a christmas story…sort of

It was always a race between the rooster and the church bells.

On most days, the rooster won. He’s had far more practice than the bell ringer, after all, making early morning announcements.

Four in the morning is when the bells start ringing to invite the faithful (and the hopeful) to mass. And long before the sun makes its appearance in the sky, the children in our neighborhood would already be gathering outside in the streets. It is time for the misa de gallo, the mass of the rooster; the nine days of pre-dawn masses that ushers in Christmas day in our part of the world. By four thirty in the morning, we make our way up the hill.

Our church lies nestled on a hill.  It was built in the 17th century under the supervision of Franciscan missionaries. It’s a beautiful church. On its volcanic rock facade you will find elaborate carvings and extensive ornamentation. It was built to replace the Church of Cagsawa, the old church that was unfortunately buried by lava along with about 1200 people during one of the Mayon Volcano’s eruptions.

Our town is called Daraga (dalaga: the young women). There are many stories about how the town got its name. This is the one that rings closest to the truth. It took many, many years to build the church. It was a gargantuan undertaking needing the help of the entire community. The builders, the carpenters, the masons (mostly men) were the ones in charge of laying the foundation and building the structure. They stayed on top of the hill. The women, the ladies and the children, they settled at the base of the hill. They gathered the heavy volcanic rocks (which was plentiful below) and helped the men roll it up the hill to where the church’s foundations lay. Hence the settlement at the base was called DARAGA.  Daraga: the place where the women were.

The first church, Cagsawa, was built right at the base of the Mayon Volcano.  The town fathers (and mothers) having learned their lesson from the disaster that buried Cagsawa church, decided to build the new church away from the disaster zone. At the foot of the hill, on the valley facing the volcano, you will find the catholic cemetery. On the other side, in the valley sheltered by the hill, you will find the center of our town, Daraga. The reasoning behind this is  simple and straightforward:  The Mayon Volcano is still a very active volcano. Should it choose to erupt once again (and it has, many, many times since then)  our town would at least  have the hill and the church to protect us.

Only one road leads up to the Church. At one end of this road is my father’s house. Just across the street from their house was my mother’s. My parents have been friends since they were 9 years old. They were playmates. And they were neighbors.  They were raised to be very good Christians. As children, they were taught to love their neighbors. Both being over-achievers in this department, they did one better. They not only loved their neighbor, they also married them. My parents have been married 36 years. They’ve been best friends for 50. My father’s house is the house we grew up in. It’s still the place I call home.

They say that our lives revolve around certain patterns.  Here is one I recognize…

As a child, my Christmas season would begin with the crowing of the rooster, closely followed by the melodic tolling of the church bells. The children in the  neighborhood  would gather into the streets and we would race up to the top of the hill.  When we were young,  it seemed like a very long stretch of road. It’s actually less than a kilometer long.  To get to the church, you take that one road and head out towards the town’s main road also known as the national highway (2 lanes).  You cross that highway and then  you head up the winding incline until you get to the very top. There you will find our church.  The hill affords a vista of the town below, the magnificent Mayon Volcano to its side, and further out, the sea and the Legazpi port.

At this time of the year, and only at this time, the stars above are rivaled by the blinking yellow lights lining the otherwise dark streets below. Christmas lanterns wave and sway in front of most windows. Some are simple star lanterns made up of colored wax paper, others are far more intricate, they are made of  a mix of dyed shells and wires.

On the climb up to the church, the women would take to the sidewalks with the carved out steps.  As children, we preferred the dark and narrow asphalt road beside it. At this time of the day, we had it mostly to ourselves. We would zoom up that road incline and race each other. Our grandmothers, our mothers, our aunts and even our nannies would walk this stretch slowly behind us, enjoying December’s crisp morning air. They would massage their shoulders with their arms as they exchanged stories, they would rub it fast up and down to get more warmth into their bodies. And then they would pull their shawls more closely around their bodies. Once in while, we would hear our grandmothers or our nannies shouting out words of caution or reprimands or shushing us to be a bit more quiet. But most of the time, they let us be. We all made our way up that hill just before dawn. The church waiting for us on top would be warm and brightly lit. As one community we then gathered together in prayer and in thanksgiving. There would be shared stories at the pulpit, sermons and hymns would be sung out loud.  And when the mass was over, we would slowly make our way out of the church. My father would be waiting then by the steps. He would have the car with him.  My mother would ride with him down that hill. So will my grandmother. We would walk down with our nannies.  On our way home we  always made a brief stop inside a building smelling of freshly baked bread. This was the town’s bakery. It was a rectangular building that stood just a meters away from the bottom of the steps leading to the church. (And that is why for as long as I live, I know that all my memories of  attending dawn masses will forever be coupled with the smell of freshly baked bread!) As soon as we all made it home, breakfast would be served. And once again, as a family,  we would break bread…

The bright city lights confuse the rooster. The bell ringer waits until much later in the morning to push the button that mimics the sound of the bells. I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock at four am.

