Late Tuesday afternoon,
walking down Mahogany Road,
beads of sunscreen and sweat collecting dirt and car exhaust,
I mull over the day's work.
It was a long day of interviews in barangay Carmen:
- the city police department
- the regional fire department
- sari-sari owners whose shops sport new renovations and fresh red and white paint courtesy of Coca Cola
- a drunk trisikad (pedicab) driver trying to score a free ticket to Canada
- a thoughtful young trisikad driver
(The latter two, survivors of Typhoon Sendong)
A lunchtime discussion with my translator about the confused reactions of the trisikad drivers when asked the pros and cons of their livelihood:
"Why ask such a question? It's a job. If we don't work, we don't eat. There's nothing to like or complain about."
And one interview in the downtown hub of Divisoria
There was a late start to the interview with the director of the Xavier Ecoville Resettlement Site;
A visit from Philippine President P'noy to the resettlement site takes precedence.
Back at the house, there is a request for roasted manok (chicken) for dinner ...
It is Tuesday after all and we only buy rotisserie chicken on Tuesdays
"Why?"
It just happened that way, and is now an unofficial house rule.
The chicken is on the other side of the highway.
I volunteer to buy it on the way back from a run.
It's my first run in a few days.
The summer heat, a persistent cough, fatigue from nighttime nursing, and long days of interviews and note-writing have dampened by enthusiasm for early morning jogs.
I turn left onto the national highway, away from the city and towards barangays of Agusan and Puerto.
The shoulder is uneven, a mixture of broken asphalt, rocks and litter.
It is shared,
- by overloaded transport trucks waiting for the magical hour of 5 PM when the traffic cops call it a day and stop issuing tickets
- by jeepneys, motorellas, trisikads dropping off passengers and picking up new ones
- by roadside vendors selling everything from mosquito repellent and bananas to fresh fish and hair ties
- by schoolchildren and workers returning home
But no other runners.
A few K later I dash across to the road leading up to a new housing development.
The road is paved all the way up to Teakwood Hills;
A project of Congressman Rufus Rodriguez, according to the billboards.
The pavement ends less than one hundred metres past the gate.
There are residential roads inside, but only two houses.
But lots of vacant lots.
Not unexpectedly, the road to Teakwood Hills is hilly,
steep in some parts and only a slight incline in others.
The road is marked with stations of the cross.
(Many roads branching off the highway and into the mountainous hinterlands are pilgrimage routes.)
By the time I pass Station III, my calf and hamstring muscles are burning.
A brief reprieve on some flats, where a group of children play.
Three boys and one girl are wearing only one slipper (flip flop);
The mates are on the road at varying distances from the children.
They play a version of bowling, in which the object of the game is to knock over a can with a pitched slipper.
Another dozen or so children watch.
"Americano, Americano"
One of the boys abandons the game and joins me, matches me stride for stride.
We run one station of the cross together, then he stops.
On the way down, I spot the kids again.
They have been climbing up the hill.
All wear two slippers.
The boy rushes out in front, I slip in behind, and the rest of the kids behind me:
A parade, a posse of runners.
The laughter is louder than the footfalls.
A "whoooooshing" sound interrupts, then clippity-clop, clippity-clop, clippity-clop.
A tall chestnut mare gallops into the fray.
Luckily for us, she stays on the opposite side of the road.
She carries no rider, only a frayed rope tied around her neck.
The rope undulates at the same rhythm as her captive.
The equine gracefully exits the run.
The children follow.
The return trip is quick.
I feel lighter, even laden with manok.
Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Prycegas Marathon
'Tis December in the Philippines. A month for Christmas decorating, Christmas parties, church services, and ... running races (or at least that's what I wind up doing early December in the Philippines).
* * *
On December 2, 2012, Cagayan De Oro City hosted the Prycegas International Marathon - Unleash the Inner Flame. According to the race announcer, it is the "biggest race this side of the Philippines". Here's a short recap of my race.
Running in the Philippines is a challenge. It's a tropical country, so it's too hot to run anytime except dawn or dusk. In many urban areas, the pollution and traffic congestion pose additional challenges. Plus, being situated near the equator means that the sun sets by about 6pm, which makes it difficult to get home from interviews or field visits in time to run before dark.
It's the heat that determines race start time. Assembly time for the marathon was 3:30 am so that runners are ready for the 4:00 am start. I opted to run the half marathon, which had a slightly more bearable assembly time of 4:30 am. (The real reason for running the half instead of the full was the absence of any kind of structured training and the fact that the longest distance I'd run in the past year was about 15km.)
