Yesterday morning I went out on some of my favourite roads to practice driving in the snow and I just happened to have my camera, and my wits with me. It’s a good thing I was concentrating on the road because you could say there is one lucky dog out there today. I was driving down the back country roads admiring the way the snow was piling up on the trees, and I passed by a couple of people walking down the middle of the road. I wasn’t going fast, but I slowed down even more as I edged past them, because they didn’t bother to move over… it’s a country road, you’re out walking, why move over for a approaching vehicle? Sigh.
Just past them were two border collies from a nearby farm that crossed the road ahead of me, I slowed down even more. I admired the way their black and white fur looked so stark against the snow, matching the dark, and bare tree branches. One of the dogs started to run along besides the truck, I am always worried when farm dogs do that, some have very little sense of the danger that vehicles can cause them.
Suddenly the dog cut right across in front of my truck, I slammed the brakes on. There was a crunching sound… [My husband told me later that it was the ABS brake system locking up.] I slid slightly, and came to a stop. My heart was pounding, and I looked in the rear view mirror, there was the couple still standing in the middle of the road now staring back at me and the dogs, they looked horrified.
But there on the driver’s side of the truck, safe and sound, was the untrained farm dog that just barely made it past my wheels because I had slowed down due to the cautious little voice in my head that said watch out.
It’s good to move over when a vehicle approaches you, it’s good to train your dogs to not run alongside of vehicles, and it’s good to slow down when you see someone else on road. One lucky dog.
I got the pleasure of interviewing Rogin-E Race Director/Overall Nice Guy Edward Kho about his upcoming race. Some of you guys know him offhand as the guy behind Corregidor International Half- Marathon, and hopefully you'll get to know more about the race and the guy behind it.
Before anything else, we were lucky enough to be given a complimentary slot to this race spanning any category - 5k, 10k, or the Last Man Running category. Lucky for you guys, I'm raffling it out. So if you want to win a free slot to this race, here are the simple mechanics :
1. Have yourself and five friends like the official GBM Report Facebook Fan Page You have to list down the names of your five friends on our comment form.2. Follow me on Twitter. 3. On the same comment where you listed down your friends who liked our page, outline why you think Rogin-E would help you be the Last Man Running during the race. Winning answer will be chosen by Edward Kho himself. Contest begins today and ends on Friday February 11thh. Good luck everyone!
What is it about Baguio and pine trees? The summer capital of the Philippines usually evokes memories of the unmistakeable aroma of pine, an aroma that in turn triggers memories of fun summers, inebriated nights, and forlorn romances. Indeed, this northern getaway could symbolize a whole lot of different things for a whole lot of different people. During my latest jaunt there, the time came to nurture a Baguio experience of a different kind - my first road race in the City of Pines!
An Unlikely Gig The whole trip started innocuously enough - majority of the gang was disenfranshised by the lack of slots to TNF and we were lacking a weekend gig. Out of what seemed like divine providence, coach Pojie suddenly mentioned that Botak was organizing a Baguio race, the idea floated to him by Craig of Team Logan. With the recent beating the Botak brand has taken amongst running denizens, the announcement was met with a certain degree of apprehension. These fears were quickly allayed when it was mentioned that the race was being handled by a different organizer. From that point on, everything seemed like a blur. Before we knew it, ageless resto magnate/speedster/overall good guy Bong was already taking care of the logistical preps for the group. And thus the adventure begins... .. Carbo- Loading in the Cold Craig offered to organize a Carbo Loading Party or CLP at his Baguio abode the Friday before the race, much like the Takbo.ph CLP shortly before the Condura Run. Due to work constraints, I was prevailed upon to drive over on a Saturday, and it looks likeI missed a wonderful celebration. I promise I'll be there next time guys!
The Takbo.ph gang at the Logan home The Night Before The 5 hour drive going to Baguio was pleasant enough, the SCTEX doing wonders for what used to be an extremely cumbersome ride. After retreating to Baguio Burnham Suites, (shame less plug for my friend's hotel haha ) I went on to visit the Takbo.ph gang at Chelly's place where practically everyone was staying. I am in no way, shape or form an expert on Baguio roads, so suffice to say I got lost multiple times while looking for the place. After much tribulation and comprehensive directions from the police station (fine I gave up so sue me) I finally found the place!I was so happy to see the gang, the hard-core running addicts of my running team celebrating our sweeping point of commonality in such a remote and unlikely locale. We had quite the delegation! I was even offered some Bacardi! To put in my hydro belt! (They were kidding. I think.) After chilling with the gang, I left for my hotel with bright anticipation for the race that was to commence in a few hours.
Fun Takbo.ph times at Chelly's winter palace
Gal pals Julie and Carina hyped up for the race
21k virgin Edu chillin out
The Cranium set which provided the entertainment for the nightBaguio D-Day With roughly four hours of sleep, I trotted over to the starting line at Burnham Park near the pond. I was lucky that the hotel was pretty near, so I got a half-decent warmup run in chilly 16 degree weather. The gang was already there, excited yet anxious at the same time.
Ready to go to war in the chilly Baguio dawn
Let's get it on!!!!!The organizer was announcing all the running teams and clubs that came- a smattering from Manila and a handful of varsities from the prevailing locale. It seemed that the Takbo.ph delegation was the biggest from Manila. However, the biggest delegation was hands down from the PNP training corps , both their men's and women's squads were there. There also was some unintentional comedy involved as the organizers instructed the Takbo.ph team to come up the front of the line! Feeling elite! Haha :) At about 5:45 (15 minutes from the announced start time as we had "waited"for the police escorts) the starting gun went off. So here we go... .. On a Higher Plane Given the aniticipated difficulty of the course based from the group's feedback after their ocular the day before, we all adjusted our projected pace accordingly. I was pacing with Takbo.ph founder Jinoe, and we decided we should maintain a 6:30 pace for the first 10k.Once again, just the mere fact that I was racing in Baguio was so surreal for me. The chilly thin air, that unmistakeable aroma of pine, great company... . sunrise at 1500 feet... . Wow... ... It was AWESOME. Makes the 268 km ride from Manila (okay fine I measured it with my Garmin. Junkie.) all worth it. And just as I was starting to get a wee bit too comfy in my utopian dream scenario, a rapid 3 km downhill descent that we were running at 5:20 pace gave us an ominous portent of things to come. As all runners reaching turnaround points know... . what goes down... must eventually go up. Gulp. It's The Hardest Thing At the 10k turnaround point and requisite 1 minute walk/water break, me and Jinoe were trying to mentally prepare oursleves for the drudgery that were going up against. We tried for 1 km to run it, but the hills were just too much. We ended upusing a run/walk strategy, even surrendering a 10:00 minute split. Looking around, even the police cadets were walking. Damn, it must have been THAT hard. Check out the elevation courtesy of Jinoe's 405!
Homeward Bound Having survived that, we struggled to get our wits about us. We had surrendered nearly a full minute from our pace and we needed to make up for lost ground in a hurry. So what we did, we used a group of gruff cadets as a pace group, and they hurtled through the return route at a 5:20 pace. We struggled to keep up and thankfully our second wind kicked in at this point. As we starting to catch some sort of coherent rhythm at this point, we realized that we were on the way back to Burnham already! The course was going to be short! As I sprinted towards the finish line at 2:01:43, the 10k runners of the Takbo.ph gang greeted me with a rapturous round of applause, sweet music to my ears after wining yet another battle of wills. Boss Jinoe soon followed suit, about 15 seconds behind by my estimate. The moment we had crossed the line, the kind lady organizer immediately asked how long did the race register on our Garmins. I told her, 18.16 on mine. She then went on to explain that the local government had them do emergency reroute because of some digging that was being done. While some may have thought that this was the latest Botak disaster, I felt that from a PR perspective her prompt, on-the-spot public announcement and apology was the best possible thing that could have been done. Shirking from the issue would have been disastrous. As a result, the discrepancy was more or less downplayed by the participants.
Sprinting with a smile towards the finish line
I conquered them hills!
18k? Easy!
Jinoe, Me, Mhel, Poj, and Doc Roy
Queenie getting her top-15 finish medal Final Thoughts Overall, it was probably one of the toughest races I have been part of. The 3k killer uphill stretch truly left little to the imagination ; if you think I exaggerate you should try it out for yourself. The cool weather, the tremendous locale and wonderful scenery made it all the more special. And hey, it's not like you could race the infamous uphills of the City of Pines every week right? As always, even if I wasn't there for their entire stay, the Takbo.ph team made the experience infinitely more special. I grabbed photos, sue me later :) If you want interactive map info of the race, check it out here - http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/player/8310795 What is it about Baguio and pine trees? What strong memories do these bastions of generations past evoke? Forlorn romances? Inebriated nights? I don't know about you, but I 'll never look at Baguio in the same way again.
It's been just over a month since Adidas held its highly touted annual King Of The Road race. To pre-boom running denizens, KOTR was one of the most awaited races each year. The fact that it always seemed to have the best singlet of every season didn't hurt either.With the running community growing year in and year out, I'll rattle off ten quick things about this year's experience.
1. Singlet Fun? Last year's singlet took the cake, with a revolutionary yellow and black motif that has been ripped off endlessly in smaller races after. A lot of people I know last year registered if only to get that fancy singlet. Yes, it's happens more often than you think, and I'm guilty as charged. With that in mind, expectations were sky high for this season's event. How could they possibly top the best singlet to come out in ages? What fancy color scheme would the mad geniuses at their design unit come up with? Forum chit chat had numerous guesses , and rumors abound that the original color would be changed.
Nevertheless,excitement was at fever pitch.
In the end, they went with... ..
Black.
While it would possibly appeal to the minimalist, most people still preferred last year's edition. Decent singlet with sizing on the large side, add it to your collection stashed in your aparador. Last year the yellow and black ones were ubiquitous. In the weeks after, I barely see it on the road. Shucks.
2. ANR Singlets
Cheap, P995 bucks. Imported material coming from SG for the exclusive singlet of the Adidas Adination of Runners members. If you aren't in the know, it's a community-based group run/pseudo running clinic/random weekday social gathering held at different locations throughout the metropolis. Quick bit of useless trivia: I'm the lead facilitator of the Ortigas area sessions, and we meet every Wednesdays 7:30 pm at Pearl Drive Mcdonalds. Join us, it's a lot of painful fun. Going back to the singlet,I guess it's a decent deal if you have money to burn. For the price I paid for it, I feel faster already. Amazing.
p.s. Dear Adidas, I'm broke. Thank you.
Hmm, this makes it all worth it :P
3. 21k hotcakes
Last season, 10k kits ran out in a matter of days. This year, it seems that the running boom learning curve snapped up the kits before you could say pikermi. While projecting these things is like playing a game of sa pula sa puti at Resorts World, hopefully they could get it right next year.
4. Hydration Hydration.
Big fuss over hydration, or lack of it for the matter.After the race, I got into a semi-sensible discussion with some disgruntled runners at the Takbo.ph boards . Same old same old. Hydration runs out for whatever reason, blame the organizer. Vent it out online. Or on whoever has a contrarian opinion.
Listen, running is no joke, specially when you tread the middle to long distances. I know Rio spoils you to death with overflowing drinks for his races. That's awesome. But he won't be there all the time for you and you CANNOT expect the same level of organization for all races. Hope for the best but expect the worst. Races aren't Club Med, it's a legitimate athletic pursuit with your life possibly on the line. Would you really put your life in the hands of other people when you had complete freedom to bring your own hydration beforehand? And to whoever sardonically dissed me on that thread for suggesting it's your responsibility to bring your own hydration, I sure hope as heck you won't be needing that ambulance you suggested I bring with me on race day once you run out of drinks on your race. Splash.
It's worth it.
5. Pandesal and Hot Dogs.
I could have sworn that there was supposed to be a buffet for the runners. If they changed it, I totally missed it. The pandesal and hot dogs underwhelmed me, not that I was hungry anyway. Feel bad for the guy who thought he was at the buffet line, ANR registration pala.
Yum. 6. Alay Lakad
While I lucky enough not to be personally affected, people were complaining about how the massive crush made the route practically impossible to traverse. Some were relegated to doing a sort of Alay Lakad move. Quick question, is this phenomenon a totally unavoidable consequence of a really big race right smack in the boom ,or it could have been rectified by proper execution?
It's the next best thing.
7. 250k Baggage I sucked out at the 10k category I ran in, checking in at a modest 51 minutes or nearly 5 minutes off my usual time. Takbo.ph prez Jinoe lustily jeered me at the line for failing to break the sub-50 barrier (I am still serving a lifetime ban on being a Takbo.ph hoff for hitting it before him. Hihi.), but unbeknownst to my good friend, my rubbery gingerbread legs were bringing with them roughly 250 kilometers worth of crushing bike mileage. I had competed in the mutliple stage Tour of Matabungkay with Endure Multisport's cycling team just the day before, and with little sleep, I felt like I was dragging around a ton of bricks with me. Even if I felt my fitness level was at an all-time high, there was really nothing I could do. People were passing me left and right, and being the competitive nut that I am, the itch to just chase them down but having no physical capability to do so was driving me crazy. Still quite an experience though, revenge is due next year smirk.
Kalayaan 12, GBM 11 8. Fulfillment It was pretty nice to see a lot of my Adidas Adination Ortigas runners "level up" with this race, taking down 21k's with relative ease. When I first met some of them, they were tubby ordinary joes who could barely complete a 5k. Now they are fit, veritable weekend warriors already looking ahead to the upcoming marathon and ultramarathons in the 2011 calendar. Hmm... we must be doing something right eh? Proud "coach" here. Sniff.
This group has come a long way... 9. Kleptomania in the house.
Sucks. As I was busy facilitating the insane rush of people registering for the ANR sessions (the booth was mistaken for the baggage counter like a gazillion times) , I made terrible mistake of placing my brand new, fancy Adidas Techfit shorts (which set you back a cool P3,000 believe) on the counter. Amidst the mob scene, I thought nothing of it, it was like inches away from me. Much to my abject horror, I suddenly noticed it was gone. Aww shucks.That crap happens? Even here? And to think I tried my best to smile and humor the people despite the hassle and the crush of the crowd. Cruel. Chalk this one up to the "loss of faith in humanity" list.
Asar.
10. I will never run this race again!! That was what people said last year after the debacle in claiming the race kits. And yet this year even more people joined. I heard practically the same thing in the aftermath of the race, but why do I have this sneaky feeling the race will set another attendance record next year? Go figure.
By some stroke of luck ladies and gentlemen I have two Globe Run For Home gc's, redeemable to any distance. I know some of you think the race is expensive, so instead of running this myself I am giving away these away to two lucky readers, save the cash.
It's a gift.
