My First Full Marathon--Yeah, Baby!

After more than two years of running (on and off--mostly off), I finally ran my first full marathon last December 5. Very characteristically, I was ill-prepared for the event. A person is supposed to train seriously starting at least four months prior to the marathon, doing long runs, interval runs, fartleks and so on. My own training was haphazard and consisted 95% of runs on the treadmill, not on the road. I simply didn't have the discipline and perseverance to train properly. Tsk, tsk. Understandably, I was very anxious as December 5 crept closer and closer. I wondered if I should go ahead with the marathon, knowing I wasn't ready, and "respecting the distance" as every runner should. The full marathon is no joke. Some people have died trying to complete the whole 42+ kilometers. But my mind was made up. It was now or never. I turned 40 this year (yes, I'm ancient), and I was adamant that I should run my first full marathon to celebrate the beginning of my new life. I also knew that the battle was as mental as it was physical. I had the mindset to finish the race, come hell or high water (and leg cramps or dehydration), and this sealed the deal for me.

On race day, the gun went off at a little past 4:30 (the official race start). I started slow, as was my wont... and continued slow throughout the whole race, ha-ha. My goal was just to finish, hopefully within the allotted curfew of 7 hours. I thought I'd walk and crawl if I needed to, but finish I must.

To make a long race, er, story, short, I ran respectably up until Kilometer 33 or thereabouts, then I had the the dreaded cramps, and walked/jogged the rest of the way. I finished the marathon in approximately 6h:45m. Sadly, the race officials had removed the timing mat and the Finish Line itself when I reached it, so I don't have an official time. I could only approximate my marathon time using my watch (and a non-sports timepiece at that).

I knew the leg cramps would be my big problem, and I was right. When I felt the cramps coming, I stopped a few times to gently stretch and massage my legs. The rub-on pain ointment I brought with me helped a lot. At one time, I stopped at a Red Cross booth to apply the ointment, and a volunteer helped me with it. I was shocked at the sight of the angry bluish-green veins pulsing on my legs at the exact location of the cramp. Yes, the veins really looked angry, ugly, rigid and somewhat scary. As I stood up, I erased the sight from my mind and continued on my run. I must finish, cramps or no cramps.

There was this older guy (he looked like he was in his 70s) that more or less kept pace with me during the final kilometers of the race. Apart from his age, he stood out because he wore a cap with a towel under it, and the towel flapped around his face as he ran. I guess it's good sun protection, and I envied him a little as I myself was not wearing any cap. When I'd pass him, he'd shout "Ano ka ba, di ka ba nahihiya, inuunahan mo ang matanda!" That made me grin. Then after a while, he'd overtake me. When I would catch up with him later, he'd say again: "Wala ka talagang galang, paunahin mo naman akong matanda." And later, "Oy, bakit bumabagal ka, akala ko ba Superwoman ka?" I laughingly replied that I had to make a quick stop at a CR earlier. Then he said something about running and indigestion not being a good mix.

We talked a little as we were running side by side, and I learned this was his 87th marathon. No kidding! His 87th, my first. He said his best times were sub-4 hours, but those days are long gone. Now, he just runs for fun and to keep fit. Wow! Whatta man!

At the Tandang Sora flyover

Apart from meeting such a memorable character, I greatly enjoyed running on the wide, car-less expanse of Commonwealth Avenue. It felt liberating and wonderful to have several lanes devoted exclusively to runners. At one point, I had stretches of the road all to myself, because the faster runners had all gone ahead. A policeman on a motorcycle kept me company, and that made me feel extra special. But then he offered to let me ride on his motorcycle, so that I could rest a bit and have an earlier finish. Hah! Of course, I refused. He rode alongside me for a few kilometers, and we made small talk. I hope I impressed on him that for runners, it's important to finish the whole race honestly, without cheating. He seemed to understand: "Ah, parang panata pala yan sa inyo."

Yes, indeed. I made a promise, a panata of sorts, to run at least one full marathon before I died. This is one major to-do that I can now cross off my list.

When I made it to the finish line, I was ecstatic. Exhausted, yes. Limping a bit, yes. And a little disappointed, yes, because the finish line was no longer there. I had fantasized about making one final, glorious dash to it as a fitting end to a grueling, hours-long journey (with no less than the thriumphant strains of Vangelis playing in the background), but that was not meant to be. The race organizers had removed the finish line, even though the curfew wasn't over yet.

