Off The Arse

The other day, I exercised (after a shameful 18-month spate of sitting on my arse). And it didn’t involve a TV remote, a tub of butter or anything resembling a donut. I had to yank a fair bit of cobweb off my running shoes but I did it. Four days in a row, in fact.  I know. I was practically an Olympian.

And then I crashed. And proceeded to sit on my arse for another two months. I fear I’m on the verge of another sofa-bound 18 months which might just be the thing that does me in and turns me into the size of a house.

So, to bring this sinister turn of events to a screeching halt, I have devised a 5-point action-cum-motivation plan:

AIM LOW
You know how people are always encouraging you to reach for the moon so even if you don’t reach it, you fall and land on the stars? Or something to that silly effect. I say bollocks to that. I aimed for the moon – four times, no donut – and look how that turned out. I believe the secret to success lies in aiming low. Aim to get off the arse twice, nay, once a week. And when you do get off the arse once a week, you’ve achieved success. Success, no matter how pathetic, bolsters the spirit and heartens the soul. And this success will springboard, nay, skyrocket you to a whole new level. I call this level Twice-A-Week, which will bring you to (dare I say) Thrice-A-Week, which is the number of times experts all around the world tell us to exercise each week. And to think it all began with aiming low.

CLICK LIKE
As with everything you’re going to be doing for a prolonged period of time, you have to like it. Or at least not hate it. Having a goal (“I’m going to lose 30kg in two months”) or an endpoint (“I’m going to run until the end of this farmhouse”) is useless. I know because I used to have them. And once I achieved them, that was it. I realise I could have set another goal but that wasn’t a pudding I felt like diving into. My point is, if you enjoy doing it, chances are much higher that you will continue doing it. Exercising, that is. What did you think I was talking about?

FEAR FACTOR
Nothing motivates like fear. Picture somebody you would rather die than look like. Preferably somebody you know in real life and not like, the fattest dude in the Guinness Book of Records or something. Every time you are tempted to blow off a workout, think of him/her and how it would feel to look like him/her and how you’d never want anyone to be picturing your body if they were tempted to blow off their own workout.

GO NUDE
Take a good look at yourself in the nude. Doing this usually elicits two responses: (1) wah lau, I look like a house/whale/elephant/insert name of any other generously sized creature, or (2) wah lau, I look damn freaking hot. If you think you look like a house/whale/elephant, you’re probably right. This should motivate you to exercise so that you do not continue to look like a house/whale/elephant. If, on the other hand, you think you look damn freaking hot, seeing yourself in the nude should motivate you to work at maintaining the hot body that you have so that you never ever wind up looking like a house/whale/elephant.

POINT FIVE
I never had a fifth point. I just think it’s bad luck to stop at four.

A Premature Storytelling Death

You know it’s a sad day when you wake up one day and realise that you have no story to tell. Worse, you look at your blog and realise this is possibly the best picture you’ve taken in the last couple of months.

Well, I did take this one too but I really don’t want to go there …

So out of desperation, you put up the picture (the former; not the latter) in hopes that it might frogspawn some sort of cultish fascination among the four (and-a-half) readers you have milling aimlessly about your homepage … or perhaps it might ignite a burst of inspiration that will plummet you into a mad writing frenzy.

Since the first didn’t happen, I have little choice but to plummet into a mad writing frenzy: Stanchart KL was pretty decent; a lot more organised than the year before; the medal’s prettier; it was hot.

I shall now wrap up this post with an alarmingly embarrassing (not to mention painfully obvious) picture that was taken at the race.

Sorry guys. I promise I’ll do better next time round – in my blog, I mean, not the race.

I Did The KL Towerthon In 38 Minutes

I received a certificate of achievement in the mail today. It congratulated me for completing the KL Towerthon last month. Apparently, I ranked 1,371 (maybe there were 1,372 runners) and sprinted up 2,000+ steps in 38 minutes 19 seconds.

Sounds fab, except that I didn’t turn up for the Towerthon. I registered though, and spent the entire time between registration and collection of race pack wondering what possessed me to sign up – one of those Iosodunnowai moments. I viewed pictures and read some personal accounts of past races, both of which made me even more reluctant to go through with the race. The pics showed people running up a dingy, cramped stairwell while the accounts relayed gory tales of people throwing up mid-way …

… didn’t exactly rock my boat. Which was why I signed up and then, proceeded to not show up for the race.

And now, I have a certificate of achievement for doing something I obviously did not do. Not unlike the KL Marathon where you don’t actually have to run or finish anything to get the medal; all you really need is enough elbow strength to shove your way to the counter and grab a medal from the frazzled attendants.

So, just like all my other posts, the moral of the story is: there is no moral of the story. I’m just waiting to see what will be in the mail tomorrow. Maybe it’ll be a certificate for completing a 42K. Now that, I won’t mind terribly.

