Hero, you have an awesome daddy.

Albeit a crazy one. Some of my friends call your dad Captain Awesome, and it's not hard to see why. 

He wakes up at 4:30 in the morning to do his 100-miler training. Short runs, he says. They're around 8 kilometers long. He comes back home in time to see you wake up. You somehow know that mornings are meant for playing with daddy. So you smile and let him pick you up. He changes you from your frogsuit pajamas and into your onesie. Changes your diaper too. You don't mind at all that mommy is still asleep.

Your daddy then dives into the morning rush traffic to clock in at 8:30am. By the afternoon, I'm sure he just couldn't wait to come home. And it's back onto the traffic to see you just after you've had your dinner. Before we had you, we'd have late meals. But now we're done eating by 7:30 just so he could have a little over an hour of play before you get cranky and sleepy.

He plays with you, makes silly voices to make your toys "talk" to you. He crawls on the floor with you. Concocts adventures with pillows and blankets for you. It amazes me how he can still manage to. While I stand already weary and I work at home.

On weekends he'll do his longer training runs. Up to 38 kilometers, I think (and I think on some days he has to do more). It's insane, isn't it? It's almost doing a self-imposed marathon. He makes it home late morning and you're already awake, playing or just come from your bath. And he'll still play with you before he goes to take a rest. You don't even care if he's sweaty and kick your little legs in the air, begging to be carried. Sometimes you even cry when he doesn't.

Then there are days when he doesn't get to rest at all (or barely). Because then he'll be helping mommy with her workshops. He'll carry the things, arrange the seats, take the photos and pack it all up again. Sometimes during the lessons he'll even remind mommy to teach or do things she'd otherwise forget. And after all that, he drives hurriedly home so we could play with you and cuddle with you (even if you don't really like cuddling).

He's super. And you're lucky. And I've got a feeling you'll be running around and doing amazing things, just like your daddy.

when your husband is out running and you're not there.

Well, technically you are - somewhere there. But not quite. Unless of course you're the kind of wife who runs with her husband. 

I couldn't sleep tonight and I realized that I haven't written on this blog in ages. This would be a retrospect on the TNF100 that happened in Baguio City eons ago (aka last April). At the same time, some pondering by an insomniac brain brought about by a friend who let her husband go on his race with that fresh sense of worry.

We were talking about that a couple of days ago. And I found myself becoming that "oh don't worry it's going to be fine" kind of character. The truth is though, you can't escape the worry. Even if it's just a training run early morning. He leaves. You hear rain. You go back to sleep but really, you're hoping that he's on his way back and doesn't catch a cold.  

Then you'd have major ultras that really boggle your mind with the amount of insanity. Like the Bataan Death March (though at least for this, I was part of the support crew following him around). And then the TNF100. The great thing about the it was that we got to bring Hero up to Baguio with us. I mean, look at that little ball of cuteness.

The hard thing about the TNF100 was... err, the TNF100. From the previous time we were up there, I knew it was hard. It was crazy. And crazy as crazy could, my crazy husband is doing the 100k. TRAIL. UP IN THE MOUNTAINS. The un-best part of it is, you're not there. With him.  It's not like a city race. Or an ultra out of town. This was TNF. And it's one hundred effing kilometers. At ear-popping heights above sea level. Like, HELLO.

Okay, so you're kind of used to this whole race thing anyway. You're sharing in the buzz and the excitement. And it's truly a happy moment. Until the gun start and they're off and you're not with him anymore. And you're left with just faith and trust that he listened to you when you repeatedly said things like "don't push yourself too hard" and "listen to your body" and "be safe". Translation in your head: PLEASE COME BACK IN ONE PIECE, GODDAMMIT.

Having been with him in a number of races, knowing his pace, I would calculate how much distance he's probably covered. He has a phone, but I didn't want to bug him too often. He'd call or text to update and I'd think that hey, he's doing well. And then there's this super icky feeling. I'm not sure if you just become wired that way. When something in your gut tells you that something bad (or at least not right) is going to happen.

And then he calls and says, "I don't think I can finish this". And you're half in denial and half relieved. Because for one thing, of course you'd want him to finish! All that work! While the other part of you wants to just scoop him up from wherever he is and give him a big hug - thank God it's over.