But nothing can diminish the accomplishment I felt.

Finally, I'm a full-fledged marathoner.

The finisher's medal

Something to Think About

Stumbled on this funny, thought-provoking piece on the Net...

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Life: Explained


A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.

"Not very long," answered the Mexican.

"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.

The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.

The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs. I have a full life."

The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat."

"And after that?" asked the Mexican.

"With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge new enterprise."

"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.

"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.

"And after that?"

"Afterwards? Well my friend, that's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start buying and selling stocks and make millions!"

"Millions? Really? And after that?" asked the Mexican.

"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends."

And the moral of this story is: ......... Know where you're going in life... you may already be there.

"Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish"

Need some inspiration? This speech was delivered five years ago (and by no less than Apple heavyweight Steve Jobs), but its wisdom, its down-to-earth sagacity transcends time. Read on and be inspired :-)

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Transcript of Commencement Speech at Stanford given by Steve Jobs

Thank you. I'm honored to be with you today for your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. Truth be told, I never graduated from college and this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation.

Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories. The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first six months but then stayed around as a drop-in for another eighteen months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out? It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife, except that when I popped out, they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking, "We've got an unexpected baby boy. Do you want him?" They said, "Of course." My biological mother found out later that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would go to college.

This was the start in my life. And seventeen years later, I did go to college, but I naïvely chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and no idea of how college was going to help me figure it out, and here I was, spending all the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back, it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out, I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me and begin dropping in on the ones that looked far more interesting.

It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms. I returned Coke bottles for the five-cent deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the seven miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example.

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer was beautifully hand-calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and sans-serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me, and we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts, and since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them.

If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on that calligraphy class and personals computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do.

Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college, but it was very, very clear looking backwards 10 years later. Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect them looking backwards, so you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something--your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever--because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well-worn path, and that will make all the difference.

My second story is about love and loss. I was lucky. I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents' garage when I was twenty. We worked hard and in ten years, Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4,000 employees. We'd just released our finest creation, the Macintosh, a year earlier, and I'd just turned thirty, and then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew, we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so, things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge, and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our board of directors sided with him, and so at thirty, I was out, and very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating. I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down, that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure and I even thought about running away from the Valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me. I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I'd been rejected but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods in my life. During the next five years I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the world's first computer-animated feature film, "Toy Story," and is now the most successful animation studio in the world.

In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT and I returned to Apple and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance, and Lorene and I have a wonderful family together.

I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful-tasting medicine but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life's going to hit you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love, and that is as true for work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work, and the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking, and don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it, and like any great relationship it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking. Don't settle.

My third story is about death. When I was 17 I read a quote that went something like "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself, "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "no" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important thing I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life, because almost everything--all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure--these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago, I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctors' code for "prepare to die." It means to try and tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next ten years to tell them, in just a few months. It means to make sure that everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope, the doctor started crying, because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and, thankfully, I am fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept. No one wants to die, even people who want to go to Heaven don't want to die to get there, and yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent; it clears out the old to make way for the new. right now, the new is you. But someday, not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it's quite true. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalogue, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stuart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late Sixties, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and Polaroid cameras. it was sort of like Google in paperback form thirty-five years before Google came along. I was idealistic, overflowing with neat tools and great notions. Stuart and his team put out several issues of the The Whole Earth Catalogue, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-Seventies and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath were the words, "Stay hungry, stay foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. "Stay hungry, stay foolish." And I have always wished that for myself, and now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you. Stay hungry, stay foolish.

Thank you all, very much.

Ten Rules for Being Human

Thought I'd repost this. It's wry and so true :-) I especially like #9.

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Ten Rules for Being Human

by Cherie Carter-Scott

1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but it's yours to keep for the entire period.
2. You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called, "life."
3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial, error, and experimentation. The "failed" experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiments that ultimately "work."
4. Lessons are repeated until they are learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it, you can go on to the next lesson.
5. Learning lessons does not end. There's no part of life that doesn't contain its lessons. If you're alive, that means there are still lessons to be learned.
6. "There" is no better a place than "here." When your "there" has become a "here", you will simply obtain another "there" that will again look better than "here."
7. Other people are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects to you something you love or hate about yourself.
8. What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is up to you. The choice is yours.
9. Your answers lie within you. The answers to life's questions lie within you. All you need to do is look, listen, and trust.
10. You will forget all this.