As I leave my building, the gray mist that has covered much of the city during the night embraces me.  I turn on my headlights and drive on. From an elevated portion of the highway, I catch a view of a part of the horizon not yet blocked by the many new buildings rising over the city.  A golden, feathery sunrise is making its way up the sky. I park the car and as soon as I open the door to step out, I am greeted by  that distinct crisp chill in the air that I always associate with December mornings. I rub my arms with my hands to warm them; I pull my jacket closer to my body. I look up and down a dimly lit street. And I prepare to wait. I spy one friend in the parking lot. Soon there will be more.

Once again a group of friends is headed up a hill. And once again, we are going to run there.

As long runs go, this one will be fairly short. This isn’t really a training run. It’s really just our excuse to come together this early morning. Not that we really need any. But once in a while, we do like to pretend we are all grown-ups. And don’t grown-ups always have reasons for doing things? Our plan is simple and straightforward: First we will run up a hill, and then we will run down it and at the end of this run, there would be a shared meal.

Now the parking lot is buzzing with chatter and lots of laughter. Everyone is finally here. We walk out of the parking lot as a group. We step up the sidewalk and we start to jog. The sidewalk ends and we are soon running on the road. Stories are still being  exchanged while hymns and songs are playing in some ipods. There are no older women now shouting out words of caution or shushing us to be quiet. But, then again, maybe that’s because child and older women are now one.

We still prefer the asphalt road to the sidewalks but there are more cars around now  sharing the road with us. Our steps remain light and relaxed. We follow the road and let it take us up the hill.

They say our lives revolve around certain patterns. Here is one I treasure.

It is a cool, crisp December morning. A group of friends gather together just before dawn to go running up a hill and then to head joyfully down. At the end of this run, they share a meal. Along the way, they trade stories, they laugh out loud, they run their hearts out. And somehow, sometime at dawn on this golden December morning, the mundane once again turns magical. Suddenly, it is Christmas time once more.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

my sunset run…

My mind swirls, like the rays of a setting sun, around one thought.

What do I do next?

A radiant fireball hangs above a deep and quiet sea.  It is sunset over Fuego.

A steep walk awaits all runners headed for the start line. A small group is  gathered around the blue and white banner at the roundabout. Some runners sit by the curb, others simply stand around near the start line. Waiting. Waiting for the signal to begin.

There is but a thin, red line streaking over the horizon now. The sun follows a demanding schedule. It waits for no one.

It is going to be a rollercoaster of a run.  10Kms of inclines and rises and steep drops. A butt killer of a run. A relentless series of ups and downs and disguised flats.  I simply call it my compressed hell.

What’s the plan?
Run the pace your legs dictate. This is a recovery run after all! This same time last week you were raising a margarita glass, surrounded by your best friends,  celebrating your marathon run finish.

What’s the plan?
Run to the rhythm your heart beats out. This is your last race for the year. Enjoy it and celebrate the feel of the road under your feet.

What’s the plan?
Run with all the fierceness your soul could muster.  All great endings deserve that.

What’s the plan?

The signal is given. Hoots and hollers and loud cheers erupt from the crowd but it is immediately drowned out by a thundering  of foot falls.

The Fuego-Mizuno Sunset race is finally on!

What is the plan?! Run! Just run! Run your joy with the setting sun!

For we all know that as the sun sets over one horizon, it rises in another…

Every sunset comes with its own bag of promises. There is the promise of rest, of some quiet, healing and renewal. The coming darkness need not be feared if it is embraced with hope. For isn’t that what every sunset shows us? Darkness is ushered in; A comforting blanket pulled slowly across the sky with the sun’s rays tightly wrapped around its edges.

Sunrises follow Sunsets. Dawn swiftly follows Dusk.

For now, celebrate this ending. There will be time enough for making new plans. There will be time enough for new beginnings.

That’s what dawns are for.

