Windmills

April Fools ride.

114 kilometers.

Just a short and sweet ride to Pisong Kape.

We thought it would be a good idea to head to the Pililla Wind Farm too.

We casually discussed passing through Sampaloc and Sierra Madre heading home.

We picked Teresa instead.

The great morning weather didn't hold up.

The heat, humidity and hills suffocated us.

I drenched myself in Gatorade when I got home.

Dirty legs. Those socks were white when I left the house.

Sunday bloody Sunday

I want simple. I want normal. I want pictures of dogs on instagram, things I've baked, brunch with friends in fancy little coffee shops around the metro.

But simple doesn't really suit me.

A supposedly routine trail ride through Timberland's Blue Zone and Roxas trails. It's been a while since I last rode these trails. But after that initial warm-up, everything feels familiar again.  I fell off my bike once but no harm done. Got on my bike again and continued to ride. The morning was turning late. We were relaxed and in high spirits. What could possibly go wrong.

Then I flew off my bike again.

My friends immediately flooded social media with evidence: my bloody leg, the bloody rock, the soaking towel used to absorb the blood (yes, there was that much blood), the sidecar coming to pick me up, the frantic calls to my doctor brother, the calls to the hospital and cancelled plans for the week.

And the questions come in. What happened?

And I'm stumped. We finished the tough trails, were making our way through wide trails and were on our way back. There was a rock. My bike should travel over that rock safely. Easy. My front wheel must not have gotten that memo because suddenly I was sprawled on the ground, my legs underneath my bike and I was in pain. Not a lot at first.

And then Pen and Princess screamed. There was a whole lot of blood.

Pen sprinted towards the aid station to get some help. LA and I tried to stop the bleeding as much as possible. Cess took photos and comforted me. The three of us made jokes and dissected it over and over again, wondering how this could have happened.

I could then write about the madness that is the Philippine health care system and how being unemployed is probably the worst time to get into an accident. But that should be for another day.

Long story short, I got a huge gaping wound underneath my knee and 4 stitches .

This trail was supposed to be routine. Simple.

Simple does not suit me.

riding in place

"One week."

"What?" I said.

"Give me one week. Promise me you won't do anything for one week. No job hunting. No looking at schools. Just give yourself time off. Be with your family. Don't think about work."

"I don't think I could do one week."

"Promise me!"

"Okay, okay."

It's been one month. I have filled up countless application forms and wrote and edited (and rewrote and re-edited) my resume and curriculum vitae over and over again for different jobs in communication, research, teaching, development-- anything that I had any sort of experience in my eight years of working.

My Masters degree and research experience in Canada must account for something, right?

And then I look at the qualifications and skillsets needed for a particular job and I question myself. Am I really cut out for this?

I send them anyway, full of confidence that I will be contacted immediately. I daydream mindlessly.

I look at gray skyscrapers in Makati and Ortigas and watch the morning commute from my bike and ask myself, Can I actually do that? Sit in an office from 9-5, join the morning madness, rant about the daily commute and our crappy transportation system and our traffic and pollution.

I look at teaching positions at the high school and collegiate level and gulp. Teaching gives me such joy and I am good at it, so it would be nice to do that again, right?

And then I fill up applications for Singapore and Hong Kong. I shake my head as I click "Submit application." Haven't I learned anything from working/studying abroad?

I check my email everyday. I don't hear from them. Then my insecurities and worries rise up. I reread my applications, checking if I mistyped my email address or mobile number.

There must be something out there, right?

Acclimatization

Okay, okay. So riding in Manila streets is like riding a bicycle-- even if it's been a while, you never truly forget it (I need to upgrade my figures of speech. Using bike metaphors on this blog, come on..). I kind of thought I'd be spoiled by BC's bike lanes, until I realized that not having any bike lanes are still the way to go!

It didn't take me long to re-acclimatize myself with Manila's traffic patterns.

I still hate those damn motorcycles though.

5am rides

Before the heat sets in and I have to remind myself what riding at 5am to the university feels like.

Wake up at 4:30am. Look at the weather and see how manageable the temperature is. The most frustrating part about biking in close to negative temperatures is the sheer amount of clothing and preparation needed.

