. How may times have you see the relatively newbie-looking runner blast off from the starting gun, and you mutter "that won't last long" or something along those lines. Let's face it. There's an almost universal streak of vitriol against positive split runners. I always wondered why. If we are to continue using the boxing style analogy, the positive split would be the unorthodox, hard hitting puncher who is relying on that one big knockout blow to seal the match. It is most closely associated with being new and being amateur. Why is that the case? Under the Hood Most experts and experienced runners I know would recommend negative splits when running a marathon. Apparently, there are several things going on under your body's bonnet while running a positive split that you need to know : 1. You consume your glycogen deposits faster, meaning you'll be depending on fat far earlier in a race. As you may or may not know, this is far less efficient means of getting energy. 2. You hit your lactate threshold way too early, meaning you'll spend the majority of the race running anaerobically ( read: not good), meaning you'll hit the dreaded wall much earlier than usual (read: not good at all) 3. You'll have less margin of error to work around in case you overestimate your abilities on race day (happens a lot) What the Experts Say The experts aren't too crazy about it either. Running legend Sebastian Coe said in his book Better Training for Distance Runners that "deviating from your mean race pace by as little as +or - 2 % is metabolically more costly than remaining within this window" . In his book The Lore of Running, Tim Noakes categorically stated that "you should never listen to those who advocate running faster in the first half so you will have time to cushion your reduced pace in the second half. In fact, your fast pace in the first half is the very reason for your fade in the second half. It is always better to run the second half faster. It gives you the impression that your are faster than you really are. Bordering on the Controversial : My Take Okay, so the positive split was all but butchered by every Tom, Dick, Harry, and even Jane out there. However, as those who have raced with me know, I have a contrarian view on the matter. I have tried to neg split several times, and each and every time it hit me square on the jaw.Case in point - Botak Paa-Tibayan 21k. I had told myself at the time, okay why don't we try this negative split thing since it's a longer distance and everyone recos it anyway. So I ran the first 10k in 55:30, at a pace that is very tame in comparison to what I usually do. So no positive split there. So what happened? Did I break records? Nah. I totally discomombulated over the 2nd half. I had a finish time of 2:14, way off the sub-2 hour finish that I was targeting. At the time that I was supposed to pick up the pace, at the time where my bountiful glycogen deposits and lack of anaerobic effort should have reaped benefits, I had nothing more to give. I tried in vain to speed up, the best I could muster was a 6:30 effort, and even that I couldn't sustain. I felt like I would die at the finish line. So what went wrong? Why didn't the famed negative split work for me?

Nope, it didnt work. It's a mental thing So what happened? I'm guessing it's a mental thing. Perhaps I have a weird psychological makeup. Believe it or not, each and every race that I have run on a positive split led me to setting a new PR. I have honestly no idea why. As we know, the race is just as much mental as it is physical. Once you mind starts playing games with you, you're screwed. As for myself, I always felt more comfortable being ahead and hanging on to a lead rather than coming back from behind. I'd rather race the first half and make the second half a blood and guts game. I do a lot better from a position of control. Specially when there an inclines during the second half, coupled with the Manila heat I am unable to gain any sort of major ground. I would rather steel myself and hang on. Thus it boils down to : 1. You're tired, it's hot, your legs are killing you and you're protecting a lead OR 2. You're tired, it's hot, your legs are killing you and you're clawing your way from behind. Obviously, I choose the former. Mr. Coe said that even a 2% deviation from your intended race pace (if you start aggresively) will extract a "big cost" from your race. So why doesn't it work for me? Is it the debilitating Manila heat? Is that the "unintended variable" caveat that he put in when he wrote it? I just really want to know. Your thoughts and comments please? Let the debates begin.

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

The View From Within. 3 days to go.

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

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

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

History In The Shadows. 1 day to go.

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

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

Wishful thinking as the crowd listens in

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

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

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

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

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

The last of the Mohicans coming through.

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

Minutes and Seconds. 4:35 pm

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

Fighting a losing battle.

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

Red lining on empty

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

No. Man. Left. Behind.

Peace By Inches. 10:40 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not so fast Elvis.

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

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

He was finally one of them.

You have got to be kidding me. No way. Inhuman effort at Nike Human? Goodbye sub-50 dreams.
A steep incline seemed to be sardonically staring me down just as I was gathering momentum. I figured, yeah I'll ride it out and hang on, I have enough in the tank and enough of a pace bank. Little did I know, that was easier said than done.

But hey, what the heck am I talking about? For the sake of literary jurisprudence, a short backgrounder.

Strictly speaking, the Nike + Human Race 10k was originally conceptualized in 2008 as a relative point of convergence for runners from nearly 30 key cities from all over the world. The routes would pass through some pretty awesome sights, for instance in Istanbul you run across the bridge that connects Europe to Asia. Utilizing Nike + technology, a case could be made for the "the world is flat" paradigm as thousands of runners all over the world could log on to the Nike website and upload their times , essentially engaging in a virtual competition in a race that knows no borders.

Bridge between Asia and Europe is... Cool.
To spice things up, there are different Nike Ambassadors assigned per country. The Philippines had five, all with teams under them that add up to the virtual tally board on race day. In terms of representation, runner blogger par excellance Bards Bathan of Bananarunning took up the cudgels for the general blogosphere.

Who was your ambassador?Even if Manila was not chosen as a key city for this year's event, the race actually took on a greater cause in the wake of recent calamities that have struck the country. For every kilometer ran by a Nike + Sportband user who took up the Nike Ambassador challenge, P10 would be donated on their behalf. In addition to that , finishers would have P100 of their registration fee donated to Gawad Kalinga efforts for Typhoon Ondoy victims.

So now that you know all about it, what exactly happened on race day?

Remy Field. Subic Bay Freeport. 4:00 pm.
So I'm here at the impressive track oval of Remy Field, just a few minutes away from our hotel at Forest View. Some of the Takbo.ph gang have already gathered around, some of them running their maiden 10k's like Lorie and Bea/Notsquare .