:28 (THE RACE) Singapore Marathon

Dawn was merely a promise on Singapore’s horizon when we walked the circuitous path towards the Start Line of the Singapore Marathon. In front of us loomed a towering granite monument.  Wrapped up in my blanket of thoughts, I read the sign on the cenotaph–OUR GLAMOROUS DEAD. “How strange and slightly kooky!” I thought to myself. Singapore is definitely starting to grow on me! But then as I got closer, I realized it actually read, OUR GLORIOUS DEAD. “Oh! Now that makes more sense!” It made me think about my toes then safely cushioned inside my Mizuno Waveriders. I had painted them a brilliant red color just before leaving Manila. It was one of the last things I did in my long list of to dos before the trip.  I figured if they were going to die, it would at least be fitting to give them a brilliant and flashy send off!  “Don’t worry, girls! We’ll build you your own glamorous monument should you die on me today…”

As is always the case before a race starts, I get a little nutty and a lot crazy inside.

While most people use kilometer markers to judge their progression in a run, I usually just entertain myself with stories and litter the route with it; Most are real and straightforward, some are interpretations of events as they unfold and then there others which are purely imagined.  While most sane runners would be paying attention to their form or their foot strides, I’m more likely to be having a discussion with an imaginary entity, maybe two. It is something I’ve learned to accept. There are people who, when they run, are destined for podium finishes. And then, I guess, there are people like me who, when they run, are barely able to skirt the sanitarium…

Sounds heralded  the approach of the 12393 runners to the starting line of the  Singapore Marathon. At the time the starting gun sounded (was there even a starting gun?) RunMD, Batgirl and I were still making the short and really slow but adrenaline-pumping walk to the start line. It was like a valedictory march of sorts. I felt like I was on my way to some kind of a graduation ceremony.

Just after we crossed the bridge, I turned to Batgirl and squeezed her shoulders. Her gaze was already focused on the start line banner. Then I reached over and shook RunMD’s hand.  We were just a few seconds away now from our longest and most challenging run yet.  I then tapped the back of my fuel belt and found reassurance there. I had  packed in 2 GU gels and an oatmeal bar. I was a GU gel short but I would get that from one of the stations. I brought no water bottles. This was a good thing because it would force me to pay attention to the drink stations and therefore drink at more regular intervals.  I had finished off my water in the walk to the start line and had handed them over to SeriousCaT (our one woman power support during the race). The next time I would be seeing those bottles would be in KM 35 where they would be handed to me filled with cold lime flavored Gatorade.

As we got closer to the Start Line, I heard the  DJ announce that 5 minutes have passed since gun time.  It was also just about that time when our slow walk shifted into a slow jog. And then just a few seconds after we were finally  loose and running  in the streets of Singapore. Our first marathon had started in earnest.

In those first few minutes there was a lot of bunching and weaving and sticky elbows rubbing (eeww!).  RunMD and I shared the first kilometer of that route.  Batgirl was running just a few paces behind us.

At kilometer 2, RunMD found his opening and  surged ahead. He always did like fast starts. I bid him good running.

Be patient. Be Patient. Be Patient.

It took a lot of effort to rein my enthusiasm in those first few kilometers. I knew I needed to conserve my energy so I focused on not weaving too much through the crowd. I kept reminding myself to run in as straight a line as possible. I had 42kms to go and about 5 hours of running ahead of me. Those first 20 minutes were all about finding and settling into the pace I had trained to run the marathon in.

The week before the marathon I was experiencing some pain with my left calf muscle. It would cramp up even on short distance runs. I suspected that my recent  travels had screwed up my body’s rhythm. I was jet lagged and simply wasn’t getting enough sleep. One look in the mirror confirmed that. I was beginning to look like a raccoon with the dark circles around my eyes.  I forced myself to hydrate more. But I still wasn’t recovering fast enough. I knew I needed help. So on Saturday morning, the week right before the marathon, I did my last long 12K run and then I paid the friendly neighborhood acupuncturist a visit.

Go light and Go steady!

I prayed the cramp demons that had been hounding me would oversleep on marathon day!

In that first 10KM I kept checking-in with my calves. I wasn’t sure if the acupuncture had helped. I haven’t road tested my legs until that morning. I just figured that the more rested they were, the better they would behave.  Go light and go steady. I whispered as the sun’s rays snaked over the horizon. Land as light as you can and go at a steady pace. Try not to wake those cramp demons up!