The race started and finished at the Pryce Gardens, a lovely cemetery near the airport. It's on a ridge overlooking lush green farms and forests. Beyond the winding river are plateaus with what looks like agricultural plantations. The Gardens are on the other side of town from where I live, so getting to the race on time required a 2:45 am wake-up.
Barangay Tablon, where I stay, is much, much quieter than Quezon City. The taxi drivers who eagerly offer their services to Americanos during the day are fast asleep in the city's outlying barangays at 3:15 am. I wanted to avoid paying an astronomical taxi fare, and so had asked a friend to recommend a driver. Even still, I was a tad nervous about hopping into a cab with a stranger when everyone else around me was tucked into bed. As a safety precaution, I've gotten into the habit of sending a text of the licence plate to Frank or to a friend whenever I take a taxi. Instead of the usual ok reply, I received this one:
k good luck. Ada is lying here saying mama pretty clearly, i think it's her way of wishing you luck
A good omen. I knew, despite my lack of training, that it was going to be a good run.
When the taxi pulled into the Gardens, it was still dark. The sky was clear and starry. The constellations are not the same ones that decorate the night sky in the northern hemisphere. (A star map for the Philippines is on our to-purchase list.) It was bit cool; in a singlet and shorts I was under-dressed for the pre-dawn hours. Though the air was still, I could feel the excitement.
I reached the baggage drop station a few minutes before the start of the marathon. The marathon began with the most incredible show I've seen at a race start (well, a flyby of F-16 fighter jets at the Boston marathon was pretty impressive too). Instead of a gun start, there as a fireworks show. Not just Roman candles or piddly fireworks either, but a beautiful display of lights and sounds. Set against the starry night sky, surrounded by runners and the electricity that courses through the re-race air, the show was magical.
Many road races have an official warm-up led by a dance or aerobics instructor. It's a chance to remind runners to loosen up their muscles, hydrate and listen to their bodies. The Prycegas marathon followed this tradition. Instead of hiring a deejay to spin the warm-up tracks, there was a live band playing mainly American pop songs. The band took a short break for a lively warm-up to Gangnam Style, complete with a stage full of dancers, a film crew surveying the runners and music blaring loud enough to drown out the sounds of incoming aircraft.
The 21km course starts off with a gentle downhill along the airport road, winding past expensive gated communities (advertised as "flood-proof" of real estate listings), the SM mall, the agricultural college of Xavier University, a BMW car dealership and giant tarpaulins advertising a zip-lining and white water rafting adventure company. The descent continues for several kilometers; there's a gradual shift from upscale businesses to more affordable Christian print and copy shops, sari-sari shops and fruit stalls. The route flattens out in the barangay of Carmen, one of the areas hardest hit by Typhoon Sendong (international designation Washi) last December. The course then takes runners along the national highway, past the new Centrio (Ayala) mall, the bargain Guisano mall to the turnaround point at the Limketkai mall. The return route takes a slightly different route past the Provincial Capitol, a small tent city of Sendong survivors awaiting permanent relocation housing, regional government offices and the Paseo del Rio de Cagayan. The climb back up to Pryce Gardens felt a lot longer than it did on the way down. Maybe it's because the sun has risen...
The woman wearing the pink shirt who had been playing leapfrop with me for the past ten kilometers or so pulled away at 18km. There's no juice left in my tank to catch her, just enough to pick up the pace for a respectable 300m "sprint" to the finish line.
Back at the Gardens, c'est une véritable fête. Lots of picture-taking (including with the Americano). A photo booth with props. Sponsors displaying their products. Loud music. Very loud music.
All in all, it was a good run. Especially because I knew my two biggest fans were cheering me on (from the comfort of their beds), and one of them saying her first word.
* * *
On December 2, 2012, Cagayan De Oro City hosted the Prycegas International Marathon - Unleash the Inner Flame. According to the race announcer, it is the "biggest race this side of the Philippines". Here's a short recap of my race.
Running in the Philippines is a challenge. It's a tropical country, so it's too hot to run anytime except dawn or dusk. In many urban areas, the pollution and traffic congestion pose additional challenges. Plus, being situated near the equator means that the sun sets by about 6pm, which makes it difficult to get home from interviews or field visits in time to run before dark.
It's the heat that determines race start time. Assembly time for the marathon was 3:30 am so that runners are ready for the 4:00 am start. I opted to run the half marathon, which had a slightly more bearable assembly time of 4:30 am. (The real reason for running the half instead of the full was the absence of any kind of structured training and the fact that the longest distance I'd run in the past year was about 15km.)
The race started and finished at the Pryce Gardens, a lovely cemetery near the airport. It's on a ridge overlooking lush green farms and forests. Beyond the winding river are plateaus with what looks like agricultural plantations. The Gardens are on the other side of town from where I live, so getting to the race on time required a 2:45 am wake-up.
