Ahead

5:44 pace, 57:19 10k
5:27 pace, 27:19 5k
102.3km this February

I'm not getting any younger, much slower than other recreational runners, but I'm hitting much better numbers than I did the past few years. 

Was it the engineered-for-fast Zoom shoes, my consciousness of VO2 Max, my excitement with having a Forerunner strapped on my wrist? Was the Garmin Coach Plan effective? Was it the cycling cross-training? Was it the time of the day, early morning runs when northern winds are the coldest that made the runs easier? One way or another, I literally found a more re-invigorated stride. 

For a while, it felt that I'm ahead of whatever it is I'm running away from. 

But most of all, I ran with her. She's always ahead of me. 

Immortalized by The Quiet Ones

The Quiet Ones
Glen Diaz

We've been immortalized, and it was done with a deserved dignity. This is the novel that a wannabe-writer-turned-call-center-worker (retired) such as yours truly, have been dreaming of putting into paper. This one hits the spot. Pushes the right buttons. Hits the nail right on the head. It has authentic insider information, fully-developed characters (I feel like I've met them), verified industry know-how, like that whiff of truth in juicy gossip still sluicing in our mouths after all these years, the aura of office pantries, oppressive elevators, cold buildings and tired streets. It portrayed the lifestyle that the call center culture has espoused. The language was both precise and elegant, deconstructive and post-colonial. Perhaps I'm not sure about that post-colonial or deconstructive, (your graduate school units in Philosophy won't do much for KPIs). The novel is layered with a discussion of our country's fragile democracy, the context of the BPO industry in Philippine history and culture, how souls are corrupted by this grinding globalization. And this novel sure is right about its call center lingo. Uncompromising, that sometimes it's a pain to read, because we've lived through some of those horrible moments. We remember some horrible people. But mostly, it's a profound joy. How can one not feel flattered (even quietly) when you read about yourself?