CAMIGUIN ISLAND (MindaNews / 06 April) – They say you get slower as you age. To some extent, maybe. But not always.
I started running in 2012, when I was 47. I was forced to train because my friend Jaeger registered me for a 10-kilometer race in a month’s time. Then came the 21k race and, a year later, the full marathon, or 42k. I finished 2013 with two more marathons.
The next step is obvious: ultra marathons, or anything longer than 42k.
My first ultra was the 64k Camiguin 360 in April 2014. Although the circumferential road of Camiguin is almost exactly 64 kilometers long, the 2014 edition was longer because the finish line was transferred to a beach resort two kilometers away. Next came the TDR80 in Davao City a year later, then the NegOr100 before the end of 2015.
I am a slow runner, your typical hobbyist who struggles to find time to run in between work and family duties, who didn’t get any lessons from a professional running coach. I finished the 66.2k in a little more than 10 hours. But at the 64.21k mark, the length of this year’s race as indicated in my GPS watch, it was about 9 hours and 57 minutes. In 2014, I was somewhere in the middle of the finishers, like most of the races I’ve joined. So maybe that makes me the average runner?
Until this year, I have never repeated long races. Not one of the three marathons, nor any of the three ultras.
But Camiguin 360, scheduled on March 23-24, is so special, so tempting as it’s 10 years after my first ever ultra.
Can I still do it? I was 49 when I first ran it. Now, I’m approaching my senior years. Y’know, when you’re supposed to slow down, take it easy, doing regular exercises but nothing that would wear you out. But, 64 kilometers?! What am I even thinking? Can I even finish the race?
For me, here are a few differences running the Camiguin 360 in 2014 and 2024:
1) I was a barefoot runner then, ran all my races barefoot, including Camiguin. My fastest times in the 5k, 10k, 21k, and 42k, were all ran barefoot. This time, I’ve mellowed down a bit; I now run on a pair of DIY huaraches (or running sandals), just your usual tsinelas but the straps replaced with something more secure.
2) In the previous year before the 2014 race, I ran three marathon races. This time, nada. My last 42k was the Cebu City Marathon in 2022. But I ran it “virtual,” meaning, I ran it solo while wearing a mask, my own choice of route, passing by my house every now and then for food and water.
3) In the last three months before the race in 2014, I ran 174k, 251k, and 243k. In contrast, I ran only 197k , 122k, and 230k for this year’s race. It’s obvious I was cramming my training. But one hack I did this year: many of my long weekend runs were on trails. It’s boring to do long runs on the road alone. Lucky for me, my running buddies in the Iligan Trail Runners were preparing for their own ultras in the mountains of Kalatungan and Pulag.
4) My bib number in 2014 was 001. Maybe I was the first to register? That excited, noh? This time, I was told by the organizers I was the first to send payment for the 1,000-peso cash bond. Just as excited! The municipal government of Mambajao, the island-province’s capital where the race started and finished, is charging no registration fee for the race. They’re only asking that you deposit 1,000 pesos to get your commitment, to be refunded once you finish the race. A nice move if you ask me, to help local businesses to profit from the race. With over 400 runners participating, maybe 90 percent of us not local residents, imagine the money spent on hotels, food, and tour packages. For us runners, and for our families.
My plan for this year’s race was to walk 100 meters, then run the 900 meters, at a very slow pace of about 8 mins per km. Repeat 64 times. Or so I wished. If all goes well, I’d be done in 8 and a half hours. But I know that’s not a realistic plan. I cannot possibly be more than an hour faster than my previous time, considering I had more training previously, and I was a decade younger.
The starting line is always a happy occasion, everybody excited, and nervous at the same time. Everyone’s spirits are up. My wife Miriam and son Arkay were there to cheer me up, to take pictures and videos.
The race started a little past 9 p.m.
I intentionally positioned myself near the back of the pack so I won’t be carried by the flow. I’d be walking the first 100 meters, remember? It is the mistake of many newbies to run the pace of the veterans early on, then end up walking a kilometer or two later, eventually dropping out of the race. Even in short races like 5k or 10k. I have no plan to rush this race at all. I’ve joined enough races to know that it is at the finish line that you can determine how you performed. I haven’t dropped from a race ever, and no intention this time. (In running parlance, that’s DNF, or “did not finish.”)