Barangay Tablon, where I stay, is much, much quieter than Quezon City. The taxi drivers who eagerly offer their services to Americanos during the day are fast asleep in the city's outlying barangays at 3:15 am. I wanted to avoid paying an astronomical taxi fare, and so had asked a friend to recommend a driver. Even still, I was a tad nervous about hopping into a cab with a stranger when everyone else around me was tucked into bed. As a safety precaution, I've gotten into the habit of sending a text of the licence plate to Frank or to a friend whenever I take a taxi. Instead of the usual ok reply, I received this one:
k good luck. Ada is lying here saying mama pretty clearly, i think it's her way of wishing you luck
A good omen. I knew, despite my lack of training, that it was going to be a good run.
When the taxi pulled into the Gardens, it was still dark. The sky was clear and starry. The constellations are not the same ones that decorate the night sky in the northern hemisphere. (A star map for the Philippines is on our to-purchase list.) It was bit cool; in a singlet and shorts I was under-dressed for the pre-dawn hours. Though the air was still, I could feel the excitement.
I reached the baggage drop station a few minutes before the start of the marathon. The marathon began with the most incredible show I've seen at a race start (well, a flyby of F-16 fighter jets at the Boston marathon was pretty impressive too). Instead of a gun start, there as a fireworks show. Not just Roman candles or piddly fireworks either, but a beautiful display of lights and sounds. Set against the starry night sky, surrounded by runners and the electricity that courses through the re-race air, the show was magical.
Many road races have an official warm-up led by a dance or aerobics instructor. It's a chance to remind runners to loosen up their muscles, hydrate and listen to their bodies. The Prycegas marathon followed this tradition. Instead of hiring a deejay to spin the warm-up tracks, there was a live band playing mainly American pop songs. The band took a short break for a lively warm-up to Gangnam Style, complete with a stage full of dancers, a film crew surveying the runners and music blaring loud enough to drown out the sounds of incoming aircraft.
The 21km course starts off with a gentle downhill along the airport road, winding past expensive gated communities (advertised as "flood-proof" of real estate listings), the SM mall, the agricultural college of Xavier University, a BMW car dealership and giant tarpaulins advertising a zip-lining and white water rafting adventure company. The descent continues for several kilometers; there's a gradual shift from upscale businesses to more affordable Christian print and copy shops, sari-sari shops and fruit stalls. The route flattens out in the barangay of Carmen, one of the areas hardest hit by Typhoon Sendong (international designation Washi) last December. The course then takes runners along the national highway, past the new Centrio (Ayala) mall, the bargain Guisano mall to the turnaround point at the Limketkai mall. The return route takes a slightly different route past the Provincial Capitol, a small tent city of Sendong survivors awaiting permanent relocation housing, regional government offices and the Paseo del Rio de Cagayan. The climb back up to Pryce Gardens felt a lot longer than it did on the way down. Maybe it's because the sun has risen...
The woman wearing the pink shirt who had been playing leapfrop with me for the past ten kilometers or so pulled away at 18km. There's no juice left in my tank to catch her, just enough to pick up the pace for a respectable 300m "sprint" to the finish line.
Back at the Gardens, c'est une véritable fête. Lots of picture-taking (including with the Americano). A photo booth with props. Sponsors displaying their products. Loud music. Very loud music.
 |
| Tasting the finisher and 10th place female medals |
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
3:22:01
Like the snowflakes currently gracing the Montreal skyline, no two marathons are exactly the same. The Second Quezon City International Marathon (QCIM) was my third marathon (the first two were Road2Hope (Hamilton, ON 2007) and Boston (2009)). It wasn't a PB (personal best), but I'm happy with my race.
Here are some thoughts on what made this latest marathon experience unique.
* * *
Wake up in the threes. The alarm clock is set for 3:15am. My internal alarm goes off a few minutes before. It must be nerves. I'm glad everything was laid out the night before: number pinned onto my shirt, timing chip secured in my left shoelace, semi-clean shorts, sports bra and socks (the pair the RnJ Laundry staff managed to find after they found out how much running socks cost) neatly folded in a pile at the foot of the bed near the gels and a small water bottle.
I stumble downstairs in the dark. Flip the switch to open the gas line on the stove. Boil water for the breakfast of champions: porridge and half a mango. It sticks to my stomach. Feels heavy, too heavy for a 3:20am meal. But not eating would feel worse ... in the race.
By 3:45, I'm out of the house. The gate key is tied to my right shoelace. The rest of my keys are hooked on the clothesline. I jog slowly to Quezon Memorial Circle, following the "open gate" route I'd scouted out earlier. (My place is in a semi-gated community. The gates are locked from 10pm to 5am. Had I taken my usual route that passes through locked gates I would miss the start of the race.)
