A Jogger, a Boxer, a Dog, and the Lucky Money
(3:32 PM)
I ran last night.
I ran around the large Legaspi Village parking lot, now being turned into a Meralco substation with garden walks. At 10:30 PM, there was no one on the streets, save for security guards, one street sweeper, and a gang of construction workers unloading cement bags. I was wondering if I could do ten rounds.
There was a dog, which I avoided by getting off the sidewalk.
There were three guys practicing boxing punches.
Throughout the years, I tried reviving my running persona, but I never regained my peak performance. My best run ever lasted about three hours, from my cousin's house in Teachers Village all the way to BF Homes (QC) and back. That was in 1988, when running held the promise of renewal.
Running revives me. It straightens out my muscles, pulls them in. It allows me to think about a lot of things. It can even prevent an oncoming flu and overhaul my body. Sometimes, it can lead me to a discovery, like a road I've never been before.
I used to run back in college, my only exercise. I was young and trim then. Now, I'm a lumbering, balding, overweight man who is gasping along the dark streets of Legaspi Village in Makati.
My last attempt to run in Makati was an absolute failure. One morning, a couple of years ago, I planned on running the length of Pasong Tamo and back. I didn't get very far. It was humiliating.
Last night, I did well--I finished four rounds and capped it off, as I usually do, with a sprint. So I ran into the parking lot.
As I began my sprint, something on the asphalt lot caught my eye. I completed my sprint and walked back. What was it? I must be seeing things. It can't be.
But it was: a 100-peso bill. I picked it up and pocketed it.
Ten feet away, another 100-peso bill. Again, I pocketed it.
I braced myself for someone suddenly coming out from the shadows and asking, "Excuse me, manong, did you find any money here? I think I dropped it."
This is a test, I thought to myself. God is testing me. Maybe the boxers dropped the money.
No one came. No one was coming. I walked around the parking lot and started looking for more money. Lots of pieces of paper, but no more money. I decided to go home.
And God said, "No, I'm not testing you. I'm rewarding you. It's a gift. Two lucky 100-peso bills that will bring you luck."
But I was already too far away to hear that.
I ran around the large Legaspi Village parking lot, now being turned into a Meralco substation with garden walks. At 10:30 PM, there was no one on the streets, save for security guards, one street sweeper, and a gang of construction workers unloading cement bags. I was wondering if I could do ten rounds.
There was a dog, which I avoided by getting off the sidewalk.
There were three guys practicing boxing punches.
Throughout the years, I tried reviving my running persona, but I never regained my peak performance. My best run ever lasted about three hours, from my cousin's house in Teachers Village all the way to BF Homes (QC) and back. That was in 1988, when running held the promise of renewal.
Running revives me. It straightens out my muscles, pulls them in. It allows me to think about a lot of things. It can even prevent an oncoming flu and overhaul my body. Sometimes, it can lead me to a discovery, like a road I've never been before.
I used to run back in college, my only exercise. I was young and trim then. Now, I'm a lumbering, balding, overweight man who is gasping along the dark streets of Legaspi Village in Makati.
My last attempt to run in Makati was an absolute failure. One morning, a couple of years ago, I planned on running the length of Pasong Tamo and back. I didn't get very far. It was humiliating.
Last night, I did well--I finished four rounds and capped it off, as I usually do, with a sprint. So I ran into the parking lot.
As I began my sprint, something on the asphalt lot caught my eye. I completed my sprint and walked back. What was it? I must be seeing things. It can't be.
But it was: a 100-peso bill. I picked it up and pocketed it.
Ten feet away, another 100-peso bill. Again, I pocketed it.
I braced myself for someone suddenly coming out from the shadows and asking, "Excuse me, manong, did you find any money here? I think I dropped it."
This is a test, I thought to myself. God is testing me. Maybe the boxers dropped the money.
No one came. No one was coming. I walked around the parking lot and started looking for more money. Lots of pieces of paper, but no more money. I decided to go home.
And God said, "No, I'm not testing you. I'm rewarding you. It's a gift. Two lucky 100-peso bills that will bring you luck."
But I was already too far away to hear that.
1 Comments:
Hehe don't you hate that: when you discover money on the street, you immediately look back to see if there's a runaway truck behind you.
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