As people were milling around aimlessly, there was a certain palpable degree of uncertainty over the whole thing. Why? If you are used to the whole "event-style" weekend runs as of late, roughly 30 minutes before gun time it seemed as though there was nothing going on. No fancy American accent DJ host blurting out ads and wittycisms, no hot Fitness First gal to do stretching, no Pia Cayetano giving words of inspiration, no Luke Mijares to sing "Love of my Life" (oops got ahead of myself there).

Sorry Luke, you're up for the next column
I was somehow expecting a shtick of some sort, just because it was Nike. Nah. Not a few runners approached me and asked "Sir, tuloy ba?" . I really didn't know what to tell them. But hey, I could care less. I came here for the thrills, not the frills. Although frills never hurt anyone :)

Remy Field. Subic Bay Freeport. 4:25 pm.
Out of nowhere, an emcee abruptly announced that the race would be starting in 5 minutes. I looked around, and by my estimate about 200-250 runners were there. Slated to run the 21k event the following day, my mind was fixated on a quick, flat run. A run wherein if I get lucky, I could nab that elusive sub-50 without expending too much energy. The utopian in me got a bit carried away I guess. Quick countdown, quick prayer, and let's see how this thing unravels.

Kilometer 1-2 . Resisting Temptation.

Positioned near the starting line, the lead pack of runners took off in a blinding burst of speed. I estimated though that there were about 30 runners running like there was no tomorrow, can't have that many elites around right? So I resisted the temptation of going at it guns blazing... and my calculations turned out to be correct. One by one their pace dropped, and by the time we got to Km 2, I had passed about 10 of the early birds already. Was cruising at 4:35 - 4:39 km/min, felt pretty strong at this point. I was thinking, if I can build enough of a big lead during the first half, I could hang on for a nice touch to my weekend. Turns out, the fates weren't agreeable with me today.

Hard to resist the temptation to go all out when people are passing you.

Kilometer 2-5 Better Luck Next Time.

Just when I was getting comfy, the incline that came into view took the wind out of my sails. An extremely steep, curving incline that instantly reminded me of those that I had faced in Baguio (I walked) and Corregidor ( easy run, I got really tired) . With no hill training over the past two weeks, I churned in a big fat 6:12 split over the stretch. My pace plummeted all the way down to 5:30 . I was getting more and more zapped by the minute. With my positive split strategy, no way I could make up that big of a differential in a diminished state. That was it. Game over. Better luck next time. Uwian na. But then again... .

Missing the sub-50 worse than getting "basted"?
Kilometer 5-8 What Goes Up, Goes Down : The Final Stand
I stopped for a moment at the 5k water station to get my bearings back. I traveled all the way here, spent a couple of bucks on a hotel, for what? For this pedestrian effort? C'mon quit whining and get it going. I made a resolute effort to give this my shot. If I'm going down, I'm going down on my shield. At the risk of blowing out my quads, I blazed through the downhill portion with splits of 4:08, 4:12, and 4:18. Gave it all I got . And yet again, this only managed to get the pace down to 5:02. Gulp.

Make it worth your time and don't go down without a fight
Kilometer 8-10 . Accepting reality.
Having brought down my pace to some semblance of respectability, I was fast fading. I was hoping that after my final assault, I would be at borderline below 5 minutes. Not happening. So the key is to be realistic, just accept that it isn't your day, and go on to fight another battle. But I still had 2 kms to reconcile. I had a bike escort with me, which was cool. The bike escort couldn't do anything about the truck fumes that were right in my face as we negotiated the route though.

As I was reentering the Remy Field oval attempting to chase down a powerful runner (I affectionately dubbed him Energizer Bunny ) who was about 20-30 seconds ahead of me, I suddenly realized that I cleared 10k much earlier! The distance turned out to be in excess of 450 meters, or nearly half a kilometer. Finished strong with a split time of 52:01. The reality was, I missed my goal. But given that monstrous incline, satisfied nonetheless

The reality is, I gave it my best. But my best wasn't good enough.

The Aftermath
What a race! I enjoyed it, even in a masochistic sort of way. The buzzword amongst the finishers was "!@#$ na hills yan". Even Jaymie/TBR agreed that it was one of the toughest, if not the toughest 10k of the year. Somehow got ensnared in an interview for QTV along with Ambassador Bards afterwards, gak :)

What freebies did I get? An uber cool, exclusive Nike Human duffel bag (okay so it's the same thing they gave away at QCIM but it's still cool), one Pocari Sweat and one water. I heard beforehand there was supposed to be some sort of finisher's Nike bracelet or band, didn't really see anyone with it.

What could be improved for next time

Nothing to lose sleep over, but still noteworthy to mention for future considerations. Distance was in excess of 420-450 meters, matched this with mine and 3 other people with a Garmin. There were no water stations after the turnaround point, woe to the newbie runner or those making a jump to 10k. Also, the people kept on sticking around for the results, the emcee kept on stalling until after the SIM winners arrived to keep the people there. It was announced more than 3 hours after the finish, and by that time I had to leave to support the rest of the team at km34. Went back after the whole thing was over, and had to badger the ACSAT people for the results. Took 15th place out of 270 overall , my first time to crack the top 15 of any race, so hooray. :)

To conclude, the route itself provided a lot of thrills for those who ran. It was definitely not your typical weekend 10k. And knowing that P100 of my money would go to a GK project for Ondoy victims makes my screaming quads a whole lot happier. No-frills , lots of thrills, even more uphills. In spite and despite, was proud to have been part of this.

(starts writing letter to Nike making Manila a key city in 2010)
:P

"Orienteering is the sport of navigation with map and compass. The competitive athlete can experience the exhilaration of moving through the woods at top speed! If you love maps, exploring, and the great outdoors, try orienteering. You'll be hooked for life!"- US Orienteering Federation Website

Hooked for life. Hmmm . These thoughts resonated within me as I browsed through the link that buddy/restaurant magnate Bong Z sent me. Still in ITB recovery and saddled with a heavy workload, I have been embroiled in a new hobby search to serve as a temporary outlet. I'm willing to try practically anything. Even... orienteering. Whatever that is. So how did this picture come about, and why do I seem to have a certain level of angst towards this sign?