How does it go? It's not rocket science really. Just a wee bit of work, but it could be worth it. All you have to do is :
1. Like the Endure Multisport Fan Page
2. Like the Team Powerpuff Boys Fan Page
3. Like the Quest 825 Cycling Fan Page
4. Have five of your friends like the official GBM Report Fan Page
5. Follow me on Twitter. 6. Leave a comment on this post saying that these have been accomplished already.
I will raffle off these two kits using a randomizer program I have. I usually see the same faces join these contests, so I guess your shot is as good as any. Contest starts today and ends March 17 5pm. Deadline for claiming these kits is March 20 at the Greenbelt 3 Cinema Lobby so you have ample time to get it. Good luck!
Some days, you wake up and you feel that it's going to be a wonderful day. On the flipside,some days there's just a dour aura of gloom pervading around you. For whatever it may be, I was lucky that just two Sundays ago it was the latter that came into play. The ATC Southern Run had a terrific setting, there was barely any heat around, and it seemed like the perfect day for a race. Here's my take on what happened as previously posted on the Takbo.ph forums : Ako I must admit I really had fun with this race. The venue, the whole atmosphere seemed very relaxed and highly conducive to running. The course itself was rolling up and down, which provided somewhat of a challenge to the fatigued
Started the race up front with ultraman PAt ( my goodness elite na to, 46 mins 29th place) Natz (another Takbo elite 47!!!) and Boss Jinoe (52 I think, new PR too lupet!) . I tried to pace with PAt, and suceeded in doing so for like 500 meters. He was like Usain Bolt out of the gates. The blazing start took me out of my rhythm. Wrong mistake. I learned that attempting to pace with someone way above your league isn't exactly the best thing to do. Although that first kilometer attempting to catch up with PAt amounted to a 4:40 lap, it took me out of my comfort zone and I need about 3 K's t0 recover. Boss Jinoe caught up with me at 4k mark I think, we paced until the 7k mark which was when broke away na. I was planning on making my move at the 8k mark, wasn't too confident if I could sustain a neg split pace that early. At the 8k mark I picked up the pace na, from a comfortably hard 5:40 I lowered it to 5"20, and last K was 5:05. My goal for the race was a sub-55 finish, which was somewhat of a stretch. Sabi ko kahit madaplisan lang ang 55 okay na ako. But perhaps a combination of real running shoes (goodbye Mr. Quickie! Not PINK NB's!), a 305 to help me strategize and more mileage helped me immensely. I was so happy to cross the line at 53:40, a time that once seemed like an impossibility for me. My first 10k race I finished at 1:28. I'm so happy. It's like all the hard work, the "getting roasted in the sun because you started your 20k run at 5am" sacrifices were all worth it. And it made me believe na it's possible pala for average athletes like me to realistically lower PR's over time. Dati kasi I used to think it's either you have it or not. Of course, hanging out with the Takbo.ph gang made it all the more special. The kulitan pictures and the camaraderie truly made it worth the long drive. Happy runner here
Congrats everyone
I'd upload my run but MotionBased aint working now
Ola friends and readers! Once again, I'd like to thank you for all the support you have been giving this site. I still get amazed at how far we have gone, and that the site is still actually up and running. Obviously, I couldn't have done that without your support. Anyway, we all know it ain't easy to maintain a blog, more or so that a lot of my articles are feature length. Combine that with a hectic dayjob, some semblance of a training program and that more or less equates into article backlog. Admittedly, I'm behind by several articles now, and I hate stale news as much as you guys.
So with that in mind, today we're launching the very first edition of Gingerbreadtalk! I know it sounds kitschy but you can only append so many words to "Gingerbread" (note to self, think of a better name before the next public enterprise). It's going to be a simple, blunt and straightforward weekly update on all things running and multisport. I highly encourage you to comment and put in your two cents on whatever topic is pertinent for the week. Also planning to revive that Gingerbreadcast thing we used to do, wait up for more fun interviews.
Most creative title of the year nominee right here. Ulk.
So without further ado, here's the week that was :
If you're keeping tabs on the community and are on some form of social media, you've probably come across my recent campaign at Powerman Malaysia. The race is a long distance duathlon comprised of an 11k run, a 64k bike and a 10k run after, and stands as the only qualifier for the World Duathlon Championships in Switzerland. I was there along with several members of our national team. With only ultramarathoner Abby as my support , we had to withstand a plethora of mechanical, logistical and physical challenges to even make it to the start line. I seriously underestimated the difficulty of putting the whole thing together, but hey, isn't that what makes the experience all the more meaningful? Stricken with severe cramps and with sleep deprivation kicking in, I finished the race in an off-form 4:24:52. Given all the crap we had to go through though, I was just thankful to have made it to the start line, much less finish with some semblance of decency.Thanks for all your greetings of support! Wait up for my full article on it, should make for a very interesting story. Also, thanks to Jinoe and Que for finally putting me on the Takbo.ph front page! Finally made it after all these years haha :P
With national team mainstays Evelio Javier and Carlo Pedregosa
Congratulations to all those who successfully completed the NY Marathon this, including Rio, Jaymie/TBR, Jay, and Endure Multisport pal Joy. I'l probably never do Boston unless I maintain my current fitness level until I'm 80 years old, so NYC is probably the most realistic on my bucket list of marathons. Now, all I have to do is figure out that proof of financial capability thing, get out those land titles and wish that I get lucky with the lottery :)
One day... ..
Congratulations to the new rockstars (clever huh) who conquered the Tri United Half-Ironman distance triathlon at White Rock, Subic. Back when Ironman 70.3 didn't have a franchise yet in the country, this was probably the most anticipated triathlon event every season. Now that all the hype goes to Camsur, the vets and purists still regard WRT as more enjoyable, and even tougher in terms of level of difficulty. Hopefully I'll get my shot next year. Swim swim swim.
Looks like fun...
After a presscon last week, was touching base with some old friends when I was suddenly reminded of something that I had long tried to forget already - what the crap ever happened to Run Radio? For those who have been around long enough, after Jaymie and Jay hosted Season 1 on NU 107, myself and the irrepressible Bards Bathan of Banana Running fame were supposed to take over for Season 2. Series of meetings, series of delays, a "primer" of some sort, a magazine presser, series of more meetings and more delays. An after- election launch was the last I heard of it. Natalo na si Gibo, nagsara na NU, wala pa din. And I guess that was that. So much for my one real shot at fame. Boo hoo. Think of all the what if's. Sigh. Haunts me to this day. Smirk.
Epic fail.
Congratulations to all new minted ultramarathoners who successfully completed Sir Jovie aka the Bald Runner aka BR's T2N or Tagaytay to Nasugbu 50k jaunt. I took a peek at the results and was floored that there were 159 finishers of the race, a good number of which I had known since they were newbie runners angling for a 21k. Level up! When I did my first 50k, Ian Alacar's Botak gig, I think there were less than 50 people there and it was a big deal to hit 50k. Props to BR for promulgating ultra running in the country, and it seems the market is responding with rapid traction.
I haven't taken out my bike from the box. I wonder if it's still in one piece? Shudder. Props to the guys and gals at Bikezilla in Ortigas for helping me out and giving me a crash course in assembling/disassembling it. Even if I sucked out, at least I had enough knowledge to actually put it together.
Missed a Pacquiao fight for the first time in years, fell on the same timeframe as my duathlon. Got to watch the entire thing on those illicit YouTube uploads that are taken down after an hour for copyright infringement. Catching them is much akin catching lightning in a bottle. KJ naman kasi pfft.
Those KOTR race cards were hilarious, a glitch somewhere in the timing thing and everything was off the charts!
TPB bro Mark just officially set a new world record
Speaking of ultramarathons... ... I finally got my BDM 151 ticket! And so did Abby! Thank you BR for the vote of confidence, it's an honor. Now the question is, can I somehow garner the time and commitment to train for it, given the multitude of things on my plate now. Decisions decisions. Hmmmm... ...
Can we do this all over again?
Good luck to all those running Run United (which has a shockingly fancy 32k, good job) and the Milo provincial qualifiers this weekend. There's also the Animo Run and a run in Ateneo. Which side are you on? Till next week folks!
Happy New Year everybody! I hope the holidays have been treating you well! Went on a short hiatus to recharge and conjure up some new material for another exciting season for all of us. Quick roundup of the week that was leading up to the dawn of the new decade.
So what did you get for Christmas?While indeed it's the thought that counts ( I'd probably make the national team if "crappiest gifts received annually" was a sport). There are some years though, that you just plain hit the jackpot, getting something that's both aspirational and necessary. Just as I was still mourning over the loss of my beloved 305, Ultramarathoner Abby pulled a haymaker and dropped the bomb on me with a 310XT for Christmas! Thank God there's no footage of me screaming like a delirious fangirl. Just as I was grumbling over having to plot routes with my car odo, the perfect gift comes like manna from heaven. Apparently, the entire community save for Rio, BR, Zorro and Jinoe and Que's gwapo future Takbo.ph prince were in the know.Still hasn't sunk in, all I can say is that I'm one lucky Gingerbread dude.
20 hours batt life. Waterproofness. Yahooooo.
Congratulations to TPB dudes Junrox Roque and Mark Hernandez for placing 2nd and 13th respectively at BR's recent Rizal Day 32k Run in veritable tour de force performances. The rest of the team who competed all placed in the top 30 if I'm not mistaken. Congratulations my fuchsia brethren, you all rock. It also means one thing - I need to get into running shape for 2011 to keep up with these guys!
Outstanding.
Year-end totals : Swam 21k, Biked 2,090 kms, and ran 1,363 kms. Missed out on my running goal, was at around 900 before BDM, you see the disparity the rest of the way lol :) How about you, did you meet all your targets?
I still believe paying P7,000 a pop to watch some band play on New Year's Eve countdown at some swanky hotel is the worst deal ever.
The running moment of the year for me was when TPB overhauled a wide lead during Epic Relay 250's final middle stages to hand the lead over to Ka Totoy during the final leg. Sports drama at it's finest, straight out of a movie.
Sheer Epicness right here.
From a solo perspective, crossing the BDM 102 finish line is still surreal. I don't think the feeling ever gets old. What's more surreal is that I get to do it all over again in less than two months, with 58 more kilometers just for fun.
I resolve to avoid Mcdonald's Coke (it tastes better diba), or Coke in general for 2011. I feel that someday it will get back at me. In related news, Grimace just sent a hate text.
According to Ultramarathoner Abby's Skinny Bitch Calendar, "you can't expect to get thin eating the same crap you've been eating right?". True, I'd just work my ass off twice as hard then.
I want to at least break 20 minutes for 800 meters in a sprint Tri. Sob.
This year we saw a record number of 21k runners emerge into the fold. Level up. Does this mean 2011 will be the year of the marathoner?
Which has a better chance of happening, Rio shaving off his afro or BR growing one? Hmmmm :p
A big sigh to all the talented running bloggers who hung up their laptop in 2010, most notably 09' Philippine Blog Awards finalist/speedster Natz Garcia (the original Takbo.ph mod, to those who weren't around back then) Your comprehensive and scientific posts will be missed my friend :( SCR would have been proud of you.
Quick announcement, the GBM Report will have an FB Fanpage (shudder). Not that its meant to solely be a value-added service to my five fans, but I just want that cool sidebar that everyone has. Inggitero. Sige na, i-like na. Mga tropang napilitan. Smirk.
Why do I have this sneaky feeling that multisport will be off the charts in 2011? Sneaky, sneaky feeling. Don't tell me I didn't warn you.
While on the homebound stretch of an intensely tough 95k ride in Bugarin with the gang over stormy conditions, some crazy pickup impatiently overtook a tricyle and counterflowed into my lane. With my brakes at probably 30% operational capacity, I avoided certain death but lost control of the bike in the process. Was able to uncleat but the bike fell on me and I went flying right smack onto the middle of the national highway's downward slope. Heavily shaken, good thing the manong tricyle drivers got my bike and helped me up out of harm's way before I could get run over by some truck. Good thing top gun Erick went back for me and accompanied me the rest of the way even if I was at punerarya car pace.My left side banged up and sore, bikey took one on the chin too. Thank God I live to bike another day, could have gone awry a bad break here or there. Did I mention I am SUPER considerate to cyclists on the road now? You should be too.
I think I'll stay away from the ice cream too. Yeah, bad bad.
Enjoy 2011 everyone. You'll rock it no doubt. I'll see you on the road :P
Yes, once again White Rock Beach is holding it's daily ALL YOU CAN EAT Crab Fest.
All Gulls, Canada Geese, Mallard Ducks, and assorted seabirds, are invited to attend. Be there early for the best selection.
Clams, barnacles and mussels will also be offered, in the vicinity of the pier. A few lucky chosen birds may also be hand fed by tourists off of the wharf. Photo oportunities, free food, and entertainment, don't miss it.
When my body gives out and my head tells me to quit, my heart compels me to struggle on. At some point, however, my head and my heart get in 'cahoots' with each other. They both demand I stop. That is when my spirit soars and their protestations are of no avail. I am propelled by a force unseen, drawn to a potential I have yet to realize. I shake off the burden of the physical and wake up to experience my dream. At last I am free... .
Some have dubbed it the final frontier. Well, for the moment at least. The fact of the matter is, right now there is no longer road race in the country. The Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon is in a league of its own, and dwarfs all comers to the table. Nothing even remotely comes close. Participants are either honored in hushed, reverential tones or maligned as foolhardy and ignorant.Maybe even stupid. Save for a trifling number, after KM 102 pretty much everybody would be entering the twilight zone. The first ever 100-mile race in the country sticks out like Everest on steroids to the hungry masses, the novelty of the great unknown drawing these inquisitive endurance athletes like moths to a flame. The appeal to be part of history ups the risk/reward scale on an unprecedented level, and athletes will be tested as they have never been before. How long should one soldier on, and when should one know when to quit? It is the quintessential paradox of a discipline that is fueled by blood, guts, and an indomitable will to make it to that finish line. It is a paradigm that will be revisited in recurring snippets as the tale unravels.
The few and the proud...
Prologue
"May invite ka na ba pre?" That was the prevailing water cooler topic for ultra running denizens a couple months back. As for me, the answer was a resounding NO. I wasn't too surprised though, and already had already somehow come to terms with it. After my maiden stint last year with BDM 102, I never really did anything that could be remotely considered "ultra" anymore. While my contemporaries had joined practically every "mid-distance" (if one could consider 70k as such. Really now.) ultramarathon race that Sir Jovie Narcise (better known in running circles as the irrepressible Bald Runner or just plain BR for short) had put out there, it was no big secret that I have been dabbling into multisport and cycling for the most part and had pretty much been out of the scene. So it was really no shocker. I would be lying if I said it didn't bug me though. Just to be considered for the race is a big honor already, and after all I did apply for it. Thing was,we had absolutely no idea what the criteria was for selection. Rumors abound that supposedly only 15 hour finishers would be considered. But then as the initial wave of invites came out, people who were right around my finish range were getting golden tickets, which pretty much added to my anxiety. Perhaps it was my inactivity with the PAU (Philippine Association of Ultrarunners) that contributed to it. Maybe it's just not in the cards. Sigh. We all move on... ...
