Talyo & Friends

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔 🌄🏃‍♂️

Talyo & Friends heads to the rugged mountains of Minglanilla this May 9–10, 2026 for another unforgettable trail challenge.

From the fast-paced 15K to the demanding 50K ultra category, the team is ready to take on steep climbs, technical paths, and the tough terrain of South Cebu—one stride at a time. More than a race, it’s a weekend of endurance, adventure, and brotherhood on the mountains.

See you on the trails, Minglanilla — powered by RICEISNICErunning

Clean up drives, posting trash bags on trails is not enough. Closing the trails for rehabilitation and let the nature heal is the best approach. We need to keep it safe before it’s too late.

Spartan Trail Should Be Closed.

Or at the very least, regulated.

I've published 2 pieces about this trail before: Three Photos, same spot, different years. A place once quiet and alive has slowly become something else. A marketplace. A backdrop for content. A place people pass through without really being there.

I've made my peace with trails getting popular. Movement is good. Fresh air is good. People discovering the outdoors... all good. Because, I genuinely believe the trails are for everyone.

On a recent hike, trail was overcrowded. Not busy but overcrowded! And trash was everywhere. Plastic bottles, wrappers, the usual. Those memes showing new hikers with AquaFlasks weren't wrong after all, those were better than the single-use plastic bottles. What broke me wasn't just the trash though, it was the trash bags.

The local community, the people who live there, whose homes line the trail, whose backyards we are all borrowing placed the trash bags along the route. Multiple bags in a single spot. Right there. Unmissable.

And yet, people still left their garbage on the ground. Sigh.

That's not ignorance. Ignorance—you can fix with education. That's indifference. And indifference is a different problem entirely.

Here's the thing though, I won't pretend it's just the visitors. Sometimes the locals neglect it too, checkout Kilat (watersource), it's not the hikers that left the shampoo and soap sachets. The trail brings people, people bring money, and somewhere in that exchange, everyone gets a little blind to what's slowly being lost. It's not a clean story of outsiders are bad, locals are good. It's messier than that.

Which is exactly why it needs regulation and not just a reminder to pack out your trash.

Because polite reminders aren't working. Trash bags aren't working. Good intentions aren't working. Clean-as-you-go are just words in a cardboard. What's needed now is structure. Limits. Regulations. And God-I-Hope-Not permits. Give the trail a chance to breathe. This trail is part of the larger CCPL (Central Cebu Protected Landscape), a watershed for heaven's sake.

I still want people to experience that trail. I want my children to stand where I once stood and feel what I felt the first time. But at the rate things are going, there won't be much left to feel.

Closing it temporarily, or regulating access, isn't gatekeeping. It isn't elitism. It's the responsible move. It's what you do when you love something enough to protect it, even from the people who love it.

Especially from the people who love it.

More hikers means more love for the outdoors— and more responsibility too. Lets hike mindfully, leave no trace, and protect nature as one community. Help preserve these places for the next adventurers. Together, we can keep the trails wild and wonderful.

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓, 𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍? 🤔

Cebu’s fitness lifestyle is not slowing down, it is simply evolving. While fun runs still fill up fast and weekend jogs remain part of city life, more Cebuanos are now looking beyond the pavement. The question is no longer which is better, but why more people are adding mountains to their routine. Read on to see how this growing shift is reshaping Cebu’s active lifestyle.

👉 READ MORE: https://sugbo.ph/2026/running-era-over-why-hiking-is-rising-in-cebu/

📈For advertising inquiries, message us on Facebook at m.me/SugboPH/

I was certain I was going to die.

Too dramatic? Hehe. For real, it was somewhere in Argao, midday, summer solstice, in the middle of our Cebu Highlands Trail cross-country hike, with a heavy pack, on white newly-paved concrete road that's reflecting the bright summer sunlight back into our eyes, a long uphill road. I was certain I was going to pass out or collapse or even die. I was just waiting for it to happen.

I was walking head down, the sun was just right above me, I dare not look ahead and see the endless uphill road, looking up will forfeit my will to live, so looking down was the right move at that moment. But I had to look, I just have to know where I was, or how long do I have to endure; I took a glimpse and saw a tiny "sari-sari store". I stopped trying to solve the whole problem. I stopped thinking of when will it end. I just told myself:

"Just get there. Get to that store and you will live."

That was the entire plan. And it worked.

There's something about endurance sports or activities that mimics life so closely that it's almost unfair. You know it's going to be hard before you start. You plan for it, prepare, and show up anyway. And somewhere in the suffering you start asking questions only suffering can unlock.