Everything seemed well as I stuck to my walk-run method, even if I was in the race practically alone, knowing nobody among the sea of runners. Local residents lined up the streets to witness this boring sport of mostly slow runners. Policemen and medical personnel on their motorcycles or ambulances sometimes pass us by, the red and blue lights pulsating amid the darkness. The sea breeze was nice. You can hear the waves crashing on the shore even if you couldn’t see them. The Moon was bright, sometimes covered by thick clouds.
During runs, I don’t wear earphones at all, unlike many I know who enjoy music or audiobooks as they run. I let my mind wander wherever it’ll go.
It was around the sixth kilometer when I recalled how I rushed things at the hotel an hour before the race. That was when I decided to change bags: from a belt bag to a backpack, realizing I needed to bring a few more items than originally planned. Extra shirt, extra food (I had two siopao guisado and two chocolate bars in my bag; I don’t do energy food common among runners), extra water, spare batteries for the headlamp, power bank for the phone and for my oldish Garmin GPS watch.
Because of this rush and sudden change in my nightly pattern, I forgot to take medicine for my allergic rhinitis. Forgot to pack one, too. Darn, I’d be sneezing or feeling itchy on the road, all the way to the finish line! If I can even finish at all.
Major Tom to Ground Control: Houston, we have a problem!
Arkay hired a motorbike and rushed towards the direction of the race, clockwise around Camiguin Island. Normally, it won’t be easy to find one runner at night in the early part of the race because there are just so many of us. Fortunately, thanks to GPS and cellular technology, I have this habit of using a tracker on my phone so my wife would know where exactly I am during my runs and long drives. She passed the link to my son and, voila! Arkay now knows where to find me.
I stuck to my 100-900 walk-run method, except during the uphill portions when you have no choice but to walk. This time, I made sure I’m well hydrated and well fed in the aid stations, and consumed my own water and siopao when I felt the next aid station was still far. I had a scary event in 2014, when my vision flickered like a TV with defective aerial antenna, apparently for lack of fluid and food intake.
Us amateur runners have our own versions of the run-walk method, an approach popularized by American Olympian Jeff Galloway, to do it slow to make sure you get to the finish line. Thus, we took turns passing each other. A few faces became familiar, like the couple who were wearing “Iligan Recreational Runners” shirts. I do not know them personally, but I know a few in their group, who I know were running way ahead of us. There were also two male runners accompanying a small female runner between them. And three runners from Cagayan de Oro, among them a photohobbyist like me, Dino.
I was feeling ok at half point, stopping only briefly at the aid stations and resumed running right away. I was happy that at Km 32, I was at 4 hours and 25 minutes. Multiply by two, maybe I could finish this under 9 hours?! That would be awesome! I was encouraged more when, shortly after, I passed a fellow Iliganon, Ver Quimco. We first met in the late 1980s when I was a young provincial news correspondent, and he was just starting his career in law.
But deep in me I know that finishing the race under nine hours is just not doable.
Looking at the data from my GPS watch, it was at Km 37 when I began to “hit the wall,” when I began to break my pattern and took longer walks, simply because of exhaustion. Maybe next race, it should be a 200m walk and 800m run? Or even 300:700?
I was doing maybe more like 50-50 and 70-30 walk-run henceforth. This is the time when you have already completed a full marathon (42k), and realize you still have to run 22k more. Argh!
Somewhere during this time, the road seemed so dark, long stretches of no light posts, no more stores open, no other runners, no marshals. A lonely sport, indeed. Fortunately, it was just one night before the full Moon. And glad to know that my head lamp, running on rechargeable AAA batteries, lasted the distance.
Quitting was not an option, unless I collapse on the road. I just had to endure the walk, enjoying the sight of the bright Moon and its reflection in the sea, sometimes covered by dark clouds. A few times I stopped to take pictures of the Moon slowly setting toward the horizon. Sometimes I got disoriented when marshals sitting by the road side would greet me, “Maayong buntag!”
I recovered a bit at Km 47 with a long downhill segment. Then resumed walking most of the way, more so when we hit a long uphill road at Km 50, which was scary with the series of 10-wheeler trucks passing by.