Then one day, as me and Abby were walking around BHS , i get a buzz on my Blackberry. Thank God for instant email. When that header said "Jovenal Narcise", my heart skipped a beat. When I saw the subject line " Letter of Invitation to the BDM 160", I let out a yelp of joy in the middle of the walkway. Okay maybe not, but you get the idea. Abby got hers at pretty much the same time.And why shouldn't she? I'm probably the only guy in the country who has a girlfriend who runs 102 kilometers faster than he does. Happy night.This was what I wanted right? Right? But... .. I haven't had any long-distance training. Nada. Zilch. Farthest I've ran in a year was 21k. Oh my. With one fell swoop, suddenly the ball was in my court now.
Decisions, Decisions
When the announcement first came out, the race was actually meant to be BDM 151, 151 kilometers representing the cumulative total distance including the train ride of the Death March prisoners to Camp O' Donnell in Capas, Tarlac. However, there was a clamor to increase the distance to just over 160 kms to make it the official 100-mile race in the country. When BR acceded, the wheels in my head were suddenly turning. I suddenly have a shot to cross one off the old bucket list. After a prolonged period of soul searching (that took roughly about 30 minutes) I had made my decision. Obviously, you know what that decision came out to be. The die had been cast. No turning back now.
Forming the Crew
Perhaps unbeknownst to many, the support crews that you tag along for these races aren't of the prototypical cheerleader rah rah kind, which is a common misconception. It's not fun and games, it's not a street party. If at all, the support crew may even undergo more stress than the runners themselves. They are awake during practically the same time frame, and undergo constant anxiety on their runners well being. The crew has to be part inspirational leader, part drillmaster, part nutritionist, part nurse and part driver. They are perhaps the most integral supplementary element to the success of the race, and their relative efficiency could provide the final difference in toeing the fine line between life and death when push comes to shove (I'm not kidding).
Last year, I got my buddy AJ, my internet legend uncle Tito Caloy and random/seasonal friend RV (by virtue of six degrees of separation he somehow got ensnared into this) whom I met just on the day itself. They were all somehow under the impression that this would be a fun, all-night drinking session with me somehow running in the background. Of course, given the shock and stress that they were suddenly, unwittingly subjected to, they forever hold a "BDM card" on me, that they can pull as they wish. Warning to BDMers - this is prone to general abuse, so choose your crew wisely. Smirk.
This year, Abby agonized over the decision on whether to run or not. She was one of what seemed like only ten women who had qualified for it, and the chance to make history was tantalizing. On the flipside, while she was in phenomenal shape she scarcely had any run training. Crucial year in setting up her business, and I guess at one point we all just have to draw the line with priorities. With much trepidation, she decided to hold it off for next year and I hope to make it up to her then. With her addition though I finally have the benefit of not just a seasoned runner on the crew, but an veteran ultrarunner who knows what it takes to get to that finish line.
I've been bugging AJ, who worked harder than anyone last year in keeping me alive out there, to once again be part of my crew. After incessant faux rejections ( no way in hell he would turn down the possibility of two BDM cards to pull), he finally "caved in" after my assurances that this would be the "last". Which was what we said last year. Hihi.
Internet legend Tito Caloy (old Takbo.ph joke, just google my old material) wasn't supposed to be part of the crew this year and was an 11th hour callup because we needed the extra hand. He had all but retired from the running scene and promptly returned to his competitive drinking roots. His son, my cousin Mel (but we call him Shtuey, go figure) was ostensibly going to crew me, back had to back out at the last moment due to his slated thesis defense. I told him "yung thesis pwede naman ulitin, eto once in a lifetime lang to!" Bad Kuya GBM.
The final piece of the puzzle was Duart, who along with myself and AJ have formed a decade-long triumvirate dating back from our days as gangly freshmen at DLSU. He was crestfallen at missing my maiden campaign last year, and was determined to make it up this year. My energetic buddy not only signed on in a jiffy, he even provided the Innova which would become our support car.
The only crew that matters... .With everything in good stead, now all we could do was wait for our date with destiny.
The Briefing
The race briefing is an annual tradition wherein everyone makes the pilgrimage to Camp Aguinaldo to hear last minute instructions from BR. It is also the last chance for you to take hang and socialize with your "batchmates" in a somewhat lucid manner, you may be even lucky to snag a helping or two of lechon. The whole thing is pretty and cut and dry, but one slide of BR stood out to everybody that night.
Don't blame the RD!
D-Day
The advantage of having the race start in the morning is that your body clock is not out of whack. You can sleep like a normal human being and you don't have to be a zombie the first leg or so. With the rest of the team following after office hours (too bad it wasn't an official holiday pfft), me and Abby hitched with TPB bud and BDM 102 partner Mark Hernandez along with soon-to-be marathoner/TPB wifey Bea. While waiting for them at our pre-arranged BHS meeting spot, we see an Audi TT roadster park just in front of Rox. Oohhh fancy. Oddly enough, the silhouette inside was waving to us. Was someone trying to pick up Abby in broad daylight? Que Horror. Amusingly, it turned out to be none other than our good friend Rio with his new toy. The afro gave him away. Soon after Mark and Bea would arrive, and we were well on our way. Last year, I wasn't too happy with our place. This year, we decided to check-in at the MC Lodge, highly regarded by practically everyone and much nearer to KM 0. Place was cool, rooms were just slightly smaller but much cleaner and with better appointments. Of course, I pretended not to see the "295, Aircon 3 hours special" sign outside. Groovy.
It's the place to be We had time to burn, so we scoped out the place for landmarks for the crew and made sure all the gadgets were charged up. Thing I love about the place was that there were like 7 sockets in such a small room. FTW. To "relax" me we were able to set up a mini-DBD on my laptop and I was able to sneak in an article in there (hapit). Around 6 pm Saturday, we had many different choices from their five-star chef for our last supper of sorts.
Bon Apetit! Finally, some shuteye. The crew (and I expected nothing less) got lost and arrived close to midnight. After what seemed like a couple of hours we all had to get the ball rolling. The pressure was mounting. More pressure came forth (my blood pressure,that is) when my crew told me they had a P600 peso dinner. BDM card, BDM card. After what seemed like an eternity, we left the lodge and went on the starting line.An almost unmistakable cornucopia of anxiety, excitement, and fear was distinctly palpable within the car's constraints. I had worn my exact finish line outfit from last year as some weird pamahiin. Out with the old and in with the new, and in a few moments we would be seeing history unfold before our very eyes. The calm before the storm The pre-race events usually consist of a bunch of souvenir photos,some scattered well-wishes and a lot of prayers. Now, there's also the annual rendition of the US and Philippine anthems. Last year, BR gave a "soulful" rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, (much to the enjoyment of the crowd and much to his chagrin after all the ribbing he got after lol) and this year it was US Armyman Gilbert Gray's turn. Pretty straight up, stoic but no doubt amiable fellow. Remember when we all saw Robocop without the mask? This guy is a dead ringer both in looks and demeanor. I was hit by a sudden burst of nostalgia. It seemed just yesterday that I was here, a greenhorn to the entire enterprise. Sigh, how time flies. After the requisite "class picture", the 59 brave souls on that fateful Saturday morning were off at right around 6am. Destiny and glory were waiting, now the onus was on us to do our part.
With the crew at KM 0.
I hope to replicate this pose at the finish line
The Endure Multisport Ultramen Let the madness beginThe race with no equal started off without much aplomb, with runners trotting warily in lieu of blasting off on all cylinders. Surely, these veterans knew better. Some were setting a faster pace, and only time could tell if they could hold it. After all, this was the biggest battle of our lives right here. I opened the race with buddies Mark Hernandez and OJ Giron, a couple of familiar faces that I hoped would make the journey a lot more meaningful. And in hindsight, hoping that once we enter our own Battle of the Bulge, our own private Normandy, we would all be there to keep each others sanity in check. They had a fairly ambitious goal though- finish the race in 24 hours or less. While I felt that was purely wishful thinking for me given my fitness level, the plan was to just hang with them as far as it takes me. I mean, these guys were in phenomenal shape. OJ coaches nearly full-time and Mark has been on a tear on the running circuit as of late. I would have my work cut out for me but I couldn't allow myself to be left behind.We start out conservatively, alternating a brisk jog and walking the entire 4k incline. Many are passing us at will while BR passes by in a van and chats us up. Our man is in a good mood this morning, in stark contrast to last year's drillmaster barking on a megaphone. Ordinarily, a competitive junkie like me (and I'm pretty sure these two have that same genome in them) would go nuts at being passed so... . effortlessly. But this wasn't a 10k. The reality was, we had 153 more kilometers to go. Just the thought of it scares the hell out of me. What did I get myself into again?
Just out for a weekend fun run with friends... .The Lolo Diaries
At one point, we run into a group led by the "grand old warrior" himself, the ageless Victor Ting. If you see your old man lounging around in the sala watching TV or discovering this fascinating thing called "internet" while forwarding you funny emails (just as we did in well, 1999), this guy puts them all to shame. Imagine, his apos must have it good. No way they are losing an eh ang lolo ko mas magaling sa lolo mo argument. Like, "eh ang lolo ko tumakbo mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac" End of conversation. The ageless wonder somehow had it in him to drag his 66-year old legs across a hundred miles side-by-side with runners young enough to be his grandchildren. Mark told me he could never catch the old codger during the test runs no matter how hard he tried. Thing was, he was maintaining such a ridiculously efficient, no-stopping strategy that it was practically impossible to keep up with him. Perhaps in utter embarrassment at being shown up, we finally caught up with him eventually. And here are some snippets of what I got from a living legend.
" Dati may 100k na , diyan sa may Burnham sa Baguio. Bata pa si Jovie, alam niya yun. Tumakbo ako dun! Paikot ikot nga lang kami."
"Mabagal lang tayo. Sanay tayo sa mabilis pero dito mabagal lang tayo malayo layo pa to"
"Nung 1981 sa Manila International Marathon sub-3 yung marathon ko"
"Nag two bottles pa kami ng Red Horse kagabi"
Hmm, maybe that's his secret. Damn, you mean our very own "super lolo" was a sub-3 hour dude the year before I was er, born? I suddenly conjured visions of myself running in 2041, with a young buck chatting me up at the 31st Runrio Trilogy Anniversary Run
Kid : Lolo, sigurado po ba kayo na kaya nyo pa? Tubig po? Malapit na lang, wag po pilitin. Lolo GBM : Bah. Alam mo ba noong araw eh natakbo ako mula Bataan hanggang Tarlac?Patakbo yun ni Presidente Narcise dati kada taon Kid : Um, er, ah ganun po ba? Waw. Talaga lang ha. Sige lo, init lang yan. Inom ka na lang ng tubig nagdidiliryo na po kayo. Lolo GBM : Totoo! Anong akala mo nagbibiro ako? Eto ipapakita ko pa ang silver buckle ko bilang katibayan (lifts up singlet to show buckle) Kid : Yuck indecent exposure! DOM! PEdo! Security!!!!!!
Talo Lolo mo sa Lolo ko. Kids. Pffft. As I was snapping out of my misguided daydream, I realized that the urge to do the number two was somewhat compelling enough to tell the crew about it. Abby texts back, we found one in 1.5k, that ok? Of course that was okay. I was thinking, the earlier I get this out of the way the better. Last year was an utter nightmare, first try I was shown a hole on the ground, second try I had to run nearly 1k inside a subdivision just to make it to their clubhouse and I nearly fell asleep inside. They even thought I passed out. This year there was no such problem as the crew found a very nice spot right around the 20k mark ... .. inside an Iglesia ni Cristo church. As Abby assured me that my presence there wasn't bordering on anything sacrilegious, I was successfully able to execute probably the fastest and most efficient pit stop ever. Thank you INC, I owe you guys one.
Isolation Therapy
During that break, I had lost Mark and OJ. I kept on looking back, and I asked a Team Ungas van where they were and I was given the impression they were far back. So I was all alone. Felt like I was making good time though, pace at a rock solid 7:30. Much to my consternation, it turns out that they were actually ahead of me. Finally back with my buds, it was supposed to be all smooth sailing from here. It didn't last long though. One pit stop later and the group was once again splintered. What I couldn't understand was why was it that I was the one getting ahead when I'm the weakest runner in our group by a mile. Perhaps, was I doing something wrong? Going too fast? Not even. With no sight of my, I just had to trudge on.
Me, Myself, and the Long Winding Road.
All by myself... . don't wanna be. All by myself... .. anymore.
As the bars of the seminal Celine Dion classic rang through my head, I was thinking, this wasn't how I wanted my story to unfold. It was supposed to be packed with stories of guts, glory, and the will to continue. Of camaraderie and an unspeakable bond with brothers who share the same iron-clad mindset in helping each other succeed through seemingly insurmountable odds. It would have made for great drama, the piece that would finally nail me my first Philippine Blog Award win... .. a tale of hardship, friendship, and sacrifice through... .
Wait, who am I kidding? It's just me, myself, and the road. The sheer drudgery is getting to me. It's pretty much... . mundane and er, unexciting. It's a microcosm of your typical countryside life, and it's a change passing by here during the daytime. Aside from regular contact with my crew and the occasional chit chat with other teams, it's pretty much me and a bunch of nameless faces along the road who keep getting me engaged in this incessant cycle that never gets old :
Bystander : Koya, san kayo galing? GBM : Mariveles Bystander : San paponta koya? GBM : Tarlac Bystander : !!!!!
Enter Celine Dion chorus here I think in my frustration, I was speeding along faster than I had intended to. As I was approaching the 32k mark I had already passed Frontrunner EIC/Ultra strongman Jonel and the super lolo Vic Ting group. I also saw a focused Pat Alcomendas seemingly struggling, the mere fact of which seemed to blow my mind. He prodded me to go on, was worried if any nagging injuries were manifesting. A quick check on the 310xt, 7:04 pace. Eek. Much faster than what I had intended to hold, and fearful I might gas out later. Relax. Breathe. Malayo pa to.
