I stared at my runners ... still soaked from yesterday’s sweat, I hesitated putting them on. The body is exhausted … every fibre of every muscle screaming for some much needed R & R. The mind’s utterly chaotic. Countless thoughts zig-zagging in a crazy frenzy ... none of em’ pleasant.
I strapped on what used to be a pair of lightning blue NB ... now mostly grey from months of unwashed dirt, dust and perspiration. By the time I double knotted the laces, my fresh pair of socks had already started to soak up that putrid dampness. Oh how I despise summertime in the desert.
It has been hours since the moon was peaking high amongst the clouds and yet the surrounding exuded an intense humidity ... burdening the lungs to circulate air at an uncomfortable rate. I stretched ... lengthening my limbs until I feel the familiar ‘click’ of the joints. Elongating the neck, first to the right, then left, then down and finally up ... I spotted night moths fluttering rapidly around the nearest streetlight.
I thumbed the center button on my Ipod and it took 2 seconds before the opening of Sweet Child O Mine started blaring on my headphones. Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead as I heaved a heavy sigh and began my run.
The trashing of the guitars and the crashing of the percussions was deafening and yet they complimented the frantic on-goings in my head well. The music helped possess my legs and paced my strides. As usual, I tried to adopt a tunnel vision ... picking out a certain object in front of me as a target for me to reach. Once there, I simply pick another one ahead. Usually, it’s either a palm tree or a traffic light. This time however, it was a pedestrian, an obese local Arab in a red t-shirt. For reasons unexplained, a loathsome sentiment towards this individual, unknown to me surged out of nowhere. The pedestrian pathway was narrow, barely able to accommodate two regular sized passing people, let alone one who is obese. I dashed ahead and at the very last minute, the local moved aside ... allowing me to pass by.
As I tried to suppress the agitation that was beginning to build up from within, there was silence as the song ended. I hear the familiar whoosh of fleeting vehicles as a Chevy zoomed by, inches away from me. A silent curse escaped from my lips just as the Teriyaki Boys began pounding my ears with the ever catchy Tokyo Drift.
I can literally feel the immense beatings of my heart as if it’s trying to break free from its dungeon that is my ribcage. Working in overload, it sole duty is to pump crimson fluid to every part of my body but its hypnotic pulsations also serve as how a metronome would benefit a pianist.
My attire completely drenched, it wasn’t long before sweat started stinging my eyes. I squeezed my eyelids tight in the hope of expelling the swelter that’s causing this excruciating twinge. It took a while before the hurt went away. Soon after, the familiar ache on my left knee started to disrupt my running tempo. I upped the music’s volume and stubbornly pushed harder. My logic is to simply use one pain to cancel out the other.
36 minutes later, I reached my finish line. I was panting furiously ... naturally practicing open mouthed breathing to inhale in as much oxygen as I possibly could.
Slugging myself to the makeshift ‘gym’ in the villa, I lay down on my Weider Crunch Trainer ... pausing a few moments to recollect myself. I gain a sense of satisfaction as I see sweat being emanated from its glands. Better out than in as Shrek would have said. I proceeded with my crunches with the aim of gaining the prized washboard abs ... the very same ones I lost when I stopped teaching classes in the gym years ago. The only motivation I had was from LL Cool J’s Control Myself.
With that done, I positioned both palms solidly on the marble floor and using my body as natural weights, I did my push ups. On the 40th effort, I allowed myself to slam onto the floor as I remained in such a state for the next 1 minute or so.
As I stood, I picked up two dumbbells weighing 5 kilos each. They belonged to a colleague who appreciated them no more. So it’s up to me to ensure they don’t go lying around collecting dust. I did 75 reps ... alternating between both arms. By the time I was done, the popping bicep vein was most prominent. This is my reward.
I abide by the teaching that we must lengthen after we strengthen. So despite being on the verge of collapsing there and then, I performed my regular stretches before hitting the shower.
To feel the highly pressurised water droplets beating on your back ... it is a 'massage' of sorts I appreciatively savour after each run. I imagine it washing away all of my fatigue into the bath tub’s drain hole ... it’s a silly yet refreshing thought I reserve for myself.
And you know what, I'd do the whole thing again tomorrow just as I have been doing it everyday for the past 2 years. Try and catch up ... if you can.
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