scenes from a jog

 Minutes past 5am, gates creaked at my exit. Neighbor puffing cigar calls out: ‘Going early for the sweat?’ I snicker: ‘Soles and knees aching again, must be the damned uric. Need to get rid of some.’ Headed for the hike. Neighbor’s dog barks. Brisk walks way past it.

Curved FS Pajares coursing towards the rotunda. Others jogging ahead. Two ladies trail some meters behind. In rhythmic paces, I advanced for the ascent. Two ladies u-turned towards plaza. Must be going back for the taebo.   

Knees slightly burn. Damn, last weekend’s nonattendance is taking its toll. The steep climb a couple of meters ahead. Jogged in circles, warm-up style. Fetid smell from tumbled garbage bin across the avenue taints early morning air.

Tackled the ascent. One, two, three, HAH! One, two, three, HAH!

Approaching rotunda now. The rising sun creates the golden glow far east. On the left, Manang is starting flames out of dried mango leaves.

‘Good morning, bro!’ A comrade at a retreat. Grins a reply, waves.

Rounds the rotund path. Ahead, couple hold hands while walking, the woman’s belly bulging. Sighs. Jogs toward the bend. Another jogger approaches from the other side, Akon playing loudly on his MP3.

Downward the curve, I slow down. There, a client with husband. Remembers how kulit she can get when paying her SSS. She smiles, I smile back. Asks: ‘You look familiar. Where was that you were working?’ ‘The bank Ma’am’, I answer.  

Another ascent for the next round. Lady up ahead. Lady tugs dog. Lady in taut jogging pants. Don’t recognize the breed of the dog. Dog sniffs something on the grass on the side of the road. Dog won’t budge. I am near now, lady coy. I smile, she smiles back. Dog still won’t budge.

Third round now. Few stretch on the open field overlooking the sea. Bend to the left, turn to the right. Most of 40s. Maybe 50s.

Stationary jog after fourth round. Bro and client pass by. Faces the sea. Poseidon puts it to rest. Was it the sea or the trees that breathed to my face?

Sun’s slow in rising, the trees cover its trace. Tricycle screeches in. Passenger looks out. Three rounds to go.

Looks up on my right, ah, mangoes. Looked for ripe ones but there’s none. Thirsty now. The cup of Milo was now all perspiration.

Finally, seven rounds. Next Saturday, I’ll make eight. Stretch. Old ones do breath in, breath out.

Descending. Strides in rhythm ala Kuya Ferdie’s instruction. Good for posture. Late joggers still make the ascent.

Hikes by the road shoulder. Couple in a distance, man cups woman’s face. Left foot forward, right foot forward. Follow the damn line.

Couple inches away. Woman, no, girl, teary-eyed. LQ or ‘I am pregnant!’ Groans.

At the plaza, taebo’s wrapping up. Neighbor from old place jogs across the street. Waves. Something, a gadget, is wrapped on her arm.

Treks down further. Manong carries on his head a basket of bananas. ‘How much?’, I prepared to haggle. ‘Not for sale. Fruit vendor up ahead already paid in advance.’

Nearing Rizal Avenue, traffic starts to build. C3 might be inaugurated early, construction’s moving fast.

At Sam’s, I wait for hot pan de sal. No. 8 my card reads. The guy with unwashed face holds No. 43. I look at the guard. ‘The numbers are in groups of 50s’. He reads me.

Finally, I have my pan de sal. I hailed a tricycle. Maybe Jhie’s already awake and boiled water is ready.