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This photo jolted me out of my seat this morning. It has nothing to do with running, but it occurred during a race. This could have happened to runners. It could happen to anyone. So disturbing…and sickening.

The Associated Press (CNN) reported that a car plowed into a weekend bicycle race along a highway near the US-Mexico (MONTERREY) border, killing one and wounding 10 others, police said.

The 28-year-old driver was apparently drunk and fell asleep when he crashed in the race, said police investigator Jose Alfredo Rodriguez. A photo taken by an official of the city showed cyclists and equipment launched high into the air by the collision.

Rodriguez said Juan Campos was charged with murder Alejandro Alvarez, 37, of Monterrey. Authorities said the wreck happened 15 minutes in the 34 kilometers (21 miles) race Sunday along a road between Baghdad and Playa Matamoros, across from Brownsville, Texas.

Campos said he is a U.S. citizen living in Brownsville. The USA Consulate could not immediately confirm that.

Source: autoworld.wordpress.com

Last Sunday, I dropped by my brothers’ place to pick up my new old bike.  One of my brothers unselfishly agreed to lend me his mountain bike so I could gradually dip my feet into the world of cycling.

– My new hand-me-down bike –

I have three brothers.  And they have three bikes, if I’m not mistaken.  

The eldest brother was a cyclist in his 20s.  Having an 11 year age gap, I remember watching him in awe as a little girl every time he got ready to leave or returned from his cycling adventure wearing his cleats (which looked so high tech at that time).  I recall his tattered, overused logbook and how he tediously monitored his distance, time, and everything else in it.  He taught me that wearing the yellow jersey was the coolest thing in the Tour de France.  

One time, while on my way home to Makati riding our school bus along Marcos Highway in Antipolo, I was pleasantly surprised to see my Kuya waving from outside my window.  My bus mates suspiciously asked who it was I was smiling at.  And, I replied with pride “That’s my Kuya!”

My two other brothers enjoyed cycling too, but never got into it as seriously as the eldest.  It was the 2nd brother who lent me the mountain bike.  The 3rd was asleep (at noontime!) when I picked up the bike.

So, before they allowed me to bring home the bike, my two kuyas commanded me to test ride the bike.  I rode it up and down the driveway.  Okay, it looked like I passed that test.

Next, they demonstrated how to shift gears and how to reattach them should the gears fall off.  Easy peasy, I thought.

Lastly, they showed me how to remove the front wheel for transporting the bike.  Wait a minute, run that by me again.  They showed me a 2nd time and asked me to do it myself.  I did it twice.  Then, they told me to load the bike unto my car.  Such tough instructors, I tell you!

When all that was said and done, my eldest brother gave his final words of advise much like a nervous dad discussing the birds and the bees with his teener.  Spinning his hands in the air, he said “Don’t push down with your feet.  Focus on circular motions.”  Okay!  “When you are about to climb up, shift your gears, take a deep breath, and push forward.” Got it.  Then he looked at the bike and said, this time like a mother giving her baby away for adoption, “I’m going to miss you!”

I felt pangs of guilt, but I knew that he knew his baby would be in good hands.  I will try to ride the bike at least once a week.  And, hopefully, I’ll enjoy it.  I’m sure not as much as I love running though.

With classes starting next week, I asked my incoming 1st-grader, Anton, if he wanted to sign up for football after school.  I expected an enthusiastic “yes” from him.  After all, it wasn’t too long ago when—after enumerating the number of sports he could get into: golf, swimming, football, or running—he adamantly said “My sport is football.  Nothing else.”  

Anton dabbled in a couple of 2k races, but “retired” after the PIA run for no other reason but “It’s so tiring.” From that time on, every time I invited him to join a race with me, he would shake his head and I swear I could almost see sweat dripping from his forehead.

– Little Bull Runner during the Pinay In Action run last March ’08.  He is obviously exhausted. –

So, there I was waiting for my little boy to tell me he wanted to take football when he surprised me with “I don’t like football anymore.”  The mommy in me was worried so I began to blurt out “But, sports is important for you.  It’s not about studying all the time..”  Then, he interrupts me and says “I am going to be a runner!”  I reminded him about the last race and how I thought he didn’t want to run anymore, but he says “I’m going to start running again.  I’m going to run a marathon!”

