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.
As my previous post stated, I was harassed to death last week. Zero mileage. Didn't run at all. Still in iffy recovery from Botak Ultra. But me being me, I just had to take a swipe at it. A shot at a 21k PR on a chip-timed raced cutting through Ayala was way too juicy for me to resist. Just had to. Recipe for Disaster? Let's see how this morning's proceedings unfolded.
Not today GBM.
Pre- Race, 4:30 am
GBM : Tito, wake up! Tito Caloy : Gising na ako! GBM: Seriously? Tito Caloy : Eh di pa ako natutulog! GBM: Why would you do that? We have a race! Tito Caloy : Ang ganda nung palabas sa Cinema One alangya yung kay Richard, Eskapo! Di ako natulog eh! GBM:!!! Ugh, see you in ten. Tito Caloy : Ayos cge ipapakita ko sayo ung bagong sapatos ko Adidas running na running ang dating! 6 tawsan bili ko! GBM : !!!
He'd rather sleep in the car
Km 1 - 10 . Great things start from small beginnings?
When we got to the starting line, the race was just minutes away from starting. The rowdy gang helped fuel the electric atmosphere, the looming excitement of an actual chip-timed race bursting through the seams. It was funny really, because you saw people sprinting, then stopping, at the mat.
I though I had the strategy down pat. But I was wrong. Obviously, barely running in the two weeks prior took its toll. Also, something I read in BR's blog was nagging at me as I was racing through the first 10 kilometers. After an ultra, you will definitely lose some speed. You need to get back to tempo training. Well, not only have I NOT done any tempo training. In fact I haven't run at all. So logically, it's going to turn out pretty badly. My wind wasn't there. But it still wasn't half bad though.
At the 5k mark, I registered 25:32. At the 10k mark, slight fade at 55:30 but pace was still in contention for my goals. I'm at least 4 minutes off my usual 10k pace but I was thinking (or at least trying to convince myself) that I was merely "pacing". Since when did a positive splitter "pace" the first half of the race though? Still, I felt I could hang on. Seeing the rest of the team on the initial loop had me thinking I'm doing decently. I thought I was on the way to a good day... .
10k - 14k. Disaster strikes.
At the 10k mark I'm starting to slow down. Oh no. But not a major dropoff. Noticeable. Come Kalayaan flyover , my "vaunted" incline skills had deserted me. Then I realized it has been nearly a month since I have hit the St. Martin slopes. So much for that. Still, I felt I could ride the fade. Second wind would push me through. Just get me past the Kalayaan flyover and I'll take care of it in the flats. Then IT happened. At the 14k mark, I stopped for some 100 Plus on the water station, then sprinted away. The abrupt start/stop brought about a searing pain on the side of my knee that was too great too ignore. I tried to run it off, but I couldn't put any weight on it. I tried walking it off, the pain was just exacerbated. I tried stopping and stretching. It went from bad to worse. My pace had dropped down to 7/km now. Oh no. This ain't happening. We are doing so well. Just 7 k more to a new PR! My pace was down to a 5:45 now. Still salveagable. But the pain. Oh the pain. Add to this the mental strain of people passing you. So many people. I had to stop. Walk. Ouch. More ouch. When Takbo.ph rookie and Jumbo Liempo friend Pio overtook me, I was both happy for him and panicking inside. My hard earned lead was slipping away. Big Time. I saw main man Bong Z, slimmed-down Timmy and monster Ed pass me. When rookie/nice guy James paced with me for a while, and when I couldn't even sustain what felt was an 8/km pace and he had to leave me behind, I knew that was a veritable death knell. As I entered the inclines of Bayani Road, a site of successes past, a former sanctuary turned Death Valley.
I can't run anymore. Dammit. I want to cry. But then that would affect my macho image. Arrgh. I want to run! I can't! Everyone's asking what the crap happened to me. Rod and Carlo just passed me. Ain't it great when you have friends who show genuine concern for you? But argh. I'll try to run again... ARGH ouch ouch. I can't. Sob. This sucks. I want ... to... quit? =,(
The spectre of my first ever DNF was very much real. The pain was pretty significant at this point. Each attempt to try and gut it out ended up bringing more pain. At least the last 5k of Botak ultra I was still able to run. This... . I simply couldn't. Add to this the strain of everyone passing my sorry carcass. Let me let you in on a little secret. I hate being passed. It gets to me. I'm a competitive guy, not just in running. But here, I was crumbling amidst the throes of my own mortality. It's hard to express in words the combined feeling of frustration, disappointment, exhaustion and pain that I was going through. It's barely 14k and change. How the heck can I get to the finish line when I can barely even walk anymore?
14k-21k. A friend in need... . is a friend indeed.
As I was losing hope exponentially by the minute, I was suddenly witness to the fact that life's little blessings come when you least expect it. As I had completely given up hope, along came training/pace buddy/carpool mate Bong Yu. He saw me struggling. Told him I wanted to quit. He could have left me, he has his own race to run. But in the spirit of friendship and supreme sacrifice, he told me he would keep me company! Unthinkable! You would sacrifice your race for me? Yeah why not, I'm still in recovery from Milo 42k anyway. Oh man. I was overwhelmed. Bong encouraged me to just keep my head high. There are other races. Stop trying to run, what will you achieve? It ain't even worth it. You don't have to keep on proving yourself over and over again. You need a break anyway. Stand straight when there are girls passing by so that you keep your poise and still look macho. Maybe they'll think we're 8 minute pacers or something. Ran into a real pacer, Second Wind proprietor/running sage Hector who stopped and gave me some advice on the injury along with some words of encouragement.
The 7k trek to the line was painful. The encouragement and light conversation made me feel so much better. Everyone was passing us at this point. Even Mary Genie passed us. We found it amusing that she was ahead of Tito Caloy, Coach and Neil . Good ol' Tito Caloy was gloating over the first ever time he would get ahead of me in a race. Okay maybe not. But he was genuinely concerned. Didn't matter anymore. I was good. Happy that a friend was actually there for me. As the sun was beating down, a 15/km walk pace told me that we would cover a mere 3k in 45 mins. Eek. As we neared the finish line, the rest of the Takbo.ph boys helped us pace the final km for added support. It looked like a scene from the Beat It video as we were approaching the finish line.
Now that's what you call team support!
Couldn't have done it without this guy.
As racuous cheers from the Takbo.ph gallery met two fallen gladiators, I couldn't help but wonder that in spite of my worst-ever finish, in spite of having to suffer the ignominy of walking the last 7k and limping through the finish line, I was actually happy. Happy that I didn't DNF when it was the easiest choice I could have ever made.Happy to see that in actuality, the spirit of friendship trumps the spirit of competitiveness when circumstances call for it. Lessons will be learnt from this race, and while my injury is showing blatant signs of ITBS I am hopeful for a strong comeback. I am truly thankful for being blessed with good friends who keep on popping up at an opportune time and help me get through. One day I'll make it up to you guys. Some days you just don't have it.
But on some days... .
It doesn't really matter at all.
Tito Caloy Quote of the Day:
"Habang tumatakbo ako meron kaming dalawang chiks na nakasalubong sabay sabi 'Hi Tito Caloy'! Ayos diba? Kahit di ko kakilala nag hi na din ako eh!"- On enjoying the trappings of newfound internet fame Philippine Blog Awards Verification Code : PBA09r4qqo72
Yes, Yes YES! Those were the words ringing in my head as I was sprinting to the finish line at yesterday's Philippine International Marathon 10k race. Not prematurely as was my folly in the numerous times I have faltered in the past - I made sure the celebration came when the mat was right in front of me. I took time to savor the moment... and sought to retrace the twists and turns leading up to it.
