Weeks ago, our eldest son Jaime told me he had a bouldering competition at Flowstate Gym in Pampanga. That Saturday, I drove there with Ingrid and Jaime’s girlfriend. We left the house around 9:30 in the morning. Just before leaving, Jaime mentioned that he barely slept the night before. He had a stomach ache, felt feverish, and had taken paracetamol earlier that morning.

Traffic was light, typical of a Saturday. Before heading north, we stopped at the Petron Starbucks for coffee and a quick meal. As we were about to enter, I saw my cousin Jigs preparing for his shift after his break. The café was crowded and the line stretched long — exactly what one expects from a busy roadside Starbucks on a weekend.

After the quick stop, we made another side quest at Lakeshore so Jaime could buy medicine. By then it was already 11:40. Registration was at 12:20, and the venue was still around thirty minutes away. We got back on the road and arrived just in time. Jaime got off first while we searched for parking.

Inside the gym, the place was packed with climbers, friends, and families. In between competitions, organizers were busy fixing and cleaning the walls. There was even this little girl, less than 10 years old, who was helping dust the holds. A few minutes later, the elite category was called and competitors lined up before the opening problem. They looked like people lining up for the cashier as they hold their chalk bags and water bottles. When Jaime’s turn came, I took out my camera, looked for the best angle and started shooting.

He moved carefully from hold to hold until he reached the top. Some problems he completed cleanly, others he missed. There was one red route he attempted three times and failed three times. It was not necessarily beyond his ability — he had climbed harder problems before — but competition changes things. Excitement and anxiety enter the body together. Timing changes. Confidence changes. Rhythm changes.

He did not finish last. In fact, he probably could have climbed higher in the rankings had he trusted himself more. But it is difficult to fault someone competing while not feeling his best.

Bouldering culture itself was interesting to observe. Climbers greet each other with a thumb handshake. Instead of the usual “Let’s go!” or “Come on!”, people shouted “Alez!” and “Ganbare!” whenever someone was on the wall. The atmosphere felt less hostile than many competitive sports. Even opponents encouraged each other mid-climb.

The competition ended around 2:20 in the afternoon. Had Jaime advanced to the finals, we would have stayed longer. Instead, we drove to Tarlac to meet my cousins. It was a short one hour drive from Pampanga to Tarlac. I swear that it felt farther before.

We ate at a place called Trattoria Atrove, an Italian restaurant in Tarlac City. A statue of Venus de Milo greeted guests near the entrance. The place was dimly lit, with a bar and a billiard table tucked into one side of the restaurant. We waited a few minutes before my cousins arrived.

The pasta was surprisingly good — probably an 8.5 out of 10 — though the food was secondary to the conversations. We were there more for stories, laughter, updates, and the familiar rhythm that relatives fall back into no matter how much time has passed.

We left around 5:45 in the evening just as heavy rain began pouring over the highway. Thankfully, there was no flooding along NLEX or Skyway. We arrived back in San Juan around 8:20, still early enough before Shana’s 9 p.m. curfew, so we ended the night with a quick dessert and drink nearby.

It was one of those long days that never felt rushed. A competition in Pampanga, coffee stops, medicine runs, relatives in Tarlac, rain on the expressway, dessert before going home. There is nothing extraordinary on paper, yet somehow full when stitched together.