Long johns - check.
"Moisture-wicking base layer" (LOL I love all these technical terms) - check.
Down vest - check
Reflective windbreaker - check!
Balaclava/buff - check!
Cheap wool gloves (they may be glove liners but I am not entirely sure) - check!

Drag the bike outside to get a feel of the weather. Early in the fall, this was my go-to ride outfit. As temperatures hit closer to freezing, I need an extra layer.

So back into the house I go and grab another pair of gloves and put on leg warmers.

The worst part of the ride is the start-- it always feels a little bit chilly. Then as I pedal farther away from my house, my legs start to warm up, the heat starts to creep in as the road turns hillier. Soon, I feel nice and toasty.

Riding at 5am has its perks. I don't need to deal with crazy drivers. (See, that's what I don't get about Canadian drivers/roads. They have all the proper infrastructure to drive carefully, yet still lots of crazy drivers on the streets). The streets are quiet, empty, and dark. I can either talk to myself or sing out loud without looking like a fool. Other times, I'm perfectly content to appreciate the stillness and emptiness of the roads. Occasionally, I'd run into some of the early morning crew doing road repairs and we'd cheerily greet each other "good morning!", early morning accomplices each with the same thought: "What the hell are we doing up and about at 5 in the morning?"

The roads closer to the university have no street lights and so my headlamp comes in handy. These dark roads remind me so much of the open seas in Coron where we would travel based on the feel of the ocean. I've biked these roads all summer so even with my headlamp turned off, I knew exactly when the drops were coming, when I had to turn and which major potholes to avoid.

These roads that pass through orchards and stable are eerily quiet and dark. The whole world. It's my favorite part of the ride because then I feel absolutely at peace. The world is just about to wake up and I am alive and grateful to be here.

I always wonder how I ended up here

The Trees Are Out To Get You.

October 10. Autumn Rush. The race starts off on this immense hill, and I hear my breathing and my heart pounding well into the first ten minutes of this run. I'm not the only one. Most of the runners who have started this race running are now walking up the hills.

Then suddenly, I step into another world. It's all downhill from here--literally. I take what the trail gives me.  It's past12pm, but it's practically pitch black in the forest. I hear nothing, but the sound of my breathing. I almost lose my footing on several occasions, wanting to stop and take in the sights and sounds and this incredible atmosphere of where I am running, but gravity won't let me. Instead it takes me down, down, down, through twisty trails and singletracks, roots and rocks. And I am lost. Lost in my thoughts, lost in this eerie world where I half-expect trees to come to life and nymphs to pop out any time.

I feel incredibly sure-footed. Not a single thought of doubt enters my mind as I weave my way in and around the trails. My breathing, once heavy and noisy at the start of the uphills, are now more controlled.

Then I feel myself getting pulled back to reality. I see a dog and hikers. I see an aid station, where I take a banana and an electrolyte pill. (Apparently there was beer in that station too, which I did not know about??!) I see an even crazier hill than the one we entered. And I see other runners slowly climb that hill. And I hear their voices.

"My calves are killing me!"
"I'm cramping up!"

I hear the announcer and I see the parking lot. I hear a "Go, Lei!" cheer from Stacey, as she is already changing by the car.

And just like that, it was over way too soon. I grabbed a veggie burger, and stuffed my face with chips and a wagonwheel (an oversized Fibisco choco mallow) and hoped either Stacey's or my name would come up in the door prizes. I didn't win anything, but Stacey (unknowingly to her!) won the 10km category!

So no, the trees did not come out to get me. But I almost wished they did. How I would have loved to stay in that almost magical and mysterious trail!

The rain that was forecast for our race start made its presence known instead during the awarding. The temperature dropped a few degrees and then we made our way out of the park.

20km runners making their way past the start line.

Myra Adventure Park has this awesome ropes course for friends, family, or corporate stuff.

Thanksgiving Weekend in Canada. What are you thankful for?

My camera can't quite capture that awesome red fall-iage (harhar) way way down below.

Rene, the race director, giving some final pre-race tips to the 20km runnners.

Pre-race picture with Stacey!

Post-race with our finisher's medals! Stacey won the 10km category!

Some serious post-race chillage

Many thanks to the PACE Sports team, especially to Rene and all the volunteers for making this run happen!