Suspension of Disbelief

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Contextually, Juliet was referring to Romeo’s name, his family name specifically. But let’s forget about the context for now.

I once fell in love with “…a Capulet in the balcony of [my] mind” (Semisonic – Singing in My Sleep). And, whether it was just my perception (my mind) or the actual girl who changed (or both), something definitely changed. I feel awkwardly attached to something that just plain blatantly doesn’t exist.

I say “something” and not “someone” because, as of this writing, I still can’t say if it’s Juliet or the idea of Juliet or even just the predicament that I miss.

It’s a bit like the feeling I get after reading or watching a favorite novel or a feature film. For all intents and purposes, be it based on true life or true fantasy, novels are, by nature, fictive. They’re lies, great lies but lies. They’re made up. So, no matter how badly I want to joust with Sir Elrich, befriend Leslie Burke or pick Howard Roark’s brain, I never will. I remember curling up into a ball eating chocolate while reading the third Harry Potter book for the second time and tearing up for no apparent reason when I realized the true power of suspension of disbelief.

And, after all, that’s what I’m doing now. Suspending my disbelief. Who is Juliet now that we each stop talking when one walks in on the other’s conversation? Who is she now that we no longer update each other with one another’s lives and talk about our dreams? Hearing her name used to make my face blush and my heart swell. Now, I imagine, it makes my face fall and my heart – fill in the blank.

The Juliet I knew is fiction now. She might as well have been made up too. The way that I talk about her, the way that I still insist on projecting her image onto the brains in the heads of unwitting shoulders, the way that I still catch myself thinking about her every day is little more than fiction now.

For what is in a name? It works both ways. You can call a daisy a rose but at the end of the day, you’re only fooling yourself.

Despite the logic, here I am.

The Return of Another Comeback Again (Short Version)

(Medyo sabog ang pagkasulat)

The other day, I asked Dennis when he started climbing. I had a follow up question in mind, “How do you keep going?” Unfortunately, I never got to ask my follow up question. That’s because Dennis said that he’s been climbing just as long as I have. He started in 1998 with me and Aldwin.

Dennis is one of the pillars of the Rock Climbing community in the Philippines having owned his own boulder gym and organized national bouldering events among other things. He’s climbed and competed all around the world and had his “Sharma Experience” early on. All this made me think that he’s been around for so long; that he must have experienced this almost mythical “Glory Day” period of Philippine climbing that I’ve always heard of.

When I told him about what my follow up question was supposed to be, Dennis had no answers for me.

There was a time when the question was inverse. “How could you stop!?” I would always scream inside whenever I saw that a climber had turned into a shadow of their former selves. In my 11 years of climbing, I saw this much more than I’d have liked to. I saw it happen to climbers I looked up to, girlfriends, best friends and champions alike. It especially hurt with my peers.

The name Tagoy Ledesma comes to mind first. Tagoy was my first real “rival” in climbing. His cousin Pipoy was a talented climber who could beat us seemingly without trying but I always felt that Tagoy and I both had more heart than the others. It’s not just that we outlasted our peers and stayed in the sport longer than they did but we were both underdogs by nature. We had a good four year run placing one right after the other in junior national competitions but one year, the Bacolod climber just didn’t show up. Later, I competed against him again in an open men’s competition in Bacolod but by that time, I felt almost like I’d lapped him. I finished second and he finished eighth for that leg.

Meanwhile, being an Atenean was taking its toll on me. I was struggling to pass high school. The year that I won the X-games, I had no close friends until after I’d actually won. It’s hard to make friends when you sleep between classes, during recess and lunch and you have training after school.

The next season (from summer to August or September of second year high school) happened to be the first year that I decided to move on to open competitions and let the junior competitions ride in the back seat. I did pretty well for my first year. I ended up 6th in the climbing circuit that year (just one place from being on the national team) but at a price. I’d failed Araling Panlipunan. Taking summer classes wasn’t just bad for my records, it took a toll on my training too. I was afraid to fail.

