It's Monday most
despised. We return to the grinding reality of work after the ephemeral
pleasures of the weekend. I consider myself fortunate because I have one of the
reserved parking slots in a spanking new building and live within a short
running distance (about 6k) away from the office. The rest of my fellow workers
are packed like sardines in a train, or enduring abominable traffic in buses
that crawl and crisscross the highways like drunken turtles. Even that metaphor
seems like an understatement. The struggle to go to work is a job in itself. Work
and the working conditions for most workers are terrible. We should just all
run against Capitalism.
It’s Monday, there’s a
lot of heavy lifting (just figurative, I scarcely lift even a pen here) at the
office today, and the muscles in my legs feel fatigued from Sunday’s 21k Run. Mondays
like these, there’s a twisted irony on how the fatigue in my legs actually fuels
my endurance to live through another day at work. This pain is my spark. This
pain comes from running.
Running has been my representation
of self-overcoming. I jog my memory now and realize how it’s always been the
role of the runs to create these metaphors.
I made several
milestones this year. Last March – I’ve reached the elusive sub-2 on a 21k run.
The mantra for that run was to execute the rhythm spontaneously instead of fussing
over the linear details of a plan. To truly run, not to chase, and to be
flexible enough to change. I didn’t even
think I was stronger, or that my training was better than the last couple of
organized runs where I attempted a sub-2 21k PR. The training was only more
rigorous because I made it an outlet against a big blow to D. and I – there was
the miscarriage. She had to endure more. Looking back to it now, that’s how the
run felt: to run strong is like speaking the truth with conviction. But I
wouldn’t carry my own chair too much, because it was a literal sprint to the
finish. I’m only sub-2 by 9 seconds (chip time). Nevertheless, it is what it is,
and to speak the truth with conviction you have comfortable with who you are. Right
after that race, while I can still feel the cramps, I was decided on running a full
marathon.
Last June – I ran the
longest run of my life (thus far), completing 32k in 3:32. The mantra was to
conserve yourself, run at your pace. And while that was going through my mind,
I enjoyed the irony of running along with the 3:05 pacers up until the 25k
mark towards Makati and Ayala Avenue. There was a contagious positive vibe
among the pack, like you belonged. It felt even better than having a seat in
the conference room of a high-level meeting. But even after three energy gels,
I didn’t have enough, and I knew I didn’t have enough steam to follow them
through the finish. So I run at my own pace, the same way I have to collapse my
own walls and staggered on my own to the finish line. This way, running is a
joyful emptiness as opposed to a proud accomplishment. The former is preferable.
Now I’m Training for a 42k. The gun start is
in about three weeks. For the last four months of training, while limited to
running twice a week I added at least 243 km under my belt. The real training,
the metaphors, was piped in since 2008. I imagine they are all more solidly
ingrained and flowing into my life now.
 |
| I bought myself a new GPS watch. Little I. asked if we could buy him a pumpkin. |
Sure I recently did
some pretty stupid stuff too. I bought the Brooks reflective hat that lights
up, another pair of pure project shoes that “hug-every-turn.” I bought a new Garmin
GPS watch that doubles as a fitness tracker, since my old one’s battery won’t
last four hours on GPS. I’ll expect to finish the marathon in over 5. I’ve
already selected the flavours of my energy GU gels for the marathon: Salted
Caramel, Peanut Butter, Chocolate Outrage and Espresso Love. It’s a dessert
menu that I’ll stick to my belt while running. This reminds me that I also
scored the second hydration belt of my life. I got the Fitletic one with silicone
grippers to eliminate the “bounce.” Congratulations,
Capitalism, you’ve ruined the earth and you’ve ruined running. Capitalism is
the real wall we need to collapse.
I didn’t stop drinking
alcohol, sometimes bingeing, with no radical changes on my diet. I shed and
earn a few pounds, within BMI but could precariously and easily be off if I
lose control. Sure, it all sounds stupid, but I couldn’t say it wasn’t any fun.
I’m excited about
creating a new metaphor for the 42k. It’s shaping up as we move to the final
stages. It’s going to be brilliant. But for now, it’s really just “Fuck you, Monday,
I despise you.”