Quezon Memorial Circle is aglow with Christmas lights. It's beautiful.
Hundreds of runners have already gathered at the designated muster point. Some stretch or jog in place. Others fiddle with race numbers, iPods and shoelaces. The queue for the port-o-potties grows by the minute.
A taho vendor walks through the crowd, hoping for some sales of this favourite Filipino snack. There aren't many takers.
It's still dark as the runners shuffle to the start line. It's on Commonwealth Avenue, right before the Philcoa overpass. When I first arrived in the Philippines, a good friend told me that the Philippine Coconut Authority (more commonly known as Philcoa) was the centre of the universe. In a sense, he's right. Informal vendors hawk wares of all shapes and sizes on the sidewalk. There are medical facilities, internet cafés, fast food joints, cell phone repair shops and banks. There are jeepneys, buses, taxis and tricycles available for hire. It's the Quezon City gateway to the rest of the world.
The race begins in the usual Filipino fashion. Local media personalities pump up the crowd. A municipal official delivers a speech. Someone prays, asking God to bless the runners, the race organizers, the fans, etc. A fitness club rep leads some warm-up stretches.
After much hoopla, the start gun is fired.
The beginning of the route is familiar, snaking along the roads I frequent on foot and by jeepney. It feels odd to run along Commonwealth Avenue, a heavily trafficked area nearly 24/7. One side of the divided highway is closed to traffic (well, mostly). Traffic on the other side is gridlocked. Drivers and passengers shoot dirty looks at us runners, silently cursing us for causing more traffic than usual.
The gazelles passed me at kilometer 16. Well, the ones running the half marathon. The gazelles in the 42.195 km race were ahead of me even before the starting gun went off.
The kilometers through the Mesa Dam are the most scenic parts of the course. My legs feel lighter and turn over quickly. I take big gulps of soot-free air. My internal camera snaps pictures of the lake, the trees, the winding road, the gardens. While the hills are a welcome break from the otherwise flat course, my legs quickly grow tired. The near-absence of hill training is showing.
Black shirt starts to tire at the turnaround point. I start the second half alone, then play cat and mouse with some runners in front of me. Runners en-route to the mid-way point offer encouraging words as our paths cross.
Back on Commonwealth Avenue, the crowd has grown. More spectators, more vendors, more jeepneys, more taxis, more tricycles. By kilometer 25, the crowd of runners swells. The marathon runners are joined runners in the shorter distances. Navigating through runner-traffic is not unlike weaving in and out of vehicle traffic.
I'm slowing down, but I don't have any kick left in me. I've had both my gels. I'm counting down the remaining distance in "UP laps." My head and legs know what they feel with five, four, three, two, one more lap to go. The actual lap around the academic oval feels great. As I exit the campus, I tell myself that I'm starting the penultimate lap. It's a comforting thought.
On Garcia, I hear a familiar voice. "Go Chris!" It's the laundry lady from RnJ Laundry. I'm delighted she's come out to watch the race.
With a kilometer left to go, onlookers are cheering wildly. Everyone seems to be yelling "only 200 meters left" - it's a looooong 200m. It's a relief to finally cross the finish line.
* * *
Some finishing thoughts
The race wasn't particularly fast, at least by international standards. It could be because of the heat, the pollution, the humidity, the hills or any combination of these factors.The first male and female finishers run the race in 2:22:48 and 2:54:00, respectively. (The world records for the marathon are 2:03:59 - Haile Gebrselassie and 2:15:25 - Paula Radcliffe.)
Post-race people-watching is a snapshot of life in Quezon City. ~ Sandwiched between the post-race water kiosk and the Powerade kiosk is a vendor. He's selling cigarettes. In fifteen minutes, he makes a grand total of zero sales. ~ Street children mill around the finishing line. They collect empty plastic bottles. I give my unopened bottle of Powerade to a young girl. ~ Random runners approach me, inquiring if I am "the woman who runs at UP." They ask to have their picture taken with me. I happily oblige, and wonder what they will do with a photo of them with a sweat-drenched foreigner.
* * *
QCIM links
Race photos
Race results
Kenyans run show in Quezon City International Marathon (Philippine Star)
Here are some thoughts on what made this latest marathon experience unique.
Wake up in the threes. The alarm clock is set for 3:15am. My internal alarm goes off a few minutes before. It must be nerves. I'm glad everything was laid out the night before: number pinned onto my shirt, timing chip secured in my left shoelace, semi-clean shorts, sports bra and socks (the pair the RnJ Laundry staff managed to find after they found out how much running socks cost) neatly folded in a pile at the foot of the bed near the gels and a small water bottle.