The next year was third year high school. It was the year that all the teachers said that colleges looked at. I was afraid to fail. Come end of climbing season in august, I got into the national team but after that, I made a decision to stop climbing. Around this time, I was also having trouble with my climber girlfriend. I wasn’t that enthusiastic to climb anymore anyway. I still failed math and had to take summer classes. Meanwhile, my brother and sister were both honor students. My parents sort of accepted me as the one who doesn’t try hard enough at school but they kept on my ass anyway.

In retrospect, this is the first time I gave up on climbing as my life’s calling. Trying to get into Ateneo for collage was like a wakeup call. It was time to stop living in my childish fantasies of climbing with Chris Sharma and Katie Brown and Yuji Hirayama and Francois LeGrand in a magical land where there was no such thing as paying the bills or building a career.

In retrospect, because I gave it up so easily (I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I would), I realized that I’d never be as passionate about climbing as I once was.

Along the way, my parents built and closed down 2 climbing gyms, my sister had her own issues with climbing, Hugo called me a bum who just slept and ate (which was true), I made a comeback but I also had and lost another climber girlfriend, Hugo had a falling out with my parents, he told me that he had nothing left to teach me, that I’d surpassed him and stopped coaching me, climbing in the Philippines began to die and I got into Ateneo and I became a mountaineer.

My sister became this kick ass national climber who competed internationally. Once, after watching her on the x-games, my dad asked me, “When are you gonna climb again?” I know he didn’t mean it but I felt so betrayed. Giving up climbing was the hardest decision I ever had to make and the easiest at the same time. Climbing was my passion but passing school and getting into Ateneo, that was me trying to be responsible. That was me trying to make my parents proud. A four letter word screeched in my head so loud that I could have stopped trying then and there just to spite him. But I didn’t. And despite that, I never really came back to climbing.

When I was just starting out, I told Hugo that I wanted to be like Simon Sandoval in ten years. Three or four years later, he told me to aim higher because I’d already reach that goal. With all due respect, he was wrong. Hugo spoke too soon. I might have been on my way but life got in the way.

Here I am now. I’m turning 23 in May.

I should be at the peak of my career but instead I’m starting over for the Nth time. For the past five years or so, I’ve been in limbo. I’ve been stopping and starting every couple of months. I’d train to get good enough to do some problems that most people can’t and just when I gain confidence, I’d stop. On 6 months, off 4, on 2 months, off 5, on and off and off and on.

I’m turning 23 and I ask, “How do I keep going?”
I can hear a faint echo, “How can you not?!”

I’m honestly not sure how relevant that voice is anymore.
Is this really the return of another comeback again?

Not Much Time Has Passed but Too Much

About a year ago, I met a beautiful kid. I met him at Samal, Bataan when I went to live with fisherfolk for a weekend as part of a school immersion project.

About a year ago, I met this kid. His eyes were wise and happy but there was also a sadness about him. When other kids scampered around and screamed for our attention, Marlon contented with walking along side of us. Sometimes, he contented with walking along side of me. And, I became contented as well.

If Samal were a classroom, Marlon definitely wasn’t the class clown. He wasn’t the most popular kid but he wasn’t a loser either. Maybe he wouldn’t be elected for class president but I like to see him as the one that teachers secretly loved. The one they knew to have character, workmanship and loyalty. But, Marlon stopped going to school. There was no point.

For those of you who know Marlon, I won’t go on with the second half of the story as it was told to us. Just remember that it’s been about a year.

About a year ago, Marlon was etched into my thoughts. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when but I was going to save him.

I never did.

Though, lately and until now, I’ve been seeing him in every wanting face attached to a cupped hand, sleeping on every scrap of derelict cargo box in the middle of a busy sidewalk. The people pass him I hear him rap on my car window.

Not much time had passed but much too much of it. This isn’t a call to action. I’m not planning anything this time. I wish him well but I just can’t. I don’t know how.

It’s sad. Right now it’s sad.
I’ll get over it.
It’s sad.

Lost and Found - Lastnight

Mental Pictures of Pulag Induction Climb batch 19

We were in a hurry at Jaja’s because the bus arrived two hours late so I forgot my camera in Baguio. If I hadn’t, these are the things I would have wanted to take pictures of:

Ail falling asleep on my back on the jeep to DENR and Rico and I both kinda catching each other’s eyes thinking, what do we do?! Wait, did he see me looking at him? Awkward…

Sleeping on the DENR mono block chairs just like in high school.