Merry Christmas!

I'm so excited that I'm just going to blurt it right out--I got a new iPad! Yoo-hoo!

I've been debating with myself whether to get one or not, for days and weeks! I finally bought it last week at Virra Mall (where you'll find the cheapest electronic gadgets anywhere in the metro), and just before making the actual purchase, I was still unsure about what to do. The price understandably makes anyone think twice about getting an iPad, and the fact that it's more a luxury item than anything else (a netbook is more practical and useful, I can say this for sure) gives one even more pause.

But I know myself. When I get obsessed, I don't have peace of mind. My obsession will make me restless and unhappy for ages, and people will probably see me howling at the moon. The only way out of it is to get my hands on my obsession. Plus I had decided (after a tumultuous period in my life) that I will be kind to myself no matter what, that I'll be happy no matter what. So there, this is me being happy, this is me prioritizing my needs instead of other people's. Hah!

Oh, well. I might just as well admit it. I'm a gadget freak.

This iPad is also my early Christmas gift to myself. I thought I'd wrap it or put it in a drawer somewhere and not touch it till Christmas day... But here I am typing this blog post on it. Well, I have to see and test how it performs using the onscreen keyboard (versus an actual keyboard). The verdict? I can type on it more easily than on the iPhone, for sure, but it still requires getting used to. I type more slowly on the iPad than on a netbook.

That said, I'm absolutely in love with my iPad. It offers a different experience surfing the Net and checking my email. I also love that I can watch my downloaded movies and TV shows on it with ease, although I had to buy an app for this, called CineXPlayer. There's a free viewing app (called VLC), but it skips and freezes.

There aren't as many apps for the iPad as for the iPhone, but more are coming out each day. Any day now, Apple will also release the much awaited os4 software update for the iPad, and I can't wait! :-) It'll make multitasking, among others, possible in the iPad.

In the meantime, I'm having a lot of fun doing the usual things I do on the Net (especially using FB) on the iPad. There's an app (called Flipboard) that allows you to read selected websites including FB in a very attractive magazine format. Browsing becomes just like flipping the pages of a magazine. Overall, internet surfing feels more luxurious, smoother and clearer somehow on the iPad. And oh, I also adore that I can use the iPad as a digital photo display.

There's a lot more to explore on the iPad, but I want to wait till Christmas Day to savor the full experience :-)

Bunnies to the Rescue!

Like most moms, I'm worried that my kids are spending too much time with their gadgets and gizmos. On a usual weekend, they'd be surfing the net or playing iPhone/Wii/PS2 games. Often, if I don't remind them, they'd be so occupied with their games and Internet activities that they'd neglect to take a bath or eat their meals on time.

Whenever I try to reduce their "tech time," they'd argue that they study all week, and they just want to relax and have fun on the weekend. True, I do forbid playing computer games on schooldays, and they are better-than-average students, so trying to tear them away from their beloved games on weekends does make me feel like I'm being an evil villainness. Besides, they say, they don't just play on the computer. They also do school research, email, paint, connect with their friends (who seem to be all techy too), etc., etc. I have noticed that Raj (age 11) indeed makes great drawings on some graphics website she frequents, and Alden's grammar has gotten pretty good now that she often chats with friends, including some foreigner ones. (Alden's 9.) And Jigme (age 14)--geez, her computer skills in a lot of applications now surpass my own.

Still, I'd be happier if they spent less time in front of an LCD screen and more time playing physically, like we did when I was a kid. So, when they expressed a desire to have pets, they didn't have to do much persuading before I said yes.

On Alden's birthday last September, she got two turtles. (We bought Raj a turtle too because she was sick and we wanted to make her smile.) On their school's foundation day, Alden and Raj brought home little painted chicks (without my permission though). And just a week ago, Raj bought two bunnies as her early birthday present. (She turns 11 on October 24).