Finally! Yay! What's the big deal? To some, a sub-50 finish may not seem like a particularly big deal. But to me, it takes on a certain measure of significance as it represents the pinnacle of a particularly tough climb from the recesses of an unhealthy downward spiral. Not to mention finally getting past a mental hurdle that had incessantly gotten the best of me. I was actually so close to giving up on it already. Just let it go man. It ain't meant to be.
Not in the blood Why was this the case? I was thinking, maybe I just don't have it in me. You know how some people are just natural athletes? Introduce them to running, and right off the bat they could run a 45 minute 10k split with no training at all. I was never one of those people. Not even close. Blame it on poor genes. I have had the benefit of having totally unathletic parents, unless you consider competitive eating a sport. In high school, could never run the fastest, nor jump the highest. My friends could touch the basketball rim. I could touch the ... . board. I even tried killing myself with Jumpsoles, ever remember those things? Nah, didn't work. Not in the blood I guess.
My Dad could take this dude any day, name the place Humble BeginningsMy first 10k was a 1:28. In what was to be a precursor to my positive split strategy, I started out really fast... . only to bottom out during the 2nd half. I had no conditioning to speak of. I was also um, fat. 205 lbs. Gak. I was so conscious of my pata that I wore jogging pants. Yeah, the baggy type that was all the rage in the 1990's. I seemed to have been passed by every Tom, Dick and Harry along with Jane. Depressingly, I nearly threw up at the finish line. Yeah. Talk about being out of shape.
Grandpa beat me fair and square
Getting Ambitious Long,painstaking hours of lonesome training later and I found myself clearing the sub-60 and sub-55 marks in rapid succession. Hey, I like this. I'm actually... getting to be good at this. Admittedly, I'm a competitive running junkie. Don't know if that's a good thing, but I constantly benchmark against the very best runners in our group. I want to force myself to get better. Wanting to take my game to the next level, I discovered that lowering the bar from 55 - 50 was becoming exponentially harder.
Wanna go up the ladder? It's harder than you think.
Breakdown City
My best shot came at Ayala Eco-Dash. Let you in on my thought process during those crucial final moments :
They say that running is just as much mental as physical, sometimes even more. I completely agree, 100%. Here I was , on the cusp of beating one of my biggest running goals, and I was doing a completely chokejob. Mentally, I was messed up. I was freaking out and panicking. Prematurely celebrating, I was even thinking of a title for the blog post already. ... and ended up missing it by 15 seconds. Damn. Oh the heartbreak.
Breakdowns put you in esteemed company This is It? In an attempt to finally slay the ghosts of 10k breakdowns past, I had resolved to join this year's Philippine International Marathon. Good friend/"doping like effect coach/Conquer Corregidor head honcho Edward Kho told me "this was the flattest course I have ever ran". Knowing that the route would take me across Roxas Blvd, I said to myself,hey, maybe I'll get lucky this time. I rushed to get to the venue as early as 3:30 in a lame attempt to meet Sir Jovie aka Bald Runner to get my 1,000 Km club shirt. No such luck. I was there 3:30, took me about 40 minutes to find a parking slot. By that time they had already gone off for the start of the 42k. Boo. Maybe next time.
So in short, I waited for several hours until the 6:00 am gun. Former President FVR actually dropped by, gave us runners in the front rows a quick pep talk. He seems like a nice guy. In hindsight though, don't they all?
Panic Mode As the race began, I was a little off-tangent because everyone next to me was sprinting like a madman. You sort of get caught up in it. Or maybe that's just the sheer lack of conditioning, nursing flu-like symptoms all week. Took me some time to get into any rhythm whatsoever, and the splits showed it - 4:13. 4:35, 4:55. Oh no. It's not supposed to go down that fast . Nooooo!!!! Breathe. Relax. And just as I felt I was getting my bearings back, i ran right smack into the last thing I wanted to see - a flyover. So much for a completely flat course. Noooo. I felt my sub-50 dreams evaporate right then and there.
What a waste. I lost pace with those two flyovers. Tried pushing it, but knocked the wind out of my sails right after. Losing pace rapidly. And my woes were compounded by the 5k contingent at their turnaround point, as I had to labor through a veritable "Alay Lakad" crowd. At the 8k mark, I had a 5:17 split (worst of the race) with no relief in sight. I could barely breathe. Legs weren't there anymore. Call it a day. Game over.
Freaking out was more like it. Digging Deep Then I thought to myself. Here I go again. At Eco-dash, I gave up mentally. I just threw in the towel. Then came the realization - just 10 more minutes of agony for the glorious satisfaction of victory. I once read a quote that said "when it starts to really hurt, that's the time to push it even harder" You have no idea how much those little snippets actually helped. Digging deep, I went headhunting and went after a really speedy guy wearing a KOTR 2007 singlet. Setting aside the pain, I went for broke, knowing each second wasted brought me farther and farther away from my dream. The 9k split was starting to look encouraging. 44:10. I can do this! I ran like there was no more tomorrow. All of those days training in the rain, in the heat, at 4:00 am in the morning - this was what it all comes down to. Right then and there, you had to leave your blood and guts on the road. There simply was no other way. You HAD to want it. It wasn't going to present itself on a silver platter. And upon hitting the line, I was numb at first. Then it registered. 49:12. Oh yes. Yes. YES. I finallly did it! I finally breached the sub-50 mark!!! Yahoo!!!
My mind drifted to all those past failures, those past trials. The inherent lack of athleticism. How the goal had seemed so lurid to begin with, and steeling yourself for the eventuality that maybe you just didn't have it in you. Just let it go man. It ain't meant to be. It probably never will be. Basking in the glow of victory, i was happy, overjoyed even, that for one day at least... .
Last Sunday, all roads led to The Fort as the heavily anticipated New Balance Power Race was finally coming to fruition. Ondoy's onslaught had postponed the race from it's original Sept.27 playdate, and this gave me an opportunity to get myself a slot. As some of you may know, much to my chagrin I had missed the original registration cut, which then compelled me to make the infamous "Hitler finds out he didn't make it to New Balance" video.
I approached the race with a lot of enthusiasm as I would be joining a pace group for the first time ever. This emanated from a conversation on the Takbo.ph shoutbox, which sort of went like this :
GBM : Target ko mga 1:55 ayos nako dun. 1:57 ung PR ko, medjo sagad na. VVinceth: Kaya yan sub 1:50. 1:45 pa nga. Even splits lang tayo, 5:10 pace lang yan!jix_jixee : Uy ayos yan sama ako!markhernz: Ganun ba? Kaya yan! Game! TheRunningNinja: Game ako kahit saan, walang inuurungan!GBM: !!!!!!
Meet the Gang And thus, this ragtag pace group was born. I was hoping that running within a field of excellence, I would be prevailed upon to deliver a performance far beyond the realm of my capabilities. Hence, without further ado, let me introduce you to the members of my NB PAce Group :
Pat aka VVinceth/ The Running Safety Pin
With Bunnyyy Our de facto anchor, Pat is easily the fastest and best-credentialed runner within the group. 45 minute 10k's and sub 1:45 minute 21k's are a relative walk in the park for him. It was with his relative optimism that we were actually enjoined to gun for a time that seemed to be way beyond my capabilities. Likes long walks on the beach and bunnies.