That night, Chips made a decision to quit the race at KM70. He took shelter at an aid station, squeezed into a small tent with a couple of marshalls, and waited for daybreak before heading down the mountains. His phone battery went dead and during that time I think parts of my brain short-circuited because of the anxiety. Kind locals at a sari-sari store lent him a battery to use while we were working out his location. We picked him up along Kennon Road and hugging him all stinky, reeking of sweat and soil felt like the best thing ever. 

And I actually found myself saying, "you'll finish it next year". WHAT. YES. I want him to do it again next year. I will send him off again. Into a monster of a thing totally unknown to me. 

And we're going to finish it, yes we will.

(But before that, there's the BDM160 and the BDM102 - yes, crazy as crazy could, my crazy husband would like to do both)

why we're calling our baby Hero.

When we didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl, I was calling our little baby "Bean." Chips didn't want anything to do with that at all (one, it sounds puny and two, he or she may end up like Mr. Bean). And since we still didn't know, we really couldn't pick out names yet. So we thought, okay, let's at least have a nickname ready. 

If it could have something to do with the baby's real name later on, that would be great. But if not, well, case-in-point there's "Chips" which if you knew his real name would beg the question "now where did that come from?" Did we want the same for our kid? Well, curiosity is always a great conversation starter. 

Okay so here's what we knew: the baby is due December. If you backtrack, that would make him or her a March baby. A Bataan Death March baby to be exact! 

One night during dinner, Chips was wearing his BDM finisher's shirt. And I just said, why don't we call him (or her) Hero? It would work either way. And I loved how it just brings us back to how incredible that race was for Team Chips. Hero. That's what we're nick-naming our little one.

So now we know that we're having a girl. And we talk to her and call her Hero. We haven't completely decided on what her real (full) name would be yet, but for sure, our Hero's going to be a feisty little ball of cuteness. Who knows, maybe she'll even grow up to be a runner like her daddy.

the battle of the baby joggers

It's fun looking at strollers, especially now that we're just a couple of months from our due date. We're not really bent on getting a jogger. But they just look extremely hardcore and cool. Chips would presumably have loads of fun with it. I just like it because I guess it stems from my love of big cars, err, SUV's.

We've decided on getting a lightweight stroller, especially since I'll be using it most of the time. And we could still take the baby jogging - maybe not at Chips' pace. Most probably mine, which is like... walking. Anyway, just for amusement's sake, I'll post some photos and info on baby joggers I found totally cool.

Caution: No reviews. Purely aesthetic. Maybe some snide remarks.

The JEEP OVERLAND Limited Jogging Stroller.  They named it after a monster of an SUV. That just about sold it for me. And it has an odometer and a dock for iPods. The other thing, JEEP is branded so beautifully up front. Grrrar.

The JOOVY Zoom 360 Jogger.  It looks fierce. It's actually for "city living". I guess you would need all that 3" travel suspension with all the potholes in the metro. The product manual also says it's made out of aircraft grade aluminum. So when your baby travels, your jogger and the airplane would be really good friends.

The BOB Ironman Single Jogger. It's called IRONMAN. How awesome is that. Your baby could look at other babies and say, "Hey I'm on an ironman. Oh what, your stroller has little bears." And if daddy or mommy has actually done the Ironman, that's just doubly awesome. It's like fate.

The SCHWINN JOYRIDER Jogging Stroller.  The sheer size of the wheels bite you first. They're 20 inches in diameter. How crazy is that. It's made up of aluminum and folds into something I couldn't even explain. It looks like a stroller sandwich.

The BABY JOGGER 25th Anniversary Performance Jogger. If other babies saw your baby in this stroller, they'd be thinking your baby was some loony speedfreak. It's just a picture and it already looks fast. It's a solid one-piece frame built for maximum durability and it has shock absorbers too. It also has reflective stitching in case you know, you'd like to get your baby used to your 4am weekend runs.

when a runner goes to the beach...

He will always (initially) take a long time to decide if he will run or not. But he will eventually calculate that with or without the tours involved, he will have enough time to get out and run. A runner will take a vacation from work and the city, but never from running. He brought trail shoes when we went on our honeymoon. He ran twice.