I stumble downstairs in the dark. Flip the switch to open the gas line on the stove. Boil water for the breakfast of champions: porridge and half a mango. It sticks to my stomach. Feels heavy, too heavy for a 3:20am meal. But not eating would feel worse ... in the race.
By 3:45, I'm out of the house. The gate key is tied to my right shoelace. The rest of my keys are hooked on the clothesline. I jog slowly to Quezon Memorial Circle, following the "open gate" route I'd scouted out earlier. (My place is in a semi-gated community. The gates are locked from 10pm to 5am. Had I taken my usual route that passes through locked gates I would miss the start of the race.)
Quezon Memorial Circle is aglow with Christmas lights. It's beautiful.
Hundreds of runners have already gathered at the designated muster point. Some stretch or jog in place. Others fiddle with race numbers, iPods and shoelaces. The queue for the port-o-potties grows by the minute.
A taho vendor walks through the crowd, hoping for some sales of this favourite Filipino snack. There aren't many takers.
It's still dark as the runners shuffle to the start line. It's on Commonwealth Avenue, right before the Philcoa overpass. When I first arrived in the Philippines, a good friend told me that the Philippine Coconut Authority (more commonly known as Philcoa) was the centre of the universe. In a sense, he's right. Informal vendors hawk wares of all shapes and sizes on the sidewalk. There are medical facilities, internet cafés, fast food joints, cell phone repair shops and banks. There are jeepneys, buses, taxis and tricycles available for hire. It's the Quezon City gateway to the rest of the world.
The race begins in the usual Filipino fashion. Local media personalities pump up the crowd. A municipal official delivers a speech. Someone prays, asking God to bless the runners, the race organizers, the fans, etc. A fitness club rep leads some warm-up stretches.
After much hoopla, the start gun is fired.
The beginning of the route is familiar, snaking along the roads I frequent on foot and by jeepney. It feels odd to run along Commonwealth Avenue, a heavily trafficked area nearly 24/7. One side of the divided highway is closed to traffic (well, mostly). Traffic on the other side is gridlocked. Drivers and passengers shoot dirty looks at us runners, silently cursing us for causing more traffic than usual.
I run the first half in the company of two Filipino men I nicknamed "Red shirt" and "Black shirt." We push each other, alternately taking the lead and draughting in each other's slipstream. We attract a lot of cheers from onlookers. The cheering is in English.
Black shirt and I pull away from Red shirt shortly before Marlboro Street. We run the first half in 1:35:00. (I don't have a watch and only found out the splits after the race.) It feels good, but I'm not sure I can sustain the pace for the full race.
Corey Hart's "Sunglasses at night" is stuck on repeat in my head. I'd decided to wear a cap and sunglasses for the race. The sun is up when I reach the halfway point. My internal music player finally moves to another song.
Black shirt starts to tire at the turnaround point. I start the second half alone, then play cat and mouse with some runners in front of me. Runners en-route to the mid-way point offer encouraging words as our paths cross.
Back on Commonwealth Avenue, the crowd has grown. More spectators, more vendors, more jeepneys, more taxis, more tricycles. By kilometer 25, the crowd of runners swells. The marathon runners are joined runners in the shorter distances. Navigating through runner-traffic is not unlike weaving in and out of vehicle traffic.
I'm slowing down, but I don't have any kick left in me. I've had both my gels. I'm counting down the remaining distance in "UP laps." My head and legs know what they feel with five, four, three, two, one more lap to go. The actual lap around the academic oval feels great. As I exit the campus, I tell myself that I'm starting the penultimate lap. It's a comforting thought.
On Garcia, I hear a familiar voice. "Go Chris!" It's the laundry lady from RnJ Laundry. I'm delighted she's come out to watch the race.
With a kilometer left to go, onlookers are cheering wildly. Everyone seems to be yelling "only 200 meters left" - it's a looooong 200m. It's a relief to finally cross the finish line.
 |
| Finisher's medal |
Some finishing thoughts
The race wasn't particularly fast, at least by international standards. It could be because of the heat, the pollution, the humidity, the hills or any combination of these factors.The first male and female finishers run the race in 2:22:48 and 2:54:00, respectively. (The world records for the marathon are 2:03:59 - Haile Gebrselassie and 2:15:25 - Paula Radcliffe.)
Post-race people-watching is a snapshot of life in Quezon City. ~ Sandwiched between the post-race water kiosk and the Powerade kiosk is a vendor. He's selling cigarettes. In fifteen minutes, he makes a grand total of zero sales. ~ Street children mill around the finishing line. They collect empty plastic bottles. I give my unopened bottle of Powerade to a young girl. ~ Random runners approach me, inquiring if I am "the woman who runs at UP." They ask to have their picture taken with me. I happily oblige, and wonder what they will do with a photo of them with a sweat-drenched foreigner.