Free coffee at the stop over (Jonjon? Denden? Something like that).

Ploppy top load.

Giant earthworm!

Shao’s porter: girl porter.

Rico “eating” giant earthworm.

Tito Mart’s brown balls (kulubot sa loob!)

Enzo’s nuts.

The first time I got to use my new Jacket!

Ail dressed like a watermelon.

Enzo who didn’t have a jacket. Tigas!

49 LM

Des.

The 10 17’s

Some pictures involving a certain godess and her followers that I would have taken that night but might not have posted… hmm… leave it at that…

Elle night trekking Pulag in friggn short spandex!!!

A sunrise worthy of Superman.

White rainbow.

The usual peak pics.

The second worst mountain meal I’ve ever had (sorry Marmar).

Oreo pancakes part two.

Trek, trek, trek, jeep, jeep, jeep…

Transies (for Derek)

Viscos with Ail and Tammy… oh yeah, the others were there too…

Surprise visit from Mike, Enzo and Isa.
(Shet, dami nga natin nun…)

Camped out at Victory.

Wasak...

This Morning

This morning I left five minutes early. I know because I’m usually in a hurry. My lack of sleep made me overcompensate. So, I left the house five minutes early. I could have sat on the couch with my feet up and my eyes closed but I left five minutes early.

Walk, twenty Minutes.

Jeep, twenty Minutes.

At the Cubao MRT station, the line was the longest I’d ever seen it. Passengers in waiting inched forward towards a closed gate despite having nowhere to go. The gate, I reiterate, was closed. They etched an invisible snail-shell-shaped-line inch by futile inch into the solid ground.

Just like that, another twenty minutes of my life had come and gone. Gone. Up on the platform, was the ubiquitous fidgeting wall of commuters like sperm encroaching upon the egg (I’ve written about this before). I took my usual niche off to the side of a clump of people with one person in front of me so it doesn’t look like I cut in front of the clump.

A train came, no luck. Four minutes come and gone.

A train came, no luck. Four minutes come and gone.

A train came, no luck. Four minutes come and gone.

A large man had positioned himself behind me.

A train came, the large man pushed, the angry wall pushed back. I let the large man through. The large man got on the train. At least I was at the front of the clump now.

A train came rushing down the tracks, the wind slapping my face. My punishment for not heading useless cautionary signs (Do not step on the Yellow Line).

“Wala nang tutulak a! Palabasin muna natin sila.”

“Walang lumalabas!”

At the last second, a head an arm popped out of the egg followed by a head. The arm and head were attached to a thin man’s body. The other passengers in the train tried to fill the gap that he had left. Consequently, there was enough of a gap for me to slide my body into.

Success. Half an hour too late.

Arriving at Santolan-Anapolis Station… Ortigas Station… Edsa Central Station… Boni Avenue station… there has been a slight delay.

Slight = 7 minutes.

Come.

Gone.

Jeep, twenty Minutes.

Walk, less than one minute.

The biometric scanner tells me that I’ve used all thirty minutes of my grace period. No deductions but I’m going to have to make up for it tonight.

I’m making up for it.

I’m writing this.

50 Kilometers

WARNING: This “story” has no plot.

They announced that the start finish tarp had been attached the wrong way so that, before the race started, we had to do a fake start in the wrong direction for the press. Maman Rach and I were too busy taking our own pictures to pay much attention.

They announced that there were 20 seconds left. I fiddled with my camera trying to find a way to keep it within reach without having it bounce while I ran. 10 seconds. I was still fiddling. Start! Without looking up, I followed Maman and Rach as they walked along the cement road going towards the trail. Dozens jogged past us, a few others walked with us.

Though it’s always nice to run with friends, something told me to go on ahead, I wanted to go it alone. So, I did.

“It’s flat!” I told Maman, “Lets go!”

I meant to tell him that we should jog while it was flat and walk when we got to the hills but I was too excited.