“So what’s your plan?” Mighty M asks just as we are about to finish our run. “Are you checking your time every kilometer?”

I smile. She does too. She knows me. I’m not exactly very good at sticking to plans. I don’t even like making them.

“Every 10K” I reassure her. I am, of course, making all this up as we are walking back to the parking lot. I haven’t really figured out what my plan is. Then I start getting more inspired.  “After the first 20K I’ll decide if I’m gunning for a 4:30 or a 4:45 finish depending on how my legs feel.” I add. “I really want to savor my first marathon. I want to finish it feeling good inside and out. I don’t want the pressure of a fast time. I don’t think I can handle it. It’s more about covering the distance. After all, you are only a marathon virgin once!”

“Ok, do 10, 10 and then 5, 5 checks then.” She tells me. “On the last 12K, I’d check every kilometer. That way you have a better chance of hitting your goal time.  As long as you maintain the average pace required, you’ll do fine.”

Mighty M is my running partner. She has run her fair share of marathons with fast times to boot. I take her instructions to heart.

KM10:  1:06:02 Ok. I’m on track. Just 2kms to go before the banana station!

KM 12-28

The bananas still look a bit greenish. I don’t like green bananas. I pass and take my first GU. “Espresso love, give me wings!”

Km12 is where the park starts or what they call the ECP. The road narrows considerably. It starts getting harder to pass people. There was a group of 4 that were all running in a line. I couldn’t find an opening to squeeze through. They ignored my polite “Excuse mes!”  I decided on a new strategy. I picked a person in the pack. I went up right behind him and then I just belted out the first nonsense song that came to mind! It startled the man enough that he actually slowed down a bit and turned to look behind him. It gave me just enough of an opening to pass. Then I picked up speed and hoped they wouldn’t tag me.  As an act of gratitude and charity to everyone else around me, I also stopped singing out loud.

KM 15. A chafing problem was distracting me.  Soon after, a man-made disaster struck. Actually, make that a girl-made disaster. All of it my own doing, of course. After I slowed down for a drink at the water station, I saw some men wearing plastic gloves handing out some whitish cream.  It was then I got my first idiot attack. I decided they  were sunblock lotion. I guess a glamorous death was still the theme going on in my head.  I don’t know where that thought came from. I just assumed that it was sunblock.  Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own little world. Without putting much thought into my actions,  I got some of  it  and just started rubbing it all over my arms and chest. Then I used that same hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead. I started feeling the burn immediately after. Goshdarnit! I had wiped some kind of deep heating ointment all over my chest and arms!

idiot.idiot.idiot.

Don’t Panic. Don’t Panic. Don’t Panic.

My right eye started to twitch. It was getting irritated with the sweat from my forehead which was tainted with that deep heating rub. Having no idea what that rub was made of, I started worrying.  I am allergic to aspirin and most pain relievers (my eyes would start bulging like a frog’s). Please, please please, let it have no aspirin! And please don’t let it get into my eye!  It’s a good thing I had my Claritin with me and had taken it a few hours before the start of the race. That was because I knew we were going into the park. Sometimes I have a bad reaction to grass too. And trees, and pollen and nature in general. Maybe I was simply dumped on the wrong planet. I run as fast as I can towards the next drink station.  And then and there I take a bath. Well, I dump 5 glasses of water on my face, and my upper body. All the while apologizing to the surprised volunteers. And then once I had reassured myself that the disaster had been averted, I went back into my plodding pace. Whew!

KM 20 is where the turnaround is.

I checked my progress. 2:11:00 I’m still on track but I best speed up a bit.

The path back was much narrower and winding. The view of  the bay and the ships that were anchored there offered some distraction from the tedium of putting one foot in front of the other.  I felt a slight twitching in my calf muscle but it was manageable at that point. A few hundred meters after the 21KM mark I do a little jig just to stretch it out. Some people had put up  tents in the park. I wondered briefly what it’ll be like to stop and lie down in their shade… I started organizing a camping trip. I’d bring lots of cherries smothered in dark chocolate…

Now, I’m the girl with the negotiating skills of a bulldozer and the nurturing warmth of an umbrella stand. At km 22 I finally saw familiar faces in the park. I wasn’t expecting to see them at this point. “What are you doing here?” I asked.  Like I said, the nurturing warmth of an umbrella stand. The dragon had apparently reared it’s head for both of them. It was time to dig deep and fish out my inner Oprah. But I had no time to learn new tricks. So I reverted to what I knew best.  First, I tried to bribe them with food.  I offered them my oatmeal bar. They both refused. And because that didn’t work, I then ate my oatmeal bar and went straight to plan B. I bullied. And thereafter I launched plan C. I implored the great Scottie! Oh Great Scottie! BEAM.US.UP!  And we all just did the best we could. We kept going.

