Hah. From the looks of it, I got in at 60th percentile. Not bad for someone who's just about legally blind.
$5340.00
I just hope the day never comes when anyone in my immediate posse might feel the need to do me in to scrape some major change. Which reminds me, gotta get Faisal his long-overdue birthday gift.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Love. Peace. Run.
This is possibly the most excruciating week of the year thus far. Like Murphy said, anything wrong that can happen will happen. He's got some pretty solid skills of postulation, that guy. But I'm not expounding on the things that managed to disturb (no, that should actually be in the present tense--"still manage to disturb") my sangfroid.
To be fair, the week opened with one of the best Sundays I had this year, which I would like to think is a sign of better things to come. Of course, my Sundays are pretty laidback and open for whatever. I try valiantly each single time to get an early start so I could hit the gym for a mind-and-body morning rush, unfortunately usually to no avail. But at the very least I could count on regular detours to the mall for some extensive power walking. I totally swear by this activity. If it weren't for this fallback, I'd have ballooned beyond redemption on account of my manic love for food, which would cross out any effects that I more or less gain from a spasmodic exercise schedule. I mean, imagine walking around for hours on end to window-shop and people-watch and nothing more, stopping to rest only for dinner or the occasional movie with Soms, my Thai cuisine-craving partner-in-crime du jour. It's practically fail-safe for couch potato butts like me. Although it can get quite tiring having to stay upright for a few hours straight, at least you don't feel the sting of focused physical exertion that is typical of gym workouts.
Last Sunday, Soms was a no-show, mainly coz I failed to inform him ahead of time that I couldn't make it to our loosely planned dinner. It's usually touch and go with him anyway, so it's all well and good. Upon arriving home from exercising my rights to vagrancy at Glorietta and Greenbelt (was literally bumming around all over the place), I had planned a short siesta until around 5pm but found the opportunity to snuggle further into sleepiness too tempting to pass up. After all, I'm not your daily corporate zombie for nothing. While some folks dream of Jeannie, I for the most part dream of sleep.
So last Sunday, I was wiped out, I was history. It was a day for the books. I had completed my second 5K that morning at the Fil-Mus Foundation Run for Peace at Roxas Boulevard. And to think I had almost missed it! I didn't hear the damn alarm go off, maybe coz I had only 4 hours of sleep the night before. Thankfully, by some mysterious process I managed to be jolted out of my sleeping stupor at 5:15am (starting time was 6am). I have never showered so fast in my entire life, the very memory amazes me to this time. After downing Lipovitan (the store was fresh out of Red Bull at the time), I was so pumped up, I was running the short distance from my apartment to the main road to hail a taxi. The sun was way up already and all that vitamin D got me in panic mode that I was cussing at myself for jeopardizing what I had been looking forward to for weeks. Luckily, the heavens must be conspiring in my favor coz I got a cab right away to take me to Malate. Sitting through the ride and trying to keep my wavering hopes up, it became all the more self-evident that Roxas Boulevard is quite a distance from my core universe in Makati, even sans the usual traffic. I implored the cabbie to go as fast as legally possible while mouthing a silent prayer to up my chances of making it to the starting line. I really wanted to run in this race.
When I got to the place, I jumped out of the cab and sprinted to the baggage counter area (a couple of mini-minivans) only to find out that I actually wasn't late. Practically, no, but only coz the celebrity guest runner who was there to kick off the show, Robin Padilla, the quintessential bad boy of Pinoy showbiz, arrived at the starting area a good 10-15 minutes later than I did (which would make the official starting time around 6:15 instead of 6am). Being a newbie runner, I would think that by racing standards, that's an eternity. Whatever. As evidenced by the reception of the racing crowd that caught a glimpse of him as he swept into the scene with a gathering entourage in tow (which included his very pretty daughter, who jogged with him wearing a full hijab), I realize star power is raw power. Can't really argue with the power of charisma. You'd think it would be easy for the multitude of runners to get a little pissed off by the delay. Apparently, you couldn't get guys like these (starstruck or otherwise) that chug on happy hormones for racing fuel in a sour mood then.
The starter pistol was fired immediately upon his arrival, and off the throng went. Some 1,000 boys and girls of all ages and from all walks of Manila life thundered down the paved path that extended from Rajah Sulayman Plaza, turning the corner at TM Kalaw and further past the plaza to the stoplight at the end of the pedestrian stretch, and back to complete a lap. The 5K event covered one round of the straightforward route which, even with the lack of the slopes and curves that characterized the UP run, was still a tough one for me as I was ready to drop by the side of the road at 4K. But I soldiered on, stopping for a second only when my shoelace came undone and breaking my pace by about 20% to aim in the general direction of my trap water from the plastic cups that the nice water people at the opposite ends of the road stretch were handing out to the runners.
