Contrast in logic and reason.

From the hubby's facebook page status: after running a 10km race this morning, i saw some runners with pints of haagen dazs. I ask some a volunteer where to get some and she says its only for the 21km runners. I said, wait a bit, i'll run another 11km...

I on the other hand, would just go out and buy the damn pint.

bacon pesto for the win!

I oddly got inspired to cook dinner this evening.  I had this drive to cook pasta - I didn't know what it would be.  I just knew that it had to have bacon.  We still had some herb-based ingredients at home, so I chose to experiment.  So here's our dinner.  It's Bacon-Pesto Pasta with Grilled Frankfurters on the side.

What's in it:  garlic + onions, cilantro pesto, bacon, pepper and salt to taste, olive oil, feta cheese.

The hubby (who is washing the dishes right now) says I may very well cook this the next time he needs to carbo-load before a race.  I just wish I get to repeat it!

the gray hoodie.

It may be 3 in the morning, or for ultramarathons even 2am, I believe that it's no reason to look sloppy and unkept.  I would say that the most versatile and yet fashionably practical thing to own, as someone who sends of a loved one in the wee hours of the morning, is a gray hoodie.

It's something that keeps you warm so early in the morning.  You can wear the hood to camouflage bedhead, and wahey it also doubles as insulation (with that little fact of 80% or some significant percentage of your body head escaping through your head).  Throw it over a tank top for the morning chill, and discard as the day wears on.  You can wear it to top jazz pants, cropped shorts or what have you's - a skirt, if you really want to play cheerleader.  And since it's a hoodie, you can disguise the non-sportiness in you. Because yeah, it's not a cotton-lined boyfriend blazer.

The best part about it - it's grey.  It will go with anything.  It can even go with your husband's singlet (but I doubt if you'd go that far).

This weekend, we were checked in at The Mandarin Oriental (using up a gift check given during our wedding).  This morning, of course the hubby had to run.  I was sandwiched comfortably between a lovely duvet and the oversized bed when he nudges me to some form of consciousness and kisses my forehead to say he's leaving.  Mmmkay, I murmur and go back to sleep.

Later in the morning (at around 9am) he calls.  He needs at least 3, no make that 4 buckets of ice.  He did 25k or something and he needs to soak his legs in uber-cold water.  Okay, I say, and call for room service.  The room service girl didn't think much of it, I suppose.  Or maybe she just did a great job masking a that "what the hell" kind of tonality from her voice.

A few minutes later, a knock on the door.  I open it, and a lady holding up a tray with 4 buckets of ice stands smiling.  I'm there, with bedhead and eyes adjusting to the bright hallway.

"Ma'am, you're the one who ordered the ice?"


"That's 4 buckets of ice?"  (I suppose that it's odd, at 9 in the morning)

"Yes," I say, motioning for her to come into the room.  I guess she sees that I'm the only one there, and starts wondering what the hell I'm going to do with 4 buckets of ice.

She lays it down on the coffee table.  "Umm, enjoy the rest of your stay, ma'am."  And she hurries off.

I crawl back on the bed.  For all I know, she may be thinking that I was going to steal her kidneys.

the shopper's choice of shoes.

I really love shoes.  I own possibly more than 20 pairs.  Out of all of them, only one can be considered an actual sports training shoe.  It's the one I bought almost 5 years ago, when I actually attempted to be a regular at gyming (I failed).

Being someone who did not develop any motivation to actually participate in strenuous activities, my appreciation for such footwear likewise remained at zero.  Because simply, given the money to splurge, I'd rather place my high arch (so those running simulation tests tell me) on a pair that would add oomph to my outfit, and strut to my walk.  They basically would cost the same anyway.

Like, come on... look at that.  Webby-meshy net of a design strewn across your foot?  Would rather have it on a cage leather bootie.  And look, they both have bows too (people would probably kill me for calling running shoe laces a bow).

The hubby has been constantly prodding me to actually get a pair.  And he's actually volunteering to pay for it.  I'm hesitant.  I honestly feel that my other shoes would feel bad.  My heels, I mean.  But then again, it may be the only time he'll actually buy me shoes.

Now that, could get me thinking.

morning runs on weekends.

I vaguely recall my husband nudging me awake, to tell me that he's going off for his morning run.  He seemed like a red singlet of a blur, and I fall back to my pillow, asleep.  It was a weekend (or a long weekend for that matter) and waking up early was not on the agenda.  Next thing I knew, the phone was ringing and it was him calling to ask me to make breakfast.  He's only around 6 kilometers away and hungry.

