Chasing Fernando

Go Fernando!” yelled an unseen female voice in the semi-darkness. I was somewhere near the intersection of EDSA and Buendia and for a split second I thought about the king of U-turns and pink fences. But that was not the Fernando she was urging on. Rather, it was the man running beside me, Ayala Corp. president Fernando Zobel de Ayala. He also happened to be the same man whom I had decided to chase around the streets of Taguig and Makati over the next two hours.

It all began because of my need for LSD. People like Fernando and I are very dependent on LSD. Now, before you report us to the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA), I am not referring to the hallucinogen that gained notoriety as a recreational drug during the 1960s and 70s. LSD to runners is a particular training method for the marathon. It stands for “Long Slow Distance” and it means exactly what it says. Once a week, long-distance runners would typically run anywhere from 15 to 32 kilometers at an easy pace in order to build up endurance. Elite runners breeze by these distances very quickly, enabling them to concentrate fully on their running. But to amateur runners such as myself, these runs could mean being on the road for up to three hours at a time. I normally run alone, too, so as you can imagine, LSDs can sometimes make me feel a little crazy (nakakabato) and yearn for its psychedelic namesake. To add some variety, I thus decided to join Globe’s 21-kilometer half-marathon last July 19 and make it my LSD for the week.

Fernando, however, changed everything. He popped up on my left side at about the three- kilometer mark and all of a sudden, I had a different mission: I was going to stick to the famous tycoon like a cockroach trapped on flypaper. There was nothing egotistical or vain about it. I’ve never met him and he certainly didn’t know me. It just seemed like the natural thing to do at the time. Maybe people of his stature also have the effect of challenging ordinary mortals like me to try to keep up with them in anything that they do. Whatever it was, at least it also meant that I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping myself amused during the next 18 or so kilometers.

Some people may indeed wonder how runners keep themselves mentally occupied while on LSD. I don’t know what other runners might say, but when my sister-in-law asked me what I think about when I’m running, I was tongue-tied. Of course, it’s not rocket science. It’s just that the answer actually changes with each stride. One second I’m thinking about raising funds for the permanent venue of my kid’s school; the next moment I’m looking back and trying to remember the name of someone who looked like the passenger in the car that just drove by; and then as I turn around and look up at yet another Angel Locsin billboard, I find myself wondering if she’s really glad we’ve “MET.” By the end of a long run, I’d have gone through hundreds of such spur-of-the-moment ruminations. As shallow as it may sound, however, it sometimes also has a liberating effect. Sometimes, it feels like getting caught in a downpour without an umbrella. At first, you scramble to stay dry. But after a while, you’re soaked numb and become part of the rain. Similarly, I’m bombarded with so many random thoughts while I’m running that after a while I’m not consciously thinking that I’m thinking anymore. So I guess I don’t really know exactly what I think about when I run. With apologies to Descartes, it’s just: I run, therefore I am.

There was no time to philosophize this early Sunday morning, however. Fernando was going at a relatively fast clip and I quickly realized that this wasn’t going to be a leisurely run at all. Unfortunately, I had to make a pit stop at one of the portalets and by the time I started running again, he had disappeared. I frantically scanned ahead and spotted a streaking red-shirted runner in the distance. That must be him, I thought. I sprinted forward but couldn’t make any headway. Alas, I would have to catch up the hard way — by attrition, meter by meter. When I reached Ayala Avenue, some motorists were upset at being held up in traffic. I remember thinking, don’t they know that the avenue is named after one of the runners? Besides, they should have paid more attention to the traffic advisories. One taxi driver was reported to have shouted, “Sana mamatay kayo (I hope you guys die)!” A runner was said to have hollered back, “Ikaw ang maunang mamatay (You die first)!” Well, by the last five kilometers of the race, they might as well have been referring to me. I was laboring and running out of gas by then, but the red shirt was getting closer. I lost sight of him once more as we were engulfed by the thousands of 5K and 10K runners who merged with us. I hung on and finally caught him with a little over a kilometer left before the finish. He seemed just as spent as I was. I desperately wanted to slow down, but as we reached the final stretch, I heard him start to sprint behind me.  

All I could think about after the race was that I wanted to sit down. Maybe Fernando felt the same way, too, but when I looked back, several well-wishers had already surrounded him. I guess one of the curses of celebrity is that you sometimes can’t even catch your breath in peace. I limped back to my car and asked myself once more if I was getting too old for this. To my wife’s constant chagrin, however, these thoughts don’t last very long. By the time I drove away, I was already thinking of the Quezon City International Marathon on October 18. It had been a hard race, but I had a good run after all. And I think, so did Fernando. I rolled down the windows of the car and sped through the still largely deserted C5 highway. As the wind rushed in and swirled all around me, I started humming the refrain of that old hit by ABBA (of recent Mama Mia fame). It’s that song about two veterans reminiscing about a war of liberation that they had both fought in. How appropriate, I smiled to myself…

There was something in the air that night

The stars were bright, Fernando

They were shining there for you and me

For liberty, Fernando

Though I never thought that we could lose

There’s no regret

If I had to do the same again

I would, my friend, Fernando

* * *

Please e-mail your reactions to kindergartendad@yahoo.com.