I not likey you CP2But hey, we're getting ahead of ourselves. It all started with this conversation... .

Bong Z : Yo GBM, wanna join our adventure race team? Me, Eo and Joyce are in already.

GBM: Adventure race? Like The Amazing Race? Woah!

Bong Z: Er, yeah! Only with map and compass!

GBM: But I don't know how to read no map and compass! I don't even know how to use GPS!

Bong Z: I'll take care of it! I read a couple of websites!

GBM: You READ a couple of websites?

Bong Z:Yeah! It's pretty simple really.

GBM: Uhmmmmmmoookay. What are we going to do exactly?

Bong Z: Dude, I have absolutely no idea. But it should be fun!

GBM: Er, okay. What time we leaving?

Bong Z: 4 am! :)

GBM: !!!!!!!!

Bong Z and GBM to follow in their footsteps?

And with that, ou r story unravels. Here's more or less what happened (save for some things , okay a lot of things that I completely made up) as told by members of the team itself.

Mcdonald's Buendia-EDSA. 4:00 am. GBM

Oh god it is so freaking early! How do I get myself into these things? I have like 2 hours of sleep! Bong Z just called, where am I? Where am I? It's 4 am! I should be in bed! Fair-sized Takbo. ph crowd here already. We all look like zombies. And, woah, is that our bus? Hey cool! It looks like we're going to do a Mexican border crossing! We're going to Tijuanaaaa!

Where's the Korean Tourist coaster when you need it?
Coastal Road, 5am. Eo.
Been training with these guys from time to time, nice to join them in a non-running setting. Nice to get those ITB thoughts out of the way for once. Glad mine's much better. GBM's ITB? Different story. Did you see him at Kenny? Dude was huffing pretty bad. Horrible. He eat my dust. Harhar. Hmmm. Just realized I'm the elder statesman of the group. Well, with my nice tan I hope they think Bong Z is my older brother. Well isn't this swell. It's raining cats and dogs. Is it still on?

I dont like dark, rainy places... .
Matagondon, Cavite Town Hall. 6 am. Bong Z.
Wohoo! Adventure here we come! I can't believe I talked that shmuck GBM into joining this! Even if he whines a lot, maybe I could put him to good use!Hahahaha.He thinks it's some adventure race! But the reality is ... the reality is... . Er, the reality is I have no idea what I'm getting ourselves into. I'll just try to remember everything I read in that website . and will try to get away with it by playing the cool leader dude part! Great! We're here on time! And... we're the only ones here. Where's everybody?

Belo? Who's that?Matagondon, Cavite Town Hall. 7 am. Joyce.

This is going to be a good day for me. Nice adventure race, good weather - what could possibly go wrong? Being the only girl in this group, it would be easy to underestimate me. Little do they know that being an Ayala Mountaineer since 2001, I may very well end up saving their hinds out there. But hey, being in the company of eye-pleasing, "mature" men, I'll gladly play the "clueless damsel" role to stoke their ego. Wohoo!

Clueless Damsel? More like 3 clueless guys!

Matagondon, Cavite Town Hall. 830 am. GBM.
Oh god this is so freaking boring. What's taking so long to start?We should have just come later . PoorTakbo.ph gang. Everyone has little to no sleep. I think we've zapped out our batteries taking so many pictures. People are sleeping on the floor, some may even be going insane. Some are... playing patintero?

Boredom does... .. things to people

Matagondon, Cavite Town Hall. 930 am. Bong Z .

People are getting awfully bored here. I have no sleep at all! Too excited. At least they're starting the orientation already. Sounds pretty interesting. Apparently, they delayed the race because the water levels were too dangerous for us to cross. See, they think of us! This guy is making it sound way too easy... . I'll just call him "Chief" because he seems to be the head honcho around these places. There's something about him... hmm..

Why do I get the feeling he'll be my favorite guy by the time this is over?
Maragondon Town Proper, 11:00. Eo.
After what seemed like an eternity we are finally off. We all agreed that we would sprint this first part while we are still in the city. GBM and Bong Z are off like madmen! I need to keep Joyce company, these dudes think we're doing a 10k or something.We need to find this place where Bonifacio was tried and get a map from there. How... historical.

Coolness.

Beloved leader Bong Z signing us off

2nd Hanging Bridge, 11:30, Going to CP1. Joyce
This is way beyond cool. After getting a bit lost, we're well on our way to Control Point 1. First of eleven we need to meet. We took the wrong hanging bridge first time around. This is the right one! Tremendous view! Eo is hanging on for dear life while we're taking pictures. Aww he's so cute!

I'll eat insects or balut but this is way too much for me!

2nd Hanging Bridge, 11:31, Going to CP1. Eo.
I HATE HEIGHTS. WHY ME LORD WHY ME?

Just one step... . one tiny step... .
CP1, 11:40. GBM.
Wohoo this is awesome! Locals are egging us on, kids playing with us, I feel like my Amazing Race dreams are being realized! And guess what? We're currently in 2nd place! Yeah! Don't count out these newbies!

Planning our next move.
I'll cut the recollection there because my pseudo narrators are getting tired, that's one of the last times that we actually smiled during the race , and I don't want to bore you with an epic entry.
So you'll have to make do with my quickie synthesis here .

CP1 to CP2.
This was the hardest part. A lot of teams were stumped looking for this "mythical" control point. We spent an unfathomable 4 HOURS looking for it. We had already given up at about lunch time. Bong was washing his face in the river and had kept his compass. Joyc and Eo were chilling. Then we ran into our aformentioned buddy, "Chief". He was dropping hints that we were "nearby" already, and that no team had found it yet. "Nearby" meant another 2 hours of seemingly endless dense foliage in a veritable Amazon rainforest. In a decision of sheer stupidity, I had worn shorts. This made me fair game to all sorts of creepy crawlies and thorny bushes. This made me very crabby. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally found it in a hidden place that no one in the right mind could have found off the bat.We were too dead tired to celebrate. In order to find CP2, we had to...