Zorro is at the awards ceremony, decked out in full Zorro regalia. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to make it out to the UP campus for the race. He cheers loudly as the winners are announced, making up for his earlier absence. I say my good-byes.
* * *
My race by the numbers
My race by the numbers
- 3:22:13 (gun time); 3:22:01 (chip time)
- 31st overall (out of 526)
- 9th female (out of 48) or 3rd, excluding the Kenyans (aka gazelles)
* * *
QCIM links
Race photos
Race results
Kenyans run show in Quezon City International Marathon (Philippine Star)
Kenyans dominate QC International Marathon (GMANews.tv)
♪♫♪ It's a small world after all ♫♪♫
Have you ever traveled, told someone you were from Canada and had them respond:
"Oh, I met [insert random first name] from Canada. I think (s)he lives in [insert Canadian city]. Do you know him/her?"
You smile, then shake your head with regret. You explain that there are 33 million people in Canada and that your home city is actually several hundred kilometers away from their friend's city.
On rare occasions, however, you discover a connection.
It's thrilling. It's satisfying. It rekindles memories. It takes you back in time to another part of your life.
* * *
In 2004-2005 I was an intern with Honey Care Africa in Nairobi, Kenya. One of the highlights was "running with the Kenyans" (or more precisely, running in their dust).
For several months, I trained with Sam. On weekdays, we'd meet at 6:00am in the Nairobi Arboretum. The Arboretum was a short mile or so from Kat and my apartment in Westlands; Sam's place was 10km away. We'd run a workout together. He'd pace me through intervals, fartleks, easy runs, hill runs, etc. On the occasional weekend we'd do a long run, a special hill workout or a training session at the airport. He'd give me running tips about clothing (the Kenyans have known about the benefits of compression workout and recovery attire long before compression gear surfaced in North American running stores), nutrition, sleep, etc.
My workouts with Sam were the "easy" part of his training regime. I think he enjoyed the challenge of teaching a "mzungu" (white person) how to run. After our morning sessions, he would run home (another 10km), rest a few hours, then do his "real" workout.
Sam can run a sub-60 half-marathon. That's fast. Really fast. The world record is 58:23.
* * *
After finishing the marathon I wander around Quezon Memorial Circle, sample running nutrition products, enjoy a short post-race massage. Near the stage, a live band entertains a large crowd of families. It's only 8:30am.
A group of African runners sits at the base of a small monument. They look cool and refreshed, having already changed out of their racing singlets and shorts. They don't look tired. I'm in awe. African runners are to me what Maurice Richard, Wayne Gretzy and Sidney Crosby are to Canadian boys.
Like at every race, I scan the faces, hoping for a familiar one. No luck.
I approach the group. After exchanging pleasantries and politely asking about their races, I inquire if any of them are Kenyans. Everyone nods.
Then I pop the question.
"Do you know Sam from Nanyuki? He trains at the airport in Nairobi and does workouts at the big hill. The one where you can see zebras and giraffes - it's about a 45 minute matatu ride from the Nairobi Arboretum."
It's a long shot. There are 39+ million Kenyans. Still, the circle of elite runners can't be that big.
There's a pause, then a young man nods.
"Yes, I know Sammy."
We swap stories. He tells me that he's from Nanyuki. He trains both in Nanyuki (to reap the benefits of high altitude training) and in Nairobi. He does workouts at the airport and the hill outside Nairobi. He runs with Sam.
Before parting ways, he takes my hastily scribbled note and agrees to deliver it to Sam.
On the walk home, I marvel at how small the world is.
* * *
I'm looking forward to trying the workouts my new friend promises to send. And I'm especially looking forward to testing them with my running partner back in Montreal.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Three sleeps
Only three short nights left until the big day. The butterflies are already fluttering about in my stomach.
My training has shifted into taper mode, the pre-race period one to two weeks before a major competition in which you lay off the hard training so that your body is well-rested. With the reduced mileage comes (slightly) more time for writing.
* * *
As many a long distance runner will attest, training has its ups and downs (figuratively, and in ideal training conditions, literally too). Training in a tropical country while doing fieldwork poses its own suite of challenges. Here are some training highlights and hiccups.
* * *
Workouts
Training for a marathon often entails following a plan with a variety of workouts – tempo runs, hills, intervals, recovery runs, LSDs, cross-training and rest. Some runners (present company included) are neurotic about designing the ideal program, calculating target pacing, completing all workouts and meticulously recording everything in a training log.
My current training regime, however, is very unstructured. The terrain, the climate, the research, the pollution, the travel and the availability of cross-training activities all affect what I can and cannot do.
