Mountains & Buffalos (051013, Sat, Vietnam Mountain Marathon 2013 / 70km Category, Sapa, Lao Cai, Vietnam)

The highs from completing the Craze Ultra 100 Miles was still lingering a little while, and about two weeks of near-total rest since that race inflicted me with a considerable loss of energy and maybe even a near injury.

Soon, I would find myself in Hanoi, Vietnam, and met up with fellow ultra runners, Adrian, Fred, Chris, Kee Seng and Chin KK at the Mango Steak Restaurant, next to the Hanoi Railway Station. It was there that participants of the inaugural Vietnam Mountain Marathon collected train tickets for an overnight 200km+ journey towards Lao Cai Province in mountainous northwest Vietnam.

Countless of sleepy train and mini-bus rides later, we arrived at the picturesque Topas Ecolodge, a lodging in the frontier town of Sapa. The establishment is a cluster of bungalows which are set on two hills and before the looming grandeur of the Hoàng Liên Son mountain range.

         (L > R): Kee Seng, Chris, Terry, Adrian, Chin KK & Fred,  Mango Steak Restaurant, Hanoi, Vietnam. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Mountain range near Topas Ecolodge.
Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Not long, we were led to the cafeteria building where we heard a welcome speech by the lodge's charismatic Danish director, Asger Køppen, got some heads-up during the race briefing, and were serenaded by a young girls choir managed by the Sapa O'Chau social enterprise.

Generally, the mood was very light among runners as if this was a leisure distance event (and even though it was a tough mountain run with its longest category at close to 70km with 3000m D+).

Asger Køppen, the lodge and race director, addresses the racers. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Young girls' choir managed by Sapa O'Chau.
Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Racers hailed from various countries but an obvious sight was a significant number of Caucasians who seemed to be of European descent. Lest we forget that the best skyrunners and ultra trailblazers are found in that region.

And so humbled did I felt on the morning of the race as we, the participants for the 70km ultra category, readied ourselves outside the reception building where the start line was. Intense light beams from the runners' headlight pierced the predawn darkness as racers adjusted gears and apparels, and engaged in casual chit-chats. The Europeans, as usual, embodied an aura of rugged individualism that only deepened the sense that I was in the midst of elites.

70km category runners at race start. The bus in the background was carrying participants from a hotel.  Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

By around 5am, we launched off onto the mountain road and within a minute, the faster runners, which seemed to be about 90% of the field, vanished swiftly from my sight. 

So, all right, I'm the slower guy. Is there anybody else who's going to catch up with me any moment now? 

Several minutes passed and I was left with a less optimistic impression of being the last man tailing.

By about 5km+, I was running alongside with Adrian and upon drawing off onto the actual trail path, I saw Jeri Chua at the road exit, armed with a Canon 5D DSLR. Jeri, who had a pivotal role in organising the race, decided to serve as event photographer since her injury kept her from competing. Although just catching up with runners and lugging with her a 800g+ camera was an epic feat by itself.

The author entering the first trail section. Photo courtesy of Jeri Chua.

For the next 3km+, Adrian and I hasted over bumpy hill slopes and small water streams, with him briefly behind me. It was still dark midway when I decide to take a sip from from my hydration vest and was surprised that water did not ooze out of the drinking tube's nozzle.

Realising that that the tube was disconnected from the reservoir pack in my vest, I frantically tried to secure the tube while running awkwardly on uneven grounds. I was not going to stop too soon in this early part of the race, especially when someone was catching up with me, but fortunately, the glitch was quickly fixed. Adrian must have been wondering why I was fidgeting with the back of my vest.

However, he managed to overtake me before we reached the riverside. In turn, I was ahead of him on two instances, which was strange as he was a much faster runner than me. It occurred that he had dashed off in the wrong direction twice. In fact, the same thing happened for some front packers à la the blind-leading-the-blind as they shadowed each other.    

On the other hand, I had virtually avoided all incorrect diversions, keeping a sharp eye for route markers in the form of reflective sticks and bands.