Pass through bamboo bridges ... .

Cross through streams...

Contend with creatures of the wild... .

Pass through insane uphill muddy trails... ..

Survive lush itchy foliage

All for this.
CP2 - Finish
This was pretty much elementary. CP3 was about a kilometer from CP2, and after that we decided to call it a day. We were with Chief by this time, and he urged us to go for at least CP4 because "malapit na lang". By my estimate, it took us more than 30 minutes to get there, and it was turning dark already. I was dead tired. A branch fell on my head, probably Mom Nature's revenge for whining about her kids the whole time. From that point, me and Bong sprinted to the finish line, relieved that the whole experience was behind us.

Night beckons... .

Epilogue

Coming back, the battle-weary Takbo.ph crew was smarting from the DNF. As runners, a DNF is like a source of shame that we would do anything to avoid. Of course, this wasn't our turf. But our competitive nature remains. Gab and Cindy's team actualy took 3rd , and Pat, Doc Eire and Bryan gutted it out till the end. The exhausting, punishing setting was ripe for drama and discord, and I am proud of my team for sticking through the whole thing. The trip home was a relaxing one, a nice opportunity to bond and share a laugh with my running friends in a non-running setting. And strangely enough, despite spraining an ankle, getting a branch fall on my head, insect bites and bruises galore, barehand-climbing a rocky hill, and falling into mud too many times to remember - if you told me that I'd be teammates with these folks once more ... .

I'd do it all over again :)

So, are you hooked for life? See you next year! Malapit na yun! :)

As I glanced anxiously at my 305, the grim reality was sinking in. Unless I pull of an Usain Bolt, there was absolutely no way I would be hitting my goal. I need to leave everything out there. Right here. No tomorrows. A final push, one last heave for glory netted a 4:53 final lap... .

And I missed it by 15 seconds. Damn.

Thank God for Google Images

But wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves. It all started on a stormy Saturday night at Glorietta 4 ... .

GBM: Miss, may I register for the 10k? Thank you.
ECO-Dash Counter Girl : Eto po. 300 lang.
GBM: Hmmm. Where's the singlet?
EDCG: Ay, naubos na po, nung Sunday pa.
GBM: Aaah, ok.

(walks away, opens race packet, goes back)

GBM: Miss, why do you have two bibs? That is quite... unconventional .
EDCG: Ay Sir, ung isa para sa harap, ung isa sa likod. First time niyo ho ba?
GBM: Uh... . It's actua..
EDCG: Okay lang ho, kaya ninyo yan, basta hinga malalim lang.Nauso na nga yang ranning na yan eh. Nga pala sir, rain or shine yan tuloy!

So for 300 bucks I ended up with 2 race bibs, a bit of a weird conversation... . and that was pretty much it. Not that it actually matters - I heard a lot of gripes about its "minimalist" design - but I was hoping to get more bang out of my 300 bucks. Internet legend Tito Caloy was supposed to grace us with his presence, but was apparently caught up deep in training for the San Mig National Drinking Finals. So I went out on a dreary Sunday morning, in hopeful anticipation of the great unknown, what with so many intangibles put into play.

"Secret" Training
If you have been following this blog from time to time, then you're probably aware of my well-chronicled struggles against the menace that is ITBS.

Gone for good?
Forced to drastically cut down mileage , I put in a couple of duds at some of our recent races. I was already thinking, Am i done ? Is that it for me? Visions of a surgically repaired Samboy Lim and Shaun Livingston looking like ghosts of their old selves haunted me. What if I'll never regain my old form? Through the thankful intervention of a higher power, I have been running relatively pain free for the past several weeks. That's when I decided to flat out just go for out it. Serious training for two weeks, harder than I ever trained before. I was going to secretly target a sub-50 time for this race, if I fail I could just say I was "pacing" someone. So what did I do exactly?

If I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret anymore, right? :) :p

The Case of the Missing Ipod

In an extremely weird twist of fate, I lost my beloved iPod the day I learned that my quest for that elusive Master's degree was finally over. Ahh. My life seems to be in bittersweet symphony right now. But what should I do? I find it extremely hard to run without music, I seem to be grossed out by my own snarly breathing.

Will give dog for ipod
Thankfully, I found a weird-looking Mp3 player lying around the house, the type you could get for 500 bucks at the mall. 256 mb, no song randomizer, weird shape. Sold! At this point, I would have brought a Walkman to the race if need be.

If you ever ran with one of these, thanks for visiting my blog Master!

The Race Itself

Okay, let's be practical. Due to the nature of this belated post, by now you should have already read a plethora of blog entries outlining how drenched we were, how there was a lack of marshals along Bayani, et.al. Obviously, I won't go there - your time is more precious than mine. Instead, let's go straight to the crux of the matter, punctuated by the precise songs blaring from my cheapo Mp3 player in homage to my newly departed and dearly beloved Ipod.

Kilometer 1 - Dreamgirls Theme (not a word)

Jesus Christ and Mary it sure is cold! I don't think I have ever started a race at this temp, it's even colder than when we did Botak Baguio. Oh shoot , crappy Mp3 player auto adjusts its volume everytime you turn it off. It's .. it's not loud enough! I still hear my own breathing! Crap. Where do they make this thing anyway? Rain is pouring down pretty bad, I don't have time to get it out of my hydrobelt. Yes it's that pathetic I need to squeeze it into my hydrobelt. Opening pace is at 4:29, think I could have gone faster but the rain is slowing me down. Just passed a runner who is complaining about the rain audibly. Hmmm, chess isn't so bad once you get used to it.

All you got to do is dream...

Kilometer 2-3 - Do You Believe In Magic - Loving Spoonful

So I got out of the bane of all runners this side of town in one piece. The Kalayaan Flyover was my first major hurdle, and I did a 4:44/5:03 on it, first time I ever hit a sub-5 split on it. People walking all around me. Yes, it does get the best of you. Given that 82.67% of all Sunday race routes pass through this point, I'm guessing it doesnt have too many fans.Much like an untamed beast in the wilderness, oftentimes you can but just hope and pray you live to tell the tale. Relatively unscathed, I come flying downslope. Current total pace is at 4:45. So far so good.