Jix aka Jix_Jixee Another known Takbo.ph speedster whose relative pace is always about 5 minutes faster than my own, it is intended that his speedy ways would tow us to victory specially in the latter stages. His favorite movie is "The Notebook", and has an inherent dislike for Piolo that science alone could not explain.
He not likey Piolo either... Mark aka Markhernz/Running my Mouth In just a few short months, this naturally athletic dude has not only jumped from a 5k to a full marathon, but has posted times most people only dream of in their lifetime. He has a penchant for not finding baggage counters, and is a full-blooded Lasallian (useless trivia)
Masel Man Mark Sam aka TheRunningNinja If other pace groups have celebrities like Jaime Zobel deAyala or Tessa Prieto, we have our own celebrity! And he is none other than... Sam the Running Ninja! One of the most recognizable faces in the blogosphere, it never hurts to have him around :P He likes fast cars, and doesn't like motorcycles, hospitals, and Gas station restrooms.
Celebrity Ninja
Starting Corral Excitement was milling at the starting corral as the 21k runners were herded en masse. I was quite happy that Extribe was enforcing the "no check-in, no-entry rule", much in the same way that Condura does it. This makes for a much more orderly assembly. +1 brownie point to them. As Mark, Sam, and myself squeezed ourselves towards the front of the pack, we realized that Pat and Jix would be banditing the race. Sweet.
Brownie point! Fun Starting Um, Horn? As people were revving up for the starting gun, the runners spontaneously burst into laughter as the start of the race was ushered in by... a foghorn. Ooooh. Good vibes.
Foghorns = Quick Laughs
A Blistering Start The first 10k was highlighted by Pat's even split strategy reaping dividends for our group, as we covered the first 10k below 50 minutes. This had me questioning my positive splitting ways, as I essentially achieved the same result - without feeling like dying after. We gradually lost track of Mark after the 6k point, and Sam was startling the crap out of us with his "fartlek-the-hills-then-grunt-like-the-Olympic-hammer-throw-champion strategy". Apparently, this primal act (like any other) zaps the energy out of even the best of them, and by the 10th kilometer turnaround our celebrity buddy had dropped behind, leaving Pat, Jix, and myself to carry the cudgels for our group.
Primal screams... are fun.
Surpise Surprise!
In a minor shocker, speedy Jix was fading badly at the onset of the Bayani Road inclines. When one of your best runners starts to labor with the route, oftentimes your thought process would get inundiated with self-doubt. Hey, if he's fading, I've got to be next. Which brings us to the next portion of this paragraph, the "Why Did Jixee Fade At NB" contest.
Could it be :
1. He had a hot date the night before who made him mutter "Running Sux" 100 times 2. His date promised him "favors" if he accomplished #1 while finishing an entire bottle of Patron in less than 30 minutes 3. In offering the proverbial olive branch, Piolo offered to hook him up with his Kapamilya friends if he stopped pacing this GBM character, if only to make his future 21k target a lot easier.
Send in your entries, correct answer gets a prize. I'll ask Jixee the answer... ... .tomorrow.
Piolo has done it again!
And Then There Were TwoWith Jix gone, it was up to me and Pat to navigate the course. Having ran with Pat numerous times in the past, including the Botak Ultramarathon, this was not unfamiliar territory. As pacers go, it's terrific to have someone like the Energizer Bunny to drag you along when you're starting to slack off. The heat was starting to set in, and I needed all of the help that I could get.
Keeps going... . and going... and going... .All By Myself... . Heading up to somewhere around the 13th or 14th km, cruise control mode was suddenly jarred when Ultraman Pat said "Una ka na". I thought, this was bordering on absurdity. No way Pat could fade, I mean, this is a guy that eats 100k for breakfast. I comforted myself in thinking this was a ploy with deeper profound meaning. In retrospect, I should have kept in mind that Pat was tapering for his Singapore marathon the following week. But at that point, with the heat of the sun beating down on me, this took me off my game plan. I had my work cut out for me then.
What's up Master Pat's sleeve?The Exag Hills From that point on, I would only see Pat one more time. He would fartlek to me, then fade back. Still no idea why he was doing that at the time. But i was steeling myself for the long haul. We had built enough of a cushion that I was on pace for a 1:49 or 1:50 finish if I kept my act together. But then... . the hills happened. Wow. These people know their stuff. What were they thinking?
Cut scene to Extribe Route Formulation Meeting over drinks
Extribe Person #1 : Why not at the end, let's add one loop around Mckinley? Drunk Extribe Person #2 : Weeeeeh. That's sooooo generic. Make it two! Bwahahahaah. Sadistic and Drunk Extribe Person # 3 : Whatever! I ain't running anyway! I hate athletic people! Make it three! Bwahahahahaahah! Chorus: Bwahahaahahahahahahaha!!!!
Scene at Extribe before finalizing race routeSo to make a long story short, they saved the hardest part of the race for last. We did practically three loops around that hilly area in Mckinley stretching to the British embassy and Enderun. Ugh. Under the beating heat of the sun,I surrendered three fat mid-6ish splits towards the end, and our hard-built lead was gone. Thankfully, it was still still substantial enough to snag me a 1:54:01 finish, good enough for a new 21k PR and 111th place amongst a very tough field of more than a 1,000 half-marathon runners. If we had hit out target 1:50 or below, that would have been good enough for somewhere around 70th place. As I said, tough crowd... because at QCIM my 1:57 was good for 47th place. More training! :)
Exhausted Gingerbread folk near the finish courtesy of the irrepresible BR blog Overall, kudos to Extribe for a good, albeit sadistic job on this race.Seriously though, I had no complaints whatsoever, this was as good as it gets in terms of race organization. Better known for their multisport events, Extribe is slowly building strong brand equity in the running scene. All of their races that I have ran so far have been very good. I know there was a slight snafu with the 10k route, a mystery that has since been solved. With all things said and done, I'm pretty sure good ol' Hitler is churning in his grave now for missing one heck of a race. :P
Murphy's Law (mur-feez lo) - humorous adage or epigram that typically connotes a situation where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Murphy's Law. Sigh. Those dreaded two words have pretty much haunted mankind since time immemorial. Little did I know that it would apply to your fun Gingerbread scribe on a mundane Sunday morning race. Actually, I should have paid more attention to certain signs early on as a portent of things to come.
I not likey. Prologue
Having been out of commission for nearly a month while recovering from BDM , I've been quite antsy to race again. The ITBS that plagued me in Bataan was all but gone, and I've been able to string together a couple of pain-free training weeks. I targeted the Nat-Geo 10k run as my comeback race, only because people were jumping up and down over its cool freebie shirt. Besides, the riveting (smirk) MOA flatlands should be good for my knees.
Then I realized they were charging 700 effin bucks for a miserly 10k.Hmmm... ..
No WAY.
Pricey. Thus, I had to do some sort of rationalization to justify spending a day and a half's minimum wage on a 10k. And at MOA to boot.
But... . I really wanted that shirt. I really, Really, REALLY wanted it. So, 700 bucks equates to P300 registration then I just "imagine" I bought a cool P400 shirt plus the satisfaction of knowing that I'm actually "running for the earth" in a mall complex that was once, well, part of the sea . Makes sense right? What fun.