As a result, our garage (where all the animals stay) is now often smelly, with rabbit poop all over the floor. We have to clean up the animals' mess and cages daily, otherwise our house would stink to the high heavens. These are additional chores for Manang and myself.

But who's complaining? Now, when the kids get home from school, they'd inevitably spend their time relaxing at the garage with the animals, feeding them and playing with them. I'm happy that they (not just the kids, but the animals too) all seem to be enjoying themselves without any help from some high-tech gizmo. What's more, the kids are learning what it's like to care for and protect other living things. Some stray cats wander into our house, and we have to be vigilant that they don't hurt the rabbits.

The rabbits are named Raki and Alice, courtesy of Raj. They're super cute and lovable. :-)

Raki looking out longingly into the garden

Alice begging me for food :-)

Raki chilling

The Morning After, or Thank You, Lance Armstrong

As I finished my longest run ever and tapped on the "End workout" button on my iPhone, I heard Lance Armstrong's voice on my earphones saying "Congratulations, that was your longest distance run so far." Or something to that effect. Normally, I would have been thrilled to hear those words, but I was so tired, so worn out, and my cramps were soooo killing me, that I really didn't care much about the voice recording that Nike+ so thoughtfully provides for runners when they obtain a new PR (personal record). I wouldn't have minded if Lance, clad in his trademark yellow and black sports suit, suddenly materialized to pat me on the back, but nah, of course that wasn't happening.

I ran a full 25-kilometer stretch in 3 hours and 3 minutes. My longest run so far. Yoo-hoo!



That was two weeks ago. The week before that, I ran 21 km in 2h:30m. And just last week, I tapered down to 16 km. This Sunday, I'm supposed to do 29 km. Omigosh! The very thought makes my heart beat faster already, but a girl's gotta do what she gotta do.

So far, that's how my (very erratic) marathon training plan has been going. It's far from ideal, and there's barely two months of training left before the big day: December 5, the QC International Marathon, and my maiden full marathon.

I only do the long runs because I'm so busy with housework and stuff, but I hope to increase my number of runs per week, to include shorter distances and, who knows, maybe interval runs if I can squeeze them in.

What I've discovered as my biggest potential problem come marathon day is -- them darn cramps! I've noticed that after an hour of continuous running, I'd start to feel some cramping on my left shin. (My shins have always been my Achilles' heel.) Then by 2 hours, it'd be so painful that I'd have to walk a bit before running again.

But last week, the cramps didn't appear until after about two hours of running. That's progress I'm really happy about. It helped that I've been hydrating up to three days before a scheduled long run. I drink a few liters of water each day (and make frequent visits to the bathroom too). The next diet change I'll do is to drink milk regularly and maybe take calcium supplements. I hope these measures do work to eliminate the cramps altogether.

The morning after a long run, I notice that I don't feel as bad as I used to in the past. The typical morning-after limp is still there, but it's much reduced now. Going up and down the stairs is also more manageable; I remember having to really do it slow before and hold on to the sides of the stairs because my legs were really sore. Now things are so much better and I'm happy with the progress I'm making :-)

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I can really make 29 km this weekend.

Big Plans

Before we know it, the -ber months are here already! Time does fly by sooooo fast. It seems like just yesterday, I was in high school; now I have a teen-age daughter in high school!

Speaking of the -ber months, December is not that far away. I hear that there are displays of Christmas decors in some malls already. But for me, what's really special about December is that I'm fervently hoping to run my first full marathon on the fifth of the month. I should have been in training since August, but I was fasting then, so I'm just starting my *serious* runs this week. (Yes, I quit fasting even before Eid el-Fitr, because hindi ko na kaya! I had a vomiting and trembling fit last week, and felt really weak and bad, so I thought it's time to stop starving myself. God will understand.) So now I have just about 12 weeks to prepare for the full 42-km run. Tsk-tsk. Looks like I'm cramming again, just like in college.

I'm following this training program called the Marathon Coach, made by the Running Method. It's convenient for me because I have it on my iPhone as an app, and my iPhone goes with me whenever and wherever I run. The program's different from other training plans I've looked at. For one thing, its runs are in time measurements (50 minutes, 2 hours, etc.) rather than in kilometer distances. For another, for a twelve-week program, it appears much less rigorous than others.