For three days last week, we were in Bohol with family. We've been there before, so Chips together with his brother and myself decided to not join the tour and just spend time on the beach. It was the perfect opportunity for him to spend the morning running around - around 20k, before heading back to join us for breakfast.  I had bacon *squee*.

I didn't get to buy a straw hat, but good thing Chips brought his visor. I love it. It's underside is black, so when sunlight bounces from the ground, it gets absorbed by the black fabric. Genius! Good job, Nike. There aren't many white visors that have this kind of "feature".  Oh and look, another feature in the photo, the 20-week baby bump!

And to relax after a run, he's reading the latest book from his uber-running-idol, Dean Karnazes. He giggles and chuckles and shares tidbits to me with the utmost gleam in his eyes. Watching him talk about running is like hearing a boy talking about a girl he's falling madly in love with. And it's really cute, honestly. If this is his love-affair (aside from me), I really don't mind.

That day we also set out to eat a hearty meal. He did say he passed an italian restaurant on the main road while on his run. He said that it was "not that far". It was good that I had a full breakfast, because we were walking for a good 15 minutes and we still haven't hit this fabled resto. He apologizes, saying it seemed closer when he was running. Right. We decide to trudge on and I said to him, this better be worth a pregnant woman walking on a slightly uphill road for 20 minutes.

We get there, it's called Guisseppe's.  And it was THE BEST Italian meal I've EVER had in my life. And I'm not just saying it because I was a preggers and hungry. The owner is really Italian. They fly in their ingredients straight from Italy. They use wood-fire ovens. Their pasta is fresh and home-made. Need I say more.

They have a branch in Cebu City. So if we're having a family vacation there, I'll definitely eat there. Aside from the brilliant beach waters of Bohol, the meal we had here was a very close contender for THE highlight of the trip. I know, I'm shameless at plugging. I still dream of that lasagna. 

The next day was spent snorkling. And if our baby comes out not loving the water, I'm not sure what happened. I think it's safe to say though that this would be my last beach trip until the little one is born. I could tell though that next year will be really awesome.

when you can't run far away because your wife is pregnant.

So you're used to going on daily runs.  After work, maybe and hour or two of jogging and running around the city before heading home.  But what?  Oh my, now your wife is pregnant.  She's alone at home and can go into fits of nausea at any given moment.  There's this instinct that makes you just want to be home or at least nearer.  You're torn.  But you guess that fatherly drive actually kicks in earlier than you thought.

So what now?  The muscles still need to churn.  You've got races you want to do PR's in.  And all the food and energy needs to be burned somehow.  Well, as the pregnant wife with a husband struggling to still keep his running in stride, I have noted the following as possible alternatives to the far-running-away.

The Treadmill.  The obvious indoor choice.  The boring indoor choice.  The ultra-runner, trail-loving hubby doesn't really detest it (okay, maybe he does) but it's the running choice better than not running at all.  The gym in the condo has some and at least he's technically already home.  

I think it can pose its own kind of mental challenge.  Like instead of trying to focus your mind on running X-amount of kilometers with a fair stream of sanity, correct pacing, and positivity, you can challenge your brain to practice selective hearing in order to block out other people's useless clatter and horrid taste in radio stations.

Of the few times I actually went on the treadmill, I actually tried to close my eyes so I could imagine myself somewhere else.  Like in a field.  With furry dogs running alongside me with their tongues sticking out.  But then I lost my footing and almost fell to the side of the machine.  So maybe trying to imagine things with your eyes open can be another challenge.

The Stairs.  We live on the 11th floor and sometimes, just to have that break from the all-horizontal life, the hubby likes to climb up and down the fire escape.  He does the "Honey, I'm home!" bit, makes sure I'm okay and changes into his gear.  For sure he reaches the ground floor.  I'm just not sure if he goes any higher than our floor.  I really can't imagine it.  I usually am ready to die by the third flight of stairs.

It's safe to say that he works up a healthy bit of sweat.  It's not anything like running up an incline in some tree-laced road, but again, it's really better than nothing.