Never knew a runner who could turn down a nice shirt
Missed Signs
Maybe I just don't know how to take a hint. So I troll out to BHS on the last day of registration during my lunch break, was assuming the whole thing wouldn't take that long. To my horror, I was advised by the amiable manong guard at Nike Park (who incredibly knew which shirt sizes were still in stock. Promotion due.) that the Nat Geo person would come in at 1- 1:30 pm. Which meant an hour of sheer drudgery while waiting. Thus, I had no recourse but to troop to the nearest fancy coffee joint to burn time. Ugh.
He's better than some of the salesmen there. An hour or so (and P150 poorer) later, I come in and find a mob scene. Apparently, the Nat Geo dude came in at exactly 1pm and people are jumping over one another. After I come in five minutes later to get in on the action, I am informed in the most glacial manner that they had just sold the last slots to the two ladies to my left.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
As my blood pressure went through the roof, I attempted to explain that I was there before anyone, I just stepped out to grab some coffee. Guy wouldnt budge. Sorry ser huli na talaga yun eh. DANG. This needed drastic action. Several options that were forming in my head at light speed :
1. Use my Gingerbread pseudo-celebrity status by exchanging a slot for my highly-coveted autograph or photo op.
Inherent risk : Cold, icy stare followed by "Never heard of you, you deluded fool. Security!!"
2. Use my not-so- pseudo-celebrity sister as bait by promising a nice, all-expense paid date with her in any Palawan resort of his choice.
Inherent risk : The dude would actually say yes. Gulp.
You can disown me now Ate (x_x) Realizing that both were not exactly feasible, I had no recourse but to go for the oldest trick in the book... .
And voila, I happily walk out with bib and shirt in hand. And yet, I should have taken this near-misstep as a mere prelude what lay ahead... ..
Raceday Sunday Fast-forward several days and there I was anxiously putting on my gear on a hazy Sunday morning, a ritual that I have sorely missed over the last couple of months. As I was traversing an otherwise traffic-free EDSA, that 80's song "The Name Game" by Laura Branigan came on. And it drove me absolutely nuts. It was like I was under some hypnotic trance, unable to change the station for nearly 6 minutes. Should have taken it as another sign. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I couldn't find a clip on YouTube due to some copyright crap but I did find the original 60's one :
A Case of the Misinformed
Now, I went there under the pretext that the race would be starting at 6 am . Or at least that was what my good buddy/blogger extraordinaire/Milo Nationals finalist Natz told me. Being the original moderator at Takbo.ph, and one of the people who taught me a lot of running stuff as a 200 lb. fattie noob, I have immense respect for the guy. So I was there at 5 am thinking I had an hour to burn. This is where the fun starts. To sum it all up, this is how the next 30 minutes unfolded :
1. Guy waits 20 minutes for Lotto-like line to parking 2. Guy finally reaches entrance 3. "Ser, pono na poh eh sa kabila na lang" 4. Guy freaks out and endures several minutes of hair pulling 5. Goes to the next parking area. 6. With about 4 cars to the entrance, hears the siren and sees the 10k lead pack lead go out. 7. More hair pulling and a lot of Exorcist-like gyrations in car.
GBM lost his nerve
First time. Ever. I was at a loss coming to terms with the fact that I was actually late for a race. No freaking way. I was unnerved that I parked my car nearly diagonally much to the chagrin of Manong guard. I could really care less. So there I was, sprinting for the starting corral, and had to muscle my way through the throng of 3k and 5k runners. Quick check-in, and I was off. Nearly 10 minutes behind everyone else.
Quare mihi Murphy? Yeah. Why me Mr. Murphy? So here I am, with no warm-up and stretching, attempting to hack out my 10k positive split. Que Horror. 1k split - 4:22. Okay, not so bad. I felt like I was in one of those racing video games where you get a nitro boost and are passing everyone left and right. Dang, thirsty already. Haven't done this in a while. I reach for my hydration and OH. I left it in the car. Great. My kind of day.
By the 3k mark I really had to drink already. Went for a stop at the water station and the water was ... . hot. Not lukewarm. Hot. As in, ready for afternoon tea hot. Another unsolved mystery of the universe.
Mid-race tea any one?
Alay Lakad anyone? At the 5k mark, split was at 22:58. Decen t, b ut not where I wanted it to be. The lack of preparation and race rust was glaring. Nearing 6k, that's where it happened. I got stonewalled en masse by a throng of 5k runners who were walking the narrow roads of the course. Ugh. I was forced to stop at least three times by the Alay Lakad- like procession Ahhh, the dangers of starting at the back of the pack in a looped race. Flustered, I just saw my Sub-Piolo bid fly out of the window.
Stonewalled again.
It can't get any better than this Reaching the homestretch, I attempted a last-ditch albeit demoralized rally. Splits were improving, then suddenly I felt a slight twinge at my ITB. Hopeless. It was apparent that it was nowhere near 100% . I just had to gut out the final 1.5 k with the lingering feeling that I could blow out my knee at any time. I gingerly hit the 10k split at 49:24 , nowhere near my best time. I then gingerly jogged the final 40om, because as MOA races go, the excess distance is becoming somewhat of a trademark already. My Murphy's Law race was finally over.
10k? Nah.
Post -Mortem After the race, I barely saw anyone from the team. Seems everyone went to Earth Run. I couldn't blame them, that was like half the price of this race. Hung out with a profusely apologetic Natzter (who offered to buy me breakfast) and galpal Beth along with multisport dude Jason after. So was the race worth 700 bucks? For the shirt, maybe. It's an open market anyway, with so many races runners have their pick of the lot. It featured a lot of booths to keep the people busy after, and I had this feeling that a lot of people there had a feeling that they were running for a good cause. It's also an exercise in utilizing the power of a strong brand to reel people in. Case study for future mid-sized races.
Ran into officemate Dette. More people running yeah!
Bromance mode with th e Natzter
Fun at the Natgeo Video Truck
Natz and Beth pointing at some weird guy As for me, it's apparent that I'm a long way off. The knee swelled up after, so im now in RICE and Salonpas roller mode. I'll give it another shot in two weeks or so. Take it easy everyone, stay away from Mr. Murphy! I'll see you on the road!
The world is a beautiful place, almost always. But at times it can also be a disruptive swirling mess. And I find that sometimes to write a honest, truthful. Blog post.
That uplifts, engages, and inspires. Without venting. Or complaining. To share parts of my life, the happy parts. The good parts. In a thousand words. Or. Less. The honest, truly real parts. Without the bad, the overly sad. Or the awful added in for that wow effect. Sometimes for me. It turns out to be one of the hardest things I can strive to achieve at times. To keep my voice real, authentic, natural. To come to the computer after a dazzlingly difficult day, and flush it all away. Bend those fingers over the keyboard, focus the eyes on the screen. And look inward, to my center, to find something good to write about. Something good that you, who take the time to visit this blog. Can take away.
Mull over, think about. Enjoy looking at. And feel good after reading. Because I think we all need that. It can be a challenge at times. But life is all about challenges isn’t it? And you, who read what I write. Who look at what I photograph. Who know me through this blog. And beyond. You who leave comments that make me think, dream, and warm my heart. Well you, are so worth it. Truly. So I want to know? What about you? How do you manage to come to the blogging table each time, thinking good thoughts, and being positive. How do you find your center? Despite life, and it’s huge array of challenges that we all go through each day. I need to tell you. That sometimes for me… To come here, and write, think, share words, and photos, to connect with all of you. Who have been here long, and those new. To not bring to the table the problems that life throws at all of us. To stand straight, to be cheerful, and pleasant, and smile. It’s not always easy.