“Relax lang muna,” he replied in that no-worries tone of voice he often used with me. None-the-less, I didn’t want to relax. Yes, I wanted to be smart and conserve my energy for the 99.7 more kilometers ahead but I also wanted to have fun and get the feel for the race. So, I jogged. Though completely superficial this early on, passing people on the trail still made me feel good about myself. It was a combination of my competitive nature and being such amateur that I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was done.

I passed Simon.

I passed Miles.

I took some pictures along the way.

When familiar faces began to pass me when I’d stop to take a picture, I stopped taking pictures and stuffed my camera hastily in my bag’s pocket. At this point, every second was still precious. When even more people passed me, I thought, I’ll, at least, catch up. But, I’d eaten breakfast too late. My sides began to stitch. And so I did. The first Logistical Point (LP01) was about 8k in.

Simon, a bit tired looking, had caught up. He offered me some dried Mango as we drank water provided by LP01.

Simon Passed me.

I drank.

Miles Passed me.

I drank.

I hadn’t drank much of my own water, so there was no need to refill my bladder.

Back on the trail, I considered waiting for Maman and Rach to catch up but I knew I’d grow too impatient to wait. So, I jogged on.

More people caught up.

I jogged faster.

More people caught up.

I ran.

My left sole began to flip and flop with every step. I looked down.

Flip.

Flop.

Flip.

Flip.

Flop.

I slowed to a stop. On the side of the road I opened my pack for the first time, hassled by the stop. At this point every second was still precious.

“Okay ka lang?” They asked as the passed me.

They passed me.

“Okay lang, salamat.”

They passed me.

I figured I’d tape my other shoe for preventive measures, so, they passed me some more.

And, I ran again.

Cramps. I didn’t want to stop. Every second was still precious. Instead of stopping, I tried to walk it off. I walked and walked and when the pain on my upper right calf subsided I jogged again.

Cramps.

Crap.

“Okay ka lang?”

“Cramps lang. Salamat.”

I stopped, I stretched then I walked.

I drank my Gatorade and I walked.

I drank my Gatorade and my but I’d eaten breakfast too late and I was still feeling it bounce around in my stomach.

I walked until I hit the road part of the course. It was flat.the road part of the course LP02. 16K off. I walked and walked and when the pain subsided I jogged again.

atient. as a combi Slowly, I worked up to jog. Cars were whizzing by and it would have been smart of me to get off the pavement and work the dirt but dirt was harder to run on.

Cars continued to whiz by.

Until the end of the paved part, I’ll jog until the end of the paved part. At this point, every minute was still precious and every minute I spent jogging was two minutes I wouldn’t have to walk.

Until the end of the paved part.

Until the end of the paved part.

I’m getting too tired. This is ridiculous. 80+ kilometers to go.

Shit.

Shit.

I walked again.

I drank my Gatorade and I walked again.

Finally, the paved part was done but after a less than a kilometer of trail, it was paved again. But, I was getting too tired anyway. I needed to conserve my energy.

“Lets go!” Cheered an old man from behind me.

The old man passed me.

I went.

I jogged.

I kept up with him.

I drank my Gatorade and I went.

Finally, I began to pass some of the ones who’d passed me before. Some had even stopped at a sari-sari store to grab a cold drink. Sparkle. They’re gonna regret that later. With that, I let the old man get away as I walked and drank more Gatorade. I had to stop and pee every two minutes.

Another man passed.

I followed him. I followed him until LP2.

LP02

16K

74K

9K to LP3.

This was where they brought my care package. I hadn’t even eaten any trail food yet so I didn’t even bother with it. It would serve me well the second time around. They had bananas. I had one but I’d eaten my breakfast too late. Still, I had another. I could have used another for the cramps but I’d eaten my breakfast much too late, only 10 minutes before the race. I didn’t want to be heavy. I didn’t refill my bladder.

Instead, I drank.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

The next stop didn’t have water.

I drank.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

The next stop didn’t have water.

I drank.

Somewhere along the way, the tape came off of my right shoe. It was the preventive tape so I was fine.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

I’ll refill at the next stop.