At Km 28, the road widens up again. I do my best to speed up. By this time the there are small patches of blue in the sky. There’s still enough cloud cover to keep the heat from getting too intense. But the heat is starting to get to me.

KM 32
I go into full-blown negotiations. I am now having an argument inside my head. Whose harebrained idea was this again? (Mine, of course!)

One foot over the other. One foot over the other. Come on legs, come on! I start talking to my legs in earnest. I tell them that if they just get me to the finish line I’ll stop all this craziness and just take up  a more sensible hobby like painting or playing the guitar.  I promised the end of all these tiring runs! Whose stupid idea was this again? I asked for the nth time! Mine, of course, was the unchanging answer. What else is there to do but to keep running?

I just need to get to KM 35. Serious Cat will be there.

KM 34. Is this ever going to end? I start looking for a portalet. But then Queen’s WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS starts playing on my ipod. This universe is having a grand time at my expense! Arrrghhh.. Just.Keep.Running.Girl.  I tell myself in between gasps.  Honestly, who goes to the portalet when WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS is playing? I’ll wait for the next song.  And then Evanescence starts singing. Who dares wuzz out infront of a girl who wears knee high black boots with a tutu and still manages to look cool in it? So yes. I keep running.

We are almost into KM 35-36. I don’t know. I’ve lost track. There is a traffic build up beside me. I’m running side by side with big buses packed with people on their daily commute. I look up and a man is staring back at me. I wave. He smiles then he starts clapping. I don’t hear it, of course, but I start running to its rhythm. I start feeling better.

Gatorade. Gatorade. Ice cold Gatorade.

Finally,  Serious Cat is right beside me. But she does not see me. She is staring off into the horizon. I call out her name. She turns to me surprised. “What are you still doing here?” She asks. What can I say? My friends and I, we are all very nurturing. Then she starts fumbling for my water bottle. As I am drinking she tells me very casually, “I just saw the 4:45 pacer a few minutes ago!” That’s why she’s my designated cheerer. She knows exactly what to say to get me going. None of that “You can do it!” drama. She goes straight for the jugular. I take one big gulp of gatorade and with nary a word I handed her the bottle and I just  started running like demons were behind me.

No way in hell was I going to miss my target time..

So I run. And I run. And people all around me have started walking. I see a blur of flashy sports cars  on the side. But I have no time to ask for a ride. I almost trip over my untied shoelaces. I slow down just enough to re-tie them and then I keep running.

I barely glance at my Garmin. I can’t. There’s way too many obstructions in front of me. I have no time to waste. I keep my focus on the road ahead.

And finally the Singapore Flyer is way past me and the bridge is approaching. It seems the whole world is walking now. Very few people are running. I push my tired legs, I cajole, I beg and I pound on them with my hands to keep them from going numb. I am huffing and I am gasping for air. I’m swinging my arms wildly as I feel my muscles twitching on my sides. I keep my gaze fixed on the horizon. Where the hell is that finish line?

According to my Garmin I ran my fastest laps in those last 31/2 KMS.

And then there is the finish line.  I see the clock from a distance and it reads 4:49:52. I am still about 100 meters away. I am an eternity away. Go! Go! Go! A half naked man is in front of me. Everything is in slow motion now. I’m actually staring at his back so intensely I see short hairs standing. The crowd at the finish line are clapping and cheering. They are all a blur on my side. And then just like that my feet are on the red carpet and I’ve passed the finish line!

I’m done??!!

I missed my 4:45:00 goal by 28 seconds according to the gun clock.  Technically, I missed my target. But I am keeping that 28 seconds and I’m holding it close. I know one thing for sure. I didn’t waste those 28 seconds. It’s a good 28 seconds. It’s 28 seconds I filled with all my running hopes for the past year.  HOPE! Now that is a good thing to be carrying around. Just you wait ’til my next marathon. That 28 seconds is going to come back and  bite the Universe’s ass! But first, of course, there is that breakfast to think about.

Wonder Woman has left the building! (singapore marathon I)

42.195 kilometers. Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon 2008. My first marathon.