When you're not racing, 5K sounds like an easy number. But as I was reminded again, it was a long, arduous journey of the mind as halfway through the run, I was mighty ecstatic to see the looming visage of the plaza that would signify the end of my happy ordeal. My endorphin levels dipped considerably, however, upon being reminded that the route from TM Kalaw required another turn before hitting the finish line at the plaza area. Daayymm, suddenly it felt like a chore that I couldn't reconcile getting up so early and working my ass out that hard for. Somewhere in the fogged-up crevices of my sleep-deprived mind, I heard the question, "Why am I doing this again?" And then I got the answer a short while later in the end, my utter amazement apparent at seeing the LCD timer staring down at me suspended from its place above the finish line, as if to say, "Yes, you really did finish at 33:37."
I swear, that moment right there was really cool. It was tops. Later this week when I relayed the news to Bry, my co-running junkie at the UP run, he was floored. He said his last PR (he runs at UP with Jer every Sunday now) was around 34 minutes. For the Fil-Mus race, I figured I must be finishing within the neighborhood of 36 minutes. If I were to be technical about it, my first ever time of 41:07 at the Great UP Run should be slashed some 5 minutes in order for me to get a better picture of how my average running rate goes. But man, 33:37 is quite something, on a personal level. I'm happy with it, especially since I haven't even been kicking it in training. The only aerobic activity I got after the run at Diliman was at Muay Thai class the day before (see previous post).
Which provides the segue into the second part of this report, to be concluded as soon as I can snatch up some free time from my workload from hell.
Post-Run Pose with the Muay Thai National Team
To be fair, the week opened with one of the best Sundays I had this year, which I would like to think is a sign of better things to come. Of course, my Sundays are pretty laidback and open for whatever. I try valiantly each single time to get an early start so I could hit the gym for a mind-and-body morning rush, unfortunately usually to no avail. But at the very least I could count on regular detours to the mall for some extensive power walking. I totally swear by this activity. If it weren't for this fallback, I'd have ballooned beyond redemption on account of my manic love for food, which would cross out any effects that I more or less gain from a spasmodic exercise schedule. I mean, imagine walking around for hours on end to window-shop and people-watch and nothing more, stopping to rest only for dinner or the occasional movie with Soms, my Thai cuisine-craving partner-in-crime du jour. It's practically fail-safe for couch potato butts like me. Although it can get quite tiring having to stay upright for a few hours straight, at least you don't feel the sting of focused physical exertion that is typical of gym workouts.
Last Sunday, Soms was a no-show, mainly coz I failed to inform him ahead of time that I couldn't make it to our loosely planned dinner. It's usually touch and go with him anyway, so it's all well and good. Upon arriving home from exercising my rights to vagrancy at Glorietta and Greenbelt (was literally bumming around all over the place), I had planned a short siesta until around 5pm but found the opportunity to snuggle further into sleepiness too tempting to pass up. After all, I'm not your daily corporate zombie for nothing. While some folks dream of Jeannie, I for the most part dream of sleep.
So last Sunday, I was wiped out, I was history. It was a day for the books. I had completed my second 5K that morning at the Fil-Mus Foundation Run for Peace at Roxas Boulevard. And to think I had almost missed it! I didn't hear the damn alarm go off, maybe coz I had only 4 hours of sleep the night before. Thankfully, by some mysterious process I managed to be jolted out of my sleeping stupor at 5:15am (starting time was 6am). I have never showered so fast in my entire life, the very memory amazes me to this time. After downing Lipovitan (the store was fresh out of Red Bull at the time), I was so pumped up, I was running the short distance from my apartment to the main road to hail a taxi. The sun was way up already and all that vitamin D got me in panic mode that I was cussing at myself for jeopardizing what I had been looking forward to for weeks. Luckily, the heavens must be conspiring in my favor coz I got a cab right away to take me to Malate. Sitting through the ride and trying to keep my wavering hopes up, it became all the more self-evident that Roxas Boulevard is quite a distance from my core universe in Makati, even sans the usual traffic. I implored the cabbie to go as fast as legally possible while mouthing a silent prayer to up my chances of making it to the starting line. I really wanted to run in this race.
When I got to the place, I jumped out of the cab and sprinted to the baggage counter area (a couple of mini-minivans) only to find out that I actually wasn't late. Practically, no, but only coz the celebrity guest runner who was there to kick off the show, Robin Padilla, the quintessential bad boy of Pinoy showbiz, arrived at the starting area a good 10-15 minutes later than I did (which would make the official starting time around 6:15 instead of 6am). Being a newbie runner, I would think that by racing standards, that's an eternity. Whatever. As evidenced by the reception of the racing crowd that caught a glimpse of him as he swept into the scene with a gathering entourage in tow (which included his very pretty daughter, who jogged with him wearing a full hijab), I realize star power is raw power. Can't really argue with the power of charisma. You'd think it would be easy for the multitude of runners to get a little pissed off by the delay. Apparently, you couldn't get guys like these (starstruck or otherwise) that chug on happy hormones for racing fuel in a sour mood then.