And that’s not what this post is about. I have found that when I take a moment, look inside. To find my own personal center. Things change. They slow down, they stand back and let me breathe. And. That’s important to me. Because this blog is supposed to be fun. And I want to keep it that way. I want to grow, to stay fresh. I can see it in my work, my photos, my words. When I get to that center. Bulls eye. When I can say what I mean, and it shows in my work. How about you? What do you do, to find your center, in a swirling world.
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?
Christmas is over, I’ve noticed those who are taking down the decorations, and removing the tree already. Turning the house back into something of order, for another year. For those of us who don’t decorate until the week before Christmas, and put the tree up on the Eve of… it’s still a few days to go.
There are those who leave their seasonal decor up until February… but to each their own. I personally will leave our creamy white lights up until the days lengthen enough to close the curtains just before dinner. “Call me a rebel, why don’t you.” But with grey foggy days, and a whopping 14 inch snowfall of fluffy white stuff between yesterday, and today, I think I am justified. They’re wrapped around the bench on the front porch… not too Christmassy to leave up for a little while longer. Lately I’ve noticed that every time I take my down fill jacket off, there always seems to be a feather stuck somewhere on my clothes… Could I be moulting? A small price to pay for comfort, and warmth… because the snow is unpacking even more cold weather from it’s suitcase… it’s going to be brrrrr cold they tell us. What’s it like where you live, a cold winter, or is it balmy for this time of the year? Take a look at the photos in this post, I took them yesterday, add about another 5 or 6 inches to that and you should be around what we are looking at today.
Something really interesting has happened this winter. It’s now our 3rd winter… and the first one that I have really opened my heart to. Fully experiencing it in all it’s bitterness, darkness, and braving the outdoors as much as I can. “The cold is rather delightful, I know… I’m in shock that I wrote that also.” Even when it’s really, really cold, such as back in November. I try to walk outside as much as I can. Here’s how I see it, there are no mosquitoes… although it does make gardening a little hard, when it’s all hidden under that white stuff. But it’s doable this year… I’m starting to wonder if I am acclimatizing. And I am no longer lamenting the lack of things to photograph… or the lack of light.amazing what a positive, determined, talking to your inner photographer will do for your outlook.
The Halloween pumpkins we had saved were cracked open and tossed into the trees in the front yard, right next to the bird feeder. They are there for the deer, who really appreciate the nibbles when it’s this cold. And then the other day we saw two deer sauntering out in front of our house in the middle of the day, I would have taken a photo but… “They were late for lunch up the road, and not willing to hang around for me to get my camera.” As they passed through the trees, I could almost imagine that they were Santa’s reindeer, they looked similar, and they paid no attention to the cars coming down the street. Winter will demand it’s payment in January… due date much sooner then we expected… the weather will be cold and snowy. But I have a few tricks up my down covered sleeve also, so take that Winter! What about you? Are you dreading the next few wintery cold months, or will you just breeze through it? Thinking warm thoughts, and sipping hot chocolate.
47:53 . Those were the numbers flashing in my head as we were awaiting the starting gun. What's so significant about this figure? To those who have been hanging out in caves lately, matinee idol Piolo Pascual turned the general running populace upside down with an earth-shattering 47:54 performance at Timex, a staggering time for someone whom purists term a "non-runner".
Meaning, he doesn't exactly eat, sleeps and think running as, er, the rest of us do. Thus it has been a sort of rallying cry to beat his time at all costs, if only for my "eating-Piolo's-dust-then-waking-up-in-cold-sweat-at-3am" episodes to cease.
The Venue Aptly dubbed the BF Pasko Run, The Village Sports Club played host to this race, which turned out to be a welcome respite from your usual diet of BHS and UP runs. By my estimate, the race had about 400-500 runners, and gave off the warm, communal vibe that "south" races typically offer. Pretty good deal too - for P350 you get a dri-fit singlet (very wearable) and an RFID tag. Not bad at all.
The Reinforcement
The so-called "Kanto Boyz" pace group ( someone please think of a better name) had its debut at New Balance with mostly positive results for everyone. So it didn't hurt that we had an elite reinforcement to help bolster our cause. One of the nicest guys at Takbo.ph, Wilnar had always told me that he never enjoyed too much success playing basketball, and that it was one of his biggest frustrations.
Evil Basketball Teammate : Wala kang shooting! Wala kang depensa! Lay-up lang, airball pa! Pangtakbuhan ka lang eh! Wag ka na lang kaya maglaro! (throws ball forcibly to Wilnar)
(pan camera to Wilnar with lips quivering, and with mist building in corner of eye)
Wilnar : Makikita nyo... . sisikat din ako... .. may araw din kayo... ..
You mean you don't want me on the team no more?Then he had a Eureka moment - why not he move into a sport that involves running... . and pretty much nothing else? That he did, and the rest is history. A 40 minute 10k and 3:38 marathon later (not to mention a TNF trail runner-up finish) and he is well-entrenched as one of the strongest runners in our group. He tagged along out of sheer boredom, and I successfully pitched him the idea of anchoring the pace group along with Pat. Surely, having the presence of such strong runners could only help the rest of us improve our times.
Wilnar with Internet legend Tito Caloy The Mass With not too may people around, it wasn't exactly a logistical nightmare for the organizers in terms of their pre-race onsite registration and singlet claiming. In short, things were running smoothly and it seemed that we were going to start on time. Come 6:00 am, we were all revved up and ready to go as the host was reading out sponsor names. Then, she called on one last guest - the neigborhood parish priest to give the opening prayer.
Opening prayers are well, opening prayers right? They typically last for about a minute. But Father was obviously on a roll, and could care less about heat or starting times. Not that I blame him though ; his line of expertise culls influence from a higher power. Thus, he could make us wait all day if he wanted. In common parlance, this would be a walang palag moment. And it made for a heck of a lot of unintentional comedy.
As the "opening prayer" (with matching responsorial psalm) hit the 10-minute-and counting mark, the runners around me were going absolutely crazy as they could NOT get mad even if they wanted to. For your enjoyment, here are some sound bites from within hearing range :
"Father, patawarin ninyo ako pero magkakasala ako kung tagagal pa to"
"Counted na ba to para sa Misa mamaya?"
"Uy san ung misalette?"
"Sana naglabas muna sila ng Monoblock"
"Oist bastos patayin mo nga iPod mo may Misa!"
As the final "Amen" reverberated across the starting corral to racuous cheers worthy of World Youth Day, the host (who looked as uncomfortable as any of us) immediately started the countdown. And so it begins... ..
Walang Palag :) The Peloton Falls Apart... Very Quickly
Apparently, the anxiety of waiting too long got to my pace buddies, and they shot off the starting block like a bunch of maniacs. I simply could not keep up. Given four good training days the week prior, it was expected that I'd be operating at a higher level of fitness. I was fading very badly, about a hundred meters from the rest of the gang. The I took a look at my 305. 600m... . at 3:45 km/min.
