I have a favourite running route, one that meanders along a river, through several public parks and stretches out almost 30km to a bay. At the 5km mark of this trail, there is a water dispenser to quench the thirst of anyone in need of hydration, be they joggers, riders, dog-walkers or just those enjoying the art of La Passeggiata.
Over the past 6 years running this route, I have religiously stopped at this water dispenser to have a drink, both on the way out (5km mark) and on the way back (5km from home). It has become such a habit that my whole hydration regime on this course hinges around this little water dispenser. Not only that, it is a refreshing pit-stop on-route to a long run, and a reinvigorating one that I look forward to on the way back.
- No water for you!!!
Recently, the unthinkable happened. The water dispenser broke! It was taped off limits like a murder scene – a fitting picture given the shocking and disorienting effect it had on me! I just didn’t feel quite right the rest of the run that day, nor in any of the subsequent runs since (it is still not fixed, despite many agitated calls to the council). It is embarrasing for a grown man to feel such a way over a little water dispenser but, you must understand, I depend on that thing for more than just a drink. Continue reading
Due to a weird psychological disorder, I just love running in the rain. Faced with a torrential downpour outside the window, even the most ardent multi-milers would recoil at the thought of pounding the pavement in that condition. Water drenching down your upper body, mud flicking up your lower body and general discomfort all over the body – these are just some of the consequences of running in the rain, and all that before you even reach the front gate of your house to begin your run!
I, on the other hand, harbour a certain romantic notion about running in the rain. It began with my very first race more than 20 years ago when I was in senior high school. Despite the hellacious weather conditions for the entire 14km journey, I revelled in the mystic atmosphere where everything was hauntingly grey, and every runner was eerily silent – all I could hear was just the monotonous sound of squishing steps working in tandem with the pitter-patter of the falling rain. To cap off the experience, as I approached the finishing line from the top of a hill looking down at an ocean, the sight of the famous Bondi Beach of Sydney covered in ghostly mist just gave me the goose bumps, as well as my second (and third) wind to finish the race strongly. Continue reading
My younger son, C, is almost four years old. A cheeky and loveable rogue, he is rapidly redefining the meaning of the term “Mommy’s Boy”, such is his attachment to his number-one fan a.k.a. my wife.
However, there is one thing that C loves more than his mother. It’s not a fancy toy or a tasty treat. It has nothing to do with any animals or digital gadgets. It is … a shirt! Just a plain, boring white (and often filthy from his drool and spills) cotton shirt – a shirt that not only has no logos or cute robot prints, but has more wear and tears than it has threads. What’s more, he doesn’t even wear the shirt, as it is my wife’s old shirt from the days of B.C. (Before Children). It was given to C soon after he turned one, as a sort of comfort blanket to help him settle during sleeps. Continue reading
Running is very personal to me. I don’t run to win races, I don’t run to beat my PB (although I’m ecstatic whenever I do), and I certainly don’t run to keep up appearances. To be brutally honest, I don’t even run for health and fitness reasons.
I run because I love it. Admittedly, the hobby first began 6 years ago as an escape from the demands of parenthood. However, that hobby has now become a love affair which I most certainly will continue to covet, even after my children have long left the nest. Continue reading
I have just spent the past two weeks caring for my two boys (aged 6 and almost 4) over the elder’s school holidays. I can honestly say there was nothing “holi-” about the period, and the “-days” certainly seemed to stretch way beyond the normal 24-hour cycle.
Actually, I am not being fair to the two princes. The first week was, in fact, quite enjoyable, doing things they were not allowed to do by their mother (eg watching TV in the afternoon), going to places frowned upon by their teachers (eg amusement parlours, toy shops), and eating stuff all mothers and teachers guzzle down themselves but preach moderation to their underlings (eg donuts, ice cream, chocolate). Continue reading