Walking On

The human body is a wonderful machine. Amazingly efficient in its functioning, it has little need for special maintenance. But when totally ignored and left on its own, like any machine, it soon begins to operate badly, even shut down altogether.

Any machine needs regular check-up and maintenance to keep it in good condition. Even an idle car that’s mainly relegated to the garage has to be driven around or, at least, have its engine switched on every once in a while. Just keeping it under a shed will not avert rusting in its metal parts or problems in its electrical connections.

The same is true with our body. We’ve been taught that along with proper food and some comforts, we need to do adequate physical movements to stay well. We’re supposed to take about 10,000 steps daily, and move our arms and stretch our muscles.

In July last year a film project sent me to Apo Island, a small spot off the main island of Negros. Having had previously heard nice things about the place, I was filled with great expectations of my time there. I was particularly eager to take a dip in its crystal clear seawaters.

I had been told there was a lighthouse atop the solitary hill on the island, from where you could have a bird’s eye view of the neighboring islets. I wanted to climb it. I preferred that to diving into the island’s world-famous seabed, since I’m no diver; I can’t even swim.

Apo Island is touted to be one of the best diving spots in the whole world. Tourists go there in batches, lured by photos of the place posted on the Internet and by stories of those who had been there. Many are return visitors.

I was so excited, of course, to see the place for myself. My assistant and I took a fast-craft that sailed at daybreak from Cebu to Dumaguete. Then we booked a car for the several kilometers’ ride to Malatapay, a seaside village in Dauin town where we boarded a pumpboat for nearby Apo Island.

To my great puzzlement, the boatman handed us raincoats as soon as the small sea craft started moving away from the shore. It was a clear day, so clear that you could almost see the planet Pluto. The guy told us to put on our raincoats and, with it, cover our bags, which we held securely on our laps. We obediently complied.

Shortly afterwards, big waves started slapping at the boat and throwing salty sprays at us. And this was on a supposedly fine day. Everybody aboard was quiet, like we were all holding our breaths. Scared, I hoped our destination was worth it all.  

As it turned out, there was a big revelation waiting for me at Apo Island. It was not anything about the place, though. It was about me.

It was mid-afternoon, after sailing for about 30 minutes, when we reached the island and checked in at a small seaside lodge. My assistant suggested that we take advantage of the remaining daylight and go around to find nice spots we could take shots of. I was so tired; all I wanted to do was sleep.

Early the next morning our local guide came for our climb up to the lighthouse on the hill. We were to take an important film footage from there. I was still so tired; I would not even get up for breakfast. I begged for a few minutes more of sleep.

By ten o’clock, I had to force myself out of bed, aware that this was not a leisure trip. But even the fresh – although late – seafood breakfast did not liven me up. Still feeling sleepy, I looked back to the previous day’s activities, especially the rough pumpboat ride, and thought it to be the culprit for my sluggishness.

The thought bothered me. I had been in much more strenuous activities before, and my body never balked a bit. Those were several years since, all right; but I found it hard to believe that my body would now tire so easily, over such slight hurdles.

We were soon beginning to climb up the hill to the lighthouse. This was about the same size of hill I used to go up and down on, several times a day, back home when I was growing up. It looked like getting to the top would be easy.

But it was not. Just as I had covered about a third of the almost 300 cemented steps upwards, my knees were already hesitating to go on. And my lungs felt like they were bursting.

I was sweating profusely, to the alarm of my companions. Embarrassed by their reaction, I forced myself to go on, in slow, very heavy gaits. I was gasping all along, and would beg to rest after every few steps.

That experience was a turning point for me. I had taken my body so much for granted that it was becoming quite a hurdle carrying it around. My machine was rusting and, thus, functioning deficiently.

Upon reaching home, I immediately went on a regular exercise routine. I promised to myself to stick to it, and try not to break it. Now, if I miss doing it for a day or two, for any reason, I just go back to it as soon as I can. I don’t even make up for the missed days.

My exercise routine starts at 4 a.m. I walk from home to the Ayala Park and back, about a three-kilometer distance both ways. While at the park, I walk around for another three kilometers.

I go very early, at a time when there are few vehicles on the road. That way I avoid the motor fumes. I’ve read that our lungs open and go very active during exercise, for oxygen to sustain the body in activity. So I’m very careful not to fill my lungs with toxic gases.

Besides, it’s good to exercise first off in the day. It not only puts you in good physical condition but makes your mind alert all day, as well. You also feel nice having properly primed yourself for the various tasks ahead.

The Ayala Park is an ideal exercise venue for me. The place is wide, there’s a lot of space and fresh air. Its lush, surrounding greenery is an abundant source of oxygen.

It’s quite safe there, too. There are park guards that keep roving around on their motorcycles. The presence of these able-bodied, courteous guys that smile and greet you warmly is really such a reassurance.

I prefer walking to jogging. Walking is less intimidating and more manageable to do for one who had been quite sedentary for a long while, like me. My walking is brisk, though, as if I’m trying to catch up with someone who’s waiting for a ride at the next block.

When you’re of an ample body bulk, running can be difficult to do. Your tummy and chest and facial muscles tend to drop heavily with every step that hits the ground. Your bodyweight becomes all the more emphasized.

With walking, each foot lands in a more subtle way. And you see more when you walk. There’s more time to notice the features of the people that you meet. You get motivated to go on and see more.

Some people smile at you; others pretend they don’t see you. It’s interesting what thoughts come to your mind with every face you see. Perhaps more interesting is what goes on in their minds when they see you, why they stare at you or look away.

There’s a lot to veer your mind away from the rather monotonous thing you’re doing. I would need my mobile phone’s alarm to alert me it’s already six o’clock. And, heading back towards home, I’d be panting and perspiring generously.

I walk for health, basically. Yet the daily morning activity has also become such a fun thing to me. For both reasons, I have been doing it since and intend to keep walking on.

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