ERRATUM: It has been brought to my attention that the hubby reaches the roof deck of our building. Which is I think the 27th floor.  The up-and-down then continues for at least three times, with running around the complex as "breaks" in between.  Now I don't really know why running around would be considered a break.  Usually a break you know, means to stop and stand still.

The Pool.  The condominium complex we live in has a nice pool, where a section of it I think has a decent lap length.  The hubby sometimes trades in his running shoes drenched in sweat for a legitimate dose of liquid.  He'd do a couple of laps and as per a tip on a running magazine, does some "running" in the water.  The sight is peculiar.  It can be replaced by an old lady undergoing water therapy for some joint injury.

But it seems to be a great challenge - both on strength and perseverance.  Because the water will want to stop you.  And you need to work against it in order to move forward.  Since you're fighting the water's resistance, your body would tend to lean forward too (which is, I hear, part of having good running form).

Just prepare for some of the kids in the pool to look at you weird.  Despite themselves sitting on inflated animals with unproportional body parts.

The Kitchen.  Okay so it's not really running-related.  But at least you get to help relieve your pregnant wife of the gag reflex at the slightest odor of garlic.  Chopping and cooking food involves precision, patience and being in tune with your senses.  That's just like being in a sport, I suppose.  Oh and sometimes you also get wet.  Like, when you need to wash the dishes.  It also involves friction and resistance.  Not in a swimming pool, but like, with some stupid sauce blob that decided to solidify at the bottom of a pan.

Alright, I'm out of things to say.  I'm currently killing time waiting for my husband (I don't think he's supposed to run after work today) and I should be getting to cook in a bit.  Till the next post, guys. Take care.

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the ultramarathoner's would-be best friend

We love dogs.  We each have labradors (who are happy-dappy, but have gotten infused to our parent's laid-back outlook in life) we'd love to play with more often.  I miss having a dog to cuddle with so much, and I compensate by watching a lot of Animal Planet, specifically, Dogs 101.

That day, they were featuring the Rhodesian Ridgeback.  It's a large breed, very dignified in stature.  When the host said that it's a breed that some athletes look for, I just had to scream and call the hubby into the room.

Originally bred in Southern Rhodesia, Zimbabwe, they were used as hunting and protector dogs.  Specifically, to hunt for lions.  Which is why they're also called the Lion Dog or African Lion Hound.  Intense, yes.

The great thing about this dog is that its history lends itself well to its ability to run great distances (try 30 miles in a single clip) and sustain its energy even in extreme temperatures and varying terrain.  There are some athletes, runners specifically, who have these Ridgebacks as their running / training buddies.

Though they would happily live in big spaces with access to the great outdoors (like my hubby and his love for the trail), they also make good city dwellers for as long as they get an hour's exercise every day. The hubby says it wouldn't be a problem, as that's just like... 10 kilometers.  For him at least.

If we had one, it would be great.  Maybe we could even train it to be a support crew.

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so the hubby's not running TNF100

Remember the first time he asked for a really good reason to NOT run?  Well, apparently my concerns of him breaking a leg, falling or dying wasn't good enough.  It did though come to some point that I really did just want him to run, because I could feel that he really wanted to do it.

But then our little bean came into the picture.  So he's decided to give up his kit and not run this coming weekend.  

So the "I have to run TNF100 this year" goal is out for now.  Maybe next year.  The new goal is to do a sub-four in a marathon.  There are two coming up this June-July, and there's a 50k trail as well that's under consideration.  

But as of now, much of our excitement (as well as the grandparents-to-be) is on getting our bean healthy and well.   I'll have to get a nice chair for finish line waiting now.  Haha.

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on certificates, pregnancy and ziplines

Finishing a race, it's great to get a medal.  And it's really great to get a trophy.  Sometimes, you also get a finisher's certificate.  Having completed the Standard Chartered HK Marathon, the race kit says that they'll actually mail you an official certificate of achievement.  Isn't that way cool?  They'll actually go through all the effort of mailing stuff, no matter where you came from.  Well, I guess it would just be fair, since we flew to HK for it anyway.  But still.

And hello lookie what we got in the mail one day!