I was jolted at Km 56 when Ver caught up with me! Mehn, he is a fast walker, now I could hardly catch up. He was as tired as I was, and I was glad that he paced with me as we did more frequent run-walk-runs. It was the only time I paced with another runner, and nice to be talking to someone I know. Until rain and daylight came.
After a while, I was worried I couldn’t break my previous time if we keep at this run-walk pace. I felt stronger this time, I must have recovered from that long walk. I encouraged Ver to run longer and take fewer walking breaks. But he couldn’t anymore. He told me to go ahead and asked me to take his video at the finish line.
It was at Km 59 when I mustered all my strength and ran most of the way. My legs hurt, my soles hurt, the same feeling when I was running barefoot back in 2014, even when I was wearing running sandals now.
I’d target my sight on someone ahead of me. I gotta overtake that guy. And then the next, and yet another, and so on and so forth. Wow! I was able to pass quite a few runners on my way to the finish line. Most of them were just walking by now, their body batteries almost totally drained. I even passed one barefoot runner. That was me 10 years ago!
Maybe 300 meters to the finish line, I heard someone from across the road shouting, “Congrats Sir Bob!” It was Neizl, the fastest girl in our running group. She was champion in her age bracket. She already had a change of clothes, all packed up, most likely on her way to the pier so she could report back for work in the afternoon.
When I crossed the finish line, my watch read 9 hours, 37 minutes and 9 seconds, at a distance of 64.21k. (Official “net time” based on the organizer’s digital timer: 9:37:13.) At that same distance in 2014, that was 9:56:46. Wow, faster by more than 19 minutes! That’s a 3.4% improvement, a huge leap by track and field standards. I was the 151st runner to cross the finish line, out of the over 300 who ran the full 64k (the rest did a 32k x 2 relay).
Unless you are a competitive athlete aiming for the world record or the podium, do not measure yourself against other runners, but only against yourself. Considering I was less prepared this time with the shorter time spent on training, I believe it was my decision to spend more time on the trails that mattered. Quality miles over quantity.
Miriam was there at the finish line cheering me on, while Arkay was taking pictures. It was still raining, and I waited a few moments to be able to shoot video when Ver crossed the finish line. I waited some more, but there was no Ver in sight. I decided to just proceed to claim my finisher’s shirt, post-race meal, and the cash bond. (Official results show he came 10 minutes later.)
As I sat to eat my breakfast, we overheard a young runner nearby, his lips pale, saying: “Nahihilo po ako.” Then a commotion among his friends and the medics, to go get a stretcher, to prepare the ambulance. Miriam stood up, calm as she always is during emergencies, approached the young runner and said, “I am Dr. Timonera. I’m a cardiologist.” She asked him to relax and to lie down on the floor, and checked his vitals. Moments later, like magic, he was already smiling while still on the ground, his lips pink again. “Ok na po ako,” he assured his friends. To everyone’s relief.
As we went back to the hotel (yep, we took a trike, even if it’s less than a kilometer away), we saw finishers having difficulty walking. I thought, this would be a challenge going up the second floor, where our room was. I remember that in my first 21k race in Cagayan de Oro 12 years ago, going up the third floor by stairs was really painful, slowly bringing up my feet one after the other.
To my surprise, getting down the trike was easy. Walking was effortless. So I asked Arkay to shoot a video while I climbed up the stairs. Oh yeah, climbing the stairs was easy; I was even smiling. When I got to the second floor, there was one runner who walked like he’s newly circumcised, his legs spread, taking one short step at a time. Going down the stairs was no problem for me, too.
Going to Camiguin, we decided to drive up to Cagayan de Oro, left the car in a pay parking area, then took a van that will take us direct to the hotel, the short boat ride included in the package. That’s because I know I may have a hard time driving home. But Cagayan de Oro to Iligan is a shorter ride, and I had no issue driving back home.
The pain came the morning after. My left ankle hurt, and I couldn’t walk straight, the left foot pointing way out, now perpendicular to the right foot. On the stairs, especially when going down, I had to take half a step at a time. But the pain was gone in the afternoon, and I could walk normally again. I resumed my usual 10k weekday runs three days later.
So, will I run Camiguin again? I’d like to, more so because I’d be a senior citizen by next year. (Bobby Timonera/MindaNews)
