Running on fumes

Tough battles await Team Philippines in the 20th Asian Games. But more than the challenges from powerhouse rivals from China, Japan and Korea, Filipino athletes are staring at a bigger, more terrifying opponent: an empty tank.

The global oil crisis is no longer a distant economic forecast. It is now at the doorstep of every Filipino athlete shooting for glory in the prestigious continental meet that will be held in Nagoya starting 19 September.

With the Strait of Hormuz — the main artery where 20 percent of global oil shipments pass — shut by the escalating military tensions between the United States-Israel alliance and Iran, the struggle to make ends meet just to buy a liter of gasoline has hit the Filipinos like a rabbit punch.

And the national athletes are not spared.

Let’s be honest: in a high-stakes arena like the Asian Games, showing up prepared is the norm. Elite performance requires constant movement, specialized nutrition and international exposure. But with diesel and gasoline prices hitting unprecedented ceilings in early 2026, the Philippine sports machine is starting to sputter.

The Philippine Sports Commission and the Philippine Olympic Committee are now facing a grim reality: the budget originally earmarked to send a solid team to Nagoya is being siphoned off by transport surcharges and ballooning utility hikes.

The most immediate casualty is international exposure. We’ve seen this script before, and we’re seeing it again. For disciplines like boxing, weightlifting and gymnastics — sports where we have legitimate chances of winning — training in a vacuum is a recipe for disaster. Our pugs need to trade blows with the world’s best boxers and our weightlifters and gymnasts must train under the watchful eyes of international coaches.

However, with aviation fuel surcharges reaching a level of insanity, the cost of a single round-trip ticket for a national delegation has nearly doubled. If the funds aren’t there, international exposure becomes a luxury we can no longer afford, leaving our bets at a massive disadvantage against better-funded rivals, whose governments have made better preparations for this crisis.

Back home, ordinary athletes are also feeling the squeeze.

We must remember that not all members of the national pool are housed in dormitories. Most of them live on the fringes of Metro Manila, commuting daily to the Rizal Memorial Sports Complex or the Philsports compound to attend trainings and competitions.

When a jeepney fare hike hits, or a ride-sharing app doubles its rate, it eats directly into their meager allowance. Every peso spent on a commute is a peso stolen from the high-protein diet and supplements required for peak performance. You cannot ask an athlete to train like a world-beater on a budget that barely covers a basic meal.

Also, the operational costs of our facilities are ballooning. Maintaining an Olympic-size pool or the climate control of a gymnastics hall requires immense power — much of which is tied to the volatile cost of energy. If the PSC is forced to divert its war chest to keep the lights on, it means there will be fewer sets of new equipment, fewer physical therapists and fewer coaches on the payroll.

What we need now is a dedicated logistical pipeline for our Asian Games-bound athletes and coaches. It could be in the form of vouchers for meals, transportation, or fuel. The important thing is for the government to make its presence felt for Filipino athletes in this time of global crisis.

The Filipino spirit is resilient, yes. But resilience alone cannot carry us to victory. If we want our athletes to perform at an elite level, we must make sure that they aren’t left stranded at the starting line of a global crisis they cannot control.

The clock is ticking and the Asian Games are drawing near. It’s time to fill the tank before our quest for glory runs out of gas.