This isn't really my first time...

Ok, so this isn't really my first attempt at running.

I tried it in November 2007. Joined a race. Decided the night before. No prep, no nothing. I was just in dire need to clear my head and run away. Pure pain after. But I lived to write about it. Haha.

Joined a few more races, but never really ran in between.

And then I stopped.

I have no plans now of stopping again though. :)

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Animo Run 2007. November 25, 2007. 5.40am. Mall of Asia (I am making so many memories in this place, I must say.)











It was one of my obsessive-compulsive moments, something which would not give me my peace until I get it done. (I occasionally have these moments, and whenever I do, I rarely share about them before getting it done. I just run off and disappear, well as long as I have no prior commitments. Stuff I just need to do for myself. Yes, this can also be considered as low EQ I know. My way of being spontaneous, I suppose.)

So there, because the storm didn't hit Manila, and because the organizers allowed registration on race day itself, I found myself at the MOA parking lot this morning. Never mind that I am not a real runner, or at least, not yet one. Never mind that I only fell asleep around 3am or that I have been dog-tired the last few days. Never mind that it's been a while since I last jogged or exercised, and that this seems to be a "first" race. Never mind that I was alone. I didn't even bother bringing an extra shirt because I didn't have anybody to leave it with. I just left everything at the office, I was going back here anyway to work. Never mind that I just "snuck out" of my OT schedule for a couple of hours, which I will probably pay for dearly tonight, considering everything that should have been finished last Friday. Never mind that it was a long debate with myself on how else I could use the time productively for the other things I needed to get done, aside from work.

I just had to run. Haha, probably in the same way that Forrest Gump had to run to deal with the stuff he had to deal with. Maybe I've been reading too much of Kristin Armstrong's blogs, I don't know. I just had to run.

It was just one blob of green at the starting line, with almost everyone wearing the dark green DLSU Manila running club singlets. Looking at the people more intently though, you'd see a pretty interesting variety - from the hard-core racers to the trying-to-get-fit-crowd (like me). There were couples, parents and kids, grandparents and grandkids. Infants being carried, toddlers being led. People from running clubs and college students who seemed to be just trying to fulfill their version of PE 101 requirements. As Rivka beautifully describes it in her article, people have their own reasons for running.

I had mine too. I wanted so badly to run this morning to clear my head. To take away the weariness in my soul. I was hoping that I could breathe in deep and exhale everything out in the process. I was hoping to break into a sweat instead so that whatever it was inside of me would just stop coming out as tears. I wanted to run to forget what I was running away from and to run towards finding myself. I wanted to run to regain the footing I had lost, and I knew I couldn't do that by standing still. I wanted to run to be by and with myself. And I wanted to run because I missed my kutsch and my runningmate. I wanted to run to let my coach know that I was going to be fine. I wanted to run so that I could actually believe that. I wanted to run to find a reason to be proud of myself again. I just wanted to be whole again.

When you're not a real runner, 5K actually hurts, esp when you didn't really prepare for it, except for the morning stretching. (Haha, seasoned runners would frown on everything I did wrong earlier. I am not even going to go there.) 5K hurts your legs, and it hurts your ego too, when you see that you're at the end of the pack.

Right before reaching the 2K mark, I decided to stop looking back, no use being unforgiving of myself I figured. Up until this time, whenever I had my moments of cynicism, I used to think that whatever adidas and nike had to say sounded good, but more often than not bordered on hokum. But then, that angry side of me discovered it to be true this morning. That I really am running my own race, at the pace I decide on. That there was something healing with having the wind against your face, and with your feet pounding the pavement. That side by side with the faces becoming familiar, as they lagged behind with me, I was not alone, even if I was running my own race. That it was uplifting to say a silent prayer for these fellows beside me, so they wouldn't give up on running and whatever it was they were running for.

I started counting lampposts, running from point to point, just as coach taught me. From one lamppost to the next. It was the only way I could get through. Then I started counting in 2's, stretching myself further, asking myself to be patient enough to wait until I reached the 2nd marker to walk in between. I found myself thinking that if I could reach the next one, then I would be ok. That if kept my promise of not stopping until the next one, I could actually keep the bigger promises I've made in my life, and the even bigger ones I should and will be making.

I found myself asking midway, "what the hell am i doing here?" and there was a part of me that just wanted to cop out. But there was this one phone call, and I passed by the church, and I just had to keep on going. I guess His love, and the love of the people around you are more than enough to get you through.

The DLSU babble band started hitting the drums. Sounded like UAAP, only that it was off-season. The beat in my head made me think that just as coach was cheering for me, rooting for me, that I should actually love myself enough to be my biggest fan. Because when you lose what you love and what you dream of, you got to love yourself enough to have good reason not to throw your life away.

Finally hit the 4K mark. All heart from there. Almost home. Tried running past more lampposts at a time. Running as far as my aching legs would carry me. Ran until the drums grew louder. I wanted to finish strong, to reach the finish line running. Because that was the Pat I wanted to become, the only version of myself that I could live with. One who would never give up. One who would give of herself completely, over and over again, in spite of the pain. Screw the pain. It will hopefully go away before I know it. And so I ran.

After everything, I lingered for a while. Made a few more memories in my head. Silently cheered for the 10K finishers. Stretched. And hoped that I could actually stretch the same way for my life. Mustered enough courage to talk with Mang Pablo and his little boy Uriel "Bookcoycoy", because they were my favorites in the race. Mang Pablo said something that made me smile, that you could make friends in marathons. Making new friends. I guess that's what people do when they decide and try to live again. Make friends.

One race isn't enough to heal you. I need a couple more for that, to be whole again. I've decided to be forgiving of my pace. It will take time. But I will get there. It was a good morning for a run. It was a good morning to live again.