Wha?? 3:45?????? What the fudge??? What happened to our even split strategy? No wonder I felt like dying. I assumed the rest of the gang was running at a 3:30. And to add more to our quandary, Mark suddenly shot out like Usain Bolt and overtook everybody, even Wilnar and Pat. We assumed he did a Max HR 3:00 split, but what the heck was my good buddy thinking as well? Amidst all this confusion, I tried hard to normalize my breathing and get my wits about me. We still had a LONG way to go.
Peloton falls apart... very quickly.Getting it together
I gradually settled down, and eventually passed Mark (who must have been completely gassed by his fartlek move) and Jix ( winded by the horrible start as well) I once read an article on Ryan Hall, and his coach was saying that even if you go just ten seconds faster than your intended pace, your fallout could be as much as 60% over the course of the entire race.Suffice to say, I was extremely gassed. And mind you, the course was not easy. It was a sustained rolling course, with the incline at the Tirona area mimicking Mckinley quite accurately. There wasn't as much "completely flat" ground as I had expected. My anaerobic reserves have been depleted very early, and I felt i was running on sheer guts. The fade was starting to kick in... .
The Man In KOTR Red
It was not the first time we had met. At PIM, we were going at it the last 2k. Obviously an experienced runner, he was really, really strong and I was trying my best to use him as a target. Here, we met again, and it was a seesaw battle. Fading badly and with smirking Piolo hallucinations in front of me, I decided that every second counts. And this guy was my key. I would try overtaking him, then he'll catch up. We''ll go neck and neck, and he'll pass me. Was like a boxing prizefight. However, in my diminished positive split state, I felt he was definitely stronger, and he eventually put in a quick burst that left me gasping. Nonetheless, that precocious pseudo-rivalry no doubt slashed precious seconds off my time. I eventually passed him, but not after he had slowed that to pace with what I assume was his wife.
So to the Man In KOTR Red, whoever you are, thank you for the push. And I look forward to running with you in future races again.
KOTR 2007 singlet = Strong, experienced runner Bittersweet Endings
Suffice to say, I didn't beat Piolo.A fat 5:17 split at km 9 all but sealed it. Missed the bus by 39 seconds. But still a happy run because I took in a 48:33, good enough for 22nd place in the race. Wilnar took 14th, Pat 19th, Jix 27th and Mark 32nd. Not bad for a crazy start. I still believe that if we had maintained an even split we had a shot at it.
One last thing. I would like to acknowledge the honesty of our new Takbo.ph members Mike and Eden, hubby and wife team. Eden was mistakenly awarded 3rd place for the ladies 5k, when in fact she had only run 3k. Some sort of mixup. They could have taken the loot and ran. But they told me about it, and I relayed the info to the organizers so that the rightful winner could be called. Now that's what I call a class act!
Overall, nicely organized community run with matching raffle at the end. Of course given my luck at raffles, I didn't win anything. At the Takbo.ph Christmas party I won... .. English proficiency lessons. I guess that says it all. (x_x)
Congratulations to Tiffin and Zinnia for taking podium finishes in their respective categories. RFID worked pretty good this time, a variance of only 8 seconds from what my 305 registered. I genuinely enjoyed this, and I'd give it a go again next time around. Congratulations everyone on your respective finishes! Keep on running to burn away those Christmas Party fats haha :)
You have got to be kidding me. No way. Inhuman effort at Nike Human? Goodbye sub-50 dreams. A steep incline seemed to be sardonically staring me down just as I was gathering momentum. I figured, yeah I'll ride it out and hang on, I have enough in the tank and enough of a pace bank. Little did I know, that was easier said than done.
But hey, what the heck am I talking about? For the sake of literary jurisprudence, a short backgrounder.
Strictly speaking, the Nike + Human Race 10k was originally conceptualized in 2008 as a relative point of convergence for runners from nearly 30 key cities from all over the world. The routes would pass through some pretty awesome sights, for instance in Istanbul you run across the bridge that connects Europe to Asia. Utilizing Nike + technology, a case could be made for the "the world is flat" paradigm as thousands of runners all over the world could log on to the Nike website and upload their times , essentially engaging in a virtual competition in a race that knows no borders.
Bridge between Asia and Europe is... Cool. To spice things up, there are different Nike Ambassadors assigned per country. The Philippines had five, all with teams under them that add up to the virtual tally board on race day. In terms of representation, runner blogger par excellance Bards Bathan of Bananarunning took up the cudgels for the general blogosphere.
Who was your ambassador?Even if Manila was not chosen as a key city for this year's event, the race actually took on a greater cause in the wake of recent calamities that have struck the country. For every kilometer ran by a Nike + Sportband user who took up the Nike Ambassador challenge, P10 would be donated on their behalf. In addition to that , finishers would have P100 of their registration fee donated to Gawad Kalinga efforts for Typhoon Ondoy victims.
So now that you know all about it, what exactly happened on race day?
Remy Field. Subic Bay Freeport. 4:00 pm. So I'm here at the impressive track oval of Remy Field, just a few minutes away from our hotel at Forest View. Some of the Takbo.ph gang have already gathered around, some of them running their maiden 10k's like Lorie and Bea/Notsquare .
As people were milling around aimlessly, there was a certain palpable degree of uncertainty over the whole thing. Why? If you are used to the whole "event-style" weekend runs as of late, roughly 30 minutes before gun time it seemed as though there was nothing going on. No fancy American accent DJ host blurting out ads and wittycisms, no hot Fitness First gal to do stretching, no Pia Cayetano giving words of inspiration, no Luke Mijares to sing "Love of my Life" (oops got ahead of myself there).
Sorry Luke, you're up for the next column I was somehow expecting a shtick of some sort, just because it was Nike. Nah. Not a few runners approached me and asked "Sir, tuloy ba?" . I really didn't know what to tell them. But hey, I could care less. I came here for the thrills, not the frills. Although frills never hurt anyone :)
Remy Field. Subic Bay Freeport. 4:25 pm. Out of nowhere, an emcee abruptly announced that the race would be starting in 5 minutes. I looked around, and by my estimate about 200-250 runners were there. Slated to run the 21k event the following day, my mind was fixated on a quick, flat run. A run wherein if I get lucky, I could nab that elusive sub-50 without expending too much energy. The utopian in me got a bit carried away I guess. Quick countdown, quick prayer, and let's see how this thing unravels.
Kilometer 1-2 . Resisting Temptation.
Positioned near the starting line, the lead pack of runners took off in a blinding burst of speed. I estimated though that there were about 30 runners running like there was no tomorrow, can't have that many elites around right? So I resisted the temptation of going at it guns blazing... and my calculations turned out to be correct. One by one their pace dropped, and by the time we got to Km 2, I had passed about 10 of the early birds already. Was cruising at 4:35 - 4:39 km/min, felt pretty strong at this point. I was thinking, if I can build enough of a big lead during the first half, I could hang on for a nice touch to my weekend. Turns out, the fates weren't agreeable with me today.
Hard to resist the temptation to go all out when people are passing you.
Kilometer 2-5 Better Luck Next Time.
Just when I was getting comfy, the incline that came into view took the wind out of my sails. An extremely steep, curving incline that instantly reminded me of those that I had faced in Baguio (I walked) and Corregidor ( easy run, I got really tired) . With no hill training over the past two weeks, I churned in a big fat 6:12 split over the stretch. My pace plummeted all the way down to 5:30 . I was getting more and more zapped by the minute. With my positive split strategy, no way I could make up that big of a differential in a diminished state. That was it. Game over. Better luck next time. Uwian na. But then again... .