Cramps.

This time, it was on the quad of the same leg. The Gatorade wasn’t cutting it so I ate the first of three Cloud 9’s. I looked around and I was alone. As I walked and walked farther, following the red and white North Face flags and stickers, I tried to take in each turn, hoping to remember them for the second lap when it would be dark. And, I was alone, so there wasn’t much else to think about except…

Cramps on the other leg.

I walked and walked it off and I finished my Gatorade.

Multiple cramping areas, I walked off.

Finally, just as I began to see people again, the river crossing.

Simon was already on the other side with his friend drying off their feet. It seemed that no one wanted to run in wet shoes so I took mine off as well. I sighed at the refreshing temperature of the water as it penetrated my skin to my upper right calf. But, maneuvering over lose rocks in murky water was a challenge to my cramping legs. I barely made it to the other side.

Miles was there too. Because I knew that they’d be faster than me, I didn’t take the time to rest and wipe but left right away.

“Sarap ng Bengay.” Miles said.

“Ang init, sarap.”

Cramps, I remembered.

So I asked for some and smeared it on before I left. As I waited for the init, I thought I hadn’t put enough until my balls began to burn. The vapory heat had crawled up my legs. It burned. It burned, but my legs were good as new. Thank God for Miles.

But It wouldn’t last, so I walked again.

And, Simon and his friend ran passed.

And, Miles and his friends ran passed and I followed. I followed behind their slowest guy. I followed until I couldn’t follow anymore and my legs began to cramp up in places they’d never cramped before. So, I walked again.

The tape came off of my other shoe, the broken one. I taped it up again. If I had to tape it every 3 kilometers, there was no way my shoes would last 80 more. When the tape came off again, I decided to leave it.

Finally, there was an aid station. I filled my bladder with. I didn’t need to fill it up. I shouldn’t have but I did.

“May duct tape kayo?”

“Wala, sorry.”

Damn.

As I negotiated the sticky mud that seemed to be sucking the soles off my shoes with every step, I found myself talking out loud to them.

“If I can last 70+ more kilometers, you can last 70+ more kilometers.”

Later, I felt too inhibited to do it at the aid station so I walked passed that and passed another martial point through the mud until I was out of sight before I took out an Enervon multivitamin which I drank and a hydrite tablet for my water.

I drank and I drank and I peed and I peed until my piss was on the fringe of apple-green but my cramps never went away completely.

I walked until the worst was over, I jogged until it came back.

I walked, I jogged, I walked again but mostly I walked from then on.

Recovery mode.

Two girls that I’d noticed at the river crossing came up behind me, keeping pace with me as we walked.

At the next river crossing, my socks were still moist from the first. They took their time, I didn’t. Not long after, there was a third crossing where I did the same while they wiped their feet dry. Still, the two girls caught up while I was negotiating a particularly muddy patch of trail. They’d gone off trail to a parallel higher level to avoid the mud.

“Dyan ka talaga dumaan! Hehe.”

They, too, passed me as I was left to feel the wet and sticky mud that seemed to be sucking the soles off my shoes with every step.

I don’t remember the facts and figures but I remember computing them in my head in anticipation of the 14 hour cut off for the first fifty kilometer loop.

Another old man passed me and he was only walking.

I walked faster.

I walked faster and almost constantly had him in sight though the forest, on to the road until we hit a martial station and, as he stopped to ask for directions, I caught up. Back in the forest, he stopped, looked back at me and said, “San kaya?” The trail seemed to be corded off with nowhere to go. He hadn’t noticed that the trail went down.

“Dun o!”

I passed him and wondered if I’d taken his position somewhat unethically or tactlessly. I was too tired to look back, so I didn’t. Along the way, walking briskly, we passed others. The trail was heading uphill where I could comfortably keep my pace while others, probably not used to walking on trails, faltered.

I wanted to conserve my hydrite tablets so when I’d finished one, I stuck with water. I remembered my trail food. My mom had bought me random things at the supermarket based on vague descriptions of what trail food was.

Sunmaid Mixed Dried Fruits.

Sunmaid Mixed Dried Fruits!