So I get up, grill some frankfurters, scramble some eggs and heat the rice.  I set them on the table then flop on the couch to wait for him.

He arrives a few minutes later, panting and really hungry.

"So, where did you go?" I ask.

"Everywhere," he says, half-smiling and half-haggardly breathing.


"I went to Heritage Park."

"What?"  Okay, for perspective guys, we live in Mandaluyong (Tivoli Garden Residences) and he runs from the condo.  He doesn't drive, he runs.  "That's so far!"

"That's the point," he simply states.

And I have nothing to say to that.

better than any medal

Dear The North Face,

Thank you for giving my husband this wonderful plaque.  He couldn't stop smiling yesterday.  Much so that he was actually quite happy with the dinner I served him, which was four pieces of reheated spam. 

We have yet to identify where to display this piece.  Right now it's on our living room table, right beside the flatscreen's remote control.  There's no denying, it holds a very important place in our hearts.

Best regards and 'till the next TNF100.


It was a nice Tuesday morning just like today, and we were eating sandwiches for breakfast (care of our beautiful sandwich maker which I'll dedicate a post to later on). The sun was somewhat being covered by whisps light gray rolling clouds. The wind coming into the condo wasn't as cool, but it was enough to make us feel good about waking up so early.

Unlike Mondays, Tuesdays are a bit more optimistic. And the hubby confirms this by declaring that he always looks forward to Tuesdays. The idea of it being a Tuesday seems like a happy drug, apparently. More so pronounced since he's talking to someone who's not particularly fond of donning happiness so early in the morning.

"Why, because Monday is finally over?" I inquire.

"Because Tuesday means the start of the running week."

Ah, there's a running week. That starts not on the official start of the week. Must be something like fiscal years.

"But don't you run on Mondays?" I wonder. You know, because sometimes he does.

Apparently, Monday runs (as he explains) are when he doesn't get enough run over the weekend. So Monday is usually rest day. Making Tuesday the official running-every-day-from-hereon day. And that's why Tuesdays make him particularly happy.

"Oh," I say and continue to eat my sandwich then proceed to wear my 4-inch heels.

if he's hooked, he's hooked.

And there's no stopping it.
Even if he's injured, limping, and twisted in incomprehensible levels of pain.

Trust me.

why am I writing about running?

I am not a runner. But I do love my husband who is irrevocably, impossibly, immensely head-over-heels in love with running.

For the past weeks, my head and I have been going thru so much thinking, staring into space, imagining... of what could possibly be the topic of my blogging life resurrected. For one thing, I can no longer blog about my wedding preparations (which lasted for a good 9 to 10 months). My old blog was an online diary of sorts, and I thought maybe I should try to challenge myself by writing about something I know virtually nothing about.

Oh, did I say that I wasn't a runner? I look at runners (or anyone involved in sports for that matter) and think, why are they putting themselves through all this pain? Maybe this blog will become my personal quest to understanding. I would suppose that there are people (wives or significant others) who are in the same boat as me. Or who missed the boat at being sporty during those formative years of hobby-picking. And for those who got on that big boat of dedication to physical activity and competition, I do hope that this writing would amuse, at the very least. If I get to connect by just having an honestly different perspective and some fresh insights, then all the better.

Because at the end of it all, I'm writing out of love (cheesy, I know). I love writing and telling stories. And my husband who loves running.

about the one who married the runner.


Hi!  My name is Anna Castro-Dayrit.  Most people call me Fozzy.  Married to runner, Chips S. Dayrit.  Or should I say "ultra-runner" now?  I used to be with an advertising agency, and am currently taking a hiatus from the corporate life.  I practice calligraphy, dabble in illustration and writing.

When my husband's father first met me, one of the first questions he asked was "What sport do you play?" Which was I guess natural, because he was (at that time) the head of a sports committee. My honest answer - "uh, I'm sportless." He laughed, and I think we made some sort of amusing connection. We basically established that as individuals we might as well occupy totally different planets, but as a couple we actually work.

After more than a decade of being together - 1 year of which married - I remain to be the sportless one lusting after 4-inch heels, design and good brewed coffee. I won't even pretend to understand what goes on in an athlete's head (aka my husband, when it comes to sports). I can use the powers of deduction and observation and perhaps some nice pretty metaphors.

Anyway, I digress. Aside from dabbling in my other-half's world of running, I spend my time watching twisted crime TV series, surf on design and typography, and launch into self-tutorials on Illustrator and Photoshop, and maintain my tumblr and my own domain.

Shopping? Of course. If it was an endurance sport, I'd take as many finish lines imaginable.