How to chase a cheetah

I set my cellphone alarm not to wake me up but to remind me when it strikes midnight   on Nov. 11, 2011 (which makes it a lucky date of four elevens) that I am supposed to be in the mountain sitio of Pung-ol, Cebu City  where the 1st Habagat Ultra Trail Run was going to start.

The local outdoor retailer, which has been known for its Carera Habagat adventure race, the toughest and longest-running triathlon in the country, joined the running bandwagon by sponsoring a 50-kilometer midnight run through forest trails and dirt roads from the mountains near Balamban all the way down to IT Park.

But Pung-ol was rather a long way from the city, a risky ride through snaking and mostly unlit roads beside foggy cliffs, especially if you were just going to take a habal-habal to get there.

In my running sneakers, trekking pants, and windbreaker, I was geared to survive the cold and rough terrain. But suddenly I recalled the recent robbery and murder of a habal-habal driver so I thought I could be a crime magnet with my camera bag, which by the way was a Habagat item purchased in their branch in Megamall (I went to Manila and all I got was a bag from Cebu).

So I chickened out at the last minute. “Sayang,” I told myself thinking I could have tried action shots with my new camera and hoping to see them on CDN’s Life section. I even pigged out at the lunch meeting’s buffet for carbo loading.

But that’s me, the typical urban loser.

Consider how, because of our addiction to modern comforts, we have lost our primitive strength since the days when  Neanderthals could easily outrun an antelope, a wild pig, or perhaps  a cheetah in the forest. The animals, they say, don’t know how to pause so humans ultimately outrun them in the long chase for the communal meal.

And to think they all did that nightly dinner chase (or spouse chase, head-hunting run, whatever) mostly barefoot and often half-naked in those last days of the Ice Age.

We’re all a bunch of weaklings now, easy prey not only to predators in the wild but also their equivalents riding motorcycles in the city.

Thankfully, we still have  Boy/Girl Scouts and outdoor retail shops like Habagat to teach us how to rough it out in order to redeem our survival instincts and skills, this time with the help of a few pieces of modern gear. It’s as if all these Sunday marathons around city streets are just the first step towards neoprimitivism, which is not an art style inspired by the aborigines but a fitness and lifestyle movement that seeks to restore our prehistoric strength and agility. That should make parkour and ultra trail runs avant garde.

Still we’re far from getting back our slightly furry skin that’s natural protection from increasing radiation and unpredictable climate. So we rely on Gore-Tex layered jackets and shoes, and ergonomic, light yet roomy and functional backpacks with removable and refillable plastic “hydration” bladders.

Environmental ethics (that recent corollary to political correctness) no longer allow us to hunt or trap animals or build a fire to cook them in the forest, so we have to pack a compact stove and sachets of instant meals and energy bars in our camping trips. And of course, haul our litter back so as to “leave nothing but footprints”.

Fire was scarce in the prehistoric times and the moon wasn’t always up, so the primitive hunter had to learn to navigate the forest in complete darkness, with eyesight and hearing leveled-up to nocturnal alert mode.

In contrast, the Pung-ol runners were required to wear headlamps and blinkers so as to prevent accidents on the trail, which was marked with directional signs and water stations. Some ran with support crew trailing behind in selected areas in bikes or car, ready to hand out an energy drink, a spare battery, an extra pair of shoes, or simply cheer them up.

I was no better that night, having shamefully backed out and retreated to bed, with one hand clutching the remote on sleep mode. My mind was on a blink when the alarm rang.