Yup, never heard of em' either

Kilometer 5 - VST & Co. - Sumayaw Sumunod

Wow, these drivers are crabby! You woulwd think that they'd be more relaxed on a Sunday morning. The honking was reminiscent of Edsa Dos. Unfortunately, seems that we're the subjects of their profanity-laced tirades. They should go to the Kanye West School of Charm.

It's just like rush hour traffic, only on a Sunday. Why so angry?

Completed the halfway point at 23:48, that may just possibly be my best 5k split ever. Route reminds me of my Globe Run for Home debacle. Is this my day of vindication?

Sumabay sa mga bagong tugtugin ngayon... .

Kilometer 7-8 - Eraserheads - Huwag Kang Matakot

As much as I would like to imbibe the E-heads spirit on this, the pressure was so intense it was hard not to be. The homeward bound Kalayaan Flyover won this round, dropping me to a 5:22/5:34 split, breaking both my body and spirit. The pressure was getting to me , and I was starting to panic inside. Total pace had dropped to an even 5:00, which meant that I would be missing my target. More panic. I need to make up time. But I'm zapped out. Must... soldier... on. Just 2k more... ...

One of their last albums before calling it quits

Kilometer 9-10. Amy Winehouse - Rehab.
They say that running is just as much mental as physical, sometimes even more. I completely agree, 100%. Here I was , on the cusp of beating one of my biggest running goals, and I was doing a completely chokejob. Mentally, I was messed up. I was freaking out and panicking. Prematurely celebrating, I was even thinking of a title for the blog post already. Physically, I was spent. Blatant lack of training. A quick, anxious glance at the 305 showed 45:00 with a little over a kilometer to go. Running on fumes, a blatant attempt to let it all hang out was hatched.

However, the grim reality was sinking in. Unless I pull of an Usain Bolt, there was absolutely no way I would be hitting my goal. More panic. I need to leave everything out there. Right here. No tomorrows. A final push, one last heave for glory... .

And I missed it by 15 seconds. Damn.

Gut-wrenching. I broke down mentally that last two kilometers. Got caught up in the moment so to speak. Wasn't able to deliver. On the precipice of success, I blinked. And in that nanosecond, I missed the bus. At the highest echelons of all sports, this is what separates the men from the boys. The winners from the pretenders. It's that requisite mental toughness designed to take you to the next level.

I think I need to go to rehab after this

Overall, it was a bittersweet moment. I still set a new 10k PR at 50:14, lopping of a minute and a half from my pre-injury best. Was a tremendous day for Takbo.ph denizens Sam, Vicky, and Argo as they all set new records on their 21k times. Tremendous improvement. Keep up the good work guys!

PR people with podium gal Carins

John Lloyd an d... Luis?
In retrospect, this race taught me a lot about myself. Getting so near, only to falter in the end inspires me to do even better next time around. To quote William Ernest Henley, "my head is bl oody, but unb owed". Indeed, we all live to run another day.

And sometimes, in the greater scheme of things

That's all that really matters.

Editor's Note : Results just came in, wanted to add that this performance was good enough for 26th place amongst 532 runners in the category, my best finish ever :P

Dear FB, I think we need to break up, and while normally you might expect me to say it’s me, not you because that’s what people usually say when they want to break up a relationship… oh no it’s not you, it’s me. But you know what, this time it’s you, not me.

I’m growing apart, losing my focus, losing my patience with you. Because you know what FB, it is you.
Yes this is your fault, not mine.
I tried in the beginning, even when the smart part of my brain said, no don’t go there, it’s not for you. Don’t jump on that bandwagon, don’t fall for those alluring stats, the thought of being part of a community that “gets” you.
I envisioned myself dropping witty comments, and sprinkling “likes” throughout my newsfeed. Thought that signing up was going to make my life better, widen my circles, give me more exposure for my blog.
FB I fell for you, and hard. We spent time together, we laughed, we joked, we were serious together, we did some good stuff, I really thought we had a great thing going.
I thought we had something special.
But I found out that you were fickle, you wandered, you lost interest in my page when I was too busy to post more then once a day. If I missed a day, I felt left behind, forgotten. You only loved me when it suited you.
When I read my stats I was disappointed with you FB… you used to show my posts to so many more people, now only 7 to 10 people see my post? Why should I bother?
And you were not totally honest with me FB, I thought that you would only share my posts, and comments, but not my information. I feel betrayed, and annoyed, I put time into you FB, real time that I could have spent doing something more rewarding, like… well shaving my legs!

Then you had the nerve to sneak in other pages into my news feed, asking me to “like” them.
Shame on you FB… you, you two timer! I thought we were exclusive.
Some times there were so many “suggested likes” cluttering up my feed that I had to scroll down forever to find someone I recognized.
It feels like all I ever see are cats, cartoons, and comments, where are all the rest of the pages that I like? What happened to all of the creative people? The small business, the interesting things that I “liked.”
I knew it was all over when I kept seeing the same pages, over, and over. I would click on the button telling you that “Idon’twanttoseethis” numerous times, but you just didn’t learn. There they were, the same posts again the next day.
How much should a girl take before she has to realize that it’s all over.
How much did you understand about me? Did you ever listen when I filled out those endless surveys? Do you like this, do you like that?
I’m into photography, enamoured with it. Passionate about it, and I work hard at getting a good photo. Did you know that, did you care?
FB what you did to my images was just plain mean. You thwarted me at every turn, you squished, squashed, and blurred my images until they were barely recognizable compared to what I had originally uploaded.
You obviously didn’t care about what I did, the time spent on improving them meant nothing to you. Just when I thought I knew exactly what size would look the best, you would change something, tweak it a bit, and they looked bad again.
FB you're a full time, high maintenance relationship. It’s difficult keeping up with your mercurial changes, your security fixes, your super secret ways of deciding what is on my news feed.
It seems that every few days I read someone's post telling me how you have gone and switched settings again, blasting my previously private information out there into the public domain. And if I didn’t make those changes immediately then every secret that I had whispered to you would be revealed.
How nice is that FB? That’s just another reason I want to break up.

