Happening Weekend

It was a happening weekend, all thanks to a bunch jokers I refer to as buddies.

Found myself almost flying their aeroplane on Friday because there was a double arrangement which I assumed would cancel out the one on the same day. Oh well, assumption makes an ass out of you and me. (ASS U ME get it?) So Friday saw me rushing in futility to get stuff done before the gathering. But still made it somehow. Promise is a promise. I’m a bit of a sucker for that for my promises. I had said yes previously. Not very nice to back out once people have gathered. Only thing I can do is give an accurate timing that I will arrive.
(Hey, I don’t live like a rock star. I’m a boring person constantly in search to prove my very existence. Read someone else’s blog if you seek the life as portrayed in a Taiwanese idol drama, irresponsiblity has never had it more glamorous.)

So we had dinner and then went for a few games of pool. A nice, new place. Everything was new, the tables, cues, balls, chalk, everything. The people who visited the place even had their own cues! Of course, the place was pricier than the usual ah beng haunts. I guess the ladies might like the place. But anyway, the more important thing was that yours truly really sucked at the game. I only won twice because, the opponents made worse mistakes. I’m definitely losing my hand and eye coordination. People should hire me to boost their ego in pool, since I’m so lousy at poking balls. Throw a ball at me and I will probably not catch it. Bigger balls are ok, I think. You can try if we ever meet.

So, the chat between guys consequently led to Dodger, since he was supposed to perform in Esplanade. But of course, the well-informed readers have already found out Dodger here is also Chicken. More on that later, since this is supposed to be in boring chronological order. So the same points of arguments goes around. His $3000 fine, his dodging, how the media ravaged the story, how he looks (I don’t mean to be a discriminating jerk, but it’s hard when I go through his photos without finding a decent, manly pose. I mean, women 10 years younger will kill to have his complexion! Hey, I’m only human. Plus, his saga caused me and my colleagues a lot of inconvenience.)

So there wasn’t anything spectacular about Friday. And so I bored the readers (if any at all). We went back home to sleep. …zzzZZZ

Returned office in a fultile attempt to get stuff done, only to end up surfing the net for meaningless stuff. But still managed to do a little bit of work. Left the stuff for wash up in office and left for home.

Halfway back home on the train, my phone rang. I turns out I picked up a “mobilization” call. Melvyn Tan chickened out from his concert. Need to put up press release and all those nonsense. Nevermind, can do tomorrow. Ok. I carry on my way back home. Rest for race day.

4am on the morning was definitely a dreary time. So Daniel came to my place by bicycle to meet up and catch the chartered bus at the stadium. Standard stuff, we slept on the vehicle. Reached the Padang, alighted, went to Esplanade, used the nice toilets, dropped off more stuff in office. Proceeded to the race. Slowly, we move. We meet other friends, say hello, words of motivation, and carried on.

But really, year in year out. The real highlight of the Standard Chartered Marathon is really the people involved, volunteers, helpers, cheerleaders, rollerblading ladies along East Coast Park and especially the female particpants in their sports gear. It is a necessity to run in style. I think they did a great job keeping everybody motivated.
Then the question comes: “How come we never see them elsewhere?”
Guess it’s really the fashion statement syndrome…

15km into the race, the legs begin to give way. It’s ever so irritating. Trying to push on only begets immense agony the moment I stop. The mind works, but the legs don’t listen. I watch as the motivation maintains pace and leaves me in the dust. Demoralizing indeed. Outdone by the fairer sex. Perhaps that’s why the women are there, to prove something. And consequently the men tend to shy away from the event. It’s my assumption, don’t take my word for it. The pace slows down to a walk. But at least I’m progressing. Hunger sets in. Slowly I begin to feel the whole body ache from the prolonged jogging and walking. It is a moment one realizes that his body works out as a whole. The abdominals ache from holding an upright posture for so long. Still, it is the insanity for the finisher’s t-shirt that keeps me going. This year’s tee is from Adidas, made of their climatlite material. Plus, the race pack had come with another climatlite running jersey. So much higher in market value in comparison to the New Balance ones from provious years. Maybe next year, Nike will sponsor the goodies.

So somehow, I met up with Daniel again along East Coast Park. We carried on together from there. He had bought some chocolates for his hunger and passed a pack to me. Definitely a live saver. We could only walk from then onwards, occasionally attempting to run. But the attempts ended right after about 50 metres each time.

Water, isotonic drinks hardly help, but we drink as much as we can anyway. But we get bloated easily, and the fluids drain to the bladder instead of hydrating the body. It’s quite agonizing to know that you need to drink, but yet lack the capacity to.

When the road is long it helps if there is a companion to chat with. It helps to take the mind away from the pain.

36km point. The thigh muscles break into spasms. I can only look at my legs in fascination. They must be deprived of every possible nutrient at that point in time. Still, we still push on. The important thing is to finish the race, timing is secondary for now.

Nearing the end point, we saw the 42km marker. Daniel was cursing and swearing. He was definitely happy to see the final km marker. Only 195 metres to the end point. Miraculously, we broke into a run for the finish line, something we couldn’t do previously. The joy is in completing the race. And the sense of achievement is sensational.

So we are done with the marathon. Now everything comes back to bite us. The fatigue, the cramps and everything from the 42.195km ordeal. What a feeling. It’s a feeling to remind you that you are human, that you have a constant need to prove your existence.

And finally, I hobble back to office to put up the press release for Chicken… It was a challenge to get there, thank goodness for escalators. Shiely had arrived in office to work on Chicken chickening out of his concert. The saga had been a whole load of nonsense.

So basically, I ended up really stoned in office since Shiely was working on Chicken. Slowly, I got myself up and proceeded to the shower. Washing up felt really good. Slowly, I made my way back to my desk. Shiely had left the office. I just sat at my desk and napped. An hour later, I hailed a cab for home. And I napped for another 2 hours. It was quite an ordeal as well, trying to sleep in the discomfort of the whole body.

We had arranged to meet at 6pm at Bugis. But I only left home at 5.45pm. Had to message Justin: “Inching my way down to Bugis now. Sibeh kang kor. ETA is 6.45pm”

Finally, arrived at Bugis. 5 of us had come. 3 of us walked like we were suffering form arthritis, grabbing every possible handholds, handlebars, handrails. Rather hilarious actually.

We settled at a Shanghainese restaurant for dinner and had lots of xiao long bao.

“So what’s next?”
“Karaoke”
“No.”
“Pool?”
“No!”
“Movie?”
“3 of us will fall asleep.”
“Ok, we’ll choose the activity by the process of elimination…”
“How about massage?”
“Oei, that’s a good idea.”
“But where can we find a massage parlour?”
“Ang Mo Kio lor.”
“Convenient for you, not convenient for us.”
“We search around here for it lah.”
“Also can, but what if cannot find?”
“Shit…”
“Aiyah, I think we go home better.”
“Yah, I think so too.”
“So how you get home?”
“MRT”
“Bus”
make flagging gesture
“Cannot take it already.”
“Since in the area, tompang leh.”
“Whatever, I don’t care. Can go home good enough.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”

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