The Pursuit of All (Part 2)

The Pursuit of One (Part 1)

To run with the best.

This has been my primary motivation for attempting to run in the Milo Marathon Metro Manila elimination race. The Mizuno race has reminded never to settle – for the happy runner and blogger I have set myself to be. Fear of the deleterious effects of competition has blinded my eye to gifts that true, unadulterated competition brings – the chance to be inspired by and inspire others. When I surveyed all the race accounts I’ve done I realized common threads exist - I run best and fastest when I see the elite runners and the accomplished non-professional runners, or when I run for and think of others. If there is one strong motivation for me to get fast – perhaps the only consistent motivation I have so far - it is to run along with these fast runners.

There is something magical about seeing Eduardo Buenavista run. When I see Ellen Tolentino of Team Baldrunner – I see grace and fluidity of movement. The Baldrunner is a display of discipline and maturity. Vener is a picture of ease and efficiency. Bugo-bugo is power personified. Javy is a testament to hard work and perseverance. Mesh’s face radiates determination while Jaymie’s glows with intensity. I care not too much about the times. I just hope to be like them, to be with them and run with them – in the hope that in doing so I become the best that I can be.

Milo Marathon’s 5hr cut-off time actually scares the wits out of this runner. How can I not be scared when my personal best for a 10K is 1:05 and 2:34 for 21K? My plan was to capitalize on my relatively better physical and mental endurance and work at speed much later – maybe when I have done my first marathon at LSD pace. But life has a way of throwing surprises your way. After missing out on a marathon or two and finally settling for the Milo Marathon Manila eliminations, you get the official notice that you should run 42.195K at pace of 7:10min/km or better to get a finisher’s certificate. What!? I remember hearing a friend said before he ran the Milo marathon for almost 6 hours. But what the heck. I suppose we need to be scared and jolted to get the push that we need.

I remember the very strict (but very fair in the old school way) Rudy Biscocho has always been my unknowing Pusher – he pushed me to do more foot races when he refused to give me a finisher shirt for not following race rule of entering the finish line chute. On a New Balance 25K Powerrace he firmly told me that there was such as thing as race cut-off and that I should train properly if I want to meet the cut-off. Years later in 2008 those words and that race memory would push me to finish the Powerrace within 3:07.

Reticence to push. I have been guilty of it for so long but hope to free myself from this guilt soon. I am joining the marathon with the desire to push myself as my catalyst and the running with the some of the country’s best as motivation. The Milo Marathon Finals is the country’s Boston Marathon. The Manila Milo eliminations is my Boston Marathon. Cliché as it may sound, the miracle will not be the fact that I will finish the marathon. I am not even sure if I will finish, or finish on time. The miracle lies in my summoning the courage to join and start. That I willed myself to push.

To finish the marathon within allotted time is a gift I hope to receive. But if the gift is withheld or postponed I would understand, for there is a time and place for everything. For races are won not by sheer will alone, but also by the grace of God.

In 42.195 kilometers of the race I hope I will meet the beginner, the jogger, the competitor, the athlete and the runner in me. This time I hope to run for the Competitor and Athlete that lies within me, and for the people who believe in me. Galloway says to be a runner is to transcend all stages. I say to be a runner is to know thyself.

To be a runner is to know when to take, when to receive, and when to give. I have taken the Milo marathon as opportunity to push myself and run with the country’s best. They say life is a marathon so I have also taken the liberty of using my first marathon as a race for personal improvement. You see, not only am I innately competitive, I am also fiercely independent. I remember one of those forwarded emails listing down the 3 hardest phrases to say: For others it is “I love you”. For certain individuals it is “I am sorry”. For me, it is “Help me”.

For this maiden marathon of mine I swallowed my pride and asked two of my non-runner good friends to support me. One gladly said yes, the other would have been honored to but would be overseas at that time. But the latter is a friend who would if he could. I guess that’s why they are real friends.

I was pleasantly surprised to hear from a recent friend – someone whom I met through running that historic takbo.ph March 8 LSD prior to the Condura race – that he will volunteer to run with me for the second half of the race. My friend, you humble and honor me with that offer, but it is an offer I graciously accept. I suppose goodwill does come around. I hope to pay it forward.

