Wee Steps to Mountain Goathood

Or not. The biggest challenge for the sponsors of my fourth half-marathon, makers of fine refrigerators who are campaigning for whale shark conservation, is changing the mindset of fishermen who still see the world's biggest fish as protein. That it can be preserved not by tossing the leftover slabs of meat into the freezer, but by letting the dappled giants be as they swim through the island channels of the Philippines to feed. Anyway we don't eat their food.

A World Wildlife Fund campaigner recounted a hair-raising story when we visited the whalers' island of Pamilacan a few years ago. The fishermen had by then been miraculously converted into whale spotters for the tourists who pay top dollar to watch and swim with the whale sharks, lemonhead whales and bottlenose dolphins that abound on the Bohol Sea at certain times of the year. But that has not always been the case. He remembers the early days when angry fishermen armed with harpoons, huge notched spears used to catch the giant marine creatures, rapped on the door of his rented Pamilacan cottage one early morning, intending to run him off the island or worse. He said it was a close call.

Until now, it remains a touch-and-go thing, because even though Pamilacan and Donsol are now known all over the world, at times there are not enough tourists to go by, and the fishermen have to eat no matter what. One former Pamilacan whale hunter told me he misses the taste of whale shark meat, which he said compares favourably with pork fat. We are preaching to the converted, basically, as I am quite sure no one among the runners at today's race, many of them equipped with GPS-enabled training watches and other electronic gadgetry that are worth more than a whaler's outrigger boat, would fancy whale shark steak.

The race itself was perfect. I did not suffer from cramps and avoided heat stroke, though I saw one male half-marathoner on a stretcher being pushed into the back of an ambulance at the finish line, his bulging eyes open and unfocused and froth issuing from his mouth. Possibly dehydrated, one medic told me. I avoided that by putting myself through water torture -- imbibing huge volumes of water and electrolyte in the 24-hour runup to today's run. I drafted a wisp of a kid with a large yellow balloon -- the 6minutes per kilometre pacer Kenneth. Less than five kilometres into the race my bladder felt ready to burst. Would you wet your shorts to chase a personal record? For me, the answer is yes, though I had no opportunity to prove it today. It's very difficult to relieve yourself when you are on the move, and I eventually used the loo just after the Skyway turnaround, which I covered in 59 minutes plus change.

On the road I saw a kid with tatttoed biceps which I remembered from the last TNF race in January -- TJ he called himself. I finally met Jonel, aka Bugobugo, as well as Nina Dacanay, two runners who are much faster than me. Pacer Kenneth changed the frequency after the turnaround and left me for dead, so I was not able to thank him until I arrived at the finish line. Froilan and Roger, my would-be companions on the TNF race in May, were also safely through to finish their first half-marathons. 

The Concepcion brothers -- funny the Concepcion brothers I knew are their dad Raul and his sibling Joe. I am really ancient -- made this race a runner-friendly event indeed. Practically all the items on my wish list were served up on a plate: wet sponge, water stations, kilometre markings, and fire trucks!! Not one, not two, but an entire fleet! I dived under the nozzle of one for a free shower outside the ROX store.

I finished just behind Ironman Chok, the dentist to the stars. I lined him up for a pass just before the chutes but he suddenly accelerated as well. Oh well, I will take a personal best over that any time.
 
UPDATE: Official results here. I clocked 2:03:28 (Yay, PR!), 389th of 1,317 finishers. It was the first time I made the top 30 percent at this distance. (Thank you newbies! May your tribe increase!)