But my eyes weren't sharp enough as I ran alongside the river; while visibility had picked up by dawn, I failed to notice a crevice by the trail side and partially slipped through it. A good thing I managed to soldier on without crippling injuries... God knows, it may well be a tumble into the river.   
   
With that minor episode behind, the rustic beauty of the northwest Vietnamese countryside unfolded. Surrounded by masses of forest mountains, I found myself passing through villages of wooden houses and paddy fields, bumping into the quiet residents of the area.

The beauty of northwest Vietnam. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan

The people who inhabits Sapa hail from eight ethnic minority groups, including the H'mongs, Kinhs and Daos. The latter is well-known for the Red Dao women who are easily recognisable by their unique red turbans and readily greet strangers to the land with a smile.

Red Dao women. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan

They also turned up to be persistent people.

The day before the race, we visited villages near Topas Ecolodge and were followed by a band of Red Daos. More than being available for a friendly conversation, the ladies were persuading us to buy their handicrafts, a difficult situation to loose yourself from. Once you allow a Red Dao to tie a 'friendship' band around your wrist, you are marked for the rest of your time in Sapa to complete a transaction.

Apart from the local people of the countryside, buffaloes also roamed along the dirt paths, in their wake, leaving trails of dungs, the size of landmines. These are actually more peaceful creatures compared to the hostile monkeys of the Hong Kong trails.

At around 22km, I reached checkpoint 2 at Cat Cat Village and managed to see some runners ahead of me.

Having spend several minutes by myself, VMM must have been the loneliest ultra I ever attended. With prolonged solitary periods, it was hard to tell if there's anyone behind you but then again, it might just be good for the experience; there was less race pressure and afforded more opportunities for introspection.

From checkpoint 2, I took a left turn and advanced along a road which gradually rose to a trail entrance at Ban Xin Chai. There, I was greeted with the sight of terraced rice fields at the hill slopes before venturing another 6km to come upon the highest point of the course.

Paddy fields, both flat land and terraced cultivations. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan

Shorty, I ran past a landfill,  perhaps the only feature of the event that marred the purity of its environment. There was a potent stench in the air and the area looked as if rubbish were not cleared in time to reduce a buildup.

Landfill. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Soon, I entered another forest trail section, this one being a descending path for close to 3km. The way down was a killer as the ground was made up of rocks so moist and slippery that even the lightest step could caused falling. I think I had fell more times there than the number of tumbles I suffered for the whole Hong Kong 100 route in January.

Following 31 laborious minutes, I finally completed that section and began to transverse the mountainside rising above a valley. There, I yanked out my trekking poles but shortly decided to slide it back into my vest after finding it more frustrating to navigate the ground with them.

Valley. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Between 35km and 39km, while circumventing the mountaintop near Ta Phin, I encountered a few mud pits, soft enough for the whole foot to sink into. Pulling out without leaving the shoe in the sludge was the tricky part; one unfortunate runner lost his shoe as a result, although I wondered if the mire condition was so severe that removal was impossible.

At seven hours and 40+ minutes since race start, I survived to checkpoint 4 which was located at yet another village. In addition to the bananas and water provided, there were also various soft drinks which, no, were not part of the official nutrition support but had to be bought from kid vendors.

The next 6km was a large valley where temperatures were much warmer compared to other parts of the race. Throughout, the climatic conditions had been rather tolerable even during the early morning at the start line. With the lowest at about 25 degrees Cecilius, there was hardly any need for base layers, fleece and windproof jackets.

As I edged towards the main road which snaked between north and south within the Sapa region, I came by an injured runner who sat down resting, with his hydration vest and supplies laid on the ground. He is all right, he said, but decided to call it a day from here. Relieved that he would be able to take care of himself, I continued on to the next checkpoint, determined to finish the race at all cost.

Checkpoint 5 commenced the next big climb over the second highest section of the race. Under the rather forgiving heat of the sun, the trudge was a uphill struggle interspersed with brief slow runs but made more bearable with the sight of the scenic surroundings, especially the charming wooden houses located along the narrow track.

