The Healing Power of Running

Conquering Asthma: My Unexpected Victory Through Running

Growing up, bronchial asthma was a constant shadow. My childhood was defined by limitations: no vigorous play, careful avoidance of dust, and a strict curfew from the intense midday sun. I couldn't run or lift heavy objects. My parents, desperate for a cure, even resorted to unconventional remedies like grilled flying lizards, turtles, raw eggs, and visits to faith healers. None of it made a difference.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The Race That Changed Everything

At 16, a freshman in college, I found myself drawn to an athletic event – something I'd always been forbidden to do. The thought filled me with both excitement and dread. Without the relentless encouragement of my classmates and the irresistible lure of an exemption from my PE midterm, I never would have dared. Looking at my small frame, I half-expected to be the first one in the ambulance.

We packed into PMA (Philippine Military Academy) buses, heading from Burnham Park down to Tuba, Benguet. The starting line was far beyond the famous Lion's Head on Kennon Road. The route itself was daunting: only the first 100 meters were flat; the rest was a relentless, winding uphill climb back to Burnham Park. Even now, I can't imagine running that course again.

Pushing Through the Pain

The starting gun fired, and within meters, my lungs began to seize, my breath rattling with that familiar cat-like wheeze. But my family's pride ran deep, and surrendering wasn't an option. The thought of collapsing, being rushed to the ambulance, and ending up in a hospital we couldn't afford fueled my determination.

So I kept going, running, walking, and even crawling up every sharp curve. I prayed desperately that nothing bad would happen. Midway through the race, I was still gasping for air, forcing my feet to maintain a steady pace. My vision blurred, my legs screamed in protest, and my breathing was far more labored than anyone else's. I felt like I was dying, but I held on, praying and fighting.

People at water stations shouted encouragement: "Keep moving... keep running... don't stop!". At the same time, I heard other runners releasing hard coughs followed by loud exhalations. I tried it too, hoping to ease the strain in my chest. And to my surprise, it worked! A few more hard cough-exhale combo brought up phlegm, providing a small but significant relief.

Answering Prayers and Finding Healing

In that moment of slight relief, I knew my prayer had been answered. That answer, that newfound ability to push through, has stayed with me. Since that race, I haven't experienced the debilitating pain and hardship of an asthma attack.

Seeing the "Welcome to Baguio City" archway at Camp 8 reignited my adrenaline. The road was still uphill, but I found a burst of speed and maintained it through Kisad Road, towards Burnham Park, and finally across the finish line. To my astonishment, I had outpaced my classmates – taller, seemingly healthier individuals without asthma – who had initially convinced me to join.

It was an incredible feeling, a profound accomplishment. After seven days of rest, I started jogging 10 kilometers every morning. This became my daily ritual for three years, and I still join local running events in Baguio whenever I can afford the registration fee.

This event, which almost took my life, ultimately gave me something far greater: full healing from my asthma.

Event: 1st Baguio Zigzag Run
When: Aug. 31, 1997.
Where: Kennon Rd., Tuba, Benguet to Burnham Park, Baguio City
Distance: 10 km.
Personal Time: 02:35:25
Ranking: 93rd