It actually looks really cool.  The paper is nice too.  Like, with full-on colored printing.  No scrimping on ink there.  Nice,  I would say.  But wait.  What's that?  Oh my glorious typographic God.

DID THEY JUST USE COMIC SANS?  They did!  Your name, for all the hardship of running through biting cold weather, breaking through and surviving with tens of thousands of runners - it is written in all capitalized glory of Comic Sans.  Ugh, I cannot express my utter hatred for this typeface.  I'm sorry Standard Chartered, the prestige just got bumped down by the use of the most loathed font by typegeeks around the world.

Okay, I will leave that now and go onto more uppity news.  We are pregnant!  Just a couple of weeks along.  Maybe a month.  As my cousin says, what a way to get out of running.  Haha.  I am now officially regressing my jogging program.  Also because I haven't done anything fitness-y for more than a week.  Which would probably make this kiddo a BDM baby.  Which would kind of dispel the belief that marathon and/or long-distance running would make it umm, harder.

Which brings me to the third subject of this post: there's a really cool trail run coming in July.  The TNF100 we're not actually sure if we're attending.  Well, Chips hasn't decided yet if he's to still run it or not.  A lot of sacrifices are going to be made in the next 9 months, and I really hate that it could hold back on the hubby's joy for trail running.

Anyway, the July trail run is in Cagayan De Oro, Mindanao.  It's so cool.  You get to run through pineapple fields and mountains.  More details are in TBR's blog.  The race is organized by a good running friend of Chips, which is also a motivation for us to go.

My original motivation was to get to try the zipline which is in the park where the finish line is.  It's actually the longest in Asia!  Isn't that totally awesome?!?  Oh the speedfreak in me is shaking with anticipation.  BUT THEN, I'm pregnant.  And well, I don't think they allow it.  DAMN.  Oh well.

So that's what's been happening so far.  I'm going to play Angry Birds now.

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will he love me more if i ran?

A couple of ladies shared this link on Facebook, which happened to drop on my wall while I was online.  It's a blog entry from renowned runner-blogger Jaymie Pizarro aka The Bull Runner.  The entry was entitled Date a Girl Who Runs.

I read it.  It was very well-crafted.  A brilliant unfolding of insight and words.  And halfway thru, it got me confused.  Because I really didn't know what to make of myself.  Maybe I should look at it the other way.  Replace female pronouns with male ones.  Because really, I not only dated a guy who runs, I married one.

Somehow it didn't make me feel better.  Especially when it came to the part discussing the "never let her go" and the train-togethers and the getting married to a girl who runs.  The beauty of that entry was that it made perfect sense.  Thru my husband, I had the opportunity to know a lot of running couples.  Some of the girls even doing better than their other halves.  Some following suit and training for the insanity that their husbands/boyfriends operate in.

I cut back to the day when the hubby was browsing thru friend's profiles and congratulating them for pacing their wives who ran their first mary's on the TBR Dream Marathon.  He was so ecstatic that he got this second-hand running high.  He was looking at their times and couldn't believe how these women did so well.  He was extremely happy and proud for them.

Which made me think, really.  Okay, I will not hide the insecurity.  Am I writing this defensively?  Maybe.  Is it a bit of oversharing?  Perhaps.  I'll be honest.  It's a bit of thinking that happens once in a while, when I remember how different we are.  And for as long as we're together, we'll just be that way.

She will never force your children to run, but they will learn to love it when they see her passion for running. She will make living a healthy, active life easy, natural, and best of all, fun. Expect a lot of laughter, sweat, and sports beans. Running will not be a sport, but it will be a way of life for you and your children.  You will never run alone.

Hmm.  I can't imagine having that.  I mean, I like sports beans.  They're sweet and they give that jolly zap.  But I don't think I'll have them because I need them for some athletic training.  

Which leads me to wonder about our "different" moments.  Like every time that he tells me to do one more round, or to just get out of the house and jog, to do something other than be on the computer; each time he does that, does he wish I was a sportier girl?  Every time he shows annoyance to why I don't understand that it would be better if I jogged without music so I could listen to my body; each time that  my stubbornness renders me totally uncoachable, does he feel regret? Would he be happier with someone who's not a couch potato, a shopaholic, a paper-hoarder who likes to take brewed coffee extremely slowly?

