i ran the slowest 5k of his life.

We were almost late for the race.  On top of that, I forgot my iPod.  On top of which, I didn't think I could possibly do a 5k after just ONE stab at a 3k.  I was secretly hating myself for agreeing to run this, but oh well, what can I do.  My other self said I was competitive.

We met up with Chips' friend, Alo, who was also running 5k.  Heading over to the starting line, it was already jam-packed with people.  A sea of green - old people, young people, babies even.  There was a big and small category and some baby trollies actually had race numbers.  I had a brief vision of Chips actually doing such a thing when we have a kid.  Shake off vision, focus on run.

Chips had to go back to the car because we forgot our hydration bottle.  While that was happening, Alo and I perched ourselves by the barricades, waiting for our turn to go into the starting line.  A lot of the 5k runners were still milling about.  And the 10k people were already being counted down to their start.  Bam!  There they went.  We see the 10k runners off, and after a gap, 5k runners were running off as well.  

WHAT.  We were confused.  Didn't know we were supposed to be at the starting line already.  We looked around just to be sure, and the next batch waiting were already wearing the 3k numbers.  WHAT another.  So we hurried over to the other side of the barricades, squeezed our way thru the 3k runners and we were running before our consciousness even told us we were running.

The organizers closed off some roads, but generally there were still cars in some intersections we had to cross.  I was lucky enough to be paced by Chips, because he had more of the runner's instinct of where to be on a road race.  I would've just played "connect the dots" on the lane markers.

Jogging thru Serendra and High Street was I guess okay.  I think that was almost 2 kilometers from where we started.  And then I started getting mighty tired.  There was no fun, fast downhill.  There was just blinding amounts of people in green.  It was like being thumbelina running through a field only the blades of grass were running too.  I longed for that feeling when you didn't have to make your own air, you were balanced on a lovely steed galloping effortlessly.  OH WELL.

Approaching St. Luke's, my legs were gelatinous.  I had already taken a break by brisk-walking instead, and yet it seemed like everything was so far away.  By the Lexus showroom I totally just wanted to roll over and die.  I was cursing in between breaths and I didn't care if the old lady beside me gave me "a look".  Chips said we were almost 3k (or something, I really couldn't comprehend).  Why doesn't it f*cking end already!?!  

I couldn't imagine running any longer distance.  It felt too slow and too long.  Somewhere along the way, Chips says he'll just make me stick to 3k.  Okay, I'll agree to that.  Dammit, where is that finish line?!  At some point I thought I saw the building.  We were trudging uphill and to my despair, there was no significant downhill rollercoaster moment.  Finally, the finish line decides to show itself and Chips was prodding me to run and make a strong finish.  

We cross some other runners and I guess this is the famed "second wind" thing people talk about.  Working through the pain, the legs surprisingly just went ahead and ran.  For a moment, I relished the speed.  And then the finish line came and then it was over.  The hubby was happy and hugging me, but again, I was too dizzy to really appreciate the joy.  Rehydrate, he says, to help prevent muscle spasms.  I've never drank so much liquid so early in the morning, it was like filling a water balloon that wouldn't pop.

So there, official time is around 40 minutes.  Just some minutes more, it's his 10k time.  I'm at least happy that we've come to a mutual understanding that we'll be going back to 3k.  In the meantime, I would goddamn like some coffee.

i am my husband's running project.

Real Life Foundation has this fun run called "Race for Life" that will be held on November 13 (this Saturday) at Bonifacio High Street.  I think this is quite an apt title for this race, personally.  Because the hubby just signed me up for it.  For... wait for it... the five freakin' kilometer run.  So I will race for my life.  To all my co-workers and clients, if I don't function properly next week, this is the reason.

With this, can I just officially declare myself as (as the blog title so boldly states) my husband's running project.  He's so crazy-giddy about it, the whole situation is like a child finding a toy at the bottom of a cereal box.

He was supposed to run the 10k and sign me up for the 3k.  But it turns out that the 3k slots are all taken.  I think it's either he believes in me so much or this is some retaliation for buying too much shoes, he goes ahead and gets a 5k slot for me.  The excitement from him is unbelievable, that he's decided to junk his 10k registration and pace me for the 5k.

Honestly, it's quite a relief for me, coz I'd rather DIE than do the 5k alone (which then negates the entire title and purpose of the race right?).  I don't even know what the goal is for this one.  I'm not really into personal records and all that.  Given the whole cause of the race, I think I'll just have a simple goal: to finish alive.