Minutes after I conquered over the 'peak' of the section,  a familiar person caught up with me; it was (but no, it can't be) Fred! He suffered a nagging injury to one of his foot and was in fact slowed down at the start of race. As the faster man,  he didn't overtook me until at this, around 54km of our progress.

Soon, we reached checkpoint 6 at 55km but before I could move on, an uncomfortable sensation in my lungs caused me to cough vigorously. It was the same thing that struck me during the Hong Kong 100 race this year and I assumed the dry and cold mountain climate of Sapa might have a part in this.

Seven kilometers to checkpoint 7, my unbroken streak of not missing a route marker and taking a wrong direction nearly went undone. Fred, who was ahead of me, strayed off course after missing a turn, then came back just in time when I was about to commit the same error. We found out that village children had been seen playing around with the reflective bands that were used to mark the race route, either stealing those away or leaving them on the ground. With the help of a local resident, we were once more on course.

At checkpoint 7, a free bottle of Coke was, thankfully, available to reinvigorate my spirits and I met Køppen who was helping out there. With less than 10km till the finish at Topas Ecolodge, Fred sped off first and was able to overtake another runner on the way.

After rushing down the final down-slope of the race, I mustered remaining energies for a grueling homeward charge, with heavy-like-lead legs sometimes impeding movements to a walk. The undulating road ahead felt like a endless trek until, at last, the lodge came into sight.

Finally, as I neared the reception building, I had one more worry in mind; will the Red Dao lady, who tried to sell me her handicrafts yesterday, badger me at the pathway to the finish line? A few of them were already by the roadside so I tilted my open-top cap down, with the visor partially covering my eyes.

With few more steps, I sprinted until the finish line appeared in a distance, under the evening sun.

Few more steps and the cheers of race volunteers could be heard.

Few more steps and I made it through in 12 hours, 57 minutes and 54 seconds, as Chris welcomed me after achieving a male's podium spot in third place hours ago.

Author at finish line. Photo courtesy of Jeri Chua.

That evening, the rest of us finishers waited out in the chilly night as runners slowly trickled across the finish line. It's a good thing that dinner was served in the nearby cafeteria while a campfire was also set up outside for others to gather and share their race stories.

Personally, it was a comfortable time for me to unwind after an active season during August to October 2013 in which I ran a series of ultras including a fat-ass event around Bukit Timah Hill, Bedok Reservoir Ultra and Craze 100 Miles. 

Vietnam Mountain Marathon, the concluding effort of my 'Grand Slam' feat, was my last ultra of that year.

It would be another several more months before my next major: 2014's Ultra Trail Mount Fuji. 

Asger Køppen celebrated a successful race. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Stanchart 2012: The PR Bitch

It was somewhere after the 21km mark. Somewhere along East Coast Park. Sometime at 7 something perhaps a few minutes after 8am.

That's when my pace had fallen apart.

My body exerting against an impregnable wall and labouring terribly from premature exhaustion. I must have begun to think that I may not be able to attain my sub-4 goal for the Stanchart (SCMS) 42K distance. A dispiriting thought that choked the enthusiasm.

The early December morning was lightly warm and not too humid so the weather could not be the culprit. The fault was reserved for my folly, an overconfidence which drove a fast pace at the start, and one I could not have maintained long enough to the finish.

Without much hope, I lumbered to the left side of a narrow walk path.

And then they came.

From behind, a 4-hour pacing group caught up. One of the lead runners was a tanned, lean-frame lady, who looked to be in her 30s.

She shouted some words that I know was meant for me.

I will never forget what they were.

"WALKERS, KEEP TO THE GRASS PATCH!"

That ignited.

The rude holler set my heart in flames, a raging fire emerged. I burst off a murderous sprint after the pacing group, and as I dashed past, I lashed out at the runners.

I think my response went like,"WALKER OVERTAKING!!!".

Can't remember exactly.