I take a sip from my coffee, which has been sitting by my computer screen for around 30 minutes.  Its warmth has almost escaped the mug.  I scroll up, see the sappy title, and my fingers threaten to use the Command+A+Del sequence.  The little blinking line taunts me, as it awaits my decision.  And in a fit of hearing Lady Gaga stomping away singing Born this Way (fittingly) on a music channel, I decide to let all this drama known to the world.

Because even if I'm not the girl who runs, I am the girl who blogs.  And I am the girl who reads.  I am the girl who is many things that may not be running and I'm sure at least one of those things was reason enough for my guy who runs to date me and marry me.  If love was already unconditional, then it wouldn't be right to think of even demanding more.

Now let's publish this thing.

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the universe doesn't want me to run.

Let's take the path of less resistance.  I say that "training" and looking forward to something will set you up for a lot of "oh man" non-warm fuzzy feelings that can't be solved by a cup of coffee and a cupcake when it doesn't happen.

Should've been, would've been, could've been.  I won't be getting that shirt.  Remember the last post I wrote about me being some quasi-training-runner for the 2011 NatGeo run?  Well yeah, it turns out that the shorter distances are already closed.  I underestimated the breadth of aspiring running bums like myself.  Or really how many kids way younger and faster than me want to cross a finish line.  Now, unless I would like to kill myself before I actually find a job again, I'll go ahead and do the 21k.

Yeah, I'm not going to lie.  This bum is actually bummed.  I'll just go back to looking at pretty pictures and tumblr-ing them.  It doesn't involve pressure nor does it make you sweat and writhe in pain.

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we both have a lot of shoes

Contrary to popular male statements criticizing women's "need" to have multiple shoes for the same purpose - of walking or should I say, strutting - men are also capable of the same need.  Perhaps not for strutting, and it shouldn't be so because that would be terribly peculiar.

The hubby has 6 running shoes.  Two of them are trail.  Three are for road.  One is for short running or recovery runs.  There are some that he's given away already, because they either weren't fit for his feet or they're already worn down to being virtually treadless.

1st Row, L-R: The North Face Betasso, Asics Cumulus 11, Asics Nimbus 11,
Salomon XA Pro 3D Ultra; 2nd Row, L-R: Vibram Five Fingers Bikila, Asics Cumulus 12

TNF: his favorite brand EVER.

So that's how many running shoes he has.  So far, he's working well with Asics.  There's not much toes dying or gooey blisters to be popped.  If ever he has, it's probably from the distances he runs... like you know, I suppose 100 kilometers could really do that.

Now I can't run 5 kilometers.  But I can walk in 5 1/2-inch shoes.  People in my office could also testify that they've seen me trot in them.  For purposes of this photo I just arranged 7 of my prized beauties.  If Chips has his Asics, I have my Nine Wests.  I have about 4 pairs (two of which are here) and when I need beautiful heels that "agree" with my high arches, that's where I go.

I don't know, heels just make me feel like a princess with a devil's soul *insert evil grin*.

1st Row, L-R: Open-toe booties from Mango, Metallic sandals from Nine West,
Cage sandals from Zara, Basic black pump from Nine West.  2nd Row, L-R: Booties from Forever21,
Cage sandals from Nose, T-strap peep toes from The Shoe Shop HK

That's my 5 1/2-inch lovely in the middle.  And I'm proud to note that it's the
hubby who bought it for me when he went on a business trip to Malaysia.

I wonder if we'll ever have that running event where ladies race in high heels.  I will really, really want to do that.  Maybe I could win! (oh dear is that actually some inner voice from a competitive sportswoman?).  Shush you!

This is a clip from the Glamour Stiletto Run in Amsterdam.  At least 3.5inches heel?  I can SO do this!

maybe i should change my blog title

to something like, "i married an ultra runner".

Whatchaguysthink?

5 Things I Learned at the BDM102

Bataan Death March 102k.  March 5-6, 2011.

Watching my husband recover from the run, and flashing back to all those moments spent waiting on the other side of the road, I was inspired to do a different kind of recount rather than my usual anecdotal storytelling (I'll probably do that later).  I'm setting the whiny, yammering part of me aside for a bit.  And I guess, letting the contemplating, reflective writer have a go.