Paying it forward is also the spirit behind the takbo.ph Milo support group for the 21k and 24k runners. I am awed by the outpouring of support from ordinary runners hoping to give back to the sport that has helped them. I am humbled by the sense of community that takbo.ph has nurtured. The endeavor makes me proud to be a Filipino. In the effort you see the bayanihan spirit – everyone pitching in for the good of all.

I thought running is a solitary sport. In many ways it still is. But in the face of many group runs and support groups I have joined, I have come to realize that the pursuit of one can be the pursuit of all.

(I dedicate this post to runners of the Milo Marathon and the heroes who give these runners the power that fuels those running legs).

My Running Coach

GOD my Coach is stingy and unfair.

He makes me ran my heart out in races.

He then grabs all the Glory,

And leaves me nothing but my Personal Best!

Milo Marathon Stories

The text below was supposed to be my first blog entry, then entitled "Determined to Run," but I never got down to finish it. Then I saw the Milo Marathon TV ads a few days ago. Finally, here is my Milo Marathon story:


By Sheer Will

Baguio 2003. The race has started and I was still finding a place to park. It was my first ever race and I was late. My companions and I breezed through the gate and raced up the hill to catch up.

It was a cold morning. I had no warm-up. The first hill wasn't even over when I sprained my ankle. I had a choice - go back to my vehicle and sulk, or plod through 4.8kms of hills to finish my first ever 5K. The fighter in me chose to persevere. I was late by my own doing. I must finish what I started.

It was the most agonizing walk I have done. Some people were walking but even they were moving faster than I was. I was limping and cold. Towards the end I could sense them hurrying to beat the 1 hour cut-off. It was painful to see them dashed off while I limped on. Last 100m I finally saw the clock at 58:00. I summoned all remaining will and finished. The finisher shirt meant that much.

Since then I have ran longer races. When running or life gets tough, I look back to this Milo run.



See other stories here: http://www.nestle.com.ph/milo/marathon/

I like the story entitled: Last but Not the Least by Noel Miraflor. It reminds me of my first triathlon a week after my first Milo 5K. Incidentally, there are also stories by runner-bloggers ibanrunner and running fatboy.

Falling in Love (Part 3)

I could not tell the exact moment it happened, but I felt love slowly working its magic on me. It was a series of small steps and nudges. Crossing the bridge was symbolic - I was walking away from a path characterized by measured distance, defined pace, regimented training plan and determined quest to reach particular numbers. On the other side of the creek was freedom, adventure and the thrill of discovery.

In the first few strides, I began to notice the halloween trappings. I appreciated the colors, creativity and the effort of the residents to have fun for themselves and others. As I ran further I noticed the househelps' merry banter as they swept fallen leaves and washed vehicles. I watched young children played soccer. I turned and ran where my heart led me. At times I felt I was lost, but that only added to the excitement I was feeling. I would encounter random cyclists, and a man walking with a beautiful yellow lab. The man shyly greeted me, but I was lost in my own thoughts to reciprocate the greeting. I realised my lapse as I made my turn, but privately I promised to be more attuned to my surroundings as I run.

Under the shade of trees I realised I was running at my relaxed and steady pace. At this pace, my heart, lungs and legs quietly hum and do their job, while my mind is free to wonder. I was running and loving it. I was in love and that love is pure. The feeling was so good I did not want to stop. I wanted to prolong the euphoria and etch it forever in my memory. It was during those precious minutes of pure bliss that I composed in my mind what would become a three-part series.

I saw a Great Dane and my mind chuckled at memory of clipping a customer Dane's huge nails, with his humongous head and drooling mouth inches away from my face. Underneath that scary size is a goofy and gentle dog. I saw a merry mixed-breed loudly barking at me through the steel gates and I pleasantly wondered if it was a Spitz-Lab mix. I saw bikes hanging up-side-down from the ceiling and I pondered if this was the proper way to store them. I saw antiques being delivered, swimming pools behind fences, kids coming out to play and men casually talking. I saw many things and I reacted positively toward them.