That observation had me worried yesterday, as I was looking at other training programs. I've seen two that recommend a 21- or 23-km run on the first week of training. This is so because there are only 12 weeks instead of the customary minimum 16 weeks of training, and so it's supposed to be fast-tracked and a little intense. Meanwhile, in the Marathon Coach plan, only 50-minute runs are recommended for the first week. What a big difference.

I gave it some thought, and I decided I'd shoot for a 20-km-ish run this weekend. Thinking about this long run scares me a bit, but it's a run I'm looking forward to nonetheless :-) If I do make it, I'll try to adopt the other, more demanding training programs. But if I can't manage it, I'll stick with the Marathon Coach plan.

I'm glad I'm running again. Yesterday, I had a great night's sleep, the best I've had in weeks. I attribute it to my tiring pace run earlier in the day. It was very pleasantly exhausting, and I slept like a baby because of it.

Some screenshots of the Marathon Coach iPhone app:

Day 4: Hungry and Humble

When someone asks me what my religion is, I pause before giving an answer. If I don't know the person well or I don't want to encourage a long conversation, I simply say "I'm a Muslim." If I'm feeling talkative (which is rare) or the person who is asking really wants to know and isn't just making small talk (which is even rarer), I answer, "I have no formal religion, but I'm a deeply spiritual person." Or I say, "I believe in God but I don't subscribe to any one religion." When feeling flippant, I might even say, "Religions give God a bad name."

Outwardly, my children are Buddhists, and they have the freedom to choose their religion when they grow up. Their father is a Rosicrucian mystic, and his story is even more convoluted than mine. I am, simply, a human being who reveres an unseen, unimaginable and unknowable Force that created the universe and touches our lives in profound, mysterious ways.

For some reason, I was moved to go into fasting this Ramadhan (it started last August 12). I haven't done so for many years, decades even, although I've made many half-hearted attempts to fast in recent years.

On my first day of fasting, I also begun to observe salat, the five-times-a-day prayer of Muslims. I had to reacquaint myself with the Arabic words and prayers, and the different movements, the prostrations and bowing. I also had to reread on how to do the ablution or cleansing that is required before one can pray.

It was a fascinating, and not exactly easy, journey of rediscovery for me. The words I knew in childhood came back easily to me, though I suspect I'm not doing everything exactly right yet. Paradoxically, there is great liberation in bowing low and prostating oneself before God. These acts of abject humility reaffirms certain truths I often take for granted: That God is enough. That there is only one God. That He has no equal. That all our other obsessions and preoccupations are unimportant compared with God. And that everything is nothing; there is only God.

While in prayer, I remember and live those truths. Back in the "real world," I tend to forget them.

Praying is relatively easy, but fasting is another story. As I write this post, my stomach is grumbling and I feel weak, tired and hungry. The Muslim way of fasting is different and more stringent than other types of fast. No food and water (not even a sip) is allowed from about 4:30 am to 6:30 pm. Furthermore, one also has to fast or abstain from "evil" thoughts and deeds. Yesterday, I quelled an urge to snap back at a very rude person. He was a tricycle driver who threw money at me because he had no change for it. It was a real struggle for me to hold my tongue and not fight with him. I firmly reminded myself, "Sabr, sabr." Patience, patience. Sabr is one of the things that fasting is supposed to be all about.

Today is my fourth day of fasting and praying. I'm weak, hungry, and I miss running. I cannot resume my training for obvious reasons. Yet I also feel light, clean, humble, reverent, and very thankful. God has been very kind to me and my family. I feel truly blessed.

Alhamdollillah.

Of Women Who Scowl and Eckhart's Pain-Body

I had to make an ATM withdrawal today, and the bank being just a stone's throw away from my kids' school, I decided I'd walk there straight from school after seeing Alden off. I did my thing at the ATM, and the little receipt from the machine once again reminded me of one of life's greatest mysteries: How does money disappear so fast? It's too early in the day to be wrestling with unsolvable mysteries, so with a little shrug, I started heading home. Then another question popped up: should I take a tricyle or walk? I wanted to walk but I was wearing a mousy, ankle-length black skirt that made me look like a lola from last century. But it's one of my most comfortable clothes so I often have it on. Anyways, I decided to walk home.

