The Waist of the Matter.

I put on my jeans which I bought last year and it fit me perfectly. I checked around the waist and it was an exact fit, as if the pants were tailor-made to my size.

I suffered from mild panic.

Rewind a year ago and I still remember my friend and colege blockmate asking me for my size. I told her I was a 28, but normally wear a 29. I'm not much of a fan of tight fits. Knowing better, blockmate insisted that I buy size 30, claiming that it would fit better. Inwardly, I suspected that she doesn't carry odd sizes, thus her insistence in stocks two sizes larger than my actual fit. I didn't bother to argue.

A year has passed since then, and I find myself filling my jeans perfectly at the waist. Living it day to day, I almost didn't realize how much I have foregone this year in terms of extra-curricular and physical activity. Strenuous and excessive amounts of overtime took its toll and has now presented me with a weakened state of physique.

I used to play volleyball regularly twice a week, and when late last year, I met a group of mountaineers, I began joining minor treks and beach outings. I was at my best form then; I felt taller, my scoliosis didn't seem to bother me anymore. I was reading faster and more varied authors, even.

Then the Circus started.

I began losing contact with most of my groups. My twice-weekly volleyabll was replaced with daily overtime. My monthly treks were replaces with weekend overtime. What's even more perplexing was that the more time I render at the Great Place, the more work seemed to pile up. My morning stretch routine was replaced with extended wallowing under the covers; my games replaced by irregular rotations of binge-eating and meal-skipping.

They say it takes at least three weeks to form a habit. I can't even comit two days straight to relearn my morning stretches. Thus, I'm stuck with a screaming spine, prolonged mornings of lethargy, and two inches gained in nine months.

Loss of self esteem doesn't even begin to describe what I'm suffering. I've become alienated from my groups and I only have myself to blame.

A few days ago, Brunswick paid me a surprise visit at the Great Place. He was at the area and decided to rescue me from my mundane existence, if even for a few minutes. Quick updates about the various people I lost contact with ensued, and I was cornered into promising to rejoin the group in the near future. I appreciate Brunswick's going out of his way to reconnect with me. I plan to repay his efforts by re-establishing with my network. My days of wallowing are long overdue, and it needs to stop, effective immediately.

I need to move once more, and in more ways than one.

Anawangin Photos

Here are some shots from the group of our trip to Anawangin.

Photos from this set came from Sagi, Narra and Blue. Earlier photos I posted came from Mac.

Pit Stop on their trek going to Anawangin via Mt Punaquit

View of Anawangin Cove from Mt Pundaquit

Going down, one is greeted by a stream that runs just at the back of the Cove

Sunsets at the Cove are a thing of beauty

Mt Manabu: Ascent

Manabu Peak, Sto. Tomas, Batangas. 760 meters above sea-level.

Sagi and Mac invited me to join them and their friends for a trek up the mountain. It would be my first time outside the Scouts to do so. It would also be the first time for me to climb with their group. I had decided to go even before they harangued me with text messages. I just needed to make sure my work was done before I confirmed.

Saturday morining, and I am on my way to the designated meeting place, having packed haphazardly the night before ... or rather, the few hours before sunrise. I know I have over-packed once again, and it was evident through my bulging backpack. Said backpack, by the way, is inadequate for a trip like this, and I had to use up every ounce of creativity I had in order to pack my things, or to attach said things with the bag. Carrying stuff by hand is inadvisable, and I am made painfully aware of such fact.

Two hours bus ride and we are at Lipa, Batangas. Lunch at the local mall and a bit of wait to complete our group, and we're off. I let them transact with the tricycle drivers who would, well, drive us to the foot of the mountain. And we're off.

The initial hour of the trek was easy. The path was rather level, with only a few obstacles like mud and boulders to obstruct me. There is a rule in mountaineering that we were taugh during my scouting days: "Never loose sight of the person in front of you." We actually managed to disobey that rule, and it cost us a few minutes, trying to figure out where our sweepers had gone to. Turns out that they were in the correct, newer path up the mountain, and that we were following an older, longer path.

The new path was a bit of a shortcut. It was also very steep, and it took all my will power to keep up with the rest of the group. It also made me realize how weak my legs and lungs are. A lifetime of reading books, or else balancing books, definitely made me ill-prepared for this trek, which mountaineers consider a "fun climb", but felt like the vestiges of hell to me at that moment.

Mountaineering websites describe Mt Manabu as a two-hour climb. We made it to the camp site in three, nearing four hours. We took our time with numerous pit stops, and I am grateful for those.

They say that reaching the top was exhilerating and rewarding. It was that and more. The view was beautiful, and the advent of the rising fog (or rather, descending clouds) added to the mountain's allure for me.