Manong pacing me to Tarlac. He lasted 30 seconds.Crew check The gang was pretty impeccable at this point. Abby would send me inspirational messages from time to time (hihi) and that never failed to give me a boost. AJ and Duart were on point, although Duart was like a man possessed perhaps in his haste to make up for lost time last year. AJ was mostly chilling. Tito Caloy, was , well, being Tito Caloy. His moral support is invaluable to the endeavor, let's just keep it at that. As I would learn later, Abby was garnering a certain following amongst our provincial folk with her "eye- popping" running outfit which would seem more at home within the comfy asphalt of BHS rather than the concrete jungle of the Bataan countryside. Hey, it's comfy!(rejoinder for fear of future retribution) Warning Signs As I was nearing the marathon mark I was beginning to slow down a little. Ill effects from a fast start? Five hours and a half into the whole thing, my left foot was beginning to feel sore. Also noticeable was that I kept on doing a really weird overpronation move with my left foot, for some reason it would pronate inward and the sole of the shoe would keep on hitting my right ankle. I noticed this mechanical flaw would only come out towards the latter part of anything north of a marathon. And now I'm slowly flagellating my right ankle. Fun.Rule of Thirds Amidst the madness, I decided to divide the race into three parts to keep my head in there - 0 -50, 50 - 102, 102- 160. Within each division I would chomp them up into bite-size and easily digestible 10k portions. That way you don't lose yourself mentally, it's easy to get overwhelmed and deflated when there is too much emphasis on the big picture. I have seen many of my comrades fall by the wayside when this kicks in, and all of us are susceptible at any given moment. As I was doing my mental calculations, the man who had taught me these valuable lessons just caught up with me. It was Jonel! Finally, company! Part-mentor/Frontrunner slave driver, he was coming on strong and as we approached the 50k stretch in Abucay the conversations we had invigorated me. I reminded him that I still owed him breakfast for losing a bet with him on Condura ( I had a lame 4:14, he dropped a 3:47... . after doing a test run. Incredible.) We run into Robocop Gilbert Gray, who must have been bored with our pace and left us soon after. He would eventually finish 10th in a steady, methodical, um, serious performance. We reach the 50k mark around six and a half hours in, BR and Mrs. BR were there to greet us. As we would later on discover, we were both in the top 20 at this point. So far so good. I take the opportunity to stretch out and sit down a little, I actually arrived ahead of my crew. Learning from last year's lessons, I didn't spend too much time here, heck didn't even wait for a costume change. Jonel had an even faster T1 (if you would consider it as such tri-geeks) and was already ahead of me by several minutes. "Just" 110k to go, it should get interesting from here. An Accidental Bromance Back to my lonesome. I don't if growing up alone is a key factor to some deep psychological crap inside of me, but I hate being alone. I hate eating alone, I hate going to the mall alone. Ironically, although I usually train alone I'm not exactly thrilled about it. So sue me, social being here. So once again, it's driving me nuts that I'm by my lonesome. At this point, Jonel was long gone already and was too strong to chase down given I'm going through the motions of a swoon already. So back to the drudgery. My left foot is starting to bother me already and it's starting to get hot already. Many have lost their way on this national highway, and I had no intention of succumbing in my solitude. That's until I notice a semi-familiar face going back and forth with me. Semi-familiar because I knew that dude was Paolo Osmena, a veteran who is no doubt exponentially stronger than me. Someone also said he had the legs of a female supermodel. Of course, I deny all allegations that this came from me. Anyway, for what seemed like a 15k stretch we would settle into this bizarre pattern where I would surge ahead of him after running 1.5k straight, then once I rest with the crew he would come surging back and establish a big lead then the cycle replicates itself. While I felt I was pacing better than him as it seemed he was in some sort of pain, his advantage was he would only stop every 5k. Does that mean I'm a Gingerbread sissy for stopping as often as I did? Probably. Soft-baked mush. But at this point, at the back of my head I was trying to conserve as much as I could, long ways to go. Eventually, this seemingly "cold war" was driving me crazy. I ran up to him ( he was favoring the opposite side of the road) and struck up a conversation. And he turned out to be a very affable albeit tired fellow. His plantar was killing him, but more than anything he was questioning why was he feeling a notch short on probably his most important racing day of the year. He felt he had more than trained for this, so many long runs and hours put in, and yet here he was feeling exhausted less than halfway through. In retrospect, this same malaise may have struck a lot of my fallen comrades. But then again, we'll never really know. Every runner out there has their own unique story, and the entire gamut of emotions that are transmuted into one ethereal body of work make this journey unlike any other.I tried to boost my newfound friend's flagging spirits by telling him that even if we were feeling horrible now, we were still well-entrenched in the top half of the draw. And as much as we felt that we were sucking, those who are still behind us must be sucking too. Of course, that wasn't necessarily true, but I had to say something. He was asking if we walked from that point to the 160 line, would we make it? Perhaps, maybe. But we have to make it to 102 first. Obviously, we wouldn't if we did. But it takes an ultrarunner to know anothers suffering, and at that point you do what you could to help them go forward. On a downward spiral Somewhere nearing KM 70, I was really beginning to feel exhausted. Nearly nine hours in, I was slowly tapering off. Either I left my newfound buddy somewhere or he left me, but I just lost him at a certain point. I was really slowing down and my pace had plummeted to 8:30 cumulative. After what seemed like ages, finally I saw glimpses of different souls. Which was great. And they were passing me left and right. Which wasn't. OJ came out of the woodwork after what seemed like an eternity and was still dropping 7:30 pace effortlessly. I tried latching on but I was already slowly fizzling out. Don Ubaldo was making a rally from behind, he soon passed me as well. And buddy Mark passed me as well, looking fresh as ever. So this is all it would come down to. Just as with all my races, just as with my marathons. A very promising start only to choke at the end. It's a recurring theme, a recurring problem. Maybe ... maybe there's something wrong with what I'm doing. Maybe the problem is... . me. There is no greater dagger to one self-confidence than when one is getting passed left and right by your fresh-looking colleagues. It exacerbates a malignant notion slinking in the shadows. While racing the biggest race of one's career, the last thing you would want to happen is for self-doubt to creep in. Extraordinary circumstances call for an extraordinary effort, and no way are you going to pull that off without a certain modicum of self-belief. But isn't that what ultra running is all about? When both the will and the body have been broken, do you have enough to bring you home to that line?I want to puke. I'm dizzy. Maybe I was just being too brash. Who was I anyway, thinking I could just step in here and do a 100 miler without any serious long run training?These guys have been training for a year now. I didn't belong here. I knew I was in decent shape but I guess that just wasn't enough. I'm in pain, everything is painful. Maybe I should quit now and just suck it up later. Oh great Argow just passed me again. He does that every year around these parts. He's very strong. I wanna puke again. This was a big mistake. Where's Tito Lito Lapid? Maybe I could start to rally here just as I did last year. Finally, the crew is here. Maybe I can show them that I am still strong, get something good energy going. Good thing I have shades on. They can't see a defeated man's eyes.
Put up or Shut up From KM 70 onwards I was a dead man walking already. Abby was getting increasingly agitated and worried. My left foot was bothering me severely and I could barely move without significant pain. The crew was taking turns massaging and spraying, and ice cubes on my face seemed to help. I had to stop every kilometer, and finally we just changed my fancy Adidas socks into less fancy Adidas socks which were much more laspag and looser.
Which at that point I felt was what I needed. I had lost a lot of ground and this was all really getting to me. The competitive nut in me had wanted to do well in this race, showing everybody "it could be done" on a cross-train base. I had a chip on my shoulder if you would call it that. However, at this point that chip could have been easily mistaken for a heavy cross, as I was in heavy suffering.More stops. More pain.
Tirik mode. At that monent, I could never put a premium on the value of having an experienced ultrarunner like Abby on my crew. Her relentless approach last year worked wonders, and left my whiny self eating her dust. While everyone was sort of freaking out at my disheveled state, she was resolute in whispering to me "Tiis lang babe. Not too many breaks. You can do this. Just keep on moving forward, sayang time. I took solace in that and soldiered on. If I couldn't be strong, at least someone was being strong for me. And I could feed off that. And the journey continues... . Of Pain and Detours As my slowly deteriorating carcass was slowly marching through the dusty Pampanga highway, without a doubt I was a broken man both mentally and physically. I had a losers mentality and was already looking for reasons to quit. Km 80 could have been a world away and i wouldn't have known the difference. My pace had plummeted, my strategy out of sorts. What had started out as a promising race was going down the drain on account of a left foot that was swelling ridiculously. Each attempt at running was rewarded with pain, pain, and more pain. Masakit na. Ayaw na. What exacerbated things was that the crew took a left somewhere, ostensibly for a 1k detour. That 1k detour turned out to be 3.5k of hell without a support crew. No drinks,no nothing. Much to my consternation, turns out they could have just gone straight and ignored it, all the rest of the support cars were there. I was down and out. Suddenly, nightfall was approaching. How could I even dream of hitting 160k when I'm running on nonexistent fumes here? As I finally catch the crew after nearly four kilometers of non-existent support, it seemed like the end of the line for me. Battered, exhausted, I sat down somewhere near KM 80 and nearly collapsed while sitting down. Abby was very concerned already. She kept on muttering Just keep moving forward babe, you can do this. I believe in you. AJ and Duart were searching for inspirational quotes from their bag of tricks as well.Somewhere, seeing such a concerted effort from my team ignited a long recessive notion from within. In my frustration, I suddenly came to the realization - why the heck am I acting like such a sissy? I had already done this before! I'm a vet for crying out loud. Let's get this done! My swagger, which had somehow taken an inopportune time to take a VL, came back just in the nick of time. With renewed vigor, my head back on the right frequency, I went back out there with that predator's mindset that had been sorely missing for several hours now. Pain is just a word One slight problem. Energized as I was, the pain was slowly bordering on "enough to make me yelp" proportions. My form must have been god-awful. Anyway, I kept on whining like some lame greenhorn until I sort of just got fed up with myself. This was a war, and if I was going down I'd do so on my shield. In a journey not wanting of inspiration, there are some times that you just had to get the job done yourself. If some other people along the way saw me angrily muttering to myself, here's the inside scoop on what that was going on. Wimpy GBM : Ouch. Aray. Ang sakit na talaga. DNF na tayo koya, uwi na tayo please? BDM Vet Hard Core GBM : Ano ka ba?! Sali sali ka dito tapos aangal angal ka jan? Bwiset! Wimpy : Waaaah but it hurts so baaaad and I'm soooooo tired =,( Hard Core : You joined this stupid, the pain is to be expected. Duh! Do you seriously expect to run this long with no pain? You have got to be kidding me! Suck it up chump! You a tough guy or a wimp? Wimpy : Sungit mo naman... .. Not that I've degenerated into schizoprenia, but I needed to kick it up a notch if I had any intention of getting through this. I entered Km 80 a man possessed, suddenly I was hitting 8:00 pace with ease. The foot was extremely bothersome, but my mind and psyche were clear. Just keep moving forward. Dammit man. Get it together. Fighting for the fallen I had hit upon a fantastic formula that worked wonders for me and allowed both for enough rest and enough traction towards the goal. The support car would be there every 1k, so what I would do was that I would run for 1k, rest or sit down for a bit once I reached the car , walk 300 meters then run the next 700. It worked so well that it seemed that I could sustain for extended periods. Somewhere around the mid-80's I was shocked to see Bea and Dan around the route. But... . Mark was so far ahead of me right? She told me he had fallen behind a little to rest. As I probed what happened, I was told he was just tired, that's all. Ah, the typical swoon. But we all go through it and he would no doubt bounce back from it. I told Bea that I would be waiting up for him, a reprise of last year's end-game partnership seemingly forthcoming. My sudden resurgence suddenly catapulted me back into the thick of things. I ran into Singaporean ultra runner Kelly Lim, who told me she didn't know the way and was lacking in supplies, apparently her support crew was way behind. I instructed the gang to give her whatever she needed. I told her she could hang with me if she wanted, but her pace seemed way too strong for my injured left foot and methodical strategy.She thanked me and went on her way. The curious thing about the entire exchange was when she told me she was measuring her pace in steps. Not sure if that's a culture-specific thing, but I found it to be quite the novel approach. In the dark recesses of the land where tocino and sisig are king, the pain was considerable but I was sticking to my 700-300 run walk strat. Eerie headlamps defined shadowy figures identifiable only by their reflectorized vests, as we traversed a Kapampangan neighborhood that seemed to be comfortable in blithely ignoring us.Still, every time I would see a runner closing in I would ease up and check if it was Mark doing one of his trademark comebacks. Alas, it was another unfamiliar face marauding in the darkness. Where the heck was he? The crew was surprised at what seemed like a strong second wind from me, as I was arriving faster at our stops than what was previously trending. As I approached KM 90 in that tricky poblacion area that drove us nuts last year, turns out they were buying dinner at Jollibee and only AJ was left in the van. Before I could even ask him what our foodies were, he let go of a grim, tersely worded statement that rocked me to the core. Nag DNF na daw si Mark ... .. I couldn't believe it. Nearly 14 hours in, emotions were running high already. I was crestfallen, heartbroken. Like I could feel his pain myself. It was as if the enemy had successfully shot down one of my own. My lips quivered. This was my buddy, we had willed each other to the line last year. AJ even massaged him towards the end (he never let me forget). We were supposed to replicate that success this year. We've been in many wars together carrying the TPB bannerall season long and he was in phenomenal shape. He had trained so hard for this, as well as anyone I knew. I was at a loss for words at how that could have happened, more so that I knew how much he would fight to keep a DNF off his record. I was beside myself, I felt I let a friend down. Maybe if I were there I could have implored him to go on, helped him out bit by bit till he regained his senses and strength. Suddenly, sadness turned to worry. It had to be really serious for him to stop at that point. I implored AJ to give me more details, he didn't know either. Mark dropping out put a quick check on my own mortality. Reports would later come in that more and more friends were falling by the wayside. In my exhausted, sleep-deprived state, the pull of our close-knit fraternity dropping like flies emboldened me to push on. If there were an ultrarunning version of that scene in 300 where the captain goes berserk after his son gets decapitated, this was probably it. I hit 7:30 on my 310xt for a kilometer split at a time when the cumulative average was already around 8:40.
NoooooooooooooooI had to go on. For Mark, for everyone who had their dreams dashed by fate's cruel, unfeeling turn. It could have been me, could have been anyone. But I'm still around for a reason. This is for them. I have to take it home for them. Now let's get it done.
Let's do it for them. Just Get It To 102 At this point last year, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Just a wee bit more. I wrote : The pain in my left knee grew in intensity with each pause. My crew was pulling out all the stops to ensure that I made it. The pain was incredible. But to quit this near, after all that you've been through? No way in hell. If you told me that I had to roll down the road just to finish, I would have. This year, while I was presumably in better shape I was already slowing down significantly as I went past KM90. The adrenalin from my rallying cry around the plethora of DNF's had faded and the exhaustion was creeping in. As I marched on into the night, I was reminded on just how ludicrous the entire enterprise was in running the equivalent of nearly four marathons in 30 straight hours. Last year I barely made it in one piece to the line. This time around not only do I have to clear 102 kilometers, I have to run all the way to another province just to finish, 58 long kilometers away. Seriously. Who in the right mind would do this? I was dwarfed by the magnitude of the task at hand. As I was going through another late swoon, Wency, Chito and a couple of other warriors caught up with me. With differing run/walk patterns, we would alternate bursts of small talk along with taking the lead. I was weakening at this point, and I felt all alone . Mentally, making it to 102 meant the safe haven of a warm meal and the prospect of resting for more than the couple of seconds I had been giving myself for practically the entire journey.I kept on muttering just get it to 102, all will be well after. With pacers allowed 102 onwards, I was counting heavily on Abby, AJ and Duart to get me through in one piece. Before I could get there though, two pairs of shiny eyes suddenly hit my lamp. Dogs. Wild Dogs. Before I could even react, these uncuddly canines were chasing after me like I was a steak on two legs. At this point, this is truly the last thing you need. I just froze and walked calmly as their agitated, bloodthirsty growls resonated along the grim highway.Lucky.