The lead did not last long. Eventually, the four-hours group rushed ahead of me, and towards a faster time-finish than the one they called a 'walker'. 

What remained lodged in memory, during that morning of 2012, was the outrage of being insulted at, by a stranger so obsessed in pursuing her PR that the most basic form of courtesy flew out of her head.

To this day, I believe there is no wrong on my part. I slowed down, yes. But I did kept to the left side as it would have been appreciated, so that other racers could run through, unobstructed.

Even if a grass patch is an extremely negotiable surface, a  concrete walk path in the park is made for human foot movements. People ran on it because it is a slightly smoother ground to stride across.

And unless this is Standard Charted Trail Marathon Singapore, everybody has the damn right to use and stick to that path. Even if they are slower runners.   

Unfortunately, at that time, Ms PR Bitch was running together with her massive four-hours pace group which was basically a cluster-fuck of people who were going to squeeze others off the track. The motorised equivalent is a monster truck roaring down a tight two-lane road, with vehicles crushed by its obscenely humungous wheels.

In both situations, a complete douche is born.
 
But PR Bitch was lucky.

Had it been one of those rugged trail ultras, things would be very different.  There, it is no shame to be a walker.

There, you can't just bossed your way over others, even if you are jammed-stuck in a clogging of runners along a up-slope. It's like kicking a mountain goat in the ass and think you could get away without having yours savagely bruised.

Those, who could not stand to be delayed, should man it up and train hard. Beating the crowd means that you got to push yourself and run fast.

Like, run fucking fast.

It didn't happen for the PRB. She didn't dealt properly with the situation. She simply shoved people off with the arrogance of a Lamborghini speedster.    
 
SCMS 2012, if not being the worst, is at least one of the most unpleasant experiences in my four-years plus running life. I recorded the weakest timing for the 42.195km distance, about 10 minutes off from 4:30.

After that, I gave 2013 a miss, together with this year as well. My absence could likely continued for a few more editions until I gathered enough courage to face my demons once more.   

It will never be the same though. Hopefully, by then, I would have come back stronger. And faster.

My target?

Beat the 4-hours pace group.
    

Comrades On The Trail (Pounding MacRitchie Part 3)

“Friendships born on the field of athletic strife are the real gold of competition. Awards become corroded, friends gather no dust.”

- Jesse Owens, 4 times gold medalist (1936 Summer Olympics, Berlin)

26 December 2010, Sunday

MR25 Ultramarathon, MacRitchie Reservoir Park
Loop 2 - Loop 5


Shortly into the second loop, I bumped into a returning line of runners, nearing the completion of their first 10.5K. Most of them were in good form and visibly ready to clock more repeated miles.  Among them,  Mohan, the Marathon Man and Fatbird's cheerleader, whooshed by as we exchanged greetings. 

Mohan's a welcome sight in every races he participates. Armed with a whistle and upbeat optimism, he usually accompanied mid and back pack runners as he perked their spirits up to the cheery tune of his whistle and slapped high fives with passing friends. I'm glad he's not the only good guy along the dirt trails of MacRitchie that day.

In the midst of crossing the rugged Northern Trails, I tailed behind a pair of runners who were geared in black apparels and tights and pacing each other. As the trail sketch got a little hairy, one of them shifted to the left, making way for me to overtake. I was hesitant for a moment but accepted his kind offer. 

How courteous of him. 

One would not expect such graciousness to be readily exemplify in some local running events. 

But the MR25 Ultra is a different story. Not even Stanchart came close. 

It seems just about everyone is friendly here. "Hello" and "All the best" were freely offered during the short-lived contacts when runners from both directions glided or sped past each other. The camaraderie was truly alive and in a short time, strangers at the starting line became support buddies in the race.

 Participants running the Northern Trails during the MR25 Ultramarathon'10.

(photo courtesy of Tey Eng Tiong) 

Except for a few serious racers, there's otherwise a milder atmosphere of competitiveness among participants. The ultra, with humid weather, rough terrain and longer-than-norm distance, is enough an issue for us to focus on. However, it is these elements that enabled us to bond and empathize with fellow runners who were experiencing similar conditions.