Along the way, I met a real lola type who had a scowl on her face. She looked mean and unhappy, and she reminded me of my former boss, who often gave me a hard time. I used to think of this boss as an ogre, a troll, a bulldog, Hitler...you get the idea. I really hated him. Then he had a stroke. It made his face and mouth look funny, like he was perpetually wearing a Joker grin/sneer. (You know Joker? Batman's arch enemy?) After his stroke, my boss began to be more mellow and less threatening. In time, I came to think of him less like a bulldog and more like a deformed old man.

I then began thinking about how other people possibly perceive me. I know I can look cold and unapproachable sometimes. Maybe not just sometimes but most of the time, I guess. Even to my kids, I sometimes look angry when I'm not. (Well, maybe it's because I'm trying so hard to be stern with them so they'll learn to be more afraid, and ergo more respectful, of me.)

The thing is, I know that I now smile much less than I used to. I was called bungisngis way back, maybe a decade ago, and now I probably appear generally stern and unfriendly. I wonder, could I possibly look like that lola I just met? Do I have her scowl and mean expression? God forbid!

My experiences have given me the wisdom to know that in their hearts, people aren't really mean, aloof or cold. It's just that they had a hard life, maybe a painful childhood or traumatic experiences that made them that way. I know that because I see it in my self. I wish I weren't painfully introspective, but I do scrutinize my moods and actions way too much. And one of the things I'm sure of is I'm not distrustful, I'm not unfriendly, I'm not cold... but I do give off those vibes at times. Maybe I have grown to be distrustful of others and protective of myself, maybe these have become my defense mechanisms because I went through betrayal, hurt and some hard times. I don't know.

Now, when I see someone who appears angry, mean or ill-tempered, I try to be kind and not judge. I'm sure that lola I just saw was once a wide-eyed, trusting child. Now she's all grown up and toughened by life's hard knocks. I can sympathize with her. I can even feel somewhat motherly toward her, at some level wanting to soothe the hurt child inside her.

This reminds me of Eckhart Tolle's pain-body which he talks about extensively in his book A New Earth. He says that everyone of us has a pain-body, that part of us that was hurt or betrayed. Some people have it more than others, depending on their life experiences. Some people also wear their pain-body on their sleeves, so to speak, but in most people, it is suppressed. The pain-body makes us distrustful, cold, angry, mean, sometimes cruel, much like those stereotypical villains in fairy tales. (Think evil stepmother, Cruella, Captain Hook, etc.) At most times, our pain-body is asleep or dormant, but when aroused, it can really blow up and make a scene, surprising even us. When a usually quiet or timid person suddenly erupts, or when someone you know suddenly behaves like a stranger you've never met, it may be his pain-body surfacing. When you think of it enough, the idea of having a pain-body is not at all far-fetched or hocus-pocussy. It can make a lot of sense. It does to me.

Eckhart Tolle also talks a lot about how to deal with the pain-body (in others and in oneself), and of course, his main thesis which is staying present, living at the moment, which I find to be a really wise piece of counsel to live by.

Eckhart Tolle, a really wise man. He looks a bit like Yoda, no?

Alden's Video

I tried out Windows' movie maker for the first time and came up with this "practice" video. The subject of this one is, predictably, my kids. This one features Alden. I'll make Raj and Jigme's soon.

Life Pokes

I used to think that life "remembers" you most when you are in your darkest hour. It is paradoxical that when I felt most alone, that too was the time when I felt most convincingly God's presence and grace.

I hesitate to even call it "God's" presence. I don't know what and who God is, and I might be better described as an agnostic rather than a believer. In fact, I have an aversion against "believing" and "beliefs." Lurking within a belief is the possibility that it might not be true. But people believe it anyway. I know rather than believe that God exists, and I don't dare defile that knowing by attributing all sorts of names, myths and concoctions of the human mind to God. I don't know Him, Her or It; what I know is that God is beyond names and labels, beyond human understanding anyway. So it's useless talking about it.

Hmmm...did that just happen? I wasn't even going to talk about God and there I went. Oh well.