I was reminded of my upcoming 25K race in Clark and I said to myself this is how I want to run that race. I wanted it to be 25 kilometers of bliss, of fond memories and cheerful thoughts. For the most part, running is a solitary activity, but in races runners come together bound by a common love. On the 25km of hot, cemented roads of Clark, I want to be part of a human race. From the wellspring of that common love I would drink the fluid that will sustain me. I shall draw strength from every runner. If for any reason I lag behind and my will power wanes, I will look back to that Saturday morning run in a secluded village when I fell in love with running. I love running for its simplicity. I love her for her power to lead me to roads less travelled and her ability to teleport me into faraway places, even the coves and lagoons of my memory. I love her for the pure sport that she is and for the transformative power that she represents.

As I wind down to have a drink and change of shirt, a guard greeted me and I greeted back enthusiatically. A passerby then smiled sheepishly at me and for a moment I wondered. I did not think that kind of person would smile to a stranger like me. Then it dawned on me: throughout the last minutes of my run, I must have been smiling genuinely. I was sincerely happy. I have found love and I do a bad job of hiding it.

Falling in Love (Part 2)

I spent Friday night desolate. Running and I have cooled off, split. Truth is I do not know what we have and what I want the relationship to be. My muscles ached and my spirit was beaten. I spent the night tossing in bed, certain only that the following morning I shall settle things with her - on the roads where I first met her and began to know her.

I arrive 8:30 am in our meeting place in the village. Meeting time was 7am and I was late again. She didn't speak a word. Fifty meters into our run it drizzled. I scurried into my vehicle while she disappeared into the rain. Fate seemed to conspire against us. Reluctantly, I left our meeting place.

I didn't want the relationship to end just like that. I thought of going to a nearby gym where I can run on the treadmill. The treadmill had been my wingman who made me know running better. Treadmill had been the friend who prepared me for my races. The last two weeks I made treadmill my tormentor. Mad for speed, I kept my eyes on its screen, constantly awaiting the signal for me to run faster and anxiously monitoring distances covered. I used to love that screen for it gave me encouragement as I slowly progressed. Now I hate the screen for it reminds me of my inadequacies. Running used to be fun; I turned her into obligation.

God must have seen my anguish for He made the rain stop as I was about to reach the gym. I hurriedly went back to the village. I was not sure how long the clouds will hold back the rain so I opted to park in a quiet part of the village. There I can make small, quiet rounds with running. We need to talk and sort things out.

The initial encounter was awkward. I didn't know how to start. Suddenly I was that teenage boy again holding the hand of a girl I like, but not knowing what to say. Unsure of ourselves, we walked along the park. With youthful spontaneity, we made a left turn, crossed a wooden bridge, traversed the linear park, and found ourselves in a street we haven't trodden. The mood seemed to pick up from there. I found myself slowly jogging. Since I went out with running again in August, I haven't felt this excited.

Falling In Love (Part 1)

I have commitment issues. With running.

As a kid, I was never enamored with running. I ran only when playing games, being chased by a stray dog, or escaping the wrath of a neighbor whose fruit tree I raided. As an adult, I have been a fair-weather friend to running. Running is my special friend only when I need to lose weight. We would go on dates at the gym or on the road. That was all the commitment I could give. It was conditional love - the depth and length of which depended on pounds lost and time it took to lose and regain them. She was there for me when I needed her. Always. I have lost pounds and won bets because of her.

I am now in my third cycle of weight loss. Running remains a reliable partner who helped we win my latest bet. With her I reach familiar heights of endorphin-induced euphoria. She calmed me down and made me feel and look better. Then one day I began to demand more: I lusted after speed. I spent more time with her expecting I can run faster. In the blog world where everyone brandish their personal records, I was a crazed lover risking health and limb for a shot at greatness. Two weeks of this madness and my faithful partner that is running deserted me. She loved me that much to know when to hold back and throw the towel at me. We broke up. She kept her distance. She needs to know if I love her as she loves me unconditionally. I need to know if I really love her, why I love her.