Sunmaid Mixed Dried Fruits!

The moment they hit my lips, I can’t describe the love I felt for my mom. It was heaven.

Sunmaid Mixed Dried Fruits and mom’s love got me through to the third logistical point with much of the same nuisances as before: broken shoes, wet socks and F’d up legs.

There was another river crossing along the way. Sitting on a rock to take my shoes off, I used the opportunity to cut the loose bits of sole off the bottom of my poor shoes.

“Retirement climb,” I told the marshal.

At about twelve o’clock, I planned to have lunch at LP04 and even take a nap. I estimated it would take an hour or so to get there. If I was in for lunch and a nap, I might as well jog and use up what energy I had left before the rest. Shoes no longer flip-floppy, I found a good stride in there. But, I estimated wrong. It took me closer to two hours. I don’t remember specifically but I probably got leg cramps again at this point. Luckily, I’d reached LP04 right before the heavy rains hit. Just as luckily, I’d caught up to Simon who happened to have a pair of. If the monoblock chair and Simon’s dry and soled shoes paired with my dry spare socks wasn’t heaven enough, after taking a few last pictures of my shoes that I’d probably never see again, I finally had lunch. “Zesto-packed” corned beef and bread. But as the people came in for shelter from the rain, I was lost for a place to rest my head for the nap I’d been anticipating. I settled to enjoy every moment of my sandwich before trudging on again. It was only drizzling by then. I felt that God was on my side.

Along the trail, I heard the rain strengthening from behind and retreated under a tree. A family of locals caught my eye and invited me into their home for better cover. They even had not-so-warm coffee. Coffee dehydrates but I had the whole mug anyway. They asked where I was from and asked about the race. I asked if the rain would stop any time soon. They said it should be gone in a while. My skepticism prepared me mentally for the worst while I prepared physically by switching back to my old socks and taking out my rain coat. By the time that they’d told me about the other runner who’d gotten hungry and had a quick merienda with them, the rain had gone.

And, I was off.

I walked and walked and jogged but mostly walked. I’d also picked up a stick along the way to help me walk.

It broke.

I picked up another.

Then, on my way down from a small paved path running down a hill, I saw it: Assault.

Every minute wasn’t so precious anymore so I waited at least fifteen at the saddle between the two hills before attempting to scale it.

Assault.

“It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not so bad.”

And it wasn’t. My mind had played a trick on me. The hill was no bigger or steeper than the one I’d just scaled.

So, I walked on until I finally caught up to my friend who I’d cut off before. At one of the stations, I’d learned his name and the names of the other familiar faces when the marshals asked for them. I’ve forgotten them already as I’m sure this group of guys who I’d walked side by side with for about 35 kilometers have forgotten my name as well. Again, there was much of the same. Walking, cramping up, resting, jogging and walking. This time though, I had my stick for company and some familiar faces for a semblance of familiarity in the depths of forests and small towns.

As we walked, the children would call out numbers, our numbers. I was: Zero-Six-Four. They’d also call out other numbers, two digit numbers. These were our estimated places: 32, 35, 41 and eventually as the day went on, 53, 55 and so on. But all we could do was walk a little, jog a little and walk a little more.

Night fell. Headlamp on, I saw Crow coming around for his second loop.

“Malapit-lapit na yan,” he volunteered without my asking.

About 5 Kilometers later I hated him for saying that.

Malapit-lapit my A*%

For a while now I’d been leading the pack, until I’d eventually left them. But it was all for naught when the trail seemed to split to two and there was not a trail marker in sight. I took the left which lead me to a dead end. When I looked back, I saw headlamp lights bouncing towards what would have been right.

Shit.

But all I could really do was walk.

So we walked.

So I walked.

And as dragging as this is to read at this point, it was a thousand times more dragging for us to walk.

We hit the road that we’d jogged in the beginning and expected the finish line to be beyond the bend and we continued to walk until I had thoughts of quitting again. I fell behind. I fell behind and was left alone. A motorcycle pulled up beside me to offer a ride. I thanked the driver but declined. I would walk.

For the rest of the evening, we walked and we walked and I walked.

50 kilometers I walked.