Training Climb Jottings (3/3): Bakun – Kibungan (or, We Are OK / 10,000 feelings)

The only reason I’m able to write today is this: I’m sick. After a week and a half of continuous binge drinking, training, and pretending I’m indestructible, my body finally gave in, and here I am trying to whack the damn thing back to shape–with antibiotics, lemon water, turmeric, and, well, more running and ramp training. WTF.

The BMC season is over and we are officially inductees, which means: 1. we’ll get a dog tag (ding ding!), 2. we’ll have to pay the membership fee soon (Diane Hidalgo’s 2016 financial crisis never ends–after three flight bookings for Q4, home furnishing, and a major car accident, I am as broke as an old Russian whore who quotes Hegel), 3. there’s one more super-climb to be done next week and it’s supposed to be hard. Like nakakalaglag-ng-matres hard. I don’t know what it will do to us, or do to me, but for sure people will end up drunk.


Going back about 8 weeks ago, we did our last training climb: a Bakun – Kibungan traverse via Mts. Kabunian and Tagpew. Easily two of the most beautiful mountains I’ve been to (again, haven’t been to a lot). The photos would tell it all. Props to GL Troy Espiritu and Derek Sta. Ana for taking these shots while the rain and the wind pounded us to exhaustion.




  • Truth #1: I wanted to see more of these mountains, but the rain gods acted like freaking Duterte apologists. They just won’t stop.
  • Truth #2: I’m a goddamn lesbian and under normal circumstances, wet is (or should be) good. But son of fucking Elvis, three wet days is torture–it’s the bad kind of wet that deprives you of sleep, makes you toss and turn, shiver. For the first time since June 2015, that toasty REI sleeping bag failed to work. Wet, cold, and single. Putragis nemen!
  • Truth #3: All things resolved by vodka. *Bibbo dance* Lol.



TC3 coincided with a lot of BMC and personal checkpoints. Each kilometer walked is equivalent to the number of words I held back since that day of October of 2015 (they’re not a lot); each marked point equivalent to every hangup dropped, never to be retrieved. You go, Green Boots.

Who knows, this could be a really nice set-up for better things. Or another heartbreak.




It was only a couple of days ago that I was able to go back to my desk and look closely at all the things I chose to ignore, not just in the walwal  x sick days, but in the last three or four months: a pending visa application, a business permit application, a kilometric personal e-mail backlog, 22 (22!!!) unread books, my dogs, my non-mountaineer friends, the last three episodes of How to Get Away with Murder Season 2.

What have I done.

I’m on a slow, slow drift back to ‘normalcy.’ I am neck-deep in feels and to-dos. Despite that, I wouldn’t trade that time I spent on the course for anything.

I say this with a little bit of hope, a little bit of doubt: all things will expire. I will spend the 4th of November in Samal and just be satisfied at how some things would pan out.



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