I continued to meet and receive encouragements from friends for the next several hours, some of whom I finally broke the ice with after many weeks of being 'course mates' at the Operation Sunbird marathon training sessions a while back. On a return trip to the MacRitchie Amenities Center, Jacqueline Tan, one of the leading female racers and another Fatbird resident, popped out from behind.  

"Hey, Terry! Are you Nat Yrret on Facebook?", she asked.


"Yeah, that's me", I replied.


"Why do you named yourself like this?"


"Oh, it's my name spelled in reverse. Just for fun."


She chuckled upon hearing the answer.


The rest of the top-tier racers were warmly responsive to peer presence as well; people like Henry Yang and Ben Swee who would become top finishers at the end of the day.

I managed to keep my feet going throughout the race. Everything seemed to be fine despite the obvious aches and fatigue in my body. 

Soon, I ran up to a total of three loops which added up to 31.5K in mileage.

Midway, I met a colleague with her group of friends but they were here for trail trekking. I did a 'run-by' greeting and was confident I should be able to see her again when I started on the 4th loop. Sure enough, I caught up with her at the Terantang section. After checking on her well-being (she took medical leave during one of the weekdays before), I sped off into the distant, a steep climb waiting ahead for me.

By afternoon, I completed my fourth return trip to the MacRitchie Amenities Center for lap recording and re-fueling. The MR25 committee had catered lunch for participants in the form of Nasi Lemak in Styrofoam boxes but I wasn't hungry enough for that. Instead, I depended on my self-prepared slices of bread, spread with honey, for nutrition and it worked fairly well as a mid-race diet.

As I headed out for the wild again, I looked at my Garmin GPS watch and realized I had reached the marathon distance of 42K. This was the second time in my entire life that I had ever ran such distance whether the record's official or not.

However, the real task was in finishing the present 5th loop so that I can qualify for finisher status at 52.5K. I managed to abide by the '2 hours per lap' rule set by MR25,  completing each loop in near-consistent timing so far. Can I do the same for this critical round?

After enough walking, I switched to a slow paced run and took off.... without much time to lose.

A Long, Steady Battle (Pounding MacRitchie Part 2)

"Going slow does not prevent arriving. "

- Nigerian Proverb

26 December 2010, Sunday

MR25 Ultramarathon, MacRitchie Reservoir Park


Over 200 pairs of feet came stomping down MacRitchie at 7 in the morning. Over 200 pairs of feet belonging to owners who can't think of anything better to do than to torture their rubber-cushioned appendages in a 12 hours run.

Somebody wore a shirt with a quote that best describe the mental state of these adventurers. 

"Any idiot can run a marathon. It takes a special idiot to run an ultramarathon", it goes.

The horde of us soon arrived at our first challenge of the day: the roller-coaster slopes of the Northern Trail.

 Participants of MR25 Ultramarathon'10 heading towards the Northern trails.

(photo courtesy of Tey Eng Tiong) 

I maintained as much a  cautious pace as I can, not wanting to burn out too soon. Other runners soon catch up with me, one by one cruising past as I was tempted to pick up a little speed. Fatbird Chief, Anthony Sum, was about 25m ahead and I used the space between us as a rough guide to keep my pace.

Other than the challenges of running discipline and the rugged terrain, the weather is forgivingly cool. I had a good feeling that everything is going to be slow and easy, with hours of pure running ecstasy passing by.

Tackling the slopes was not much an issue at the moment so long I stick to the game plan. Go slow when running up. Restrain from speeding when running down.

At 3.5km, we made a left turn and temporarily ran on road past the Singapore Island Country Club. One more left turn and via a short upslope, we reached the mid-route water point at the barrier-blocked entrance of the Terantang Trail. I grabbed a cup of Pokari Sweat before entering Terantang.