I don't know if anyone would feel that I don't have a right to preach such life-lesson-ish things, being a non-runner.  But at that risk, I would like to write something inspirational (I do hope it turns out to be such).  Here goes:

- One: Do it for the right reason -

Do it for honor.  Do it for passion.  And selflessly so.  When BR gave the briefing that night of the start, he said something about being honest and true to one's self.  I knew that he was implying about cheating.  But that moment said so much more to me.

I would say that if you're doing this to prove that you are better than any of the runners around you, then that doesn't just feel right, doesn't it?  It just rolls off the tongue so wrong, you don't even want to read it.  Do it to challenge what you can do, and to discover how much more you are capable of.  Do it not because you have to do it, do it because you know you are destined to do it.  

 

Even for the support teams, do it not because you know your runner could do better than everyone else.  Do it because you know that it is your role to be the source of strength and inspiration, when your runner and other runners are just about to give up.  Do it because you share the passion.  And do it with as much honor and humility that your runner is filled with, with every painful step he or she takes.

I would think that if you do it for the right reason, you will finish with triumph.  Even if you finish first or last, or did not finish at all, you will feel rewarded.  And grateful.  You will not feel bad that you had to walk, or stop or take longer than you planned.  You will feel what you started with - honored to have run such a historical event, and still filled with passion that you're even thinking of doing it again.

- Two: You are very, very small -

The darkness.  The uphill climbs.  The beating heat.  The beauty that is the world.  It is so much more bigger than you.  Than all of us.  And it will find ways to humble you.  And make you realize that you are in fact, despite all your belief in yourself, something that's very, very small.

If you didn't start out with humility, going through 102 kilometers will I think teach you a thing or two about it.  And make you reflect on how broken you are, and how much you need things.  How much you need really simple things, that you may take for granted or have selfishly called "mine" on regular days.  Like a little shade from a tree.  Or a bottle of water.  Or a few grains of salt.  Or just a bit of sleep so you could see the next marker more clearly.

If you think you are so big, then you could've gone by not needing these little things.  Yep, the world will punish you.  And 102 kilometers of that will bring you to your knees.  No one is that big, not even us who were in cars supporting the runners.

That journey just downright taught us how to be humble and grateful.  For when a cloud decides to stroll away lower towards the earth to block the sun even just for a little bit.  For when other teams offer you an encouraging smile, words and even aid.  For other cars that forgive you for doing multiple U-turns because you missed your agreed kilometer marker.

The world and the life it gives us is amazing.  And it has a funny way of letting us not forget the bigness of it.

- Three: You just have to believe -

Especially if you are doing this ultramarathon for the first time, the fear of not knowing is just overpowering.  It also can feel rather intoxicating, channeling to a sense of excitement and a certain adrenaline rush.

I don't know, but after the 50th kilometer or so, when the body starts getting tired, and senses and reflexes wane, at some point you are just fueled by faith.  A belief that digs so deep that the unknown is forced to melt away.

When the heat of the sun started to just about break everyone down, and my husband said he's just going to walk all the way through, I just had to believe that we will get there no matter what.  Cramps, knots and all.  When he says he'll meet us after 2 kilometers, and I see such pain in him, I just had to believe that I'll see him come around the bend.  And that he may be walking, but at least he's still on his two feet.

I would have to share this belief with him, just in case he doesn't feel the same way.  The last 20 kilometers were the hardest.  And even if I really wanted to push him harder, I also had to believe that what we've done is already enough.

- Four: Know that you have done well -

BR also said during the race briefing to listen to your body.  I think it's very hard for an athlete to not push harder.  Because it's almost instinct to do so until you are completely broken.  It's like you are trained to work beyond everything and to treat pain like it was nothing.

It's excruciating for me to see the hubby walking, squinting because of pain and/or the harsh sun.  I would suppose it's the same for any support crew.  It's like, you really can't do anything more but be there.  And I would think that a runner would like to really run (or jog) rather than slowly walk.  But given how much that anyone's been through - given everything that you've put your body, cramping legs and all, through:

Do not punish yourself or hate yourself or walk in dismay.  Know that you have done well just by getting where you are.  Listen to what the world is telling you.  Through the air flowing through your dry lips.  Through the spasms and aches.  It is telling you that what you are doing is enough.