LSD Runs
Long slow distance runs are a key component of any training program, especially for the marathon. I usually look forward to them as they offer opportunities for exploring new places or long chats with running partners. In Quezon City, there’s really only one place to escape pollution and traffic for effective LSDs: UP Diliman.
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| The academic oval at UP Diliman campus |
I run laps around the academic oval. Running laps makes it easy to track mileage and avoid carrying fuel. Running laps can also be repetitive and boring. I change direction every couple of laps to ‘spice things up.’ I change my stride to match the song playing on my iPod. There are ~1000 songs on the iPod but I usually listen to the same playlist on LSDs. Here’s a sample of the songs and their elicited response.
ABBA (various) … warm-up
Avril Lavigne (various) … picking-up-the-pace … flashback to counting bird blood parasites in my undergrad
The Buggles (Video killed the radio star) … head bobbing … flashback to recovery runs with the Queen’s x-country team
Paul Simon (various) … lip sync
Moby (Bodyrock) … flashback to surfing (à la kayak) on Big Joe … press repeat 2-3 times to extend the exhilaration
Shakira (various) … dancing on the run
The White Stripes (My doorbell)… light steps
The penultimate long run (in training) was last Tuesday.
Eighteen laps.
Eighteen long laps.
Made especially long because my iPod batteries died.
It was only when I was leafing through my housemate’s copy of “Runner’s World Philippines” that I learned that the academic oval is 2.2km and not 2km. So with the warm up, I had run a marathon.
Only two LSDs were done somewhere other than the academic oval. One in Nagoya, Japan. One in Legaspi, Philippines. While the weather was cooler in the former and made for better running, I preferred running in the latter. Picture running next to the sea in the wee hours of the morning. In the distance is Mount Mayon, a near-perfect conical active volcano and the pride and joy of Legaspi.
* * *
Fueling
My preferred food during LSDs is dried mango. Dried mango is cheap (especially compared to gels which are twice the price as those sold in Canada). It is readily available at grocery stores. It is easy to stash in the bushes (so that I don't have to carry it on me throughout the run). I keep a few bags of dried mango in the freezer - away from the mice and geckos that manage to chew their way through just about all food packages.
Staying hydrated is critical for training in the heat. Most sports drinks make me gag; they are either too sweet or taste articificial. My first race here was sponsored by Pocari Sweat, which turns out to be palatable and effective. Since then, the drink has been my liquid fuel of choice.
I've discovered that fresh buko juice after a long run does wonders for speeding up recovery. It's cool, refreshing, filled with nutrients, and somehow reduces soreness the following day. It has become part of my routine to stop in the barangay of San Vincente on the jog back home. The young buko seller carefully splits open a young coconut, drains the juice into a plastic bag and finally scoops out the flesh. If it’s not too hot outside I save it for after my shower. If it’s unbearably hot, I drink up immediately.
* * *
Yoga
The Ananda Márga Yoga Centre in Sikatuna Village is a 25 minute walk or a 25 peso tricycle ride from my place. When in Metro Manila, I do an hour and a half yoga session once or twice a week. The classes are probably the reason why I have, knock on wood, remained relatively healthy and injury-free these past few months. I’m counting on the yoga sessions this week to help my legs recover from last weekend’s spelunking expedition. (It wasn’t such a great idea training-wise but exploring the Calbiga Caves in Samar was too good an opportunity to pass up.)
* * *
Socks
Runners don’t make for good foot models. Their heels and toes are calloused and blistered. Their toenails are either missing or purple.
The right pair of running socks can make a big difference in minimizing the damage. Knowing my feet, I brought two pairs of running socks with me from Canada. As of this morning, one half of each pair of socks has disappeared at the laundry. Unfortunately my two pairs of socks are different thicknesses so they can’t be used as a pair. And so, tomorrow I must venture into the malls in search of a new pair of running socks.
* * *
Zorro
Zorro is a fixture on UP Diliman campus. No one knows his real name or story. I am told that once upon a time he was a brilliant student studying physics and mathematics at the university. Then something happened. He dropped out of school. He began sporting his now-famous costume - a Zorro mask and cape - and spending his days encouraging joggers exercising around the UP academic oval. Every lap Zorro flashes a giant grin and high fives me. He usually says something along the lines of "you run fast beautiful lady." My face is already flushed from the heat and the exercise, and hides my embarrassment. Zorro told me he’ll be there for the marathon and will for cheer me.
* * *
The countdown to the Second Quezon City International Marathon has begun. Three sleeps, two easy runs, one jaunt to a running store ‘til the start gun fires at 4:30am on Sunday.Monday, November 15, 2010
Bicycle benefits in Tacloban
Tied to the fence outside Tacloban's City Hall is a sign. It captures the small town, laid-back, joie-de-vivre atmosphere of Leyte's capital city. It made me stop, grin, take out my notebook and jot down some notes. My camera batteries had died and so, unfortunately, there's no picture to accompany this post.