Bad Doggie.As I allowed my blood pressure to settle down a few notches, I just realized that I still remembered quite distinctly each nuance this final stretch had to offer..I remember everything - my shuffling gait, the left to the eskinita, the cheers, the hug from BR. Everything is all still so vivid. Even amidst being embroiled in all this physical suffering, the reassurance of being in somewhat familiar conditions was invaluable. Soon, we would be leaving the comfort of these toiling grounds for a stab at the twilight zone. I check my watch. I actually have a shot at a 102 PR. In what was probably not the smartest move to do at that point , I yearned for a strong entry into KM102 so I "tempo ran" that final kilometer going as low as 7:00. At I approached the famous eskinita Abby, AJ and Duart were there to ensure I didn't get lost. I ran strong into the train station sixteen hours and 30 minutes after I had began to a cacophony of cheers from the remaining crowd, an hour erased from last year's finish. 102 kms done. 58 to go. Last year, this was the scene of our greatest triumph. Now, it is where we begin our greatest battle... .
A sight for sore eyes at KM102
Just like the good ol' daysPrelude To The Pain Finally, some semblance of "real" rest! I had worked long and hard for this so I would savor each second of it.I took off my shoes, got to stretch amd lie down for a bit, wolfed down a Burger Machine "double longga burger" for good measure. I heard some of the other warriors took a quick snooze as well. The 310xt got a fresh charge on Endure Multisport buddy/creative whiz Gerard Cinco's (of dimsumandsiomai fame) car charger. He was also kind enough to lend me his Garmin 405 to bridge the gap. Eternal thanks bro!
We put Salonpas on the throbbing upper arch of my bothersome left foot, some on the calves. Otherwise, I was okay. Or so I thought. Coming in at around 16:30ish, I decided to burn 30 minutes to simulate a 17 hour split , which more or less gives me 13 hours to complete that final 58k. I had fulfilled my short-term goal to bridge it to my pacers while keeping my sanity. Now the real challenge begins.
First up was AJ, my de facto crew chief from my BDM 102 campaign and eternal buddy. The plan was for him to cover anywhere from 5-10 kilometers while buying Abby some valuable shut-eye before she came on.. While not exactly a regular running denizen, AJ was a former UAAP Volleyball MVP and could count on his natural athleticism to take over should push come to shove. He was hyped up and raring to go as a strange new world awaited us out there.
BDM Card #2 right here.But before anything else, a couple of hiccups. First, for some incomprehensible reason I couldn't get my laces to stick.Perhaps the tender left foot had something to do with it as I was being OC with the tightness , but it took us at least five minutes to get the whole thing right. Talk about a momentum killer. Second - just get the heck out of the train station. Fast. We had traversed all around it, amidst what seemed like an abandoned rice paddy. A dog came right out and threatened to attack us. We were warned about the dogs, but seriously this was ridiculously way too early in the ball game. Much like the guardian pacer he was, Hasa bravely shooed the rabid dog away with his "shout and make gulat the doggie move". He would later confess that his cajones were being seriously compromised already, but he had to at least "pretend" to be strong in my severely weakened state. Thank God it worked. We finally were able to navigate our way around the labyrinthine area... only to wind up about 100 meters from where we had started. We could even see Sir Rene and Camilla Brooks from where we were. They probably thought we were messing around. Sheesh.
Apparently, it wasn't as simple as we thought.Crash Into Me We had wasted an inordinate amount of time just getting out into the main road, and I was deathly paranoid of getting lost at such a crucial juncture. My absence at that crucial, final test run was now coming back to haunt me. On the way to Macarthur Highway, I had AJ ask practically every manong if they saw runners along the route. Even if the answer was always in the affirmative, the eerie absence of support cars was agitating me. After asking like thrice, Hasa was like Ano, satisfied na? I probably muttered something unintelligible as a reply.
I tried to get on with the 700-300 formula that had worked so well for me, but after a solitary kilometer I felt sick. I was crashing. Hard. Again. Could the strong push leading to 102 drained my last reserves? I was hitting more than 17 hours of the road already. I guess the relative unfamiliarity of the terrain all added to this notion brewing in my head . Once I hit 103k , I was in no man's land. Pessimistic realities were beginning to form in my head. Damn, ang layo pa. Wala na akong ibibigay pa. I implored AJ that all I could do was walk first. All of a sudden, it seemed like I was in a daze. Parang high. To make matters worse, our support van was nowhere in sight. Apparently, Tito Caloy went freestyling on the route and insisted on the "Macarthur Highway" route that he knew... . which was going to Bulacan. Apparently, I wasn't the only one bonking. Try as I could, the legs were not responding. I was doing the tukod move at a higher ratio than at any point in the race. I almost even fell into AJ at one point. We were barely moving. Once again, fears of a late game choke were getting to me.Good thing that this was an all-too-familiar sight for my friend, having seen me buck injury and dehydration during the previous campaign. He still had his mental notebook full of pre-memorized inspirational quotes, but he didn't pull a single one. The one he did drop though, was probably the one that mattered the most. Kung sa akin nga lang pap, kung kaya lang kitang samahan ng 50k gagawin ko. A poignant moment in a journey made possible not by one man's singular effort, but by the collective sacrifices of those who share a single-minded determination to tow him to that finish line. Infused by a sudden stream of positive energy, it was just the thing I needed. Habol ng Habol Big steps lang. I tried running but gave up seeing that my "run" and AJ's walk were roughly around the same pace. So what's the point. Our progress was miserably slow. After close to an hour, me and AJ had only covered four ridiculous kilometers using this tactic and time was slowly ticking away. I was trying to get myself together by convincing myself that this hour long walk would serve as the much needed "rest" to help me once Abby came on. In pretty bad shape though. Ironically, AJ was somehow relieved when Duart offered to take over pacer duties. Apparently his surgically repaired knee was acting up, a heroic effort for a friend in need. Too bad I was too preoccupied battling my inner demons to fully appreciate it at the time
Hasa gutting it out after 5k
Duart raring to step up to the plate Once Duart had donned the official pacer's bib, we were off. He was jacked and amped up, perhaps a little too much for me in my rapidly diminished state. Given the horrid start to this final leg of our journey, we somehow had to make up for lost time. Around 19 hours in, I was fading badly and I sore in too many places than I could describe. My buddy, who was always the smartest guy in our class a decade ago, was hellbent on helping in any way he could. Some useless trivia : He once missed AJ's UAAP championship game, and was so disconsolate about it that he attended every single game the following season. Now that's what you call friendship! I am lucky to have him on my team.
He was listening to my instructions as much as he could while dropping the occasional motivational line, and we were making some semblance of progress. Pap, mental lang yan. Bumibigay na ang katawan pero it's all mental. Not sure if I got it verbatim but that's pretty much what I could remember.We had another mad dog episode, and he was brutally honest in telling me he wasn't exactly too thrilled with them wild doggies. A noble effort from my bud to keep me in there, but it was clearly bothering him. In short, at this point where my brain had pretty much short-circuited, I scarcely had any energy to to help him out against any anxiety as much as I wanted to. I needed to be carried, not the other way around. Another point of concern was when he told me he suddenly became dizzy, no doubt a byproduct of the sudden stress put upon his sleep-starved system. As much as Duart was shrugging it off, a glance on my watch was telling me we weren't trending well.
If only them Tarlac doggies were this cute At this rate, once Abby came on we might be too far behind already. But Duart still had 5k to go, and he seemed quite enthused with it. As much as I wanted to have my bud finish his full leg, the reality was that I needed Abby in there both for the physical and emotional boost, and I didn't think I could hang on for 5k more.As rhythmically disjointed as our current little sortie was, I was hanging on to the hope that once she came on, everything would fall back into place. I labored heavily with each run, my pain-wracked body slowly being battered into submission. At only 115k in, we were nearly 20 hours out there. 10 hours for 45k? In this state? I pushed the panic button and told good buddy Duart we had to cut short his stint. Always the proud warrior (he's already planning his own BDM 102 stint for next year. AJ is his support crew chief which rocks, problem is AJ doesn't know yet.), he seemed visibly bothered that I had cut his stint short. I scarcely had the energy to explain things, just muttered that it was all about "strategy"whatever that meant amidst his half-serious protestations. Once Abby saw her number called, she shifted to work mode instantaneously and snapped on the bib and my hydrobelt with baon gels. With one of the best ultrarunning pedigrees amongst all the pacers, she's a tremendous boon to my campaign. In the middle of the night, in some unknown highway, we had some serious catching up to do. Both literally and figuratively.
Super Abby to save the day Longest. Date. Ever. As we ventured into the great unknown, the "reserves" that I was storing during AJ and Duart's combined 10k stint somehow helped. The more I realized that we were running into Angeles City (yes, Angeles City. And yes, I started in Bataan, 20 hours ago.), all the more that the enormity of the entire experience was getting to my head. Each step was heavier, every breath more labored than ever. We started out strong thanks to Abby pushing the pace, but alas I couldn't ride out the heavy fade. My mind was starting to play tricks with me already. If there was such a thing as a "running pseudo lucid dream", I was probably doing it already. It felt like my brain was kicking into " dream mode" - while I was still running. Seemed like a bizarro mix of both a dream and a hallucination at the same time, and the line between fantasy and reality was severely blurred at this point. No idea if I was dreaming or not anymore.
Sabaw I regain a semblance of reality to the faint sobs of my worried girlfriend, who had been rock steady and strong the entire time. Apparently, I was already lying down the concrete pavement at some Angeles City bridge, my submission to mortality compounded by a suddenly biting wind. She was at a loss for words, the complexity of being a pacer tasked to bring you to the line intersecting with that of a petrified loved one. Diliryo. Yes, that's what they call it. I want to quit already. So many people have fought the good fight and called it a day already. Maybe I should do the same. ...
An emotional turning point... .A Walk On The Dark Side Somehow, Abby's resolute pleadings got me back on my feet again. However, as we plodded our way to Tarlac it was becoming harder and harder with no relief in site. The thermostat suddenly dropped out of nowhere and I started to shiver uncontrollably, to the point that my chest began to hurt already. I was forced to wear the only warm thing available - Tito Caloy' frumpy windbreaker. As much as this was the last place where you could be judged for a fashion faux pas, I took it off the moment I got warmer. Smirk. At this point I could only run for about 200 or so meters before stumbling around the dark, dusty abyss en route to Tarlac. It was a painful, arduous process. I would beg for a chance to sit down. Abby was adamant. Sayang time. Kaya pa yan. What a whiner. So many of our fellow warriors had passed us already, some I haven't seen since the start of the race. Gosh, I must have lost so much time already. Two enigmatic, shadowy figures emerge from the woodwork, plodding ninjas who had seemingly lost their way. Turns out it was the veteran ultra duo of George Dolores and Ralph Salvador, battle tested warriors who were likewise succumbing to their demons within. Aabot pa ba tayo?Di na namin gagawin to uli, kalokohan to! Seeing two proud veterans fighting their demons to the very end seemed to embolden me. If they are still in this... . no reason I shouldn't be. You know how they say that in a marathon your second wind kicks in just when you need it the most? I had used mine hours ago. That third and fourth? A distant memory. I'm running on empty here as we were approaching the 130k mark. A quick glance at the trusty 310xt. Not good. Not good at all. At this rate, there would be no way would be finishing within cutoff. I felt my dreams slowly fading, dissipating before my tired, weary eyes. The body had given up, the pain too immense. My spirit a meek spectator to the entire spectacle. Abby was slowly getting exhausted trying to coax something out of me, to no avail. But inside of me, a different storm was brewing. So that's it?This is how it's all going to end Luis? You just plain gave up? You bothered so many people, spent so much money, put yourself through this much pain, only to fail at the end? Think of how the Facebook statuses would come out tomorrow, how people would be sympathetic to your stupid excuses. Keep this crap up, and you will fail. Are you content with the whole "just making it to the start line is a victory" crap? You came here with a specific goal in mind. You want that buckle right? You want the cynics to shut the hell up right?? Are you going to quit on Abby? On Hasa and Duart after everything that they have done for you? On the five people who will read your story on your crappy blog? What a damn lousy story that would be. More than anything, do it for yourself. Do you want to be remembered as a quitter forever?
On life support and needing a miracle Desperate times call for desperate measures. When all else was failing, I swung for the fences with nothing left to lose. How? Simple, really. I pissed myself off. Yes, you read that right. I was trying my darn best to piss myself off. Before my brain decided to shut itself down completely, I had this bright idea that the only way to save my race was for my adrenalin to go into overdrive. It's the fight or flight paradigm at play, and I gave it one final heave. If this failed, there was nothing more I could do but accept that maybe this wasn't really meant for me. It's a sober reality that I would probably deal with for the rest of my life. Everything was hinging on this. I couldn't fail. I REFUSE to fail. Luis : NO!!! I CAN'T LOSE! I PUT TOO FREAKING MUCH INTO THIS!! QUIT?? NOW?? YOU GOT TO BE !@#$ KIDDING ME!! LET'S GO!! Abby : ???!!!! The result was nothing short of spectacular, For one completely inspired, ethereal stretch, everything just clicked. The adrenalin was overflowing. All the pain disappeared., not a trace. I was running like I just started on one of them BHS races. Abby was shocked out of her wits, but kept pace as much as she could. We were passing the others at will, and it was just an incredible turn of events. At a time when we were covering about 4 kilometers an hour tops at around 15:00 min/km pace, we zoomed to an unfathomable (given the circumstances) 5:50 min/km pace. Even I myself was shocked. In plain and simple terms, we had earned back that extra hour that we had lost earlier with the effort.
And in one fell swoop, we were back in the game.
Cruise Control
We had to slow down eventually and fall back into a run/walk pattern as it was Abby's turn to bonk. The sudden speedwork zapped her, and our support car was nowhere to be found. AJ and Duart were plotting our trends in between naps, and they had missed out on the sudden surge. They were at least 5 kilometers away and couldn't seem to find us in their best Keystone Cops routine. Abby was running out of water and Gato as the sudden anaerobic spurt was getting the best of her. With the national engineering boundary for Tarlac in sight, it was somewhat my turn to keep her in there. Eventually the groggy gang caught up, likewise shocked at the little stunt we pulled off.
The adrenalin had worn off and everything was starting to hurt again, but at least Abby was better. As we soldiered on into the wee hours of the new day, we were comfortably settling into a pattern that we had first used when I paced her for the original Rizal Day 32k. It entailed choosing targets from within the prevailing landscape and run to that with no excuses. Let's run to the green house. Waiting shed. 2nd big telephone pole. From this point forth every second counted, each second running providing us a bigger buffer for what promises to be an explosive endgame.