So, back to what I was saying, about life remembering you even when you feel most obscure. I've been cooped in the house, watching over the kids, making their...er, helping to make their projects, cleaning, cooking (more like reheating), doing freelance writing on and off (more off than on), and yes, gardening! I cleaned up part of our garden last Saturday, got rid of the many dead plants and moved around some of the living ones. I also took out some seeds (marygold and something else, maybe zinnia?) and put them in some nice, newly cleaned pots. I do hope they sprout one day soon. Now my right palm is really itchy and I suspect I might have gotten some fungi from all that soil handling.

What I'm trying to say in my very roundabout way is that I have been cocooned in my own world, away from people except for my kids. No social life, no talking to other adults, no going out except to buy groceries. And so far, I like it. I enjoy the solitude and the relative quiet. (With three kids, there is always some noise and commotion at home.)

Then my brother emails me to remind me that Ramadhan is just around the corner. I actually needed no reminding, since I've been occupied lately with thoughts of how to observe Ramadhan. I haven't fasted in many years, although I've wanted to. Now I feel it's time for me to do exactly that. I have been feeling the urge to enter into a more spiritual life, to renew my "faith" (for lack of a better word), and to find deeper expression for my gratitude. I have been very lucky, very blessed. I feel compelled to do something to give back, if not by actual deeds of service, then through deeper prayer and devotion.

Now life is poking me, as if to shout, yes, yes, do that! I am alone and cocooned from the rest of the world... but I am never alone. I always feel the Presence, and now it is taking me by the hand, affirming, guiding, loving, and just being there.

Getting Ready for December 5

Four months to go before my first full marathon. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I can really train enough for this milestone. Happening on December 5, I've chosen the Quezon City International Marathon (QCIM) as the race for my first full mary. I joined the first QCIM last year, running 21k, and it was an incredible experience. Running along Commonwealth Ave, minus all the cars and fumes, with all the northbound lanes occupied by just runners, was heavenly.


I missed a lot of planned races this year. I missed the very popular Milo marathon. More recently, I also missed this Sunday's takbo.ph Runfest. I registered and got the wonderful race singlet, with my own name inscribed in front and on the bib. Two weeks ago, I knew I couldn't make the race because my maid goes home on weekends now and there's no one to look after the kids. But I was happy just to get the singlet. It's my first that's personalized with my name. I hope to wear it soon outdoors. I already used it as pambahay/work clothes when I took out some old, dusty stuff from our unbelievably cramped storage area two days ago.

I just downloaded a training schedule from runnersworld.com called SmartCoach. It says that my first training day is today, and I'm supposed to run 5 km. That should be easy enough... but I haven't been on the treadmill for weeks (!) now, so let's just see how it goes.

I notice that these days, my pulse is faster than before when I wake up in the morning. Two fingers on my carotid reveals a surprisingly rapid thump-thump beat. A faster pulse equals a less fit me. But I shouldn't really be surprised, since I haven't been exercising at all lately. I'm also aware that I'm drinking way too much coffee. These things I need to change. And oh, let's not forget the medium pizza that I devoured last weekend, all by myself. And all those bars of Cadbury that my kids love so much. When they eat this comfort food of theirs, I join in. Hmmm... I've been bad.

So okey, I'm starting anew (yet again... but one should never give up, right?). I'm starting to train for the full marathon, and I'm going to eat better.

Good luck to me :-)

The Cat and I

I was brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink (funny how everyone at home does her brushing here), when outside the window, I saw the cat staring at me. It was the cat that trespasses into our house, the cat that steals our food, the cat that gives the children a scare when it suddenly jumps into a room through the window. It was the cat that I have tried scaring away many times, throwing stones at it, making loud, supposedly scary noises--all to no avail. It just won't leave.

I used to love cats when I was a child. Now I hate them. Maybe hate is too strong a word. I dislike them. Intensely. There.

I don't know when this dislike started. Maybe it began when I was pregnant for the first time, and I read somewhere that pregnant women are not safe around cats and cat litter. They can cause an infection that is extremely harmful to the fetus.

Maybe it was because my ex believed that cats are psychic vampires that steal our energy away. Well, they don't really intentionally steal it, but they absorb it from persons they come in contact with. That's just the way they are. Or so he believed. Whatever.

Now, the cat was staring at me straight on, as if daring me to go try to scare her away again.

I stared back, hard. But no human is equal to a cat's unflinching gaze.

Done with my brushing, I finally signaled surrender by bringing my head (and gaze) down to rinse my mouth.