* * *
Picture a one square meter sign. White background. Logos of the City of Tacoblan and the One Way Bike Club up top. A goofy-looking cartoon cyclist sporting lycra shorts, a striped tee and helmet sits atop a bicycle. Text written in black comic sans ms font surrounds the picture, labeling the various parts like an anatomy diagram. The text reads (copied verbatim from the sign):
* * *
Picture a one square meter sign. White background. Logos of the City of Tacoblan and the One Way Bike Club up top. A goofy-looking cartoon cyclist sporting lycra shorts, a striped tee and helmet sits atop a bicycle. Text written in black comic sans ms font surrounds the picture, labeling the various parts like an anatomy diagram. The text reads (copied verbatim from the sign):
- Gives you legs of steel
- Zero emissions
- Slows down global warming
- Whizzes past traffic jam
- No need to pay for gas, parking fees or auto insurance ... hurray
- Quiet as a mouse
- Faster and easier than walking
- It feels like flying
- It carries your goodies home [pointing to the basket]
- Put a big fat smile on your face
- Shapes up that bootie
- The Earth sends a lil extra luv to those on bicycles (this is scientifically documented)
* * *
I hope this short description evokes a smile from all cycling enthusiasts reading this post, and perhaps a small twinge of excitement for next spring's biking season.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Gusto kong tumakbo (I like to run)
There's a shoe-box sized running store a few blocks from my place. I discovered it a few nights after moving in and spent an hour talking shop with the sole employee there. Apparently running is the latest fitness craze in the Philippines, which would partially explain the popularity of the new two kilometer fitness oval at the UP campus. (Another explanation is that it's one of the few places with shade and limited vehicle traffic.) The sport is still in its infancy and not especially competitive.
An early morning run is part of my daily routine (as is the washing of my running shorts, sports bra, singlet and socks in the shower afterwards). For me, running also a way of staying grounded and physically and mentally healthy. As I visit different parts of the country, my running shoes have and will continue to come with me. Running is such a wonderful way to meet new people and to explore new places (so long as you're carrying money, ID and a mobile phone when venturing out in new locales).
* * *
I ran a 10km fundraiser race for UP varsity athletes on Sunday morning. Races here start very early; start time was scheduled for 6:00am sharp (which turned out to be 6:30am). Even at this early hour, it's hot and humid. The race atmosphere was familiar: pop music blaring, inflatable start and finish line, vendor tents, race volunteers sporting bright t-shirts, nervous runners milling about and stretching. The enthusiasm was contagious. It was great to talk with other runners about upcoming races and places to train.
As the only non-Filipino, I stuck out like a sore thumb. As one of the few experienced runners, I stuck out even more. Curious, excited onlookers cheered us on all along the 5km loop. There were lots of "go ma'am" shouts of support. I ran a decent but not especially fast race (40:52ish) to finish second overall and first female. Instead of medals or ribbons we were given gift certificates for foot massages and fast food!
* * *
There's a marathon in Quezon City on December 5th, the day before I return to Canada. I'm tempted to run it.
For more info about running in the Philippines, visit: takbo.ph
An early morning run is part of my daily routine (as is the washing of my running shorts, sports bra, singlet and socks in the shower afterwards). For me, running also a way of staying grounded and physically and mentally healthy. As I visit different parts of the country, my running shoes have and will continue to come with me. Running is such a wonderful way to meet new people and to explore new places (so long as you're carrying money, ID and a mobile phone when venturing out in new locales).
* * *
I ran a 10km fundraiser race for UP varsity athletes on Sunday morning. Races here start very early; start time was scheduled for 6:00am sharp (which turned out to be 6:30am). Even at this early hour, it's hot and humid. The race atmosphere was familiar: pop music blaring, inflatable start and finish line, vendor tents, race volunteers sporting bright t-shirts, nervous runners milling about and stretching. The enthusiasm was contagious. It was great to talk with other runners about upcoming races and places to train.
As the only non-Filipino, I stuck out like a sore thumb. As one of the few experienced runners, I stuck out even more. Curious, excited onlookers cheered us on all along the 5km loop. There were lots of "go ma'am" shouts of support. I ran a decent but not especially fast race (40:52ish) to finish second overall and first female. Instead of medals or ribbons we were given gift certificates for foot massages and fast food!
* * *
There's a marathon in Quezon City on December 5th, the day before I return to Canada. I'm tempted to run it.
For more info about running in the Philippines, visit: takbo.ph
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