Once there, I quickly noticed plastic drinking cups being strewn by the side of the trail. It wasn't a pretty sight. While I'm not a die-hard environmentalist myself,  I expect most runners to have a respect for nature reserves like MacRitchie and keep these areas from pollution. Except for the water point, there's no proper dumping containers in sight but that's no excuse. I continued to hold onto my empty cup.

The ride along Terantang is quite bumpy but without as much of the elevation gains and losses as the Northern Trail. Soon after, we made a turn into Sime Trail where the grounds are much rockier than any part of the race route.

Approaching the U-turn checkpoint along Sime, I met Chris, one of my friends from Ops Sunbird, who is running on the opposite direction and a good distance ahead of me. Soon, more familiar faces, mainly the people of Fatbird, showed up including a heavily-equipped Alan; hydration gears, compression tights and all. He was late for race start but somehow managed to catch up with the rest. Another friend, Winston, showed up in a bright pink shirt and wore a 'devil's horn' party headdress. With the festive mood still in the air, runners could be seen donning fancy headgears, usually of a Christmas-theme.

The final portion of the path leading out of Sime Trail is a short but steep climb to the edge of a water storage facility. At this point, many runners choose to walk up the slope instead of running it. David Ong once cautioned, that it is nearly impossible to maintain running pace throughout MR25 UM as there are countless slopes to deal with. It would be good to conserve strength, by walking over the inclines, for this 12-hours run.

Moving past the water storage facility, I headed back to the MacRitchie Amenities Centre via the Northern Trail and reached there 70 minutes later, completing my first loop. I was a little tired but quite full of energy and the sight of the pretty girl, handling out cups of Pokari Sweat at the start-line water point did perk things up. After chomping on a slice of bread with honey, I embarked on the second loop. 

The loop registration checkpoint near the start line & MacRitchie Amenities Centre

(photo courtesy of Tey Eng Tiong)

Out Of Breath - Part 3

"Anybody can be a runner. We were meant to move. We were meant to run. It's the easiest sport."

- Bill Rodgers, former American record holder in the marathon.

Montfort Secondary, 1996 - 1999

My first experiment with proper running is about to turn things around for the better... at least on the 2.4K circuit. I thought I had found the perfect running technique to survive through 20 minutes of physical exertion. Soon, I would find myself overtaking more and more guys by employing the run-walk-run method.

I began the 2.4K on a jogging pace and held to it for a few minutes to the next 'checkpoint', which might be a bus stop, lamppost, residential flat or any structural set-up being designated as a distance marker. Once there, I transited  into a walk which stretched between 100m -150m before I went into a slow run again. This style of running may be humbling for endurance speedsters but it really helps in preventing one from hitting the wall too soon. Meanwhile, I was unknowingly running in a way that was tried and proven.

Eventually, from Secondary 2 onwards, my improving performance became evident to my friends. Our class 'Mr Unpopular' was even convinced that I had cheated my way to the finish but I hardly find my results extraordinary; the best ranking I had secured so far among a class of 40 boys ranged between the 22th to 26th place.

The run-walk technique would remained my favoured method of tackling the 2.4K until I attended an annual 4-days camp as a Scout.

Held on school grounds, the camp was a major event for Montfortain Scouts as four of its patrols (Scout term for a 5-6 men platoon) pitted against each other in craftsmanship, the erection and maintenance of camping structures,  physical challenges and campfire performances. I was never a reliable Scout myself so during camp, I did whatever I could to follow orders and make things right, though I still flubbed sometimes.

On the third day, an announcement went around the campsite, calling for all patrols to sent a selected group of their members for a 7K race. Without hesitation, I volunteered.

The race started off from school on a fine Saturday afternoon. As we ran along Hougang Ave 8, the feat of staying together as a patrol became apparently difficult since not everyone could stick to an ideal pace. We managed to keep each other in sights and passed encouragements within earshot.

Before reaching a mile, I was ready to break into a walk as part of my strategy. One of my patrol mates was determined that I do not lose stride.

'Keep on running! Don't stop!', he barked. I could not said 'no' so I continued running.

