Running for Time

A typical Marathon

It was a beautiful Sunday of the 30thof July 2000 at 7:20 in the morning on my Casio wristwatch. While the sun was gaining height above the horizon, I was enduring the strain on my knee joints and my soles taking a worn-out jog. I could hear the echo of my Nike shoes slapping against the hard, asphalt highway. Clad in gray running gears w/ a #34 tag pinned at the front of my shirt, I could feel the cold wind working through my sweat-soaked upper garment. I was running for the last 1 hour and 20 minutes, bearing extreme body pain and fatigue, taking my body weight that gets heavier in every stride. There was tight traffic on that portion of the highway with a lane partially closed to motorists. And the surrounding vicinity along Roxas Boulevard bears the casual features of that ordinary Sunday except for me. Heavy on my breathing now, I was relying my chances for my second wind to do the rest. I was trying to keep up with the rest of a pack of runners scaling the EDSA-RoxasBoulevard fly-over to complete what is left of the 20 kilometer course in connection with the 24th National Milo Marathon. “A journey of a thousand miles begins witha single step”. I suppose the great Chinese philosopher had never been too conscious of that saying had he thought about running a 20 kilometer marathon along the Great Wall when he popularized that age-old maxim. Unfortunately for now, those words had become the last source of hope for a weakling witha 15-year bout with asthma and who just weeks before had been taken with a blood pressure reading of 150/120. Yet out of the last confidence I had for myself I was there trying to maintain my pace keeping my head up to keep on running pretending to be on my best. First and foremost I am protesting in the wake of the memory of my bedridden self 15 years that past, when I was still trying to keep my mind strong in the thinking while running out of breath battling a stand against a typical asthma seizure. Second, I am running to get ahead of my frustrations that despite those failures slowly eating up my spirit to keep up withlife, I may regain the daring to keep on going and third, that I maybe reborn on the same physical make up but with a different attitude; God willing, after getting the certification of completing the course and the give away T-shirt of the event. Then the fourth reason perhaps was for the actual footage so I could make up a story out of the experience.

But what has really been on my mind despite of those declared underlying reasons behind my running? Weeks that past I’m just an ordinary jogger taking a stride at the expanse of General Aviation Area of the Manila Domestic airport sniffing Jet-A1 fumes mixed with the open air at the background of turbine whines of airplanes and helicopters. I was running to deviate having been caught in deep thinking while suffering a mild headache due to the ill-effects of high blood pressure I suspect I got through the late nights of enduring insomnia. More so, I had been feeding the undisciplined habits of a bookworm who couldn’t bear the separation from the thrilling part of a book in favor of an early time to sleep when not on duty. So all that gave rise to my running, basically. Until I caught sight of James Fixx’s “Complete Book of Running” at a bookstore in Baclaranselling slightly used books. There and then, running had found a new approach to broaden my horizon. The next thing I knew I bought my second book on the subject with ” The Complete Marathoner” months after. So my casual running scheme was born out of the desire to escape boredom and hypertension, motivated by further reading that opened my mind on its good effects. I was just keeping what I’ve read to myself without the slightest notion of ever joining a marathon. However so, Resty, a working colleague brought up my attention on the schedule of the 24th National Milo Marathon published on a local newspaper. It was set for the 9thof July, 2000. Being an ex-Philippine Air Force aviation cadet and a novice runner himself who initially won running competitions at the unit, I was thus encouraged to register for the event. It cost me P75 to register for the 20K category even with double thoughts about it, initially planning to take the 10K category to commensurate with the light preparation I have taken. But it was again Resty who encouraged me to take the 20K instead, assuring that I could very well make it to the finish line if our goal should be limited in acquiring certification for completing the course of the marathon and taking the give-away shirt as a finisher. The original marathon schedule to take place the 9th of July didn’t come to being owing to a low pressure that soaked the Metropolis in heavy rains for weeks. It wasn’t a blessing for me even because I was deprived of a dry surface to run for my practice after office hours in the late afternoon. That caught me resorting to jog indoors. I practiced inside the hangar taking strides around the parked aircrafts just to meet my training requirements. It was like running an obstacle course making way through protruding wing tips and exposed aircraft propellers. I did my last dry run for the event Thursday afternoon 3 days before the schedule, I took a 10 kilometer jog after duty in joining my colleagues for athletics. I was tired and beaten after that asking myself could I ever get further to have extra stamina for the final event that would take place 3 days hence. While walking to get a portion of my things inside my locker at the dark corner of the hangar, I misjudged stepping into a metal protrusion at the landing skid of a parked helicopter. The result was a slight abrasion on my right sole which badly bled. That was absolute bad luck when one is at the last minute of preparation. A cold seizure seized me the morning of Saturday, a day before the countdown for the event. I took a cold tablet trying to hold on to my sneezing because I need to take care of my laundry after having run out of replacement clothes.

