Category Archives: reflections

Body over mind

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There is this exercise concept called “Listening to Your Body“.

In technical terms, I think it means one should go easy on exercising whenever he feels the body needs a little break. That way, no serious damage is inflicted physically and no angst is endured mentally. And, believe me, I’m in wholehearted agreement with this principle, what with foolish injuries sustained from running half-marathons while nursing sore knees, to lifting weights while nursing a sore back.

Listening to your body or to what you wanna hear?
Listening to your body or to what you wanna hear?

However, I do at times abuse this “Listening to Your Body” philosophy. I invoke it whenever the temperature is too low to wake up early and hit the gym, or the stress too high to get off my backside and hit the pavement.

That’s right. Despite my tremendous passion for running, there ARE occasions when even I, the Jogging Dad, want to skip a run, all in the name of “Listening to Your Body“. The truth of the matter, I hate to admit, is that it is invariably just an excuse. A very good excuse, mind you, one with a ring of Confucian legitimacy to it and virtually impervious to criticism. But it is still just an excuse, at the end of the day, to hide the fact that I just feel too lazy to go for a run.

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Two wheels good, two legs better

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I was cleaning my little shed in the backyard the other day, for no other reason than to show my two boys that: (1) this is what a man does on weekends in suburbia when there’s no sports on TV; and (2) to justify to their mommy a planned long run later in the afternoon, daddy has to be seen to be doing some quid pro quo.

Which do you prefer? Or would you rather cakes v donuts?
Which do you prefer? Or would you rather cakes v donuts?

Since we moved to this house over 2 years ago, I have had some big plans for this little shed, a.k.a. The Men’s Land. I have a vision of it furnished with a 70-inch flatscreen SmartTV (apparently Smart means I can surf the ‘net on the thing), a bar-fridge filled with all kinds of exotic beverages (exotic = alcoholic), and a pool table which transforms into a poker one at night (with billiard pockets turning into chip holders) – all this perfectly nestled in reverse-cycle air-conditioned comfort. A true all-season sanctuary to which me and my fellow middle-aged guy friends can periodically retreat and be … well … men. Continue reading →

Indelible Melodies

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My elder six year-old son, L, is growing like a weed. These days, I’m frequently gob-smacked by how tall and big he is. Not only that, but L is genuinely developing into a small man.

Jack, how do you put your own kids to sleep?
Jack, how do you put your own kids to sleep?

He picks up dead bugs around the house, while calming his hysterical mother who always somehow finds a table to climb onto when these creepy crawlies are about. He helps me rake leaves in the backyard and never fails to demand fair compensation for services rendered. He is capable of holding a serious conversation with me about any number of topics (especially ones involving small ninja figurines), but mature beyond his age not to embarrass me when I can’t answer his probing questions or match his counter-arguments.

The transformation naturally leads me to reminisce about the days when he was small enough for me to cradle and babyish enough for me to cuddle. Unfortunately, it also brings back memories of some of worst times of parenthood, when L struggled with sleeping. You see, for the first two or so years of his life, L would wake up at least 6-8 times a night, unable to settle himself back to nap, and completely drive my wife and I to the very brink of insanity. It didn’t help that L had an eczema problem which made him scratch furiously on most nights and scream from fatigue on most days.

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