So much has changed since my cat-loving childhood days. Now, I sometimes don't know who I am and what I have become. A stranger looks back at me in the mirror. But better that than a cat.

New iPhone App

I found this free iPhone app that's supposed to let you post on your blog on the go. I'm now testing it. Let's see if it works... :-)

Hershey's = Happiness

It doesn't exactly make for healthy eating, but I do love Hershey's chocolate. (Who doesn't?) But I don't enjoy the entire bar. To be precise, I eat just one-fourth of the bar, no more, no less.

Weird?

My three kids and I share one whole bar, so each of us gets one-fourth. It's an informal "tradition" that we've been doing for, let's see... maybe one or two years now. I don't buy Hershey's often because none of us needs the calories, but when I do, we enjoy it at night in front of the TV. Ritual-like, we gather around the coffee table. Then one of us opens the bar and carefully divides it into four, while the other three watch with anticipation. Then we each grab our portion and relish it slowly.

Alden almost always lets the chocolate melt on her fingers, then holds up all five chubby, chocolate-tipped digits for all of us to see and admire. Then she proceeds to lick each finger. Jigme invariably sighs with disgust at the sight. I also protest and say, "Alden, kadiri!" But I'd be laughing inside.

As you can see, it's not really the chocolate, but the ritual that makes it so delicious and enjoyable.

Or is it?

"Pooling" Around

It's summer! Anyone who lives in the metro knows how unbearably warm it is these days. We are itching to go to the beach, but sadly, that isn't workable. Bringing three active kids on a five- to six-hour trip is too much of a hassle (I already have enough wrinkles on my face and stress in my life, thank you). And the expense involved is far from negligible (the bills I'm paying now are enough already, thank you).

Then I thought, if we can't go to the beach, then we must bring the beach to us. Makes sense, right? Right! So, with just a little prodding from Alden (my youngest daughter), I consented to buy a 12-foot-diameter pool to replace our old hole-ridden 8-foot-diameter one. It cost me 4,000 pesos, plus another grand for the air pump and other accessories.

The next day, at barely 6:30 a.m., Alden was shaking me awake. "Ma, come on, it's time to set up the pool!"

It took me an hour to choose and prepare the location (the ground must be relatively flat and smooth), open and "spread" the pool on it, and pump air in. Not bad, I thought. I relished the fact that the manual pumping provided some much-needed exercise for me. What I didn't like was that it took the whole day to fill it up with water! Maybe that's because our water supply was weak and slow, or maybe the pool was just so big (to my thinking, at least).

Two full hours after I set it up, the pool still looked like this:

Then, one more hour later, the kids couldn't wait anymore. They jumped right in (or rather, waded in), unmindful of the low water level.

It was much better the next day, when the pool was more or less full.

Alden and I had a great time. Too bad Raj couldn't join us because of her cough, and Jigme was in school.

Alden was practically in pool heaven. Anyone can tell by this picture :-)

And I felt like I was in some five-star beach resort. Ha-ha.

Summer is fun, life is good. I am blessed indeed! :-)

Not in the Mood

A few years ago, I started this tradition of creating a blog to mark my birthday. And so today, about a week shy of my __th natal day, I'm writing this first post in my new blog.

But truth be said, I'm just going through the motions. I've been despondent lately, kind of in a rut, maybe even a little depressed. Nothing I do seems to make me happy. I don't feel passionate about anything anymore--and this is strange, because I'm one of the most passionate people I know. Worst of all, and perhaps at the core of this whole thing, I'm still trying to recover from a devastating breakup. Yeah, I get tired of saying it, and it makes me ashamed that I still haven't healed up to now, but what can I do? That's just the way I am. I did say I am (or was) passionate, remember?

I try to be patient with myself. I rationalize this is the "seventh cycle" blues which everyone goes through just before they add another year to their age. I've read somewhere that the monthlong period or so just before your birthday is supposed to be your weakest and most vulnerable time. Your health--mentally, physically and definitely emotionally--is at its lowest. So there. It seems I just have to wait a few more days and things will be better... I hope.

Writing has been therapeutic for me in the past, and this is another reason why I started this blog. Hey, already, I feel better after just these few paragraphs.

Hmmm, there's definitely hope for me!