 I woke up at 0413H early on a Sunday morning of the scheduled date of the marathon. I had a bath and rushed packing my things and dressed up to leave. I saw myself waiting anxiously at 0513H in front of the hangar, hopelessly staring at the expanse of the taxiway at the break of dawn scanning for the lone blinker of a Daihatsu minivan having called Resty at the past evening to pick me up at 0430H. It was 0520H when the guy arrived to  my relief. He had already his number tag pinned on his shirt. I joined him on board the van at such a hurry wondering if we could ever make it to be reconsidered since the assembly time was slated at 0500H. We left the workplace and head our way to Roxas Boulevard stopping at 7-11 to buy 4 bottles of Gatorade. I remained at the van to change to running gears while Resty bought the drinks. We breezed through the early traffic on the way making it at PICC almost 0530H. We still managed to take light meals at Chowkingalong Vito Cruz that got us into further waiting nearly consuming the remaining minutes to 0600H. By the time we left the area after consuming our ordered food at a rush, I was rather feeling uneasy joining him at the front seat of the vehicle. Traffic caught us at a crossroad intersection, for sometime everything was at a standstill that I never would have thought arriving at the start of the event on time. Then the traffic light turned to green allowing us to cross while I was fumbling to pin my number tag on my shirt. We parked near a police block station along the area and left the van after making final check on ourselves. Taking the stride to join the participants at the assembly area, I was relieved to have been able to register seconds before the starting gun was fired to culminate the start of the event. We joined a crowd of runners overcrowding the highway, the 3k, 5k, 10k and 20k participants having been joined together to share the same starting time for the event. I made to release my tension with quick strides, just imagine yourself cursed by the consequences to be late in all of life’sengagements and finally making it in time on an event you didn’t expected to have joined in at the first place. For some time, I have imagined myself running for my life in doomsday, side by side witha gathering of people running for their lives dressed in running attire. The runners varied between teenagers, the middle aged and the senior citizens withages 60 and up. It feels great to have been a part of a national event having been reminded of my childhood ordeals running out of breathin bed. Who could better appreciate the catch that an asthmatic like me would have yield to that strenuous activity in a future life against the odds of my past physical inferiority? Yet there was I against the roof of the heavens one witha crowd of runners running for my life. Once upon a time, life almost run out of me but from that day on, I have compensated to run and brought life back to my existence. I was keeping pace with my buddy running our way through the crowd feeling the inherent fun of joining such a mass activity. I was making deep breaths having a feel of my heartbeat and after some distance, I gained the edge in adapting to the situation. Slight rain showers poured over us while making around 5 kilometers past PICC to Luneta. My spirits suddenly thinned out from self jubilation, and caught myself praying for a miracle that the rains would cease. I completed the turn at the far end of the route a distance past Luneta where a turning point was marked, I grabbed the cord from the race organizers as a proof that I passed the point. Keeping my pace, the rains still poured and my sweat had mixed up withit. Hanging on with my steps getting a feel of my sneaker’s traction against the wet asphalt highway, I was able to hold on running till the rains stopped. The moisture on my arms and shoulders dried up and the sweating kept up its job to cool me from the heat of the exertion. We have passed PICC at around 0700H for the opposite end of the route that extended as far as MIA Road/ Uniwide Coastal junction. I felt the dry sensation on my throat occasionally quench by a drink of water at the water stations along the way and there was the dry burning sensation on my lungs while I breathe. Scaling the EDSA-Roxas Boulevard flyover, I left Restybehind while trying to gain speed in compensating withthe elevation. Feeling the momentum of my weight carry me down the flyover