I think.
I’m not completely sure if I want to leave, it’s nice to see my friends, and the pages I “like”, [when you feel like showing them to me], but it’s getting harder to find updates, what kind of relationship is that? This is starting to feel like a sinking ship.
If I stay FB, we need to set some ground rules, you need to change, or I am out of here, off to the other ones, Google + Pinterest, Instagram.
I know where I stand with them, they like my photos, they put everything I post into the news feed… no pleading, and I don’t have to buy my way in.
Pinterest loves me, and Instagram is welcoming me with open arms… I’m tired of being ignored FB.
I’m going to give you one more chance, but I want you to understand this, it’s you, not me. If you don’t start to make a effort, well, there are a lot of other fish in the sea, and plenty of room in their boats.

I've got a friend who exquisitely files and organizes everything. From her silverware, and dishes, to her paperwork. She is the Martha Stewart of my life, so super organized she can put her finger onto anything you ask her to produce, dishes, documents, and the warranty for any appliance, no matter how old.

I admire her organizational skills, and part of me is asking? How do you do it? Did you learn it, where you born with this skill? Is there a class that I missed, did I misfile the ability somewhere between lost socks, and the cat demanding lunch at 10 am? I struggle to organize my thoughts, to be able to put them on the screen in a manner that is readable and interesting. We know it takes time to write a interesting blog post, and that good content takes effort. You've heard the phrase,"time expands to fill the space available" it's called Parkinson's law. The more time I have available the longer it takes to write my post. It can take me all day if I were to let it, and it won't be any more organized. Am I the only person this happens to? For me writing a blog post is similar to making dinner from scratch. I might start with p lans for homemade pasta, Alfredo sauce, broccoli, consider those the outline of my blog post. As I try to write down my thoughts the butter burnt, the cream curdled, and we ended up eating store bought pasta, and jarred sauce, with over cooked broccoli. It tasted OK, but it's wasn't what I had in mind when I began. Learning how to transfer the jumble in my mind onto the computer screen is one of the hardest things for me. The seat of your pants style of blogging has been my default for much too long, and I'm trying to improve by being more organized. Writing posts ahead of time still feels awkward, I'm still writing the night before, but I know that if I make something a good habit, it becomes much easier for me.

I'd like to be able to write a blog post in 20 minutes like this but I am far away from it. Sometimes I need to trick my brain into using organizational tricks to get things done in time. I've been using these and they seem to be working.

• Writing standing up, sitting down encourages me to daydream, and we all know that it's wonderful.but not going to get that post written.

• Setting a timer, the more time I have the longer it takes me to write my post.

• Drafting out a post, writing a outline, going back and filling in the details afterwards.

• Retyping awkward sentences in CAPITAL LETTERS. If I'm struggling with a word, I will just type it in caps so I can find it later and fix it.

• Planning sheets from organized home they offer free printables, calendars, and to do lists that I've been using to organize my thoughts.

I'm in awe of bloggers who are able to write posts that flow effortlessly, the kind that make you wish you had written them. It's a journey, and each step we take to improve ourselves, brings us closer to being better bloggers. I need that on my wall…each step brings me further along my blogging journey… I'm always on the lookout for more organizational tips to help my blogging, so if you have any tips that help you organize your blog posts, please let me know in your comments.

The big move update: My move to Word Press is still a couple of weeks away, I've purchased my hosting, bought the Genesis framework, and picked a feminine theme I love. I'll let you know the exact date of the move when we get a little closer, things should stay almost the same on your end. I understand changes to our routines can be difficult, and I am hoping that you will hang out with me no matter what platform I'm on. I'm not changing who I am, or how I blog, what kind of shots I take, just where I do it.
Laura from I'm so Vintage is going through the process of changing her blog name, and URL, she wrote a post describing it here. In the end, although changes might not be easy to go through, they help us grow in our blogging journeys.
Thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this post you might want to read this post also.

Ever discover something gem like in your world, something that you never realized was there, all this time that you have lived in the area? I had my first"almost real" photo shoot yesterday. And when I asked the family about favorite places they mentioned Crescent Park.

All this time that I drove by this glorious huge, undiscovered, amazing park, all those years. Why didn't anyone mention this to me? I know that we have two amazing beaches, and they tend to be the hot spots in White Rock, South Surrey, but this park, amazing. And it's only 15 minutes from our place. It has a duck pond! OK! I am in! Me and duck ponds, we are like this, [crossed fingers]. Ducks!!!!! It has trails, and playgrounds, and acres and acres of fields, and apparently a rope course. All undiscovered by us, all this time. I can hardly wait to go back and explore, hard to believe it has been there all this time. Quack! Quack! Have you discovered any gems in your area, after a long time of living there? Tell me.

When I first thought about starting a blog.
Before I even tried to figure out how to start a blog.
I thought, whom am I going to be?
Will I be the fashionista?
Would I be the politically oriented, scientifically thinking, intelligent glasses wearing professional?
As if.
Would I try to pretend, and pass my self off as some type of expert on something?
My mind very quickly ran through a million or more scenarios, and quickly tossed them out the window.
It does that at times. Smart of it to do so.
It’s tempting to wonder what persona we should take on, if we should be someone whom we might think would be more successful then being ourselves.

At the time I was deeply entrenched in my Garden Center jobs, and plants were my passion. I was no more a politically oriented, fashionista fascinated scientist then I was an astronaut.
Photography was starting to take a edge over the blossoms, but it made perfect sense to read and think about garden blogs. I joined a Garden bloggers community that posted my blog to it’s members, exposed me to other great garden bloggers, and all seemed fine for awhile.
Much as I loved being part of the community, I felt fenced in when I realized that I was expected to write about gardening all the time.
Every time, each time, and I was trying to post every day.
This was great during gardening season, but during the bleak, wet winter, how can you wax eloquently on foliage, and be beatific on buds if you can’t take photos in the rain.
There were only so many things I could say about gardening much as I loved it. But I lost my words, my voice, my way. I struggled on not knowing that the lure of success was tempting me like a brilliant flower just out of reach.
It started to droop, and fade.
I dreaded having to post.