Not that it's telling you to give up.  Not at all.  Give up is far from it.  What you are doing is enough.  You are doing well.  And from doing well can you only feel that unearthly mix of pride and gratefulness.

- Five:  Be thankful for all the LOVE -

That weekend was filled with it, I would say.  Not the sappy, Valentine's decorated love.  All 102 kilometers were coated with that genuine unconditionality.  You have friends, parents, wives, husbands, brothers or sisters, even cousins.  All together, opening their hearts for this historical event in all of their lives.

I don't know if I could expound so much about it, because that's really what it is.  An overflowing of hearts.  Imagine having to go through this extreme journey for 18 hours.  I can't find any better fuel.  Or any better explanation, of why despite all the suffering and competitiveness, there was so much joy and camaraderie at the starting and finish lines (or whatever kilometer marker you're on, for that matter).

There was just so much love going around, and we were all reveling in it.

 

So to all BDM102 teams, to BR and his crew, congratulations and THANK YOU.  We are all truly blessed.  For Official Results, click on over to BR's blog.

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hurting is normal

This morning, we decided to run (or jog) to somehow expel at least some of the food we've eaten the last few days.  Being the non-runner (or jogger), after 3-ish kilometers my hamstring began to ache.  Yah, I think that was my hamstring.

"Hun, my leg hurts"

He looks back, "Where?"

I point to the back of my left leg.

"Oh, that's just normal," he simply states.

"What are you talking about?" I said. "Hurting is not normal.  It's NOT hurting that's normal."

And he just keeps on jogging along.

he wants to move. all the time.

On weekends, I usually switch on sloth-mode. Well, to be frank, if I had my way, I'd be on sloth-mode all-day every day. I have tried waking up at 4PM, staying in bed until 6PM watching TV, and waiting until the last bit of available natural light to fade to darkness before standing up to flick the light switch.

It's a totally different story with the husband. Firstly, he is a morning person. At 6AM, he is already alive (even earlier on weekends, which should be a crime). I could be awake, but not really functional. More of a walking zombie. Secondly, he cannot for the life of me, stand doing nothing. "Nothing" is not rest. "Nothing" is unproductive. "Nothing" is well... unacceptable. I really can't fathom having this kind of outlook in life. Just thinking of it just tires me.

I'm not sure if it comes with being athletic, this need to always be on the move. Perhaps it's some level of competitiveness, even if you're technically not competing with anyone. Well, aside from perhaps yourself.

Hmm. Wait, now that's a thought. In the pursuit of a psychoanalysis, perhaps it's that fire of a competition.  Even if you're alone. You're competing against being caught doing nothing. Because with doing nothing, you lose. Losing, even if we do say it builds character, sucks. Who would want to suck? Being on the move therefore minimizes the instance of sucking. Yeah, I think that makes sense. I'm not sure if it's valid. But it makes sense.

*I actually made the typography wallpaper for Chips quite a while ago.  It got me thinking to write a post about it.  So, tadah.  If you want a version for your desktop, just leave a comment with your email addie.  Cheers!

he didn't drink all of the beer.

We had beer in the ref left-over from a weekend dinner.  One Friday night, Chips picks up a bottle.  A few moments later, while I was washing the dishes, he motions for me to make way.  "I just need to throw this," he says.  And so he proceeds to draining a good amount of beer down the sink.

I don't really encounter a lot of guys (especially if they're from where I work) who'd throw away beer.  Or not finish beer.  Unless they've been caught when they're not supposed to be drinking beer.  Or are passing out because of too much beer.

"I just needed to carbo-load.  I'm running tomorrow."

It makes sense, I suppose.  It is made out of wheat.  It also beats him asking me to cook pasta.

On another note, congratulations to him for (using his term) "destroying" his 21k PR, clocking in at 01:50:13 at the Run United 2 race last November 20.  Out of 1,100 runners he's actually number 54!  WOOT in a major way.  Thanks to photovendo for this pic:

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?