Gutierrez: How many rounds can you make?

“ISA pa.”

He could see her face glistening with beads of sweat running from her head down to her neck. It was not a question. It was not even a polite request. It was an order from her to him - an unwritten memo delivered verbally in an authoritative manner with a commandant’s tone. “Isa pa?” his voice quivers, pleading to her with a question. Beat, he bends forward to catch his breath. Still panting and now breathing excessively through his mouth, he negotiates, “Time pers! Pagod na ako. Labs, payb minutes…Payb minutes!” She stares at him then teases, “Ang hina naman ng mga tuhod mo.”

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The challenge came in six words. With his face still red with blood pumping rapidly through his veins and arteries, with his lips thinning with self-conscious temper and with his ego staggering to gain composure… he accepts the challenge. He straightens up, wipes the sweat from his forehead and leaps forward to make the first lead. Jogging around the Baguio Athletic Bowl has never been this straining. The couple jogged on for another five rounds.

How many rounds can you make?

Sometimes it takes you days, even weeks, before you meet halfway. An argument never ends unless one party bows down or both parties decide to lose a little something. But before reaching an agreement of whatever form, it will take painstaking rounds of psychological and sometimes even physical torture. Are you really accepting the challenge or are you submitting to the demands?

She jumps ahead of him. Always competitive, she runs out and away from the Athletic Bowl and into the sidewalks of Burnham Park. He follows her. She is always ahead of him in different ways – bigger salary, higher promotions, more substantial plans and strategic ways of achieving them. Always a pleaser of his wife, he lets her gain speed. He maintains a step behind her leaps – a non-permanent job so he could move with her around Luzon as she accepts different assignments in different provinces, a “regular stint” as her driver who takes her to her endless meetings and other appointments, a pending decision of taking over the family business in his home province.

Life is never black and white. It is not always in primary colors. We are always shades in between. Pastel. Ever-changing pastel. You do not always get what you want. But if you do, you always want more. Or when you get it, you always want something else. It is the same feeling that you get when the waiter delivers your order. The meal in the next table always seems a lot more appetizing than yours. So in the end, you gather your extra change, order what the next table is having and end up eating a meal for two and spending your wagwag money. Or you could just make do with what you have.

She starts running around the paved walks around Burnham Lake, making a mental count of the white panaflex light poles. He is always behind, she thinks. She pushes him by running past him. She gains more speed. It does not work. The gap becomes wider. “Tulungan mo naman ako.” She remembers asking him before he went out to find a job a few years ago. This happened a few months before their money troubles ended when she found a very empowering position in a company full of empowered women.

He sees her ahead of him, becoming smaller and smaller, slipping further away as she runs faster. “Ang tawag nila sa akin, dakilang alalay mo.” These words echo in his thoughts as he lands each step on the morning dew-soaked concrete around the lake. How can you let her do this? His mother asked him once. He replied, “Ma, mahal ko eh.” The conversation ended with a disappointed look from both his parents. He was there, watching, when she received her first award. He was there, proud among the crowd as she received her fifth and most recent. “Pare, hindi ba dapat katabi mo siya nung tinanggap niya ‘yung award?” His drinking buddies joked unconsciously but with a lasting bite.

After three rounds around the lake, she found him resting on a park bench. “Hindi ko kaya ang ginagawa mo,” he said, “pero binantayan kita.” She remained on her feet and tried to look away from him. “Mami-miss ko ito,” he tells her without looking at each other. She remains standing, unperturbed. Facing the biking area, she focuses on the middle-aged couple jogging side by side – their steps in sync with each other. This could have been us, she thinks. He stands up and quietly walks away. She nervously looks at her watch and decides to run one more round.

Finding the perfect rhythm that will make each step in sync with each other is never easy. Sometimes, it does not even happen at all. The challenge was set, and the winner has been named. This was never about jogging and early morning exercise. This is about reading between the lines. Leading does not always mean you are winning. Sometimes, you have to slow down and wait. After all, the person you are waiting for is sometimes the same reason why you are running.

At the office, she opens two letters that came in the mail a few minutes ago. Inside the first letter that she opened, the company logo comes along with the information that she is going on her sixth award. This confirms the advance information that she received from her boss a few days ago. She stands up and walks toward the window. She opens the second letter and eases out the brochure featuring the latest dress designed by the sender – the same dress she plans to wear for the awarding ceremony. The dress was not in black. It was not in white. It was also not in strong primary colors.

Pastel came in the mail today.

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