One day I rebelliously wrote a post describing the awe I felt at seeing masses of washed up jelly fish on the beach in the cold and frosty morning, it was a magical moment for me. I got real comments from that post, not just “nice shot.”
I felt good about writing it, it felt real.
I started to write for myself, describing how I felt, telling a story, being real, and I saw changes in the way my blog was reaching out to my readers.
Sure I couldn’t tell a great story every time, trust me there are still some cringe worthy posts in my archives, but I was trying, and sometimes succeeding.
It’s all been worthwhile, I feel like I am being me, I write about what I love, I write about life, and light as I see it. And I am seeing growth in my blog, my writing, my photography.
I’m not knocking communities, they are wonderful, but they didn’t work for me, I needed to write posts that have some sort of meaning as I grow and change. One reader commented that her blog has evolved past anything it used to resemble. I can completely understand that.
I think mine has too.
So write meaningful posts, blog as yourself, it’s worth it in the end.

Some of you have said that you are not sure which direction your blog is going in, your direction will come, be patient, don’t give up. Others have said that they don’t have that many readers, v isit other blogs, comment, build that village.
They will find you. It might take some time, but they will.
Grow.
And blog on.

It never ceases to amaze me how we bloggers have this magical ability to pull something out of nothing.
Such as:
Creating a blog post out of a inspired sentence, or experience that comes from…
A conversation

That you might be having with someone.
[Check out the great photo that Stephanie used a cool app on, with gorgeous results.]
A experience
And this all happens just in time, when you realized.
That yes, you should have been thinking about writing this post waaaay before the last minute.
But you were
Puttering in the garden, taking down the beans, drying the sunflowers for the birds.
Enjoying the flower’s last blooming hurrah before the first frost.
And maybe.
You should have been blogging
Instead of walking in the glorious sunshine down country roads with your beloved.
Taking time to refresh your creativity.
Wondering if the sheep will be out in the field.
And are there to be more cows in the red barn before the winter?
Discussing whether or not the caterpillar’s wide stripe means a hard winter.
Does a squished by a vehicle caterpillar mean that the stripe is wider, and thus a harder winter?

Maybe a post evolves from a experience
Of dashing out of the house alone, in the early morning to take photos of fog patches that linger on the river.
Catching the only moment of sun breaking through the clouds, bathing the mountain in light for the entire day.
Score!
Despite feeling uncomfortable being out there alone on the river walk path.
Wondering if it was a good idea.
One eye on your truck with your wallet locked inside, and one hand firmly hanging onto your “much to expensive to replace” camera.
Hoping the that little town that you have travelled to next to yours was really safer at this time of morning than you thought it might be.
Wishing that you had brought your husband along instead of going off on a whim.
And being thankful that there was another person, who also was female striding towards you.
After all the unseen threats couldn’t take you both on, could they?

Making new friends
With her, while walking beside the gorgeous river and discussing it’s reputation for nature, and safety.
Only to realize just how vulnerable you felt once again when you had to turn back, retrace your steps, now alone passing that man staring into the magnificent river vista.
Despite his dog being beyond friendly, you still felt uncomfortable. He was so silent, and stern.
The area has less then a stellar reputation that early in the morning.

But the views, the clouds, the mountains, the wild geese, and the ducks trying out their landing gear on the river.
The absolute beauty of being able to see as far as your eyes could strain.
The clouds, the sky, the glow from the hidden sun.
Took only your breath away.
And for that you were thankful.

Many thanks to all of you who take the time to read my blog posts, and to those who also leave a comment, even more thanks! I truly appreciate your time spent doing so.
A tip, a tip!
I’m just wondering if anyone else has encountered the jiggling, vibrating sidebars that seem to be happening to a few Blogger blogs… and thought I would share a solution that I found online.
If you use Chrome as your browser, you might have this problem also.
It may be the Google follower’s widget causing the problem, apparently it can be fixed by moving your follower’s button down lower on your sidebar.
As a reader a quick fix to stop the vibrations would be to zoom in or out to a different setting… say 110% or even 90%. That seemed to work for me if I am reading a blog with a vibrating sidebar.
And one more bit…
If you have a Blogger blog could you please check that the list of blogs shown in your profile has your most current blog at the top?
We are all so pressed for time, if you are a new commenter we might not know which blog is the one to read and comment on.
Also for those who use a Google+ profile for your Blogger blog, please consider putting the link to your blog in a extremely visual place, maybe even more then once… less clicks for us = more views, and comments for you.

Why do we run again? It's for times like these. Times when you try to fall asleep at 8 pm on a Saturday night so that you'll wake up at 1am for an out-of-town run. 1am? Most of the nocturnal denizens of the metropolis are still in Fiamma or Emba at this time, the booze overflowing at every corner. It sort of reminds me of my old lifestlye. If you had told me a couple of years ago that I would be adhering to this spartan way of living I would have given you one of those incredulous, you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me looks. Alas, I have been locked in to the wonderful world of running, and there's really no turning back. The parameters of last Sunday's run were relatively simple. We drive to Tagaytay, then run 34k to Mhel's house. Mhel was kind enough to once again open his home to the Takbo.ph team, the first time being after the Greenfield City race. So how did my weekend adventure begin? I woke up at 1:00 am and basically sleepwalked my way into preparing for the run. I wanted to be on the dot for this , so by 2:30 I was at the place of my uncle, fondly called Tito Caloy by the group. He was joining the long run after only having a 5k prep run at Botak the week before with no prior running experience. Apparently, getting hooked runs in the family hehe. He told me that he had no sleep at all because my cousin was badgering him to death about coming along. So he strived to get as much shut-eye as he could in my car.

