Unrequited Love?

It was a month since I joined a race. The last was when I bitched about Run For Home. Yesterday, with a little more conscience and patience, and what I call loyalty to my alma mater, I joined the 5k fun run of Dean's Cup in UP.

Well, of course, I didn't do my assignment (stretch, striders, etc) so I ended up panting in the first quarter of my run. Duh, bad shape indeed for me. As I mentioned in my previous posts, I cannot seem to speed up in 5k, and this has become my barrier in joining 10k races.

Anyway, this afternoon, I tried to do baby steps of a recovery run in my village, and perhaps it was because of my massage (which was more of a hilot), I felt pain in my shins, thighs, and even on my butt.

Which makes me realize that I love running but it does not love me back.


Don't get me wrong, I am in no depressive state now, not even lamenting. It is a fact of life for me. I am, and will always be, a beginner in the sport. I do easy 5k runs for some people and I gasp to breathe. I practice, and I ache. As early as now, I feel so much "birth pains" in running. My coach says it's natural to feel these pains since I am a beginner. And as such, I really have to be patient.

I honestly think running does not love me back, because as early as now, I am faced with these challenges (pains, very slight improvement in my time, very slight improvement in my weight), but it doesn't matter, really. I can't go moping like a busted manliligaw right? It's really up to me, if I choose the path of courtship and persistence, or I totally give up and choose another sport....

What's it gonna be?

I choose to be persistent, and maybe in a few years, like a loyal and worthy suitor, it will realize the passion I have, the dedication and commitment I am willing to give, and maybe someday, it will begin to love me, too.

Remembering Lex

I just remembered my friend Lex. It was his birthday last August 21, and because he passed my mind a couple of times, I have decided to write about him.

I was probably 5 years old when my sister and I, and probably my cousin were walking along San Juan Street in Noveleta. If my memory is right, Lex was one of those rascals who tried to throw pebbles at us. But, his father caught him, and so he was reprimanded in front of us.

Fast forward to summer of 1989, I was going grade 7, my mom decided for us to take tennis lessons in a resthouse, Lex's dad's tennis court.

And just as predicted, Lex, who was about 17, was a heckler and a jerk while we were awkwardly trying to learn the perfect tennis form (I told you I am obsessed about every form of every sport). My older sister Treena could not stand him after a party where he made her bakod. I thought he was a dork who was KSP, and my cousin Chet was being teased to him, since they were almost the same age.

Well, after a while, we had no choice but to talk to him. Turns out this guy was like the biggest playboy in our town. Conyo kid from a school in Alabang being friendly with the whole first district of Cavite. And these girls absolutely loved him. And his undeniably beautiful dancing eyes.

I never had a crush on this guy. Thought of him more as a big brother, but our closeness only strengthened maybe starting June-July, when we all had to keep a secret from him...

I still remember that afternoon at the tennis court, he had just come from a pestering cold and cough which refused to leave him and the doctor, and also told us that he passed out when they got a sample of his blood. We were teasing him, and he was adamant on having his 18th birthday party in that rest house, like many of the parties in Noveleta.

Well, a few weeks after, he did not only NOT have a party, but he was also stricken with Leukemia, and had to celebrate his birthday in the hospital. His parents decided not to let him know, and because of boredom, he started calling friends, including me.

I cannot remember our conversations very well, probably his long list of girlfriends (simultaneous) and teasing me to our neighbor, but I remember all those times he was in the hospital, not knowing what was wrong, for a few minutes, I got to entertain him, to amuse him. I knew I reminded him of his very young sister, Diana (although the resemblance ended there-she grew up to be beautiful...) and I knew during those moments there were happy and fun....

Until he was already in critical condition and lost his voice, and two days before he passed away, I got to hold his hand without showing him my tears, trying to be strong while he struggled to say something when all that came out were moans of pain and frustration, and knowing too, that death was to come while he was still full of life. His dancing eyes piercing our hearts, his dancing eyes still fighting until the end...


It's been 10 years, and each time I dig this memory in my chest of unforgettable episodes in my life, I cannot help but cry. From May to October, God had given me the chance to be a part of this person's life, to love him like a big brother, to be with him like a friend. And when I do say a prayer for his soul, I also know that despite his wisecracks and antics, his heckles and teases, I also know that he is in Heaven, watching over us....

The Travel Bug

Initially this blog was about a mom sharing her insights and experiences while traveling to different places. I realized I have not written so much about it, since my interests have changed. I started to write about running, about my personal life, my insights, my beliefs, skeletons in the closet(dasters in the closet) and what have you. Which makes me confirm I really have an active (if it could travel, it would have gone around the world-in a few hours!) mind, and I take so much inspiration in the littlest, most mundane things. And call me narcissistic, I get to entertain myself a little when I reread all my posts.

Well, anyway, I want to go back to my main purpose. Which is traveling. I have some destinations I plan to conquer, and yes, I will try to include running in them. Next week, hopefully I will be posting something informative and hopefully entertaining...

So stay tuned.

Cory...

I was 7 years old when I heard the news of Ninoy Aquino's death in 1983. My family went to their Promesco Building along South Superhighway to watch the procession of his burial. At that time, all I had in mind were Barbie Dolls.

I lived to see the People Power in 1986. In grade three, just turning 10 a few months before, I had to deal with my own juvenile depression. Up to this point I still cannot remember how and why I had such, but I could vividly recall the daily masses we had in our village in Valle Verde, and my sisters together with the rest of the choir singing Bayan Ko. An ordinary lady under extraordinary circumstances was elected president.

I lived to see this president, trying her very best to get it together to be honest, truthful, bringing all the ideals she carried for her husband to save the dead Filipino, the hurt Filipino, the degraded Filipino. She became a hero.

Now this hero is dead, and I have lived to see all of these. The injustices she voiced out. The graft and corruption she refused to accept. And now, what? I am now a mother myself. My daughter and her generation did not get to see these struggles, these battles that this woman and her husband fought to make my daughter's life better, my daughter's country better. What happens to the future of our land? What happens to us, those who witnessed the truth? Those who are hurt, scarred, jaded, callous?

I have no answers to these questions. But I do sympathize with Kris when she wailed her feeling of abandonment, now that her mother is gone. That is exactly how I feel now, as a citizen. I don't know where to look, and where to go from here. I am also lost....

But I also have faith....