Obstacle course: Running the Guerilla Race

San Mateo, Rizal, boasts commanding views of the city, but during the 3am call time, there was only darkness, save for the spotlights glaring at runners already present.

Females. Males. Young. Old. Muscular sprinters. Wiry triathletes. Lean marathon runners. Pot-bellied weekend warriors. As varied as the runners, were what they wore. Standard-issue singlets and team jerseys were the norm. Brand name compression gear showed off weeks of dieting, hours in the gym. A few cotton shirts announced “army.” 

Some sat, eyes closed, silent. A few chatted with each other, trading stories, comparing previous OCR times. More stretched their limbs, fingers reaching for toes, an imaginary point on the horizon or towards the slowly lightening sky.

The announcer’s voice blared.

“Expect cuts and bruises!” “The penalty for not completing an obstacle is 30 push-up squats!” “obstacles…fire…mud…barbed wire…”  he added. “The start is delayed, We’re waiting for the flames in the fire jump to grow.”

A race held up because it’s too safe – that’s new. My thoughts drifted back to what exactly I signed up for.

Wave hello

The guerilla race is made up of two categories, each divided into two waves. There is a 5km “sprint” run, featuring 10 obstacles, and a 10km “warrior” run with 18 obstacles. 

Each has “competition” and “regular” waves, the former allowing runners to vie for cash prizes and trophies. I was in the regular 10km run.

Registration for the 5km Sprint was 850php, while the 10km Warrior was 950php. The fee included singlet, bib with timing chip and a shirt and medal for finishers. A 150 php shuttle from QC was offered during race kit claiming. Online and store registration normally started three months before race proper. Walk-in registrations were accepted, but check ahead. 

I approached the 5km sprint competition wave – a phalanx of bodies that seemed to have collectively less body fat than me. I asked questions. Jess from “Team Titans” showed me hands coarser than rubber, tougher than leather. Irene from Kenya laughs, explaining the course is part of her hot weather training.

“Countdown!” Bodies tensed, and as a smoke grenade explodes in the distance, the runners powered up a hill, towards the hidden course beyond.

Soon enough, I huffed my way up the same slope. Being in the regular wave meant less spandex and more smiles, but the course was unforgiving to my wave all the same.

From the concrete road we detoured into the woods, as if to avoid an army checkpoint up ahead. Scrambling for purchase on the mud-gravel ground was manageable, but as the forest slowly closed in, it forced us in single file towards…a flaming log. Jumping over it was actually harder said than done, the heat barely licking us as we cleared it, a photographer on the other side shooting us.  

Half an hour later through twisting trail runs and we spied our next challenge – the barbed wire mud crawl. We kept our faces just above the cool muck, encouraging the person in front to push forward while reminding them to quit splashing around. 

Occasionally, my back would snag a hook, enough to rip my jersey but not enough to draw blood. Whether they were wearing stark white, bright yellow or plain black – it didn’t matter, everyone ran the course in dull dirt brown.

Persistence

The next challenges were a blur – scaling a 6-foot wall, leaping over steel girders, assaulting a cargo net, balancing on wooden poles a meter off the ground (ok it was more 6 inches off the ground but falling meant repeating the obstacle, so it felt like a meter).

About a third of the way, my feet started to protest – the thin, contour footwear I chose traded comfort for traction. It isn’t sucked into mud as strongly as conventional trail shoes, but running over a rock feels like stepping on a rock.

“Long strides downhill, let the gravity work for you, shorter steps uphill, don’t tax your legs.” I remembered my grade school teacher’s voice, but I couldn’t hear him over my screaming muscles. The longest I’ve run was 5km. My legs protested at every step, just as some YouTube motivational video said it would. I began to feel like the truly ripped athletes in those videos, bounding along dirt roads, powering past small hills…up until someone walked past me.

I persisted and after the grueling sandbag carry, javelin throw and vertical rope climb, I found myself running ragged downhill towards 3 people wielding padded gladiator batons. 

Within the flurry of (good-natured) hits, I realized, this must be the Guerilla Race’s goal – to rebel against one’s own propensity to quit, to defy weakness, and to triumph against seemingly insurmountable odds. 

They hung a crimson medal on me – it was the only clean item I wore. In the distance, my fellow racers washed the mud, soil and sweat from their bodies. Cameras clicked everywhere. Chris Everingham of the Philippine Volcanos rugby team watched the awarding ceremony.

I asked the event ambassador what it takes to succeed in this type of race. “I think the most important thing to remember is to focus, pace yourself, do what you need to do and take it one step at a time,” he said, rubbing his beard, “it applies to the race, in rugby, to anything in life really.” 

Colonel Bumanglag, the event director, beamed as he shook my hand, congratulating me for finishing. “I didn’t think you’d make it honestly,” he mentions the roving patrols he directed to keep an eye on me, “When we said ‘finish the race, or die trying,’ we meant it!”

As I walk away from the podium, I couldn’t help but imagine my name being called. Maybe next time. – Rappler.com

The next Guerilla Race is slated for September 28, 2014. The organizers are arranging an OCR training clinic in the interim. More information can be found on guerilla-race.com or via Facebook

Reg Tolentino is a freelance contributor for several publications. He aspires to someday see his work in sci-fi/fantasy published