Tito Caloy dreaming of PR's in the carThe highway laid out at a utopianesque standstill, we picked up Rod and Gab at the Sucat exit at 3:00 am as per our arrangement. With Tito Caloy half comatose while riding shotgun, we could hardly contain our frenzied excitement for the run despite the ungodly hour. We arrived at our meeting spot in Paseo de Sta Rosa before 3:30. Sam and a shnoozing Rodel who came directly from work were already there (excited) . In a few more moments Doc Topher and Mhel arrived as well. An unfamiliar face soon showed up, and we were happy to see that it was actually forum habitue Mond aka Pawgee that we were meeting for the very first time.

The first four Doc Eric, our kind host/organizer for the Tagaytay leg, came in at about 3:40 am. He said he woke up late hehe :) With the looming problem of how to transport everybody to the start point, it was decided that some cars would be left at Paseo, and some would help Doc Eric transport the gang to the start point. For some reason, we went with my car, inspite of the fact that it was lowered and could only accomodate so many people. We crammed five dudes in there! As a result, I could only drive at "punerarya" pace. We got to Doc Eric's Tagaytay house and was happy to find the whole gang there. Carbo-laden goodies were strewn across the dining table. After some niceties and last- minute preps, we ventured out at nearly 5am, an hour later than our estimate. The sun was rising , and we had to make up for lost time.

The Takbo.ph team at ground zero After navigating our way out of a dark, mongrel-infested route (read: crabby, hungry looking Askals), we made it to the main highway. For most of the initial route I was designated as the pacer. I was following Doc Eric's prescribed pace of 8:00/km if we intended to make it there on time. As I soon found out though, this pace was a bit too fast for the group to stick together ; 9 - 10/km was more appropriate. I relinquished the pacer role and engaged the gang in friendly banter, took time out to take some pictures. Mhel took on the pacer role at this juncture.

Smiling so that the doggies would go away

At least Sam's happy

And so we begin

Tito Caloy aka "Enduro" is tired already?

Why do we run again? It's for times like these . Running in the cool Tagaytay pre-morning breeze was so relaxing for me, such a transcendent , preternatural experience that it reminded me of why we sacrifice so much. No amount of money could replicate that exact, precise moment for me. At just before the 10k mark for us Takbo.ph head honcho Jinoe and BDM 102 finisher Jerry aka High Altitude joined us. By this time, the group had splintered into several groups, with Mhel and Jerry leading the first group. I had the privilege of pacing with Jinoe for several kilometers, only stopping at the Rotunda because the last group was way behind and we didnt want anyone lost. Picture taking galore ensued :)

The Takbo.ph boys!

Rodel and Boss Jinoe running... . in place

May view may view picture muna!

Hagibis reunited? Why do we run again? It's for times like these. Me and Jinoe wanted to get a good workout from the whole thing, so we upped the pace to 6:30. Before long, we caught up with the lead group on walk break. Jerry was still the pacemaker, so when he broke away he followed suit. An interesting sidelight about Jerry - I kept on talking to him in the vernacular, and he would only give what I made out to be a look bordering on confused and snobbish. Turns out, our BDM ultramarathoner was Indonesian! And he was anything but snobbish. Once we got the language barrier out of the way, he was extremely helpful and gave so many tips on our ultramarathon dream next year.

Ultraman Jerry aka High Altitude. Tito Caloy and Sam mugging inthe background As amiable as he was off road, he was just as intense on it. For what was hyped to be an LSD, we were pushing it at 6:00 - 6:30 from the 10k to 20k mark. There were several of us in the breakaway lead group - Jerry, Jinoe, Me, Mhel, Mond, and lo and behold Tito Caloy who was lagging behind. I had to keep on coming back for him just to check up, and I was repeatedly shooed away hehe. Old people :) Also, the heat was starting to catch on. With not so fond memories of my Botak meltdown, my confidence was shaken in extreme heat. My Garmin analysis later showed a 31 degree high with 70% humidity, even hotter than that ill-fated race day. Alas, with the right will and determination we reached the first stop, 20.2 km down. The rest of the group who were running the partial route were waiting for us as well. We entered to the warm cheers emanating from familiar faces More friends! Alright! :P

Fun times with the whole gang

Buying P12 Gatorade in bottles.Hmmm...

Mond taking a breather

Age doesn't matter... ... Aray... ... .
Having recharged our batteries (P12 bottled Gatorade was all the rage, and special thanks to Mhel who lent me some cash after I lost mine) the group braced itself for the next push - a 7k jaunt to "nearby" Paseo de Sta. Rosa. The heat was getting to be pretty bad at this point, the ill effects of starting an hour late. I think pacer Jerry felt this as well, so instead of slowing down, we took off maintaining a 6:00 - 6:15 pace for the distance, leading a pack that included myself, Docs Eric and Pinky, Mhel, Mond, and Quennie (who got sucked in by the pace). We were left wondering - what LSD? This feels more like a 27k tempo run! By this time, the heat was sweltering. The heat would have made the Gobi Desert proud. As the group started to trickle in one by one, we came to the realization that we could go no more in this heat. It was another good 7k to Mhel's place. I decided against running any further, and so did Tito Caloy. A few brave souls ventured to go the full distance - marathon man/coach Pojie on "taper" mode, comebacking Carly, Mhel, Jerry, and Mond. We salute your dedication! Ayos!

27.56k ... . is... ... enough... .

We'd rather take the car!

Why do we run again? It's for times like these. At Mhel's house, the group's camaraderie was in full swing. Like road weary Spartans coming home from their latest victory, you could feel the vibe of contentment and happiness in the air. It's an unexplainable, magical feeling that runners alone can empathize with. Forget the aches and pains. We just cleared a distance greater than a half marathon! The food was overflowing, the laughter pervading. Nevermind the hassle of going back the entire distance to get our cars in Tagaytay. Forget the 50k ride back to Manila. We accomplished something, something that no one can ever take away from us.

Manokan Express with Chicken Arrozcaldo

Poj and Quennie with our kind hosts

Power couple Rach and Neil

Busog!

Happy Camper

All in a day's work!

Takbo.ph rocks!

Why do we run again? If you love running with a fervent passion... ...

Then you'll know that it's for times like these.