at such a speed, I was out on my own enduring the rays of the morning sun mixed with the exhaust fumes of buses as I pass in front of Redemptorist Church. A crowd of pedestrians had accumulated along the area saved for the demarcation line allocated for runners unaffected by the day’straffic. My second wind worked out its magic and as I was riding on my body watching the frequency of my steps lacking the pain of the exertion saved by the muscle memory that takes charge of my pacing, I was amused at the strange feeling of floating with the breeze. I made my way through and reached the other end of the line which culminates at MIA Road. I grabbed the marking lace and placed it on my neck then kept on my steady pace after making a turn on the way back. I met Resty just making his way for the other end who asked me of the remaining time left. It was 0710H on my Casio wristwatch which makes it but an hour and 50 minutes to the allocated time for the 20k category. We head on our separate ways as I recovered my pacing, my advance a bit slower now, and the onslaught of body fatigue having returned to test my will to continue again. I tried to entertain my painful advance having talked to an older runner in his early 40’s so much to forget what I’d been feeling until I got an even footing to assume a faster pace. I paused a moment at a water station and took a sip of water and tried to douse a small amount on my head. It refreshed my awareness when I returned to the running with another amount of enthusiasm to keep on going.

I tried to listen to the rhythm of my strides once again. I was directly behind an American runner in his late 30’sand just holding on to his pacing to keep going. I needed some stray thoughts to fuel up my will to finish this event. Come to think of it, a human being has varied reasons for doing an act of running all his life. When we are small we used to run with all that joy in our heart for a plain feeling of freedom in using our feet, immersed in child’splay. Some maybe less fortunate to force to use it in earning a living to support being alive, which reminds me of young snatchers, thriving at the dark corners of the Metropolis who would bring headaches to pedestrians falling to be their victims and indeed a faster feet would be a helpful tool in getting away withthe loot. Some had been forced to run at gunpoint so they may be spared with their lives, a rather impossible thing to do since nobody runs faster than a bullet. Few would be running for their country in the field of sports and it’s a very honorable thing to do to win medals for your country. The most number of runners which commands  attention but with less physical exhaustion on the actual act but with immeasurable monetary (not healthy) benefits falls to the politicians because they are mostly not tired up so easily having served a number of terms but withgreater possibility of running again for the elections, probably not on the same seat but on another promising governmental post. I have other reasons for keeping on the run for the moment yet it remains the same act of running and obviously I am not running for money (better guess which runner runs better with it). Though I have to accept that I was sort of reliving the slight semblance of running in the early days of my life, my current run is a protest against another brand of child’splay, nothing less. Here I was still running to realize having improved the act by having afforded myself a pair of running shoes and amused to have improved my range by running a 20 kilometer course from a mere 5 kilometer start and to have reached farther destinations by leaving the province behind and running my way at the national capital on a national event. Ah, perhaps I’m nothing more than a lost soul running in circles much like the rest of the characters in a VHS tape set on play withthe fast forward button activated. I’m one unspoken character caught in endless movement hoping for a better role to play in the middle if not at the latter part of the tape until the tape ribbon stops turning without me having to play the much coveted role. And I become one witha generation of dreamers making a last stand for the last unavoidable role…. lying flat and beaten dressed in white, witheyes shut forever leaving the world behind. Gaping at the glassed window without the physical eyes to react to the world, with hopes for unrealized dreams contained and sealed in a wooden casket.