Missing the sub-50 worse than getting "basted"? Kilometer 5-8 What Goes Up, Goes Down : The Final Stand I stopped for a moment at the 5k water station to get my bearings back. I traveled all the way here, spent a couple of bucks on a hotel, for what? For this pedestrian effort? C'mon quit whining and get it going. I made a resolute effort to give this my shot. If I'm going down, I'm going down on my shield. At the risk of blowing out my quads, I blazed through the downhill portion with splits of 4:08, 4:12, and 4:18. Gave it all I got . And yet again, this only managed to get the pace down to 5:02. Gulp.
Make it worth your time and don't go down without a fight Kilometer 8-10 . Accepting reality. Having brought down my pace to some semblance of respectability, I was fast fading. I was hoping that after my final assault, I would be at borderline below 5 minutes. Not happening. So the key is to be realistic, just accept that it isn't your day, and go on to fight another battle. But I still had 2 kms to reconcile. I had a bike escort with me, which was cool. The bike escort couldn't do anything about the truck fumes that were right in my face as we negotiated the route though.
As I was reentering the Remy Field oval attempting to chase down a powerful runner (I affectionately dubbed him Energizer Bunny ) who was about 20-30 seconds ahead of me, I suddenly realized that I cleared 10k much earlier! The distance turned out to be in excess of 450 meters, or nearly half a kilometer. Finished strong with a split time of 52:01. The reality was, I missed my goal. But given that monstrous incline, satisfied nonetheless
The reality is, I gave it my best. But my best wasn't good enough.
The Aftermath What a race! I enjoyed it, even in a masochistic sort of way. The buzzword amongst the finishers was "!@#$ na hills yan". Even Jaymie/TBR agreed that it was one of the toughest, if not the toughest 10k of the year. Somehow got ensnared in an interview for QTV along with Ambassador Bards afterwards, gak :)
What freebies did I get? An uber cool, exclusive Nike Human duffel bag (okay so it's the same thing they gave away at QCIM but it's still cool), one Pocari Sweat and one water. I heard beforehand there was supposed to be some sort of finisher's Nike bracelet or band, didn't really see anyone with it.
What could be improved for next time
Nothing to lose sleep over, but still noteworthy to mention for future considerations. Distance was in excess of 420-450 meters, matched this with mine and 3 other people with a Garmin. There were no water stations after the turnaround point, woe to the newbie runner or those making a jump to 10k. Also, the people kept on sticking around for the results, the emcee kept on stalling until after the SIM winners arrived to keep the people there. It was announced more than 3 hours after the finish, and by that time I had to leave to support the rest of the team at km34. Went back after the whole thing was over, and had to badger the ACSAT people for the results. Took 15th place out of 270 overall , my first time to crack the top 15 of any race, so hooray. :)
To conclude, the route itself provided a lot of thrills for those who ran. It was definitely not your typical weekend 10k. And knowing that P100 of my money would go to a GK project for Ondoy victims makes my screaming quads a whole lot happier. No-frills , lots of thrills, even more uphills. In spite and despite, was proud to have been part of this.
(starts writing letter to Nike making Manila a key city in 2010) :P
"To describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."- Hal Higdon, running coach
As of this writing, I am still recovering from the effects, both physical and emotional, of my first-ever marathon. Yes, my very first full mary. The big V word. Surprised? Yes, your fun Gingerbread scribe was a veritable newbie at the Condura Skyway Marathon. Although not a stranger to the distance having completed a 50k ultramarathon eons ago (okay maybe it was just last year), this was my first stab at racing a 42k. So how did it go? Let's do a quick backgrounder first.
Always the running event of the year
"The will to win means nothing if you haven't the will to prepare." - Juma Ikangaa, 1989 NYC Marathon winner
Having never actually "trained" for anything before and content to do mindless Gingerbread jagging with more emphasis on pacute than pakondisyon , I had planned for Condura to be my debut marathon as early as October. Using a program concocted by buddy/masochist/monster Edward Kho of Conquer Corregidor fame (he threw down a scintillating 3:27 by the way) , I proceeded to immerse myself in the so-called science of the sport. Tempo runs. Intervals. Ladders. Hill Work. Yasso 800's. Things that had sounded absolutely Greek to me became staples of my everyday routine.
Much to my surprise,the effects of the program were immediate and remarkably consistent. Each race seemed to incredibly usher in the advent of a new personal best. By the time that Condura beckoned, I had chopped 6 minutes off my 10k time and about 37 minutes from my 21k. Brimming with confidence, I had high hopes for my debut marathon. Feeling as good as I've felt in years, this Gingerbread newbie was ready to conquer that breezy, mid-morning party in the southern sky.
Newbies have it hard.
"The marathon can and will humble you. " - Bill Rodgers , four-time Boston Marathon winner
I really had no idea what to expect. Certain "scientific" calculations had me primed for a highly aspirational time based off my 10k and 21k results. But I had my doubts. While my speed work was fine, I had been remiss on my Sunday long runs - a byproduct of increasing family and work demands. The longest runs I had put in were two 30k dingers, and even if I felt in my gut that this was lacking, my innate stubbornness was telling me that my training and heart would somehow bring me home. Misguided naievity? But then again, this mindset has somehow paid dividends in the past. Let's see how the whole thing unravels with my retro race diary,I'll even put in a time stamp so it's like we're actually there.
Retro Race Diary?
2:30 : I wake up in a dazed, zombie-like state, the anxious effects of having roughly three hours and 37 seconds worth of sleep written all over my face. As with most newbies, I could barely sleep the night before. Tossed, turned, then eventually settled on watching an illicit copy of Spirit Of The Marathon. Thank God for YouTube. Much to my chagrin though, I didn't cry. Sob.
3:30 : With no traffic to contend with, I had an unexpectedly easy time parking. Hydrobelt? Check. Ipod? Check. Condura 2009 "street cred" spare shirt?Check. Wallet and license? Um, er, gulp. I'm screwed.
3:45 : After spending about 10 minutes getting lost looking for the starting corral, I finally saw my running buddies. Admittedly, I'm tense. Tight even. Too many thoughts going on in my head. Strategies. Nutrition. Pace. That Yeng Constantino song that's always on Love Radio. Fudge, I give up. I have come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I'm getting myself into. P.S- I got some grief for showing up in white shorts. UGH.
Yeng Constantino Fanboy?
4:00 : Well-modulated (and perhaps well-paid) host leads a fun countdown that seemed half a second behind. He must have been sleepy. It's funny how he prods people that "we have a wonderful surprise for you ", when it's so obvious that he's referring to a fireworks display to open the race. Anticlimactic to a certain extent, but made room for some unintentional comedy.
Host : 3, 2, 1... .. and now here's your surprise!
(eerie silence)
Host: Here! Game! Now na! Now! Now!
Fireworks are always fun though, awesome start to any race.
I love fireworks. 4:15 : For some insane reason, I thought I could hang with the big boys on this. I started with a pace group that included Junrox, Totoy, Chris and Wilnar, all certified monsters. Why the uncalled for bravado? Once again, I have to reiterate that I have no idea how to approach this. I'm a serial positive splitter in the short to middle distances. So I guess I was sticking close to home for this. Also, the idea was to maintain a 5:00- 5:10 minute pace for the first 21k, something not completely unattainable based from my previous results.