The starter pistol was fired immediately upon his arrival, and off the throng went. Some 1,000 boys and girls of all ages and from all walks of Manila life thundered down the paved path that extended from Rajah Sulayman Plaza, turning the corner at TM Kalaw and further past the plaza to the stoplight at the end of the pedestrian stretch, and back to complete a lap. The 5K event covered one round of the straightforward route which, even with the lack of the slopes and curves that characterized the UP run, was still a tough one for me as I was ready to drop by the side of the road at 4K. But I soldiered on, stopping for a second only when my shoelace came undone and breaking my pace by about 20% to aim in the general direction of my trap water from the plastic cups that the nice water people at the opposite ends of the road stretch were handing out to the runners.
When you're not racing, 5K sounds like an easy number. But as I was reminded again, it was a long, arduous journey of the mind as halfway through the run, I was mighty ecstatic to see the looming visage of the plaza that would signify the end of my happy ordeal. My endorphin levels dipped considerably, however, upon being reminded that the route from TM Kalaw required another turn before hitting the finish line at the plaza area. Daayymm, suddenly it felt like a chore that I couldn't reconcile getting up so early and working my ass out that hard for. Somewhere in the fogged-up crevices of my sleep-deprived mind, I heard the question, "Why am I doing this again?" And then I got the answer a short while later in the end, my utter amazement apparent at seeing the LCD timer staring down at me suspended from its place above the finish line, as if to say, "Yes, you really did finish at 33:37."
I swear, that moment right there was really cool. It was tops. Later this week when I relayed the news to Bry, my co-running junkie at the UP run, he was floored. He said his last PR (he runs at UP with Jer every Sunday now) was around 34 minutes. For the Fil-Mus race, I figured I must be finishing within the neighborhood of 36 minutes. If I were to be technical about it, my first ever time of 41:07 at the Great UP Run should be slashed some 5 minutes in order for me to get a better picture of how my average running rate goes. But man, 33:37 is quite something, on a personal level. I'm happy with it, especially since I haven't even been kicking it in training. The only aerobic activity I got after the run at Diliman was at Muay Thai class the day before (see previous post).
Which provides the segue into the second part of this report, to be concluded as soon as I can snatch up some free time from my workload from hell.
Post-Run Pose with the Muay Thai National Team
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
The Story of Lennie
So. I finally got myself a notebook. Pretty nifty, I would think so, especially since as I distinctly remember just a month ago, I never thought I’d have enough in my payroll piggy bank to finance the purchase of anything that cost more than a few measly grand. But then I remember, that’s what plastic is for. Memory gaps, tsk. That’s what you get for living the corporate zombie lifestyle.
Forgive me for being such a sap, but allow me this one-liner, to introduce a heffalumpa load of one-liners in the coming attractions:
Say hello to my little friend.
Yes, holla to Lennie, the new kid on the block. The fresh pea from the consumer pod of the Bel-Air of computers, IBM Lenovo. My precious. So help me if I accidentally drop the thing which, given my genetic predisposition, is not a near-impossibility. And yes, I now understand why dog owners call their beloved quarries Blackie/Brownie/Snow-Whitey/what-have-you.
So why get myself a notebook when there are bills to be paid and gabizillions of kids going hungry in China? Well, one might say it’s not so hard to justify the acquisition of such things, what with the world being increasingly run by computers and us humans needing to “get with the program” lest we get obsolete (yeah, the Matrix rocks!).
But the truth of the matter is that I got the idea of bagging Precious here so I could download and install iTunes for my personal use. (The damn office firewall won’t allow such errant behavior for some reason.. Friggin’ holier-than-thou IT people, you guys are insufferable when you’re not troubleshooting and fixing bugs and other garden-variety PC mishaps, you know that?)
And why, pray tell, should I have an actual use for iTunes? Because, silly, that’s how you transfer and save mp3 and other kinds of files to and from your iPod. An iPod, rather. Which would refer—painfully obviously so--to the lack thereof. Autoplay new mantra: Stop The Swiping. Must Save Bread. It’s rainy days again, after all.
So anyhoo, any bright kid who hasn’t been brainwashed with the idea of buying into the Apple experience franchise would raise the logical question of why I feel the need to get myself an iPod to begin with. It’s not exactly the most essential of things, after all. (Note: I am yet to be a proud iPod owner--only the question of when that's happening remains. So to those who already get the idea, this is my caveat.)