Twenty Four Oras
Set a target. Run.Walk. Rest. As we were nearing the 24 hour mark entering the Tarlac capitol, I was fighting with everything I had. I could scarcely believe that I was still here - alive, standing, running and with a real shot at taking this home. Good vibes. Even the boys were egging me on. Let's do this pap. Let's take this home.
Hitting the 24 hour mark was a poignant, goosebump inducing- milestone. But it wasn't over. Not just yet.
Daytime Shocker
Shocking, because I was still here. Because Abby was approaching 30k pacing me with nary a sign of fatigue. But the single most shocking, absolutely mind-blowing thing that jolted our senses was seeing a crumpled, hobbling figure on the other side of the road. It was Tatay Jonel. I last saw him just after the 50k mark and had figured he had finished hours before.. He looked deathly pale, and our attempts to ask what was wrong were met with some semi-lucid hand gestures, presumably gesturing us to go ahead. Another dagger straight into our hearts. .If I were Daniel- san, he was Master Miyagi. If this were a war, that was our general right there. And right now our general was telling me to leave him and let him be. Reluctantly, we had to pass him, taking painful solace in the thought that this was his battle to face, his mountain to conquer. Just a bit more, and glory would be his.
Hopefully, it would all be ours.
100% Pure Guts
Digging Deep
The sun was starting to beat down and the pain on my left foot was off the charts. Any form of movement would generate a certain level of pain that seemingly only a shot of morphine could negate. Nevertheless, the excitement was building, and we were trending well as we were entering the 140k mark. I could sense it in Abby's voice. We got this babe!! Just a bit more!
Meanwhile, the crew was on chillax mode. A supremely confident AJ was already looking at breakfast plans while Duart was doing a little premature celebrating
Breakfast, anyone? Wrong Mistake
I was trying to amp up every step as we were hitting the right turn that was supposed to lead us to the Capas National Shrine. Pain was mortifyingly bad, I've run out of adjectives to describe it. If my Garmin was correct, we just had 13 more kilometers to go to glory. You know how towards the latter part of a marathon, say around 40-41k, you just attempt to block out everything in an attempt at a strong finish? I was trying to pull off the same thing here. In my head, we got this, let's get it over with. As we reached the crossroad, me and Abby ran into Coach Rey Antoque for the final pangtali which serves as your time stamp (they have a knack for just appearing out of nowhere). I asked him how much further, 12k na lang daw. But my strategy was thrown into disarray when veteran ultra dude Ron Sulapas, still very much in the game, told us it was more like 18k out. 18k??You have got to be kidding me. Coach just said 12k! Abby was getting pissed off because we couldn't seem to get a clear picture of much further we were going. Even AJ and Duart weren't quite sure. Thankfully, Doc Art somehow managed to catch up with us, and he seemed to know the way. Amidst the last-minute chaos, a glanced at my watch. If it were 18k more... .
I need to start running. Now.
Malayong malayo pa Kuya... .
It's getting to be hot. Really hot. Once again, the lack of a test run couldn't have been more evident as we entered the busy, winding streets going to the shrine. For someone who had made it to to this point relying heavily on pace, distance and time projections... . now I didn't have the slightest damn idea where we were going. Or how far we were. Abby was starting to look a little bit wasted, but was tremendously effective as a drillmaster/inspirational leader. The pain, oh God I don't want to think about the pain anymore. I knew that they were all blistered up, but at this point that was the last thing on my mind. Just wanted this over and done with. I tried asking a tricycle dude how far off we were from the shrine, and was met with an incredulous reply that serves as the header of this paragraph. Digging into what seemed to be my 7th wind already, I was spilling my blood and guts onto that pavement already. Malayo pa ba... ..
Panandaliang Ligaya
AJ and Duart were scrambling to get distance projections and to give nearly per kilometer support for us. This was the final stretch. Winning time baby. I had gone through so many up and down cycles that I had lost track already. The term "threshold of pain" has been redefined several times already that I may just end up giving it an altogether different meaning after the whole thing. Quite truly, it takes a different animal to tame this distance. I would whine incessantly, the lack of a clear goal bothering me. AJ kept on trying to explain the projections but nothing was entering my brain. Both me and Abby were at the mercy of the elements, and right now it wasn't showing that much.
After what seemed like an eternity of pain, the gates of the Capas National Shrine beckoned. Me and Abby were going nuts, the joy was impossible to contain. She kept on telling me that she was proud of me. But wait, there was a catch. To successfully complete the distance, we had to do an extra loop past the monument and back to do a full 100-miler. We were all told of this beforehand. Problem with me was, in my semi-delirious state we thought it was pretty near. I could swear that someone said 5k na lang! Malapit na!
Rule #1 : Don't listen to strangers.
Rule #2 : Never, EVER take "malapit na" at face value.
Rule #3 : " 5k" is relative .
The Final Showdown
Pain. Suffering. Guts. Determination. It's been such an emotional rollercoaster for us and I couldn't stop thanking Abby for willing me to this point. We got news that there have been only been less than twenty finishers, maybe I could even crack the top 20. So all we need to do is cruise, relax, game over. We couldn't have been more mistaken about the entire thing. You know that feeling when you know the race is over and your levels start to normalize? Then all the aches and pains come in? Of course it's normal.
My problem was, it happened to me just a couple of kilometers early.
AJ and Duart were intentionally withholding it at that time, but they knew that the full route was a 4.5 killer uphill and back to cover the missing 9k from the original 151k historic route. Our first inkling was when we saw TPB icon Junrox Roque looking spent, probably the first time I ever saw him him in that state. Argow, OJ, Kelly Lim, I haven't seen them in hours and yet there they were on the homeward journey. Two things. Either they had all slowed down like crazy... . or that final stretch was so far out and difficult that it took them forever to get back. I wasn't about to put my money on the former.
That last 4.5k uphill stretch ranks as probably the greatest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced. After 150 kilometers of running over nearly 27 hours , an extended uphill stretch is the last thing you would ever want to see at that point. Everything was sinking in, my system rejecting everything. I was puking out the gels, and even Gatorade was nauseating. The heat was simply unbearable. I wanted to collapse. Every labored step would elicit a pained yelp from me. If I were to capture a microcosm of the suffering and sacrifice of the actual Death March, I was going through it right there. Abby was compelling me to move forward, but she was in tears as she could see, feel my suffering so near the goal.
Mybody and mind have both shut down. I have squeezed every last ounce of humanly strength that I could. There is... . nothing more. To the last drop. The uphill climb seems to be endless with no relief in sight. Going up the hill with my eyes closed, I nearly fall over Abby. My battered soul lets a blood curdling yell, a final testament to the flawed limits of human physical endurance. Truly, why did I ever subject myself to this anyway? When will it ever end?
Alas, I refuse to be denied. This is it. This is my moment. When all is gone, the spirit will always remain. I am running on utter fumes and Abby is willing me to that line. Because as one would realize when doing ultramarathons, , this " war" that I've been harping about since the very beginning is not fought on a battlefield with guns or soldiers or generals. It is fought in the inner recesses of your own mind. Drawn out into the outer fringes of your own heart. YOU are your greatest enemy... .. and greatest ally at the same time. It is a dichotomy that has no equal, accessible only to the chosen few who dare tread that fine line.
Suck it up. Pain is temporary. Glory is forever.
Everything is just a blur now, unraveling in my head as some high- definition, stop-motion slideshow. That final agony of running downhill. Running into Cebu ultragal Haide Acuna who was going strong as she entered her own final battle. Entering the monument while running at full speed, tears streaming down our cheeks as the magnitude of an accomplishment that couldn't have been farther from reality was slowly sinking in. The unbridled, once-in-a-lifetime joy of finally crossing a finish line 29 hours and 30 minutes after I had left its counterpart a hundred miles away. Hugs from the man who gave me a chance to show my mettle when very few believed I could do it. Hugs from a crew who didn't have to do it, but did anyway for the sake of a friendship that has stood the test of time. Hugs from the best girlfriend in the universe, who gave so much of herself to the endeavor and whose unshakable, iron-clad belief in my ability when even I myself had lost faith proved to be the winning quotient.
I said it once, I'll say it again - BDM is not for the faint of heart. But for those who dare, it will provide that introspective journey that life in general is largely bereft of . It affects you. It changes your emotional blueprint, and shakes the very foundations of your self-belief at its most visceral level. It's a life's experience's life experience, providing you with tall tales of glory and determination meant to be passed down from this generation to the next.
To those who are wondering if I will ever subject myself to the same, er, unique experience in the future, the answer is a big resounding NO. Never. Never ever.
But then again, wasn't that the exact same thing I said last year?
knew for sure I would miss when I moved from the water of the West Coast of British Columbia where I grew up to the interior of BC. Homesickness is a funny thing when you find yourself living where you have wanted to be for so long, but it’s been a year and a half, and I still miss the ocean, I always will.
Unless you have lived by the ocean, you can’t imagine the lushness of the undergrowth, the salty tang of the ocean air. The cry of the gulls, as they circle, and the lashing of the angry waves on the beach when a storm is coming.
It’s the ability to see further than your eye can focus, a never ending horizon of misty grey water, punctuated by sea birds, and maybe a seal if you are extremely lucky.
My link to the ocean isn’t as weak as you would assume now that I live 5 hours away… it’s there in my memories, in my heart, in my photos that bring it to life when I look at them again. There is salt water is in my veins it’s been in my life from the time I was born, it will never go away. I keep it touch with the ocean through those who blog and live near the water, it’s sandy beaches so grey, but skies so blue.
And if you live near the ocean please do me a favour, go and visit one cool spring day, stand on the sand, let the wind coat you with salt, a scent that will linger even after you go home. Open your arms wide as you face the water. And give the ocean a hug for me.
I have this theory that karma gives you get the kind of cat that you can handle, I know silly me. New to cats, you get a cosy throw kitty… one that gracefully reclines on your lap all day. More experienced with cats, then maybe a few problems get thrown in, such as midnight upchucking of half digested flies… in the middle of your kitchen table.
Hey, if you are a cat person you are now probably nodding your head… if you aren’t a cat person… well lucky you… I think. If this theory holds, then I am a incredible cat whisperer, which I highly doubt, because as much as I love cats, I sometimes have no idea what motivates Bootsie.
We have a doggie door in the pantry, it came with the house… good thing they had small dogs. The first year Bootsie was determined that the doggie/now cat door would lead him straight into the gaping jaws of Daisy, dog next door. Might have been the fact that each time he peeked his furry head out the door she went nutsy. We’ve fixed that, and many kitty treats later, he will use the cat door. But only as a In door, and he refuses to go Out the In door.
At the other end of the house are some glass French doors opening up onto the back porch, which he apparently considers the Out door. Especially if we have just sat down in the kitchen to eat. Then he saunters over to the French doors with as much enthusiasm as a cats can muster and stares out the glass, looks back over his shoulder at us, and then through the glass outside.
If you’ve ever had a cat, you will recognize you are being told that you are a fool for not knowing exactly what they want, which in this case is “let me out, you can opener you.” “But Boo, I’ve just sat down, my feet are sore, my food is getting cold, and I don’t want to let you out the door, use your cat door.” Silent green eyed stare as only a cat can do. “Boots! Use your cat door… plllllleeeeasse.” “Oh alright… ” shuffle, dance, ouch, shuffle… make my way to the French doors, and return to my chair and my now cold dinner. Only to find that he has circled around the house, entered through the in door, and is now happily ensconced on my chair napping.
Fine… Sigh. That wasn’t a cat whisper, I think it was him snickering.
Just to prompt you to get out and acquire your own amaryllis. And because mine is more fully opened now, I wanted to share these photos with you. Buy one in a pot, that is tightly budded, you will be enjoying the blooms in a week or so. If you are lucky, it may even repeat the performance, with another bud forming.
There is a “different” kind of weather happening around here. It’s colder of course, there is more fog, and some sun peaking out. Up here at the farm, they live above the clouds, and the view is spectacular, and sunny. It’s almost like being in airplane looking down on the clouds. We can see all the way down to the town below, and there is a soft padding around the evergreens. Like a lazy marshmallow, it lays there all day, and the townspeople are shrouded in a hoar frost unlike anything that we have encountered on the coast. In White Rock it takes a lot of coordinating weather factors to have a hoar frost, and you need to be quick to get any shots at all. It looks like it might be somewhat of a regular occurrence around here. Aren’t I lucky! Now that’s a photo op.
All this spectacular scenery, and frosty, white hairy branches, and I have not had a moment to grab my real camera and shoot. So I have been relying on my new phone to take the “must get it” shots. Surprisingly clear, and so handy, as it’s usually in my pocket, next to my freezing cold hands. Did you know that the touch phones work by the heat of your finger tips? Yes, frozen hands can’t get the icons to open. Wonder what’s going to happen when it’s even colder. I see some finger warming hot pads in our future.
Speaking of even colder, my Dad’s favourite saying to us newbies is “you ain’t seen nothing yet. Just you wait until January”… thanks Dad. You may be right, but couldn’t you butter it up a bit. Ease us in slowly, and all that? Sure the beginning of December isn’t the best time to move to a completely different climate, but you know, circumstances and all that… this is just how it worked out. Makes me kind of glad that we didn’t have to move in January.
I do miss the extended fall that we get by the ocean, but I certainly will not miss the bone chilling dampness that cuts through all of your layers, with it’s icy fingers poking into that little spot where your skin is unprotected. Brr… I’m freezing just thinking about it. Wonder if the big box sells heating pads by the case?
Editor's Note : This is coming in about two weeks late, but what the heck I got busy. Again. Anyway, enjoy the fruits of my forsaken lunch break.
For most newbies to the sport, the annual exodus to Camarines Sur to compete in the only Ironman-branded triathlon competition in the country is much akin to a rite of passage. Get the shirt, get the photo-op, get the fancy sticker on your bike. Bask in the glory of "ayan na si Ironman" (and all the lame Tony Stark jokes) at the office water cooler. Hang out at the neighborhood pool and revel in the " Pare musta Camsur mo?" conversation with the batak dude on the next lane. Hey, make it worth your $250 right?
Seriously though, it's still the biggest multisport event in the country. And with its third incarnation in the bag, it just became bigger with more than 1,000 athletes gathered in the water that morning last August 14th. Why bother to tri? People have different reasons. Some join in for the heck of it. Some are in there to just see if they could stack up, a personal test of will if you may call it that. Some have enough chutzpah to make the race their first triathlon, which ends in either a personal Everest conquered or a painful crash back to reality (or the pavement. And hopefully not the bottom of the lake). So we have our reasons, that's a given. As for myself, if you've been following my site from the very beginning you should know I'm a gamer when it comes to these things. A recent accounting check showed that I have been spending a ridiculous amount on races, gear, logistics, etc. I don't know about you, but I can't swallow that amount and leisurely trot around races with the pure intent of merely surviving the cutoff. I have to take my training seriously and make this count, lest the motivation for getting a fancy, technologically advanced six-figure bike is relegated for pure japorms purposes alone.