Ten minutes later, we exited the Hougang area and cruised toward the housing estates at Serangoon North. From there, we did a turnaround and headed for the Hougang Central area.

Midway, I wondered if I possessed the energy to last throughout the race while running non-stop. I had not transited into a walk yet but was doubtful that it will not happen at all. Eventually, I realized that most of the guys were pushing themselves just as hard towards the next destination and I'd better follow along.

It seems to be about 25 minutes when we finally passed Hougang Central and were advancing towards the Church Of The Nativity Of The Blessed Virgin Mary, next to the old Montfort site where a CHIJ girl's school now resides. From there, we left-turned onto Hougang Ave 8 with less than a mile to go.

Church Of The Nativity Of The Blessed Virgin Mary at Upper Serangoon Road

(photo courtesy of catholic.org.sg)

 

As we ran past Punggol Park, I began to feel a euphoric sense of near-completion of the race. 'RUN LIKE A TIGER!', I urged my guys by the namesake of our patrol.

Not long after, we arrived at the carpark of Montfort School.

The race is completed. This satisfaction was also boosted by the fact that I had ran non-stopped for more than an hour and lasted through the whole distance. That day, I found that I was capable of performing even stronger than I previously thought I could.

The 7K race at the Scouts camp forever changed my strategy and mental approach towards running. From the humble run-walk technique, I advanced to running / jogging non-stop during 2.4K runs. I reaped much benefits from the change when I participated another cross-country school event race at MacRitchie Reservoir Park. I managed a moderate ranking among a Secondary 3 fielding of 2 or 3 classes.

I continued to do 4-5K runs (sometimes, with my pal, Elliot) around Hougang during school holidays and post-exam breaks..... only occasionally however. Being young and fun loving, I, like so many other boys my age, was distracted by many things in our time. Running got minimal attention so I never realized the extent of my potential like I do today.

A few months after receiving my 'O' Level results in 2000, I was posted to ITE Bukit Batok.

Out Of Breath - Part 2

“So you must pace yourself so close to what you can run.”
- Jeff Galloway, former Olympian athlete

Montfort Secondary, 1996 -1999

By Sec 2, I have had enough with my continual under-performance at the 2.4Ks. After slamming into the wall for too many times, I decided to take a new approach to running.

The method is orthodox, but nevertheless effective. In 1992, my Primary 4 P.E teacher, Miss Alicia Gomez, dispensed a vital tip on running smart. Basically for someone who is new to running, he needs to start off slow, mostly at jogging pace so that the untrained heart and lungs will not be exerted beyond physical means. Humbling as it may be in the beginning, it helps to conserve vital energies and steadily warms up the body systems.

When the runner jogs a considerable distance, he can carefully increase to a comfortable pace without significant compromise on performance.

That's at least the bits and pieces of Miss Gomez's running wisdom I could still recall.

On one particular morning, another 2.4K started and many of my classmates toed off to a fast start. While I would normally try to follow pace with whoever I think I can run along with, I decided to do a very slow jog which I handled with ease. One by one, friends zoomed past but I remained committed to my present pace, learning from experience what fast start-offs can do to you.

About 5 minutes or so, I got a little tired. At this point, I deliberately slowed down and walked for a few minutes before breaking off into another jog. This process was repeated throughout the route so that I did not find myself easily out of breath. I also overtook some runners along the way.

When I finally reached end point, I managed to shave about 2 to 3 minutes off my previous (dismal) record. And I was no longer the last 2. Though I can't remember much details of that day, I probably might have beat 1 or 2 more guys to the finish; it didn't matter anyway.

I was beginning to improve.

Little did I know how this tiny spark of success would one day lead to blisters, black toe nails and burnouts suffered in an intensive 8 months of marathon training.

Out Of Breath - Part 1

“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.”

- Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher

Montfort Junior & Secondary, 1990s - 1999

Located in the humble heartlands of Hougang Ave 8, the Montfort School facilities is divided into two sections; one comprising the primary school side (Montfort Junior) and the other, the secondary school (Montfort Secondary). In operation since 1916, Montfort, in the early 90s, shifted from its former location at Upper Serangoon to its current site.