Note to self : Every time I'm with Wilnar in a pace group, something crazy happens. For instance, this 10k race in BF the plan was to open with a 4:30 min/km pace. Race begins. Less than 5 minutes later I can't breathe. Glance to watch - 3:45. Yeah! So here , less than 3k into the race, I was straining. Not so much, but noticeable. Glance to watch - 4:30! 4:30!!! Whatever happened to 5:10? Wilnar has done it again! With a rabid fear of bottoming out later on, I motioned to the speedsters that I would be falling back.
And with labored b reathing defining my every step, I was all alone once more. 4:51 : 51 minute 10k. 3 minutes slower than usual. I think am doing good. I feel the pressure. I feel.. like I'm fading. What? No way! This early? As I go down to Buendia coming from Kalayaan, people are starting to catch up with me. What is going on? Seems the ol' mental makeup is shaky today. Team Hardcore Ultraman/Frontrunner Magazine progenitor Jonel "Bugobugo" Mendoza caught up with me, and it was a tremendous blessing that he was there. The pleasant conversation towed me through the near-entirety of Buendia, and for awhile things seemed... okay.
5:15 : Entering the Skyway. Being a 10k runner last year, this was my first time. And it sure was awesome. Well, until the part that I couldn't breathe anymore. Gasp. What to do what to do. Not good. Hey, my first and only time to be on the Skyway for free! Yipee! Gasp.
Conquering... . is easier said than done 5:30: Ominous statement of the day from some random guy who kept on talking to me on the road - "You're going too fast, you're going too fast! We have to take it slow or we burn out right away". Sounds like my ex-girlfriend on our first date. Smirk.
Let's take it slow? 5:39: They say that too much thinking can kill a man. And it's true. I fussed so much about my strategy that I ended up doing things I never really do. I walked all water stations, ostensibly to save on energy. But each time, the person I was running with was so far off that I couldn't catch up anymore. I felt my heart rate plummet every time I stopped. Something was going to go awry. I could feel it. Jonel disappeared from the horizon. So did Takbo.ph buddy Kampugers (don't judge me, it's a term of endearment) when I took a break. Panic was setting in. I was going nowhere real fast.
5:59 : Halfway mark. 1:59. In the vernacular, tipid na tipid? At nine minutes off my regular time, the prevailing mindset here is that the energy I'm conserving will get me through. Celebrity sighting : Jaymie/TBR. She looks awful strong out there. I could have sworn she was running with white compression shorts model/Runnr guru OJ. Gave a lame, token attempt to run with them, and poof! I eat dust. Note to self : Buy white compression shorts.
Classic OJ here. 6:30 : Pain (p
n) - An unpleasant sensation occurring in varying degrees of severity as a consequence of injury, disease, or emotional disorder. Pain. Yeah. At roughly the 25k mark, I was in a lot of it. The pressure, over-analyzation, and a glaring lack of long runs most probably caused a way premature case of cramps and wall-bonking. Really odd. At Baldie Rizal Day 32k, at around the same point I felt I could have gone all day. Here, I was spent. As runner after runner passed me, the prospect of a strong finish was slowly slipping away.
What was really happening at 25k
7:00 : Getting hot. Am starting to slip into a dazed, zombie-like mode. Oftentimes, I'd try to latch on to people I know, casual conversation helps take your mind off the pain. Oftentimes I'd stop. Mentally, I'm in shambles. I thought I prepared well enough for this.
7:15 : I just realized for the first time that hey, it's nice here in the Skyway. Awesome even. I was so engrossed with all this competitive running-related crap that I'm starting to forget the little joys of our sport.
Find the joy in it GBM! 7:25 : Badly fading toward the latter stretch, I saw Condura boss Pat Concepcion along with his pseudo entourage. In a terrible daze, I willed myself to run with their group if only to get towed a kilometer or two.With the cameras rolling, he must have been wondering who was this weird character running behind him, posing for pictures even with a weird smile. Aaah the joys of Gingerbread anonymity.
It pays to be part of the Patcon entourage7:30 : Sound bite from Milo National finalist Vener/Run Unlimited nearing 32k - "Musta newbie? Tara let's go konti na lang! Mag 6mpk tayo!" As much as I wanted to, my legs had already gone to some Carribean island sipping ice tea on the beach while I had to drag their useless carasses around. Hmph.
7:50 : Oh thank God for the Takbo.ph aid station! Having manned this in the past, I was never really able to fully grasp the value of this altruistic initiative until I was on the receiving end. While experiencing a level of pain somewhere in between "roasting over hot coals" and "multiple astral projections", there's no better salve than warm smiles from supportive friends with a side helping of healthy encouragement. I was so warped by this point that when I ran into moody buddy/podium regular Zinnia on her bike, I have reason to believe this following conversation actually took place :
Z : Just a couple more meters to the aid station! We have stuff for you there! GBM : Grunt. Uuuuuuh. Z: Hoooooooy!! Are you okaaay? GBM : Uuuuuuuuuh
Z : Anyway, just go there! Zombie! I was so overjoyed to have recovering speedster Mac and an unknown, muscular man we shall just call "Manong" massage my weary legs. I guess it's the only time I'll ever thoroughly enjoy a massage given by two , er, men. Que handed me a banana, and Sir Amado's snapped up some pictures. All these served as a welcome respite, and I felt like I was on a rejuvenated high entering the homestretch.
Manong's steady hands did the trick8:20 : Kalayaan Flyover redux beckons. Been a worthy adversary on so many occassions. I think I've solved it though. But... . not... . on... .. this... . dang I gotta walk. Kalayaan Flyover 7, GBM 6.
8:30 : So near yet so far. Nearing collapse, I am dazed, confused, and running completely on empty.
8:40: This seems to be the longest 3km stretch of my life.Oh my god. You have got to be kidding me. When is it going to end? Just as I am about to sprawl on the pavement, I run into running bloggers Vicky (incredibly running a marathon on a whim! Awesome!) and hot bod Rodel/Argonaut. We are all pretty much in the same boat, literally crawling. Peace by inches. Have... . to... .. gut.. this... out.
8:45: Trying to fartlek my way home, I almost collapse into Argow, "Kristo" -style. I have absoulely nothing left to give.
8:55 : One last stab at glory, no way I'm finishing this like a cripple. Months of training leads to one last tempo run. One last burst of speed to bring it home. Don't give up now!
Last shot at glory... 8:56: And it's DONE! Yeah!!!!! Was never happier to see a finish line. The most agonizing 42.195 kms of my life done in 4:56:03. I wanted to cry... but the tears wouldn't come. Must have been the dehydration. The marathon has chewed me up, spit me in pieces and brought me to my knees. Friends say I am pale, and a massive headache follows. I can barely walk straight.
I missed my goal in a bad way.
But you know what they say about marathons? When you cross the finish line, no matter how slow or fast, it will change your life forever. And I firmly believe that. As all of this was starting to sink in, a stark realization suddenly dawned upon me. I'm... I'm a marathoner now! A real one! I'm now officially part of the .1 of 1% of the world's population to have finished one! The time doesn't even matter. What matters is I crossed that line in one piece in spite of the overwhelming urge to just flat out quit. I felt like I have left my blood, guts, and soul out there. And at that exact moment, at that time and place, in spite of the terrible physical beating I took...
I was at peace. And overwhelmingly happy.
Guess that's the spirit of the marathon for you right there.