Well, at least I get a shirt.

my first ever race that made my husband high

Last October 30, I actually had myself signed up for a race.  I had the singlet, the race number.  The good thing was though, that it wasn't something that I needed to get up so early in the morning for.  Thank you, Adobo Magazine, for understanding that not everyone's a morning person.

Gasp!  Wait a major minute.  Yes.  I ran.  An actual race.  Don't get all too giddy, it was just 3k.  What? Just 3K?!? says my subconscious.  I felt like I was going to trip all over myself.  I don't know if this is what they call the "running high" - the part when you seem to be developing dual personalities, debating if it was too tiring for your own good or if it was actually worth all the lung-burning. 

race photos c/o Bob Guerrero

That's the hubby, the ultramarathoner, who took time off from his usual 2-digit kilometer runs to pace me and make sure that I don't quit or sit down in some corner or whatever.  We actually thought that the run was at High Street and I almost went ballistic when we realized that it was at McKinley Hill.  That meant, well, hills.  Like, what?  I can't even run on flat land.  Or jog.  Or walk-jog-ish.  Honestly, I was totally nervous about it.  It may be overthinking it, but hey, this is me coming from zero kilometers, in my first-ever pair of running shoes. Just the thought of Chips not being with me going through the starting line (because he was rogue) made my mind go in circles.

But okay, we're here now and the 10k and 5k runners were being whisked through by their respective starting horns.  There's something about being a non-athlete and warming up.  You kind of feel that you're doing something funny.  The instructor looked fine.  But you feel like there's some part wrong or I don't know, the foot you're kicking up looks mangled and totally not like what the instructor is doing.  Which is probably why I never liked the aerobics we had to do during PE class.  Anyway, I digress.

race photos c/o Bob Guerrero

After the warm-up and the fireworks, the 3K people were asked to assemble by the starting line.  It was so relieving to see Chips as the herd started rolling on.  I kept on thinking about what he said to me, which was at the time confusing... Just don't run when it starts... No pressure... But don't just walk either... Just keep it steady.  Okay.  Steady sounds simple.  NOT.  Steady is like suppressing a sugar high.  Steady is like keeping yourself awake and attentive after drinking cough syrup.  That photo up there was during the first few minutes of the race, just after the U-turn.  Still looking steady, I guess.

A few minutes later, I was huffing like anything and was trying not to let my head spin (I was half wondering if I tied my hair up too tight).  Only to be met by... TADA... a major uphill moment.  Dangnabbit.  As part of our strategy, we quasi-walked it.  A few steps up, I really had to just haul myself slowly.  Then Chips began to jog again.  I guess I had a little bit of competitive fire (it usually takes a backseat in favor of my apathetic self) and tonight, it propelled me to keep up with him.  He says it's just going to be a gradual uphill.  I. wanted. to. die.

But I didn't.  Because the fun really kicked in when we went downhill.  My soul was screaming weeee!!!!  It was like riding a rollercoaster.  I had imaginary waving arms up in the air.  Woohoo certified speed junkie me!!!  I could see my legs, but it's like it wasn't real.  I usually get this kind of thrill horseback riding.  For a moment, I totally forgot that I was actually the one running.  And then we had to go uphill again.  Boo.

Whenever it was uphill, we'd take it slow.  Take the chance to drink some Gatorade.  The thought of why we weren't seeing a water station entered my mind, but then it quickly was replaced by the need to breathe properly.  Inhale through your nose, Chips says.  And breathe out slowly through your mouth.  I didn't really know if it was helping, but at least I was concentrating on something else aside from the burning heap of muscles they usually called calves.

After another quick downhill (damn, I wanted more of that) we were back on level land heading towards the finish line.  I absolutely wanted to throw my lungs up.  My legs felt like jelly and I thought that any moment, one would trip the other into some twisted mess of asynchronism and concrete.  I could've sworn that the finish line seemed farther.  The feet were heavily slowing down and Chips was a few paces ahead of me.  Why are you running!?! I'd pant out. At some point, he just took my hand and semi-dragged me back to a decent pace.

Upon crossing the finish line, I couldn't decide if I had that infamous running high.  Was too exhausted for words.  One thing was for sure though, the high was very much with the hubby.  He threw me up in the air with a giant bear hug, practically yelling out that he was so proud of me.  Repeat 10 times (at least).  He's short of declaring me his running project, analyzed me as not a long-distance runner, and I'm willing to bet he's already got a training plan in his head to make me some 3k or 5k competitive runner.  At that moment, I really didn't care.  I just wanted to put my legs up and hibernate.

Though I wouldn't deny that I was actually happy.  Sweaty.  But happy.

