I do it all the time!
A couple of days ago, I was filling out an online entry form for a fun run to be held in September this year. Name, gender, date of birth, address, who should we call if you heart stops beating or you trip over and crack your head wide open.Frustratingly, I kept on getting stuck on one question, one that asks to what age group do I belong. I must have clicked on the 30-39 bracket 4 or 5 times. Each time, the god-damned website returned with the message: “Please check your answer before proceeding to the next question“.
Just before I was about to fire off an irate email to the race organisers, telling them in no uncertain terms to fix their bug-ridden online entry form, I decided to read the question one more time, and this time with care. And the words were:
Click on the age bracket you will belong to, at the time of this race (my emphasis).
Hero now, but for how long?
Despite the endless mischief they get up to, and the lack of any that my wife and I are able to get into because of them, I find my two boys just so much fun to be with right now.
They have been sleeping through most nights for the past couple of years – something we never thought would happen during their early days, when the elder one used to wake up 3-4 times every night due to eczema, while the younger one used to cry 3-4 hours every night before he fell asleep. Now aged 6 and 4, respectively, L and C not only sleep well but also cherish the pre-bedtime ritual of reading, talking and interrogating their ignorant father about all the mysteries of the world (“Who first found God?“, “Why do you run?“). And because they enjoy it so much, so do I, especially as it is often the only time of the day I get a chance to “talk” to them, as oppose to yell at them or plead with them - my two standard modes of communicating with these two cheeky rascals. Continue reading
“THOMAS! Stop splashing others in the face or we’re going straight home!” thundered a forty-something man at his son whose age was probably about a tenth of his father’s.
- We all feel like that sometimes!
Instead of taking heed of the threat, however, the kid immediately proceeded to intensify his splashing on all the other children around him in the swimming pool. Not only that, but he started snatching their floating paraphernalia (foam noodles, kicking boards) and chucking them all over the place.
“RIGHT, THOMAS, YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, AND ALSO SAY SORRY TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS!” screamed his father from poolside.
I’m not sure whether any of the other children were his friends but none of them appeared thrilled that this Thomas boy blatantly ignored his father and refused to get out of the pool. Certainly, my younger son, C, was no friend of Thomas, having had his little goggles repeatedly fogged up by unwanted splashing in his direction. Continue reading
Running, parenting – all for love
I have a marathon next month in Canberra, the capital city of Australia with a population of about one-tenth of Sydney – perfect for holding a 42.2km race without the need to disturb any traffic or anyone.
In preparation for this event (my second attempt at the distance), I decided to go for a long 24km run this afternoon. Not nearly enough but neither is the availability of time, what with my weekend bathing duties with the kids and the witching hour that is dinner.
At the risk of sounding self-congratulatory, it is amazing how far I have come though. If someone had told me in 2006 when I picked up running again, that I would reach a stage where 24km of non-stop pounding of the pavement and the heart will become as nonchalant a task as cleaning the car, I would have laughed at his face. I still remember the enormous struggle I had just to run 4km in those early days, and suffering the next morning as if I had done 40.
My daddy’s not this bad!
Hi everyone, my name is C and I am Jogging Dad’s younger 4 year-old son. I just found out that my big 6 year-old brother, L, somehow hacked into daddy’s blog back in December last year and wrote up some gibberish.
“NOT FAIR! How come L gets to write on your blog and not me?” was my immediate bottom-lipped whinge to daddy upon this discovery.
He tried to calmed me down by offering me a jelly-snake (a bribe which I gladly accepted), while denying ever letting L get anywhere near his blog (a lie which I brusquely rejected). After swallowing the jelly-snake, I pouted and complained some more about the injustice of it all, at which point daddy suddenly put on his pair of joggers and rushed out the door for a run. Continue reading