The answer to the nega-million dollar question? Coz I need to run. I need to run, dammit. And what else to egg me on all the more with my current preoccupation than to get myself one of those Nike+ thingamajigs. It’s a tiny gadget that monitors distance and time elapsed, plus calories burned (if I got my vital stats right), in the course of a run. To complement and maximize the benefits of using the Nike+ system, you need to firmly latch on to an iPod as you do your runs. It doesn’t hurt either that apart from listening to energy-boosting tracks that are supposed to help distract you from all heartburn-inducing sensations associated with running and exercising, you also get the rare chance to be pushed and bitch-coached by some of the greatest in the current sports scene. I mean, I guess hearing Lance Armstrong say “You go, girl” or any permutation of such would be enough to get your engine revving to full capacity, even if I personally would prefer Marat Safin to do all and, well, any kind of revving up for me. But what can I do, he’s still in the Adidas fold. And I suspect that until he wins a title again, he’s hard pressed to be courted by the peeps over at Oregon to lend his sexy Spanish-speckled baritone to Nike+. But I digress, time and again, for the last time.
And that, my friends, is the long and short of how I got myself my Lennie.
P.S.
Let me assure the people who are the least bit concerned about Lennie's reason for being. Prior to its purchase, the uses I've decided would be this notebook's purpose have graduated to more serious, less interesting roles. Apparently, notebooks are quite the little engines that could, and then some. Maybe this little fresh prince could actually someday bring me to Morocco, like you never know. I'm serious.
Forgive me for being such a sap, but allow me this one-liner, to introduce a heffalumpa load of one-liners in the coming attractions:
Say hello to my little friend.
Yes, holla to Lennie, the new kid on the block. The fresh pea from the consumer pod of the Bel-Air of computers, IBM Lenovo. My precious. So help me if I accidentally drop the thing which, given my genetic predisposition, is not a near-impossibility. And yes, I now understand why dog owners call their beloved quarries Blackie/Brownie/Snow-Whitey/what-have-you.
So why get myself a notebook when there are bills to be paid and gabizillions of kids going hungry in China? Well, one might say it’s not so hard to justify the acquisition of such things, what with the world being increasingly run by computers and us humans needing to “get with the program” lest we get obsolete (yeah, the Matrix rocks!).
But the truth of the matter is that I got the idea of bagging Precious here so I could download and install iTunes for my personal use. (The damn office firewall won’t allow such errant behavior for some reason.. Friggin’ holier-than-thou IT people, you guys are insufferable when you’re not troubleshooting and fixing bugs and other garden-variety PC mishaps, you know that?)
And why, pray tell, should I have an actual use for iTunes? Because, silly, that’s how you transfer and save mp3 and other kinds of files to and from your iPod. An iPod, rather. Which would refer—painfully obviously so--to the lack thereof. Autoplay new mantra: Stop The Swiping. Must Save Bread. It’s rainy days again, after all.
So anyhoo, any bright kid who hasn’t been brainwashed with the idea of buying into the Apple experience franchise would raise the logical question of why I feel the need to get myself an iPod to begin with. It’s not exactly the most essential of things, after all. (Note: I am yet to be a proud iPod owner--only the question of when that's happening remains. So to those who already get the idea, this is my caveat.)
The answer to the nega-million dollar question? Coz I need to run. I need to run, dammit. And what else to egg me on all the more with my current preoccupation than to get myself one of those Nike+ thingamajigs. It’s a tiny gadget that monitors distance and time elapsed, plus calories burned (if I got my vital stats right), in the course of a run. To complement and maximize the benefits of using the Nike+ system, you need to firmly latch on to an iPod as you do your runs. It doesn’t hurt either that apart from listening to energy-boosting tracks that are supposed to help distract you from all heartburn-inducing sensations associated with running and exercising, you also get the rare chance to be pushed and bitch-coached by some of the greatest in the current sports scene. I mean, I guess hearing Lance Armstrong say “You go, girl” or any permutation of such would be enough to get your engine revving to full capacity, even if I personally would prefer Marat Safin to do all and, well, any kind of revving up for me. But what can I do, he’s still in the Adidas fold. And I suspect that until he wins a title again, he’s hard pressed to be courted by the peeps over at Oregon to lend his sexy Spanish-speckled baritone to Nike+. But I digress, time and again, for the last time.
And that, my friends, is the long and short of how I got myself my Lennie.
P.S.
Let me assure the people who are the least bit concerned about Lennie's reason for being. Prior to its purchase, the uses I've decided would be this notebook's purpose have graduated to more serious, less interesting roles. Apparently, notebooks are quite the little engines that could, and then some. Maybe this little fresh prince could actually someday bring me to Morocco, like you never know. I'm serious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