Official time: 00:21:41.  Yey, us!

pan-fried chicken breast in 10 minutes

Okay, I still owe the PAU P2P post.  But in the meantime, indulge me please in my posting of a feat.  I cooked dinner again!  It turned out to be good, despite its simplicity - and the fact that we only Googled what we could possibly do (easily) to the chicken breasts we still had in our freezer.  Well, the good thing about cooking for a husband who's running the next morning is that he'll eat just about anything... umm, not to say that he doesn't have standards, but I guess at my level at least he's still alive.

Anyway, so we had chicken.  And there was this recipe that came out first on Google when I keyed in "pan-fried chicken breast".  So we click that and it sounded pretty simple.  Some of the other ingredients we didn't have, like oregano and parsely.  But theoretically, the key taste-inducers were there:  Salt, Garlic, Pepper and Butter.  The online recipe didn't have the steps so we just... ummm... winged it.

It only took a little over ten minutes to do the entire thing (if you remove the time it took to peel the garlic cloves).

What we did:
1)  Melt butter (I think that was around 1 tablespoon... or more).
2)  Pour the butter over the chicken, which should be sitting in a bowl of some sort.
3)  The minced garlic, pepper and salt goes in with the chicken.  Didn't really measure them, I guess it would depend on your taste.
4)  Work in the ingredients into the chicken with your hands.  Daddy says this works in the flavor more, which is what my Lola always does when she cooks.
5)  Let the chicken sit and bond with the flavors for a few minutes.  You can drizzle a bit of olive oil, to prevent chicken from drying.  We didn't have time for longer bonding, perhaps it would've been better if we let them sit in the fridge longer.  Maybe next time.  Well while they're all getting to know each other, you can spend the time cooking the rice.
6)  Set your pan (ours is Teflon coated, with those little ridge things) to medium-high heat.  When it's all nice and hot, you can place the chicken to pan-grill.
7)  It's better if the garlic goes along for added flavor.  And you can drizzle more pepper if you want.  Perhaps this is where the oregano and parsely could come in as well.
8)  It should cook fairly fast and you can now enjoy it with steaming rice.  We ate ours with corn and mushrooms (cans we just got at the supermarket).

Tada!  Oh yes, I'm a wife who cooks for her husband.  Yeaheh.

Pasuquin to Pagudpud Ultramarathon 2

I actually had to run alongside (and mostly, behind) Chips to get this photo of him approaching the Pagudpud boundary marker.  It was rather tiring and by the end of the bridge I was heaving like a fish out of water.

And that wasn't even a kilometer (sad, I know).

A detailed series of entries about how Team Chips (yes, that's what people apparently call runner + support people) survived and finished the P2P marathon to follow.

Pasuquin to Pagudpud Ultramarathon

42nd Place, 10:17:21

I am truly, immensely and deeply proud of my ultramarathon man.

Honestly, I haven't wrapped my head around how to blog about this event, I promise to post a real narrative on it later on.  I suppose that "running high" is contagious to those who do support for the race, and my brain is still swarming with words.

running is a prayer

Almost every morning, before going to work, I watch my husband prepare his black knapsack for his running gear.  He takes time, though hurriedly, to choose his singlet paired with his shorts, paired with the pre-selected shoe (which apparently depends on the distance he's planning to run).  That while I, sluggish and uninspired, get dressed and dread the turmoil facing me at the office.

Minding moments like those, that stark difference, there is a tinge of envy.  On the brink of a life crisis, I was wondering if running like him would give me some long-term motivation to overhaul my reality (more than the perk my daily tall latte gives).  But of course I can't really run like him, unless the overhauling objective was to kill myself.

One day he says to me, that running (to him) is like his prayer.  Alone and paced, it almost forces you to think and reflect.  It's also the reason why he doesn't like playing music while running.  It's like the rest of the world zones out, and it's just you and your running.  And those hours of reflecting, he likes to dedicate to something - really, like a personal cause.  That though alone, you're praying that the universe would listen.  There are some runs he says are for me.  I don't know about you guys, but that's just like the biggest hug and warmest "I love you".  That's probably it, translated in runnerspeak.

Which got me thinking, what is my prayer?  And how do I pray?  It seems so mundane if my perfect alone time is just staring at the little sippy hole of my tall hot beverage.  I stare blankly into space, with a background blur of the security guard opening the door and greeting each customer a jolly good morning.  And by some tiny jolt of caffeine, I realize that I haven't blogged or written poetry in a while.  Haven't had that moment to just think with my soul.

So I guess this, this is my prayer.  What's yours?