It’s not official yet, but I may be back on the road to participate in my first fun run in four years. Actually, I don’t remember when the last one was exactly, but four years ago sounds about right. Either way, it has been a while.
And mind you, I’m gunning for a half-marathon. I know I may be way over my head on this one. But am I being overly ambitious? Perhaps. I need to hit the oval and start training if I decide to push through with this bold plan.
I’m already regretting the decision just thinking about it.
My last 21K took me from Cebu Business Park all the way to Talamban, where we turned around, made a right onto Escario all the way to the Capitol before making a left onto V. Rama, then doubled back to Escario, crossed Gorordo before making a left onto Archbishop Reyes Ave. and finally turned left onto Pope John Paul Ave. for the finish line.
I ran with two friends and together we paced each other. Our target was to finish the race in under three hours. And for the first hour and a half, I thought we had it in the bag. We kept our stride steady. We knew our physical limits. After all, two of us were in our golden years while one was a bona fide senior citizen. Although — and I hate to bring this up — some people say I could still pass for someone in his early 40s.
Really.
Of course, it would have to be at dusk. Or at dawn. Or during a rotating brownout. And I’d have to be several meters away. But hey, in their eyes, I’m 42. Who am I to argue?
We stopped by a water station along Escario near the Capitol Church, where we saw a friend. Apparently, he had been waiting for us. At the beginning of the race, we saw him sprint off with the younger members of our group. He was way ahead of us, but I wasn’t surprised to see him there. I knew he was out of his league with them. That he would eventually run out of steam was not a question of “if,” but “when.”
So, after downing several cups of water, the four of us resumed the race.
By then, the sun had risen. And so had the temperature. As luck would have it, the morning turned out to be cloudless with hardly any breeze. We struggled, but we kept our focus. And most importantly, we never broke our pace. Nice and steady, we were. That is, until the newcomer — or should I say, the interloper — whispered, “Could we slow down?” He was having trouble breathing, he said.
I remember thinking, “Drop dead, you delusional fool,” but of course, no one would say something crazy like that out loud. Not even I. Think it, yes, definitely. But blurt it out loud — well, I almost did right then and there. It was a good thing there was still an ounce of decency left in me as I joined my other two friends in slowing down to accommodate the interloper’s request.
Hey, I may wish people dead on a whim, but I’m basically a nice guy.
Then, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, our straggler — I mean, our friend — found a new lease on life. I thought he’d give up and tell us to go on without him, but no, he kept up with us, even when my two original running mates and I decided to pick up the pace. Deep in our hearts, we knew our ordeal would be ending soon. The finish line was less than five kilometers away, but already we could smell it. Not literally, of course, but you know what I mean.
We had just passed Parklane Hotel, veered left toward Barrio Luz and were nearing the elementary school when that voice spoke again. This time, there was a sense of urgency and dread. Oh, what now? I thought.
“Guys,” he said. “Can we pause for a bit? Can we walk a few meters? I’m having trouble breathing.” I looked at my other two companions. I knew they were thinking what I was thinking — something that I can’t write down here because there may be children reading — but we did as he asked because, and I hate to admit it even to this day, the three of us were on our last legs.
You know what they say: the mind is willing, but the body is kaput. It was a good thing we trained for the race and knew that this moment would come. But we also knew that we could draw from inner reserves that only determination could provide, even though physically we were drained.
So we put one foot forward, then the other, slowly picked up speed and were on our way.
We arrived at the finish line. To be honest, my companions looked dead tired while I looked like I had just stepped out of the shower. But first things first. I checked the clock for our time: 3:00:34. I looked at our new “friend” — the one who accosted us at the water station along Escario — and didn’t speak to him for the next four months.