Thing is, what if there's well, nothing to take seriously? As I mentioned in my previous article, the high-wire act that most age-group triathletes take in balancing these significant training hours with the other aspects of "normal" life is probably more of a challenge than the race itself. If you're a regular 9-5 corporate warrior who actually relishes having more than four hours of sleep or possesses some semblance of a social life, this is incredibly tough to execute. Something has to give at one time or another. With the specter of a new job on the horizon just as short-course season was about to end, I opted to focus on the more mundane trappings of each pencil-pushing suit out there. And yet, the fight never really left me. An attempt to squeeze as much juice as I could out of my limited training hours resulted in a rash of nabigla injuries and ego-deflating training sessions as I vainly tried to keep up with my superbly conditioned Quest 825 teammates. With my performance slipping with each race, the goal of competing in the Timex 226 full Ironman distance triathlon this December seemed but a foolhardy afterthought. Stringent qualifying times notwithstanding (at least with my current fitness level), my "secret" endurance sport dream of completing the Bataan Death March 160k Ultramarathon, Ironman Camsur 70.3 and Timex 226 all in one season couldn't have been any farther from reality. Pop that bubble and go back to signing memos you fool.
Wishful thinking never hurt
But then with a stroke of luck and a dash of inspiration, the fates smiled on us once more at the Tri United long course triathlon held in Matabungkay. Even as a crippling back injury rendered me a virtual crash-test dummy during the run leg, the splits were just good enough to have me qualify by the skin of my teeth. Thirty- four freaking seconds to spare before the 4:45 cut-off, considered the tougher of the two qualifying standards given ( the other being a 6:45 for the Camsur 70.3)
A miracle can happen... .
That, in a nutshell, gives you the context of my race in Camsur. With the pressure of qualifying out of the equation, I was in a more relaxed state and was even feeling good about the prospects of a good finish. But before we even go there, let's try getting therefirst, shall we? Which, as I came to realize, wasn't exactly a walk in the park.The Long,Long Winding Road
Eight hours.440 kms. I don't think I have ever driven that far. For the record, I don't think most of us have either. With Ultramarathoner - turned -design maven Abby keeping me comfy company for the duration of the ride, the endless route seemed liked a prelude to the mental tenacity necessitated for the race. Passing through scenic yet creepy trails such as the famous Bituka ng Manok zigzag road in Quezon kept me on my toes, given the seeming predilection of cars to run into accidents there.
It's tough.
Ironically, it was actually heaping doses of Cobra that kept me going. Hmm, maybe it does make sense for them to sponsor the race. But really, try tasting the stuff. It's probably the next best thing to shabu in keeping you awake. Along the way, we were so hungry (with such few stops in between) that we swore that we ate the best siopao ever at a stall at the Quezon-Camsur boundary. Yum.
This is the place, a long way from Ayala eh? After what seemed like an eternity we finally got to our hotel in Naga City, which would serve as our home for the next couple of days. Roughly 10kms away from CWC, it's a pretty smart, cost-efficient move in lieu of the pricey (and pretty much sold out) rooms at the complex. We got first-hand taste of some terrific local eats - Biggs's Diner for a late casual lunch and Chef's Doy's for a fancy (yet shockingly cheap) dinner.
Yummy casual dining at Jollibee prices
The team with Chef Doy himself Bike Check In
Once the dust had settled, we had to check in our bikes at what would be the transition site. This is somewhat of an unfamiliar experience to the uninitiated, with the prospect of leaving your bike overnight a slightly perturbing thought. Season partner Bikezilla was kind enough to send their top wrench guy/fun friend Dave along with the team to ensure that our bikes were in tiptop shape before the check in. After negotiating a line that resembled your neighborhood lotto pila when the jackpot balloons to P100 million, I was finally off.
The ol' battle chariot locked and loaded
Let's Shock The World
Amidst the bedlam that was happening in the days that preceded the race, I found myself enraptured within an almost eerie calm that belied the pressure generated by an eventof this magnitude. It's already a given that I'm primed for a marginal finish on this race. But inexplicably enough, I was feeling strangely good about my chances. I really, honestly thought that I would shock the world. Spot-on premonition or shameless wishful thinking? It would be fitting to see how it would all unravel come race day. But then came the signs. Signs that broke an otherwise tranquil calm... ..
Sign #1
I guess it would be fair to mention that I slept for only two hours before driving to Camsur because I ransacked my entire apartment looking for my trishorts. Of all the god darn days that I could lose it. Possible reasons:
1.The dog ate it 2.The dog hid it in his super secret hiding place for future chewing purposes3.The dog ate it.
I blame the dog completely. He must have eaten it. There's no other way. I'm positive.
I didn't do it
Sign #2
After the team did a Thursday photo-op at Lago del Rey with The Batis Project CEO Ricky Ocampo(We're carrying the highly regarded hotel and balneotherapy resort as our title sponsor for the season), my K-Ona's were soaked and got inundated with sand and rocks. Abby took due prudence in drying it out at the aircon hatch of our hotel as there was no other way of going about it. Much to our horror, the following morning the right insole was gone. It could have gone anywhere, but it just vanished into thin air. You're probably thinking "it's just a freaking insole" but good luck on finding any triathlete who would willingly run without it. Luckily, our team captain Deo (the brains behind the old school Tri-Pilipinas board) had an extra K-Ona with the same size as mine, so I pretty much ran the race on a borrowed insole. Lucky break, but dyahe.
Signs. Premonitions. Tri-short eating dogs. Let's get this over with, shall we?
D-Day - Lago Del Rey, about 5 minutes into the swim
Dammit. I got punched. Or whacked by those damn breastrokers. Any other way, I think I'm starting to panic nowwith my goggles practically off.It's the first time I've ever been hit in a race, tough it had to happen here. Heard lots of stories, at least now I have one of my own. But it's a story I'd rather not tell. Oh great I got hit again. Ugh, while I'm trying to fix it I'm incessantly getting run over. It's like I'm in Omaha Beach at the Battle of Normandy, and I'm one of the first casualties.
Chaos is an understatementI eventually catch a second wind and did good time at the small lake, only to get stopped dead in my tracks after swimming right into someone kicking furiously. You know how cartoon characters see stars when they're punched? Never knew that was a case of art imitating life right there, it really freaking happens. Lucky me didn't get the memo about the water being so murky that you couldn't see your hands doing the strokes. After what seemed like an eternity of playing Takeshi's Castle at the small lake, I'm out of the water in 51, nearly 52 minutes. Missed my time target by two minutes, but still ahead of the "worst case" goals I had made for myself. So far.
Somewhere in Camarines Sur, about 35km into the bike
Go Go Ironman! Go Go Ironman! The playful chants of the Bicolano children reverberate in my ear as I speed past this drenched countryside.Why do I get this weird feeling that their teacher would flunk them if they didn't show up for this?Lol. Everyone was prepping for the heat, praying for cool weather - and we get a deluge instead. Approaching a sharp curve, I need to overtake this lady in front of my lest I be called for drafting. It's nothing special, routine pass. Holy crap my wheels lock, the angle is too slick. As I'm about two seconds from losing control and crashing, a collective gasp could be heard from the crowd... ..
But thankfully, I didn't. The sporting gods finally let me catch a break. I was able to regain control at the last minute, a look of both relief and partial consternation on my face if you could actually see it through the downpour. So I'm liking my chances now. I'm averaging about 31-32 kph, with the intention of pouring it on during the homeward trip. However, after doing their good deed of the day with me, the sporting gods decided to call it quits. At which precise moment I hit a very hard bump on the road, misaligning my saddle several degrees. This forced me to hold an awkward, yoga-like position that put a lot of strain on my balky back. It didn't take long for the pain to come. As much i try not to be a girly man about it, I guess only those who have had lower back injuries and attempted to race on a bike could relate. And so my personal Calvary began.
My pace slowed to a ridiculous crawl. Teammates, friends, strangers were passing my demoralized shell left and right. It was Matabungkay all over again, only this time I had to work with the pain for about 50 more kilometers. I dismounted about 5 or 6 times to stretch, with bystanders chiding me "Koya okay kay lang ba? Gusto mo ng sopdrink?" I forced a smile. With about 20 kilometers to go, I wasn't quite sure if I could even make it to the run portion. Maitawid na lang. Each kilometer took what seemed like an eternity to complete. As I entered T2, the full rack of bikes confirmed the sobering realization that I pretty much threw away my race right there. A fat,juicy, 3:15 split was staring me in the face. With my "pet" discipline up ahead, I guess this is make or break for me. Question is, how much did I have left in the tank?
Playing through the pain
Just before the rice cooker, 10km into the run
I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this. Spurred on by an incredible rush of adrenaline, I was calling on every single ounce of fight left in me to pull this off. I lost 25 minutes on the bike, but I figured if I could gain that back on the run then all would be well with the world. I ran a sub-25 5k , and just cleared a 58 minute 10k. I have a real shot at redemption here, and why not with the wonderful weather relegating the feared rice cooker into mushy lugaw. I was passing people left and right, each tuhog serving as a boon to my broken body and exhausted spirit. Alas, it just wasn't meant to be. Too much to ask I guess. The back tightened up real bad somewhere around 13k, and it was both a mental and physical struggle from that point. I never stopped fighting though. The final stretch saw me trudge painfully through a 7:00 pace performance, but I still kept on passing people. Cramps caught up with me sometime around 20k, may pahabol pa matatapos na nga lang. As I finally crossed the line, the look on Abby's face was one of both joy and relief. Apparently, she was worried sick wondering what had happened to me. But hey, I made it! My self-inflicted journey of pain and suffering was over in six hours and 37 minutes, and would you look at that I'm still in one piece.
Never say never, it's always possible.
Epilogue
It's pretty obvious that this wasn't my best race, not by a long shot. But I take solace in the fact that I overtook 107 people on the run leg, even with what I consider a substandard run split. There were a lot of positives to be taken from the race, I was happy with how I fought back when it was so easy to quit already. Overall, it was quite the experience. I'd willingly do it again next year and come back strong, wherever it may be.
Her day started with a pouting fog. Lingering until the sun whisked it away. She’s hesitant to start, to leave, it’s too nice, too comfortable here. But she’s lugged that battered suitcase down the road for the last time.
Double checked her to do list. Gave her final instructions to the sunbeams, and told them to behave. Blew the clouds far out over the mountains, told them to play for awhile. Kissed the berries goodbye. Ran her hand over the field of stubble one last time. Lengthened the dimensions of the shadows. Sprinkled seeds and watched them go airborne into every corner of the fields. Until finally there was nothing more for her to do. And then she left… On the wings of a hawk gliding golden across the fields. We could mourn, what will it bring back? But sorrow, and sadness.
So we rejoice in the time that we got to spend with her. Keeping in the forefront only the good memories. Banishing the bad. And reliving the soft joy of summer in the taste of each opened jar of winter’s jam.
There is so much to do at this time of year. I’m pulling down beans, and decapitating sunflowers that have fallen over from the weight of the beans, and their nodding heads. The mice have enough to eat, they can forage somewhere else, these are for the birds. I’m culling cucumbers, and plucking tomatoes as they are being carted to the compost. Secretly trying to deposit zucchinis at every doorstep. Ding, dong, zucchini calling! Oh drat, are you answering the door with one in your hand… sigh. In between I’m walking down the street, camera in hand, capturing every last drop of sunlight before the Autumn turns too cold. Driving through the countryside this morning’s fog was frigid on my summer bare legs, and I shivered without a sweater. Just imagine what the birds are thinking. The quail are back, silly, and forgetful that a cat would dearly love to pounce. But we haven’t yet heard the call of the pheasants. There is bear scat on the road, and I will be glad when they hibernate. The coyote’s call at midnight stirs not the cat, but runs shivers down my spine. If you would like to see more of this beautiful place that we are so lucky to call home, there is always myInstagram feed.
As I was doing a tempo run, my Blackberry was still in my hand, beeping and vibrating incessantly. Then I just realized, gosh I am nailed to this thing practically all day, even while doing a tempo run at 5:00/km. It somehow inspired me to do a complete rundown of allthe wonderful things I do with this fun device within the bounds of my athletic lifestyle.
Bold.
4:30 am : There is nothing remotely fun or enjoyable about waking up at 4:30 am in the morning. The people who hang at Fiamma are still dancing the night, or rather morning, away. But the alarm on my Blackberry Bold 9700 is loud and clear. Its funky media player gets to play my long-standing alarm song, a haunting track entitled "Missing You" by a Korean boy duo called Fly To The Sky. Shame. I am awake now.
For real. 4:45 am: After a quick shower, I send a quick good morning message over Blackberry Messenger or BBM to Ultramarathoner Abby. Since we're both on BBM, we're saving a ton on SMS costs. No need to drop 80 bucks for 5 days of free texting. This is real-time, one-to-sawa chat till you drop mania. 4:50 am : Before I leave for the house, I send out a quick blast with the Twitter app on my BB : "Leaving for a long ride with the team at Bugarin, on the way to Shell Marcos Highway. Sleepy as heck."
5:10 am I arrive early and no one is really there yet. Worried that we may end up starting way late (possibly because everyone was still asleep. Great) I proceed to check on the team via our Blackberry group in BBM. Everyone is wired in, all the time. They can't say " I didn't get your text, sorry". Think Takbo.ph Shoutbox during its 2008-2009 heyday. One blast and everyone gets the message. Curious mystery of the universe - everyone seems to be 5 minutes away. Coincidence?
7:13 am : As we traverse the picturesque route along the provincial capitol of Rizal, I feel like I'm freeze-framed in one of those pricey Paete master paintings. The place is beautiful, reminds me why I even bother waking up at 4:30 am in the first place. Suddenly, my moment of Zen is interrupted when I hear a loud explosion. Thankfully, it's not of the artillery kind. More like the sound of a tire's interior surrendering to the treacherous terrain. Wilnar cops a flat, and we all huddle over. While we're working on it, I decide to encapsulate this curious moment in time by snapping a quick photo, and in one click it's instantly shared to my 2,108 "friends" on Facebook even if we're in the middle of nowhere. Ahhh, the wonders of modern techology.
Fun flat times.
10:30 am : Strong ride so far. We were able to tag along with some manong cyclists, and the ensuing frenetic pace results in an early lunch for us at the famous cyclists' pansitan in Laguna. In the spirit of showcasing the grub our hungry group would be inhaling in a bit, I take more photos and in an instant the rest of our inggit team back home receives it on our BB group. Yum.
12:00 noon : After a lung-busting ride back home (our lomi-loaded tummies didn't exactly help traversing those steep inclines) I remove my BB from it's ziplocked home in my back pocket ( yes, the 9700 is small enough to fit there without being too cumbersome) and my TPB buds tell me on our BBM group that they just arrived in Bataan for the latest BDM test run. They take photos at the "sacred KM 0 monument", instantly invoking all those fun, painful memories from last year. My turn to be inggit.