Within the confines of this Catholic "boys-only" institution are hundreds of male students from various backgrounds and races, energized for all the right and wrong reasons. What better outlet for a horde of restless kids than sports? Especially one that involves kicking a ball.

Despite the school's solid reputation for producing badminton champs, football remains the most popular activity around. Before assembly and during recess, a short game will be played either between two classes or opposing sides within a class or a mixture of both. Sometimes, a real football will be used. Other times, the boys will have to make do with tennis balls. When both resources are unavailable, the boys improvised by using crushed drink cans.

As kids, we will do anything just to have fun.

And then there's P.E.

Unless each sessions involved football (or at least other games or sports like badminton), P.E is sometimes frowned upon. Otherwise, it was enjoyable on most occasions as long as the class don't felt like they're being forced into physical exhaustion.

One of the activities our P.E teachers got us to do was to run around a section of the Hougang neighbourhood which Montfort is located within. Starting off and ending at the school's driveway, we exited out of the main gate and ran along the pavements at Hougang Avenue 8, 4, 10 and 6 respectively. When it's all over, we spend the final minutes of P.E catching our breath.

I like running for a long time. My first introduction to this heart-pumper, however, was no love at first sight. Actually, it was more like hate at first puke.

I remembered taking NAPFA test in primary school and had to meet a passable timing for about a mile long run. Like a typical running noob, I started off fast and ended up walking for the rest of the distance. This faulty pattern of running would go on for a few years and right into Sec 1.

Of course, Sec 1 was the worst.

This time, there was even more P.E sessions of (longer) 2.4K runs to make me scream for air. Out of a class of 40 boys, I would come in at the ridiculed Bottom 5. It's easy to witness my late return; you have a group of 30 something classmates, waiting at the driveway and they would spot a bunch of their dying friends, making it to the finish.

"Oh. Terry's back..... at last."

By then, I was convinced that, anytime, I will be the last guy.

The Long Way Run

Long is the way And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.

- John Milton

10 May 2010, Monday, after 1900hrs

My energy had already been depleted since the 10km mark. As I struggled to keep myself forward, I'm not feeling any fine.

Today's clearly not a good day for a run.

The worst part is that there's another 8km to go. This is definitely one of my most miserable moments as a runner.

It could have been the inadequate lunch this afternoon. Or the weeks of long-distance training which had finally drained my body of critical resources. Regardless what, burnout is just a matter of time. I only started regular training on late March this year.

I should have taken more days to recover but it didn't seem rational (at least to me) not to run tonight. This run I'm doing now is my rest. Rest from work, rest from pressure, rest from all those spirits of uncertainties.

I need a break badly.

For it's been hell for months as I worked overnights, struggling to improve my animation skills to standards seemingly beyond my grasp. Failure means I would not qualify for the team which will be involved in the debut episode of my studio's TV series project and I don't want to be left out. My concerns had however, become my source of misery which ironically triggered my personal running boom in the midst of a career crisis.

Yet here I am, hobbling like a crippled dog along Jalan Bukit Merah, out of strength, out of luck and almost out of hope. I'm being tested for everything I'm made of. Right now, though, I felt like rubber. Can I survive long enough to, at least, reach the end point at City Hall before I collapsed from total exhaustion?

I can't be sure if I can complete this 21km route tonight. Or if my career will miraculously be saved from disaster in the next few months. Stream of thoughts weaved through my mind as I wearily trod along the pavement. Can I accept the newcomers to be better, even to the point of replacing me? Or forgive one of my leads (short for a leader of a studio department) for the insensitive comments and decisions he made? Can I face reality and endure the pain? Like what I'm doing now as I stay committed to the goal?

In these humbling moments, life lessons are learned.

By June, my career as an animator would come to a painful conclusion. But for now, career is a secondary concern.

I just want to finish this dammed run.