But why should I think about the rigors of my anticipated last stand in the planet while I still embody life with such an ease running a marathon as such as this? I left the thought having to be aware arriving in front of PICC for the last round to the finish line. A traffic aide halted the flow of vehicles and allowed me to cross without waiting for the traffic light to clear my passing. The American runner was quite a distance from me now yet I was able to catch up when his aide in bike handed him a bottle of mineral water prompting him to stop. I was amused how simple acts of sympathetic support could raise one’sspirit for a hidden surge of power in surviving the extreme load of an activity as such as this. I passed another water station and took a cup from the organizers having an amount to gargle and dampen my lips to quench the dry feeling deep in my throat allowing the foreigner to outrun me. I tried to visualize floating withthe breeze of the wind from the seafront on my left as I return to take my pacing, running this marathon with the promoter’s failure to distribute the roadmapof the course to the runners made the activity all too realistic for a sense of self discovery. In life we are running our individual marathons, the only difference perhaps is that it has no declared time limit so that one could take his desired pacing…to sleep at a corner, to exploit relationship withother runners, to eat, drink and luxuriate without having been aware that there is a run going on and  time is running out. The life marathon has its variation of finish lines for the unconscious runner which makes for a melodramatic exit in completing the course too…. a car accident withbrains scattered, a plane crash with body fragments, a bloated body in a sunken ship, or a typical exit on a deathbed…. how would you take your finish line in your life’smarathon? Take your pick if you have the freedom of choice. The course is uncharted, nobody truly knows what or how, the finish line isn’t a question of where but a question of when, you just have to keep on breathing to get there. Running out of breath may simply mean you have arrived. Here in this actual marathon, I maybe a bit lucky to hope for the finish line and still walk out scot-free breathing. I just have to follow the runners ahead of me and keep on running to keep my hopes for the finish a possibility, the finish line isn’t a question of when but a question of where. I grabbed the last cord at the last end curve and took the usual rhythm of my stride in taking the run back, at the near end of a struggle with losing hopes it reminds me of nearly quitting in college for lack of interest. In the midst of a drinking spree a friend told me, “don’t be silly, you ought to have quitted studying in grade one if you have to quit college in the long run”. So I’ve done some rethinking for a change of attitude and eventually graduated. Here now I have the finish line on sight and who’s stopping me? I had been accustomed to my body fatigue, my difficult breathing and my stiffening soles; I could ride out the pain to the finish. Resty met me meters on my way to take the bend in entering the PICC to the Finish Line. I left some encouraging words to keep him going as I outrun the American runner for the last time. My feet are getting heavier as I saw a crowd of curiousersmilling around the marked point with a big printed text that reads “FINISH LINE”. It’sa psychological feeling perhaps, do I need to feel tall and proud running my way through the crowd or should I embody my stage fright withthe eyes looking at me? I tried to take every bit of my awareness taking a glance of my exhausted steps strike the concrete ground. I was a distance away from the rest of the runners making my way to the finish alone. Closer now, a sniff of fresh air to the finish, there was the crowd, the marker standing tall withthe Milo logo on bothsides, the huge digital timer with the digital face on the rightmost registering 1:49:05. I got my way through, meters farther and made the final stop to rest at the station on the far end where the claim stub from my running no. was torn in exchange for an oversizedfinisher shirt. I took the finisher certificate with the blank for my name on it. I waited at the side for minutes soaked in sweat until Restyarrived to join me. Walking our way back to the minivan, we made to replace our damp clothing withdried clothes after consuming a bottle of Gatorade…. the sweetest, thirst-quenching drink I’ve taken in my entire life (which reminds me of a mountain climber who opened a bottle of Coke after reaching the peak of Mt. Everest). Years that passed, I joined other marathons on my own. I had a 15 km run with Yakult, a 10 km run withAdidas and another 10 km run withMilo 7 years after. Life is really a marvelous experience and the best way to feel it is having to hear yourself breathing hard you badly need to fill you air sacs in your lungs withair every second you got, and the heart that should compensate with steady heartbeat at the peak of such action. Funny it may seem, we may have driven a car, a motorbike or fly a plane to the brink of its limits and discovered a new sense of being after the act. You should try learning to ride a vehicle none other than yourself and feel much better. Do you thirst for speed and power? This is just the fun for you. Wear your sneakers, double tie the shoe laces and rev up your engines. It had been so long in life since you heard yourself breathing and I have this opinion for you to try a different approach. A hopeless case is for someone to stay down in bed in hard breathing without moving. We could either gain our place in the hospital bed without doing a thing or do our part now and live up active as life wants us to be (Doctors give us wise advice but not everyone in his patient’s list has lived long to benefit from it).