My Sixth Star

“Why are you spreading fake propaganda? What about the hostages?”

“What about them? All hostages should be set free! But that doesn’t justify the genocide!”

“Then they shouldn’t have taken hostages!”

“Dude, talk to me at the finish line and let’s debate all you want!”

It was an unusual conversation with a fellow runner while running a marathon. But these are unusual times.

Last Sunday was Sydney’s inaugural world major race, and I was wearing a singlet in the Palestinian flag colors that says “FREE PALESTINE” in front and “STOP THE GENOCIDE” at the back. I didn’t want to court trouble, but weeks of troubled sleep had led to my choice of outfit.

I have been busy at work. But aside from the usual heavy workload, my social media feeds had been algorithmically skewed to news, clips, and images of the genocide happening in Gaza. So much anger and helplessness had welled up that it didn’t seem to make any sense to travel to another country just to run another marathon. To concern myself with such a “trivial” pursuit in the face of all the strife seemed, to me, atrocious.

Despite joining races as much as I could during weekends, this training block was a record low for me in terms of mileage. The thought of another race cancellation did occur but unlike the other races I had signed up for and canceled or deferred, this one carried extra cost because I registered through a marathon tours package.

Then, weeks before, I saw clips of Australian Prime Minister Albanese decrying Israel’s continuing attacks in Gaza. Australians flooded the Sydney streets in record number to protest the genocide.

Such show of indignation was heartening at a time when it seemed like the rest of the world was turning a blind eye and a deaf ear on the Palestinian people’s suffering.

In Manila, I have heard nothing more than a whimper of protest. Gabor Maté had a term for it — moral injury — which refers to that forlorn feeling when one is unable to do something about a situation. I felt it everyday.

All of a sudden I wanted to go and be among the protesters. It was then that it hit me, I can run the marathon and protest at the same time. I contacted PSI Sports and asked if they could customize the singlet for me and, thankfully, they said yes.

The Sydney marathon was the first race where I didn’t focus on any goal time. Am lucky that the years of training with my coach had provided me with a solid base such that running 42K on any given day was doable. But that Sunday, I was dialed in, not on my pace, but on how, as one runner, I can make my voice heard.

Along the route, there were spectators and runners who shouted “Free Palestine!” when they saw me.

Some said words of encouragement, tapped me on the shoulder and fist bumped me. I was overjoyed when another runner went to me towards the finish line and she was carrying a small banner in support of Gaza.

Of course, there was that one guy who openly disagreed but I certainly made sure he heard a mouthful before I ran past him.

Sydney Marathon is done and dusted and it would be etched in my memory for many reasons: I ran it alongside my best friend, saw the GOAT (greatest of all time) Eliud Kipchoge along the race route, ran from the Harbour bridge to the Sydney Opera House with the most enthusiastic crowd, and finally got my sixth World Majors star.

But most of all, I finally felt that sense of solidarity from other people who, like me, must have been suffering from moral injury.