Oh, I was ecstatic!   Sure, a marathon and a 2km race is one and the same for Anton, but that doesn’t matter… as long as he runs!  Little Bull Runner is back in the game.

The Men’s Health All-Terrain Race (ATR) is Men’s Health magazine’s flagship event for 2008. It is still the only race of its kind in the country. Segregated into a trail and bike run, the MH ATR is for people who love these disciplines and who are looking for a one-of-a-kind experience.

Venue: Timberland Heights, San Mateo

Date: June 15, 2008

Time: Event starts at 6am

The Trail Run
The trail run is one of the things that makes the All-Terrain Race very unique. Instead of running on level roads, runners will be running on gravel, sand, and sloping hills. It’s not your typical running race.  Race distance is approximately 12 kilometers.

The Mountain Bike Race
A normal mountain bike race in a not so normal course. It pits bikers against each other in a course designed to test your more than your skills.  Race distance is approximately 20 kilometers.

Father’s Day Festival
The ATR isn’t just a competition. It is also celebration of what the Men’s Health lifestyle is all about. It’s all about good food, good music and more importantly, good company. Make dad’s day more meaningful by cheering him on as he crosses the finish line.

For more information, click here. 

This morning, I lay flat on my back in the middle of our garage as the hubby slowly backed up the car making sure both right tires ran over my left shin.  Then, cringing in pain I cried out “Do it again! This time slower!”

Okay, it didn’t exactly happen that way.  For the most part, only the intense, grit-your-teeth pain is real.

– My left leg gets some ice before the “massage” – 

I went for my third visit to the physical therapist this morning.  After eight days of shin pain, limping, and absolutely no running, I knew it was time to bite the bullet—or, in my case, the towel if I wanted to run again…quick.  

Since last week, after consulting my doctor about this shin pain (which, as it turns out, is not at all related to my runner’s knee— how lucky am I, huh?), I’ve been to 3 therapy sessions, which to put it quite simply is not my idea of fun.  

The doctor ordered the therapist to “release” my shins, which is probably the scientific world’s version of tough love for athletes.  By “release”, the doctor means that the therapist will massage, push, shove, depress, elbow, manhandle the area of injury for around 5 minutes until all those tiny lumps in the muscles have disappeared—and the patient has been reduced to a little helpless fetus who can barely utter a sound due to exhaustion.

The two “release” sessions last week were tough and, silly me, each time the therapist would attempt to do her stuff, I would pull my leg away in fear of the pain that was about the run through my body.  In hindsight, I wonder if she got any work done at all.

On the second session, as she tried to push on my already bruised leg (which was released two days before), I shut my eyes saying “ouch ouch ouch” reaching almost a meditative state only to have my doctor enter the booth to say as politely as he could “Please be quiet.  You are going to scare my other patients.”  I wanted to pull my shirt over my face in embarrassment.

Today was different.  Eight days of no running had turned me into a monster over the weekend and I had to put an end to it.  Last night, I told my hubby in the bravest voice possible “I’ll visit my therapist tomorrow and ask her to release my shins and get rid of these lumps—no matter how painful.  I just want to run again.”  The hubby nods in silence, but I read his mind and it said “I hope you know what you’re doing!” Then, I immediately add “Do you think taking a double dose of Ponstan before the session will help?”

To cut a long story short, my therapist did release my shin again this morning.  And, as I was very cooperative (you should’ve heard me screaming “Bring it on, Lady!”—kidding!), she was able to reduce the lumps significantly, although not entirely.  The towel she gave became my best friend during those long 5 minutes of my life; it became my mask (one must cover one’s hideous, pain-filled face), sound-muffler, tension-reliever and, of course, sweat-absorber.  It looked like I had been to hell and back in all of those 5 minutes, but when the therapist assured me that I could run again as soon as these lumps were gone, I knew it was worth it.

So, yes, I do feel that a car ran over my shins this morning.  But, I have a feeling that one last session of tough love on these bones of mine will get me running again by the end of the week.  Anything for running, baby!