No, I’m not talking about the 2008 stylish Guy Ritchie film about the London underworld — RocknRolla — with its swagger, grit, and full-throttle energy. 

I’m talking about the Rock ’n’ Roll race franchise, held yearly in Manila around this time. 

There was a time when interest was so intense that hotels near the start line would sell out months in advance that you had to book early or sleep far. This year, I snagged a last-minute room at the hotel right beside the start line — and it still wasn’t full. A portent of things to come?

The Rock ’n’ Roll marathon series began in 1988 in San Diego, co-founded by former Olympian Steve Scott. The idea was revolutionary: Reframe marathons from pure endurance tests into “experiential events.” 

Instead of sterile road races, runners would be treated to music, spectacle, and destination-worthy courses. The concept took off across major US cities in the early 2000s and eventually overseas. It wasn’t just a race — it was a show.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve been doing this race almost every year since it launched in Manila, but, unfortunately, the shine has worn off.

My best friend and I ran the 21K — two loops from Kilometer 0 at the Luneta Park, through Intramuros and its cobblestone streets, then back along Roxas Boulevard toward Manila Hotel. And we ended… bored. Were hoping the hefty price tag of almost 4K for the registration would at least deliver an equivalent amount of razzle and dazzle not a run of the mill race.  

Yes, there was a rock concert at the finish line and loud music at the start, but the rest? Far from what one would call an “experiential event.” For veterans of this race, there’s now very little incentive to sign up again unless organizers rethink the route to highlight other parts of Metro Manila, inject real experience into the experiential promise, and — bare minimum — fix hydration.

The Rock ’n’ Roll Manila seems to have forgotten what made the brand worth lacing up for in the first place. 

Rock ’n’ Roll races were built on spectacle: Music on course, bursts of energy, surprise, a sense of being part of something bigger than the usual out-and-back sweat fest. This year offered none of that. 

The route felt like a rerun on low volume. Same roads. Same turns. No narrative arc. No reinvention of the city. It was less “Rock ’n’ Roll” and more like a straight-to-Netflix sequel.

Hydration, the most basic covenant between organizer and runner, was where things really unraveled. Stations served mostly lukewarm water — no ice. In Manila’s humidity, this was simply inconsiderate.

The finish line, supposedly the moment of payoff, was the final disappointment. 

After running for hours, you expect a celebration, at least a sense of reward. Instead you get a canned tuna over rice. It felt less like a victory meal and more like a reminder that you still had weekend chores waiting at home.

The gap between the brand and the execution was the sharpest sting. Rock ’n’ Roll built its reputation on differentiation and delight. The Manila edition offered the same old stuff, with way less flair.  Runners paid premium registration fee — but got taken for granted.

Runners will continue running in Manila. The city deserves good races, and the community always shows up. But unless this event remembers its own origin story, it risks becoming just another checkbox on the race calendar.

And that’s the tragedy: A race series founded on music, movement, and momentum now in danger of fading out quietly (sincerely hoping not!). 

Hopefully next year, the organizers will again give us the swagger and electricity of a true RocknRolla.