Here’s the thing about not being born with the conventional runner physique: you get a lot of judgment when you join running events—heck even when simply going for a jog in the morning. You are not tailor-made for a sport that requires speed and strength, so why do what you do?
Well, here’s a rebuttal I’ve come to embrace in a year of this madness: IDGAF.
People are always quick to make assumptions based on appearances—it’s a human tendency, and I’ll admit, I’ve been guilty of it myself, just as I’m sure you have. However, in the grand scheme of life, dwelling on these unkind judgments and disapproving glances is a waste of precious time. (We’re beating PR here, HAHA).
Instead, you should let your passions and interests rise above the views of others: that, my friend, is what truly matters.
The Long Road to 100km—and the Ugly Battles that Come with It
There’s an inside joke that Jet and I coined from joining running events in and out of Cebu: tourist runner. The kind of runner that joins events not only for the sake of setting PR or testing limits but is most particularly motivated by the desire to travel and explore new places on foot. Hence the trip to Bukidnon for MusPo100, joining that road-to-trail course in Davao de Oro to summit Mt. Pandadagsaan, and of course, testing the feasibility of a day hike up Mt. Apo.
And as if that’s not enough, we braved to participate in that 100km road run from Cebu City to the northern part of the province, Bogo City.
I know, crazy. But I’ve always resonated with First Love’s Yae Noguchi: “I love what I love. I do what I do.” In short, we go back to our mantra: IDGAF. Life is too short to be anything but happy, and crazy.
But as easy as it sounds, completing that 100km fun run is no easy feat. Not only are the preparations and training arduous, but a lot of circumstances beyond your control could happen that may affect your performance, leaving you questioning whether the endeavor is still worth pursuing.
But man, hindi tayo pinakalaki ng Sexbomb para bumawi. As Ruffa Mae Quinto puts it: Go! Go! Go! (Ghad, what am I even writing here.)
So, off I went to the starting line with nothing but a 500-mL bottle of water, fully-charged phone, and fighting spirit to summon the universe to conspire and make things happen—despite the overwhelming challenges that came prior to the big event.
“Kinsay support nimo?” Asked Lawin and Mackay upon seeing me, kind of surprised upon realizing that I had nothing with me but that hydration flask while they were in full gear.
“Wala. Required diay?” Kidding aside, I’ve joined two ADR events already—that 50km initiation run last year and the all-women run last March—and somehow, I was certain that their aid stations would provide everything that I would need. Also, if things turn out unexpectedly, I can always hail a bus to head back home. Ah, the advantage of road running over trail running.
CN100: A Grueling Test of Endurance and Mental Resilience
There’s a reason why I am more comfortable with marathons than short-distance running events: no one will judge your speed. You can even walk if necessary. While the mind is focused on completing the course within the given cutoff, the body has to learn to relax and reserve enough energy to last until the end.
When everyone was hyping up upon gunstart, I was reminded by Riza to slow down. I was already panting, trying to speed up on the first 10km of the route. “Paspas ra kaayo ka.” To which Sir Mark added, “Hinay-hinay lang. Kwaa ang nasabutan nga minimum.”
Indeed, 20km later, my left knee began to trouble me. It was around ten in the evening, and I was there, talking to my knees, trying to convince them to function the way we practiced. I was in that dilemma when Geezelle and her husband saw me. She got out of their car and began shouting, trying to hype up.
In many cases, I have been asked why I keep joining events when I can just cover the mileage without paying registration. Well, the running community is priceless. The communal spirit. The pressure. And, of course, the unique camaraderie formed, even when you’re practically strangers to one another. It’s the incredible support you receive, not just from friends and family but, most significantly, from the strangers who come together to cheer you on.
Midway KM46, the body began to show signs of fatigue. As a person who does not want to inconvenience other people, I’ve always turned down those who offer massage at aid stations. But them calves were already screaming for relief. That’s why I’m forever grateful to the members of Crazy Runners Cebu for the service they’ve rendered in their Lato-lato Aid Station—on top of the sumptuous pochero (or was it nilat-an? Whatever. Basta lami to. HAHA).
Beyond the 50km mark, we found ourselves in the dreaded Lugo section—a seemingly endless rollercoaster of steep ascents and descents. It was in this challenging stretch that Sir Mark and I crossed paths with Frexel, who generously provided us with much-needed hydration and snacks. Initially, he had intended to bike all the way to Bogo City, but well, we slowpoke. He arrived first in the area. HAHA. Still grateful for the support given—especially since the scorching sun was relentlessly grilling us on that exceptionally hot Sunday.
KM72 marked the beginning of the cavalry. Blisters started to make themselves known. While I had grown accustomed to calluses, blisters were a different story altogether. Picture this: eight blisters forming, four on each foot. It was an uncomfortable combination of squishiness and pain with every single step I took.
The rolling hills of Tabogon were undeniably picturesque, yet their beauty couldn’t fully offset the pain coursing through my feet. It was at this juncture that the mental struggle commenced: I grappled with questions like, “What is the true worth of all this?” “Why am I subjecting myself to this?” and “Do I deserve this?“
Pain plastered all over my face, likely why Sir Mark generously offered me his spare socks to change into. At the same time, a kind-hearted woman who had been observing us stepped forward and presented her pink polka dot umbrella, saying, “Dawata ni day, ihatag ko ni nimo. Kalayo pa ninyo, imong kabuhi intawn.”
I was already entertaining the thought of DNF. But the concern was just too difficult to dismiss. With every local asking where we began and where we will end, I was reminded how long the journey was—and that I don’t want to do it again. Hence the need to finish no matter what.
“Cebu pa mo gikan? Asa mo kutob?”
“Pila ka kilometro? 100? Naboang namo?”
“Pilay premyo sa makahuman?”
“Kinsay gasugo ninyo?”
But probably what stuck with me was when someone commented: “Yawa ma siguro ning bayhana.” Ah, that ominous name. But instead of getting all irked, I actually took it positively. Come to think of it, the name was said to be associated with Nagmalitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata—a deity from local folklore frequently depicted in a negative light because of her extraordinary abilities, a figure tragically caught in the web of circumstances beyond her control, compelling her to endure the consequences of actions for which she bore no guilt.
You see, people can only comment on what they see. But they can never truly comprehend the hardships you’ve endured and the sacrifices you’ve made to reach that point. You are so much more than the names they assign and the labels they attempt to affix to you.
We crossed the finish line with nearly two hours to spare before the cutoff time. We made it. A hundred KM! But unlike most events, there were no loud cheers and grand celebrations that happened after. Instead, there was a silent victory, a testament to the incredible strength that resides when you opt not to give up. The world need not know the depths of our struggle, for this journey goes beyond a hundred—it was deeply personal one, a reflection harnessed through pain, doubt, and exhaustion.
And there I realize that as long as you stay true to what resonates with you, you won’t care less about the world. You become you—without reservations and apologies: not meant to go first, but built to last.
Dakilanglaagan 