Inggit in real time. 2:00 pm : I'm off to swim in a bit but decided to drop by the mall to look for goggles. I am not particularly crazy about the Aquasphere XP Seal goggles I'm currently using. They leak a lot, and the only way not to have a leak is to seal it real tight. Only problem with this is that once you take them off, your face looks like you just got into a fight with Pacquiao over some hottie at Republiq. My teammate had reco'd some fancy ones but the name evades me.I recall discussing it over a text discussion but how will I navigate through that muck, sort of in a rush already. Madami daming text yun. Good thing I have Blackberry's latest software, dubbed OS6, installed on my smartphone. It has this really cool yet powerful feature called Universal Search that has a lot of practical benefits. So going back, I had already forgotten the brand but I do remember that we had engaged in a conversation about those goggles. I type "goggles" into the universal search box located on the main screen and voila, every single text, bbm, email, video, music file with something even remotely close to sounding like "goggles" props up. By putting forth very specific search parameters, I was able to find the exact conversation where we had talked about it. The brand turned out to be a Zoggs Flex Predator, and that little tool saved me the hassle of a phone call. Nice.
2:30 pm : I'm at the mall but I have no idea where I'm going to buy a pair. I do know that Chris Sports (yes, the same people behind Epic Relay) had a branch here, but apparently they transferred and even the guards don't know where it is (sheesh). Good thing I'm always connected with my BB, and I was able to successfully google the fact that the branch had transferred to Building B. No wonder the Building A guards had no idea. (x_x) 2:33 pm : In related news, my phone is vibrating every 10 seconds while the Endure Multisport peeps are sharing merienda pics and buzzing about Noelle's latest skirmish with the 6 week marathon man/pro perv dude on her fan page. Juicy.
3:00 pm : At the pool finally. However, my boss texts me to check my email, very urgent. I'm instantly jarred by her terse tone. Hala, what could it be? Am i going to get fired? Roasted? Best part about my Bold 9700 is that it supports push email, which means I get my email in real-time. So instead of having to suffer through the ignominy of a restless swim, I have instant access to that scary, urgent email that says... .. I just got a raise. Yahoooo.
4:00 pm : More or less finished an easy 1k in an hour. Still slow. I'm going to meet a friend in a bit, planning to buy his old wheelset. Burn. Anyway I'm on the way to Makati but I run out of load. Damn Globe. I don't want to go through the hassle of loading, I'm late already. What am I going to do? Thank goodness the guy is on BBM pala I nearly forgot.I don't need no load, what a lucky break.
4:30 pm : I snap the wheels on my bike to try it out, butI don't want to make a rash decision. I snap a photo and send it to my teammates. Good buy? Upgradeitis mania? The chorus from the gallery, predictably, says BUY. Thanks guys. Lol.
It's a go! 5:00 pm : An alarm goes off on my home screen. Good thing Blackberry's OS6 has this thing where it links with your Facebook Calendar app, and I see all the relevant birthdays right on my homescreen, even linking their Facebook pictures to my phone contact list. Awesome, it's Rico V's bday. I wonder where he will feed me. Liempo? Hmmm.
6:00 pm : I'm back at home for a run. And this where the whole epiphany begins. I realize that I'm so hooked on this thing that I'm running while I'm doing my tempo run, I still have my BB in hand. Why? Beats me. Maybe I just couldn't let go of my connectivity to the world. Or my proclivity to constantly share the otherwise mundane details of my life, and have people actually care about it, is too juicy to resist. Think of it as a real-time diary. Maybe one day I can look back and see precisely how my life unraveled one day at a time, all through the eyes of my BB. Having a good wind behind me, I nail my tempo run, perhaps the best I've ran in months. Hmmm. Well, I could tell people about it, but given the form I'm currently at they'd never believe me. Nothing like cold, hard evidence. Splash.
Don't judge me, I trained for 6 weeks to do this.
8:40 pm : Exuberant after a strong workout, I receive a BBM from Ultramarathoner Abby. She wants to catch the LFS at Shang, this Love and other Drugs seems interesting. As we're planning on the fly, I text CTCM for the latest movie sked. Nyak, I have no load. Shoot. I'm already in EDSA. Good thing I downloaded the Flixter app on my phone, I can check for local movie skeds using the Blackberry network. Whew. Where would I be without this thing?
After outlining just how much it helps my life so much easier on a daily basis, hey, you tell me.
Yes, once again White Rock Beach is holding it's daily ALL YOU CAN EAT Crab Fest.
All Gulls, Canada Geese, Mallard Ducks, and assorted seabirds, are invited to attend. Be there early for the best selection.
Clams, barnacles and mussels will also be offered, in the vicinity of the pier. A few lucky chosen birds may also be hand fed by tourists off of the wharf. Photo oportunities, free food, and entertainment, don't miss it.
I never thought I could ever balance myself on two wheels. You ever saw that 8-year old kid stuck in the playground trying to not fall after yaya let go of the bike while his playmates were zooming up and down? That was me .With zero athletic skills whatsoever, I was relegated to being this fat Gingerbread kid stuck indoors reading Encyclopedia Brittanica (meron pa ba nun?) while downing half a gallon of ice cream. By the time I did finally get the whole bike thing down, it wasn't too long before I hit semplang city en route to breaking my wrist in three places. Bike was sold the following day. Sob.
Putting all of that into consideration, never in my wildest imagination did I ever envision that two decades later I would be entrenched in an actual multisport battle with my former Waterloo serving as one of the primary instruments. But wait, we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here. What malignant spirit (in tagahlog, maligno) possessed me to get into the whole thing anyway? Let's take a quick look back.
Who would have known? I've been running for quite some time now. Well at least for someone who could never quite stick with a singular "hobby", I'd like to think that the fact that I've been at this for several years goes to show that it has already transcended the "hobby" label iand has actually evolve into a sustainable lifestyle. Back then, it wouldn't be too uncommon to spot this marshmallow-like 200 pounder to tread the sweep packs of them P250 races. No iPad registration, no fancy whatever. You got your finish times with the tried and tested, mano mano "timing cheap"system. Rio could still walk around race corrals without getting mobbed, and the word "singlet" was pretty much an unknown commodity to the mainstream public.
In the years hence, running has literally taken over my life. I've gone from the guy who once ran from Ortigas to Cubao in three hours and declared it "his greatest running achievement " (a lame 10k) to completing the dreaded 102k Bataan Death March Ultramarathon in sweltering conditions. I've made so many friends and been part of so many meaningful experiences as a part of this burgeoning community, and as luck would have it a lot of the mid-term running goals I had set for myself were thankfully met.
Run Fatboy GBM Run circa early-mid 2008 However, I realized that as you keep on pushing and pushing , one day it would just push back at you. Suddenly, hitting those cherished PR's became progressively harder, and the feeling of burnout started to surreptitiously creep up on me. The toll of being in 8 to 12 week training blocks practically all year for the past couple started to manifest already. Once the smoke cleared, the verdict was pretty clear.
I needed to take a break. But then what?
No way in heck was I going back to my sedentary, couch potato lifestyle. Worked too long and too hard to throw it all away. No chance of completely giving up running either, I love the sport too much to be completely away from it.
Then it dawned on me that a perfect compromise was actually possible. I can actually try something new without turning my back on running. And with that realization, I decided to dive into the uncharted waters of multisport.
We can all dream... ..
Multisport? Woah now. As the notion of competing with ultrafit triathletes with 5% body fat came to mind, two immediate problems came bubbling up before I could even kick out of the daydream (read: Inception reference). One, I didn't have a bike. Two, I haven't rode one in twenty years and the last time I did, it landed me in the hospital. Not exactly the ideal lasting memory for a wannabe noob like me right?
Not-so-fond biking memories
I gave it a long hard look. Stick with what I know, or be a newbie all over again? Being the competitive guy that I am, I hate being the clumsy new guy . Loathe it even. I mean, I'm the guy who didn't raise his hand when they asked who were the first timers in spin class. But alas, what's the spice to life if we don't explore the deep dark unknown right?
So to make a long story short, I just went out on a limb and went for it. After endless questions and consults from seasoned multisport friends (thank you for the patience), I finally got my own road bike. Realizing the penchant for people to give their roadies names, jumping on the bandwagon wasn't too far off. The new roadie was christened "Bob". Why Bob? I haven't the slightest idea. But it sure as heck sounded a lot better than "Grimace".
Why hellow Bob. Along with the first few awkward rides came the abrupt realization that there was so much more to a roadie than your typical CCP Sunday bike. There were tons of nuances with seatpost height, riding position, enough parts to fill a book and a shifting system that at first glance seemed terribly complicated to crack. Who would have known a simple bike would have so much science to it?
Its, er, complicated.
Now what's a roadie if you ain't going to use it right? I got wind through the grapevine about the 2nd leg of the Powerade Duathlon series. A duathlon. Wow. Run Bike Run? How hard could it be? How would I do? What's a T1? My insatiable curiosity won out on this instance, and I soon found myself coughing up a cool P1,000 for the reg. If you those P850 "premium" races give you grief, better be prepared for a shock with multisport, where managing more logistics account for the higher fees.
Gulp. Knowing that people put months and months worth of training into this sort of event, my boorish, ill-prepared self just wanted to set a benchmark. After all, experience is still the best teacher right? In two weeks I tried to unscientifically cram as much mileage and "brick" (to the uninitiated, combined discipline workouts to replicate the actual race. They usually make you feel like you were hit like a ton of bricks afterward. Or maybe that's just me) sessions into my routine, if only to be prepared at least mentally.
Brick 1 GBM 0.
D-Day comes around. I'm a nervous wreck. Each nervous tic, each anxiety-fueled fidget was amplified by what seemed to be an eternal wait for slumber to take me out of my misery. I've been in more races than I could remember but this was as an entirely new thing for moi. Armed with just guts and pretty much nothing else, so many questions crossed my mind as we were making the pleasant drive to Filinvest on a cool Sunday pre-dawn. "How do we check in? Paano nilalagay ung body marking thing? How do put the bike on the rack? Can we run in the transition area?" So many questions that only the hard knocks gained from experience could alleviate. Abby must have been remotely amused as the butterflies in my stomach were getting the best of me.
UGH. I hate being the newbie guy.
Kabado. We got there early. WAY early even. As I would come to realize with these multisport things, they never seem to start early. Good thing old Takbo.ph buddies who had gone the multisport route were also competing, and they provided the "homey"atmosphere that proved to be a salve for my nerves. As it was, Team Endure was also making its debut race replete with fancy triathlon suits. I wondered to myself when I would be worthy to put on one.
Trying my best not to be a nervous looking clueless dude
With the help of friends, the body marking and bike rack issues I was so antsy about turned out to be overstated. And before we knew it, we were off to the starting corral . 6k run beckoned. Now, this may not seem a lot. But obviously, this was the first time that I would be doing a 30k bike ride in between. I was advised to hack it on the safe side and go for a 5:15 pace. Be competitive fool that I am, I figured that I'll suck out on the bike anyway, what have I got to lose. So a tempered attack was worked out bordering on the 4:40 level.
Attack where you are strong... . While relatively slow by road race standards, for some reason this was good enough to vault me into the upper half of the draw going into the first transition point from run to bike, or T1 in multisport jargon. Upon mounting, much to my chagrin I got bunched together with some of the stronger triathletes/duathletes. I freaked. They were passing me left and right, barking "BIKE BIKE BIKE" or "STAY IN YOUR LANE!!" Gak.
Speed Bagal Mode.
The primary goal was to survive the bike segment in one piece. So I played the role of the non-recalcitrant newbie to the hilt, allowing myself to be passed almost courteously. Geez. Oh well, I was in too much pain to mind anyway. The course was mostly flat, but there were two major inclines that zapped the bejesus out of me. The steeper one was impossibly difficult for someone like me with no bike shoes (and as I would learn later, the lack of uphill gears) to negotiate. At times,I felt it would have been better to just get off the bike and carry it with me uphill. Good thing the rest of the course was pleasant enough, with friends cheering me on at each of the 5 loops we had to complete. Last couple my legs were burning though, and the moment I dismounted to T2 I nearly fell over behind rubbery legs. Thank God no major mishaps here. One last 3k and I was good to go.
Konti na lang.
Surprisingly, I was a lot fresher here than expected. Got to maintain about a 5:15 pace for the rest of the way as the gels I took started to take effect. At this point I was thanking my lucky stars for my running base as I got to catch up with a lot of the strong cyclists who made me eat dust during the bike leg. Adrenalin pumping, it was all over before I knew it. Crossed the line with a big bear hug from Ultramarathoner Abby in 1:56:29, good for 86th overall and 16th place in my age group. I thought it was a decent finish for a noob, given the circumstances. And more importantly, it put to shame the debut time of my good buddy Piolow who logged a 2:06 during the first leg. Wohoo!
Noob no more.
Sigh. Who knew that the kid who once couldn't balance would one day survive a competitive race like this? Much less on two weeks preparation. I give all the thanks in the world to my Team Endure buddies for enduring (no pun intended) and patiently answering all my questions. Also a big shout out to Ironman Javy Olives of Tri'n Hard fame (IMHO one of the best written multisport blogs out there.) for all the knowledgeable and practical bike tips he gave me.
Cross that one off the bucket list. The glean of the triathlon now beckons. How riveting. One slight problem.
I don’t know if anyone else is suffering from the Blogger Blues, but if you are, my misery would love some company. Blogger requires me to sign in with my entire password, and user name every time I leave a comment on one of your [Blogger] blogs. This is becoming a very frustrating hassle for me. And I am getting very short tempered with Blogger. At first, I thought that some bloggers had changed their way of leaving comments, but that wasn’t the answer. After I am forced to type in my full user name, and password for the 6th time, I am so not inclined to leave a comment. Because Blogger won’t accept it even if it is correct the first time. It’s finicky that way. I have checked the help forums, and there are others who are experiencing this annoying difficulty also. But apparently there are not enough of us complaining for them to do anything about it. The quick answer from Blogger was, we were not allowing third party cookies, we all do. It has not gone away. Clearing the cache is not the answer. Anyone with a working solution would be gladly received. Signing out of Gmail is not the answer for me either. Nothing seems to work. And on the subject of comments, may I be so bold as to ask.very humbly? For those bloggers who moderate their comments before publishing, would you please consider not also having word verification? Having to type out the word verification, along with my entire password, and user name is making me less inclined to leave comments. I am sure there are many readers out there that feel the same way, and yes we all hate spam. But you would have caught any spam comments before you published them. Sorry, but that’s the way I feel about it, maybe you have a different opinion. So if you are suffering from the same Blogger Blues that I am, would you please let me know what you have done to fix this? Or if you can’t seem to fix it, would you contact Blogger? The more bloggers who bring this to their attention, the better. If you don’t suffer from the Blogger Blues, consider yourself lucky, it’s bound to catch up to you someday. We will now return to our regularly scheduled posts, all full of flowers and good will.