For more than a year now, Wonder Woman has been squatting inside my head. Wonder Woman– the woman who wonders out loud if I actually have it in me to go the full 42.195 distance. She’s that woman who resides in the attic and is always trying to raise hell. The one who responds to every word, phrase, sentence of marathon related chutzpah and bravado I utter with her raised eyebrow quickly followed with the inevitable “I wonder if you can back those up with action?”

“We’ll see soon enough!” I would bravely reply as I make a quick grab for my high-tech security blanket that looks very much like my mobile phone and speed dial a friend’s number. Arrrgh!

Wonder Woman not only has a very strange fashion sense. She is also a very annoying roommate!

The alarm sounded at 3:30 am. I woke to a morning that came way too early in the day. I crawled out from under thick down comforters, stumbled towards the room’s mini bar, and got my caffeine fix.  Batgirl was already gulping down her pre-race pasta meal. I took a peek inside the take-out box and decided I would pass on it that morning. No more pasta for me! I’ve had all the pasta I could take for the year. I’ve used up my December and perhaps even January’s pasta quota in the two days we were in Singapore. If I had to gulp down another pasta dish, I knew I definitely wouldn’t need to worry about getting to the finish line. I was dead sure I wouldn’t even have to crawl to get to the finish line. I could just roll there…

“I’m just having a banana!” I announce to the universe and to no one in particular. “And maybe this cute mini muffin!”  And because they are so cute, I have two. One tastes like chocolate, the other one sweet and nutty. Just the way I like it. Perfect! After breakfast, I take an ice cold shower, put on my race gear on and turn the TV on. CNN is showing a special: SCREAM BLOODY MURDER. Christiane Amanpour repeats this phrase a number of times.  I meditate (and do my best at taming my unruly hair) as Christiane Amanpour’s voice drones on in the background. She sounds very much like my guardian angel sounds in my head whenever I end up having a conversation with her.Hmmm. Maybe Christiane Amanpour is my guardian angel? Is “scream bloody murder!” supposed to be my race mantra? I meditate more on this. The room stays quiet. All three of us inside are wrapped up in our own twilight zones…

By 4am Batgirl’s cellphone is beeping. RunMD is on his way. Serious Cat, Batgirl and I all troop out to the quiet lobby and meet him there. We greet each other with small talk, some tittering and lots of  nervous chuckles.

By the time we start walking towards the START AREA the sun is still nowhere near Singapore’s horizon.  There’s an almost palpable buzz in the air. Runners in all forms and sizes are already filling the streets. My head is humming with thoughts…A hornet’s nest of thoughts! Far too many vying for attention. I shut them all out. I have no room for them now.  Silently I pray that Christiane Amanpour does a good job keeping Wonder Woman entertained in my hotel room.  I had left Wonder Woman there. She can keep herself busy baby- sitting my gremlins of doubt. Where I was going, they were certainly not allowed to follow!

For on that day, on the morning of my first marathon run, I had no space for Wonder Woman inside my head. I had left no room for her. I had trained 16 weeks to go the full distance. I had logged in my 1000 kms. I had no need for a crazy woman to question my every step. And she certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to ridicule my sun-kissed dream. This 35-year-old little girl was headed for the run of her life. I was going to run my race, my first marathon… And I was set on running light.

First, the story in pictures…

READY…

RunMD, Batgirl and Me

GET SET…

RUN!! Now run some more…

Follow the Kenyan Blur….

Wait for meeeeee!!!!

waah!!! There’s a half naked man infront of me!!

Ouch!!! whose idea was this again? But really, the little girl inside of me was jumping up and down with glee! Wonder Woman, you are definitely moving out! Does anyone know if THE FLASH is looking for some place to crash in this part of the world? Please tell him to give me a call. I could definitely use a new roommate!

THE RESULTS:

Later maybe, my marathon run story…

taming the butterflies

In our running group there is the Gang of Fast and then there is the Gang of Breakfast (otherwise  known as The Relentless!).

Well, The Relentless! starts rolling out today! We’re off to Singapore to run our first marathon this Sunday.

Thanks for the despedida T2! Dinner was YUM! And the company? Topnotch, as usual.

To all those running in Singapore… Good running, everyone!

Dig deep, dig deeper when necessary, and crawl if you must!

I’ll see you all at the finish line! And then, i guess,it’ll be time for breakfast, wouldn’t it?