Will I finish? What happens if I don't? Who am I when there's nothing left?

Then it becomes a mirror. And what it shows you isn't always what you expect. It doesn't show you how strong you are, or how prepared, or how disciplined. It shows you something simpler and more important than all of that.

That you're still here. Alive.

It's not over yet. The suffering itself is proof. You are alive. You are moving. And as long as it hurts, you have not quit. Most people see pain as a signal to stop. I learned to see it differently. Pain means I'm still in it. Pain means there's still a race to finish.

I noticed that the people most comfortable in that suffering didn't grow up comfortable. I grew up in a middle-class household. Enough to get by, not enough to stop worrying. And somewhere in that, without anyone teaching it formally, I learned that hard things are just... things. You get through them. Move on. Next please.

So 35km in a marathon, or in the middle of a forest, during a trail race, when everything hurts, something in me just shrugs it off and says, "yeah we've been here before.”

That's what endurance sports reveals in you, that suffering is temporary, that hard things end, and that you are more capable than you think.

Not the medal. Not the Strava kudos. Just the quiet knowledge, earned one hard kilometer at a time, that you can do hard things.

Because you always had to.





Photo credits: Silverio Jr Tolitol Tolits

There was a time when the mountains taught us silence before anything else.

Back then, trails were shared in whispers—not posted for the world to see, but passed carefully from one soul to another. “Leave No Trace” wasn’t just a principle—it was a promise. You earned your place on the trail through respect, preparation, and responsibility. Open invites were rare, and only trusted circles or legitimate events brought people together. Not to “see” nature—but to understand it.

Now, everything feels different.

Trails are broadcasted. Invitations are open to anyone, even strangers whose readiness—physically or mentally—remains unknown. Some lead without knowing the basics: no mountaineering skills, no emergency response knowledge, no sense of stewardship. And the mountains… they carry the weight of that shift.

We say we want everyone to experience nature—but at what cost?

Because the truth is, nature is not hurting from being unseen.
It is hurting from being misunderstood.

Everyone is welcome. But not everyone is ready.

And maybe that’s what we need to bring back—not exclusivity, but responsibility. Not just access, but awareness. Not just presence, but purpose.

Be responsible. Act accordingly. Because if we continue to take without understanding, one day the very nature we seek may no longer be ours to experience—but only something we once had.

-CTTO of the images attached.

Congratulations to all the finishers of the Ultra Penitence 60km Run 2026. Covering that distance is no small feat—it takes grit, discipline, and a spirit that refuses to quit.

Special shoutout to Talyo & Friends for an incredible performance—every single one of you crossed the finish line. No DNFs, just pure determination. That’s what true strength looks like.

Jethro, Nats, Frances, Mecy Galindo, Angelo, Yuichi and Jeff who crossed the finish line proving their determination and passion in running. Last but not the least, biggest shoutout to our support vehicle Tito Opling for aiding us throughout the run.

“Running for penitence is not about punishment, but about purification—each step a prayer, each mile a quiet surrender of the self.”
Respect to every runner who showed up, pushed through, and finished. 🏃‍♂️🔥

Credits to: pics for the photos

Shirt powered by: RICEISNICErunning

Everyone is welcome, but not everyone deserves to be there.

I read somewhere: Not everyone should be hiking mountains.

Didn't sit right with me.
I've always believed the trails were for everyone.
No one really owns them.

I found these places the same way most people do, just looking for something quieter than where I came from.

So who am I to say who gets to be there?

But the longer I stay on the trail, the harder it is to ignore, that there's some truth in that line. Not everyone shows up the same way.

I didn't just figure things out on my own. Someone showed me. What to do. What not to do. How to leave the place the way I found it. Somewhere along the way, that part feels... missing.

I've seen what happens when a trail gets too popular.

Napo-to-Babag used to be full. Hikers. Runners. People discovering it for the first time. Then it peaked. Now it's quiet again. Almost forgotten. Maybe this is how it goes now. But whatever gets left behind doesn't just disappear the same way. A candy wrapper on the trail, music echoing where it used to be quiet, that's the part I can't ignore.

Because I still want people, my children, to see these places. To feel what I felt the first time I stood there. But I've also seen how easily that turns into carelessness. The mountains were never mine to begin with. But that doesn't mean I get to treat them carelessly.

Maybe the mountains are for everyone.
I'm just not sure everyone knows how to show up yet.