Coming Clean

For some reason, people (meaning the five people who read my blog – bless you) have the impression that I’m some workout warrior who bolts out of bed at the crack of dawn, all iron-willed and disciplined. That’s not an accurate picture. I am really a lazy arse who’d much rather slug around the house all day surfing porn on my laptop. No la, I’m kidding. (About the porn, of course, what kind of perv do you think I am?)

Porn aside, I confess that dragging my butt out of bed in the morning to go run is a struggle every time. They say doing something consistently for 30 days will make it a habit for life. They freaking lied. It sucks every single time. Just like it sucked a few weeks ago.

I crawl out of bed at 6am one morning after several fruitless minutes of tug-of-warring with my Evil Nemesis. She’s the one who says things like, “The bed is so nice and warm and soft … do you really want to get up and get all sweaty … wouldn’t you rather go back to sleep …” I persevere and win the battle, but just barely.

My Evil Nemesis taunts me as I mindlessly chomp on two bars of milk-soaked Weet-Bix. “Come on … you can still sms your friend to cancel … skip one day won’t die lah … besides, you think she don’t wanna go back to sleep meh? … you’ll be doing her a favour!”

And that’s when it happens: it starts to drizzle. It’s 6.20am. I feel a guilty little jolt of – dare I say it – joy. Yippy, I silently think. Yippy yippy yippy, sshhhh. Now I can slink back to bed and not be harangued by another nemesis of mine: the Guilt Gorilla.

Maybe it’ll stop raining soon, I tell myself in an attempt to smooth over the burgeoning waves of guilt. “You say this but you’re not fooling anyone, you crafty coyote. You secretly want it to rain harder!!” thunders Guilt Gorilla.  I ignore him. I wait until 6.45am. It’s still pouring.

I text my friend. Below is our actual sms exchange, verbatim:

WY (6.46am) I leave house at 715 la raining
SL (6.47am) ok. Its dark huh

I go back to bed for a few minutes. Sleep doesn’t come. I text her again.

WY (7.13am) raining la. Shit. Is it raining at your side?
SL (7.15am) its wet la but stopped drizzling already
SL (7.16am) eh now raining la
WY (7.17am) Yalor, I’m in garden. Raining! Ok back to bed!!
SL (7.20am) Ok haiyor just now it din rain b4 we got up rite
WY (7.22am) raining since I got up leh … cancel la. Dowan run in drizzle!
SL (7.24am) oh ya gah. It was dark la, can’t really see u can’t do evening?
WY (7.25am) actually its stopping. Ok ok. Lets go now. Meet you thr!
SL (7.27am) still raining here la. I undress d haha
WY (7.29am) I’m gonna leave house. Ok la if u go, I’ll c u thr lor
SL (7.32am) I dowan to walk when its drizzling leh, my arthritis pain wor!

I put on my cap and head out anyway. The moment I drive out, the rain gets heavier. That joyful little jaunt that’s been dancing around in my belly turns into a frenzied chicken dance. I text my friend with all the “regret” I can muster.

WY (7.33am) I drove out n rain heavier, so turn back. I give up!
WY (7.34am) evening prob I can’t but see how. I’ll msg u abt 5pm
SL (7.35am) ok we try evening if u can

We don’t. Instead, we spend the whole morning and the rest of the day … slugging around the house surfing porn.

Screw Discipline. I’m Going Back To Bed

I feel like crap. I have run no more than three times since I got back from the Singapore Marathon in December and I will say it again: I feel like crap. I’m battling a combination of wretched guilt, some extra poundage (I don’t know how much cos I don’t own a scale) and a crippling feeling of malaise. Before I bumble any further, I should explain my use of the word ‘run’. By ‘run’, I mean a pathetic attempt at walking and jogging and whining all at once – a Herculean feat especially since I have literally crawled back to square one as far as my stamina is concerned. It’s awful. I don’t know where that 2009-ME has gone. The one with all the discipline, drive, enthusiasm, energy … it’s like she died last December and left this miserable 2010-ME in her place. I do not like this 2010-ME. It’s a defective model.

So I’m going to get my act together … right … after … Chinese New Year. No no no no-o-o-o-o. Right now, right now. To get started, I shall now inspire myself with some quotes about the one thing I need the most right now: discipline.

“It was character that got us out of bed, commitment that moved us into action, and discipline that enabled us to follow through.” (Zig Ziglar)… My commitment and discipline have gone bust but I think I still have a smidgen of that character left. Now if only I can find it …

“Discipline is remembering what you want.” (David Campbell) … I seem to have forgotten in the face of other seemingly important, more ‘pressing’ things …

“Lack of discipline leads to frustration and self-loathing.” (Marie Chapian) … Self-loathing – yeah, plenty of that going around right now …

“We must all suffer from one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons.” (Jim Rohn) … I have a horrible feeling that regret will indeed one day weigh tons – literally …

“No evil propensity of the human heart is so powerful that it may not be subdued by discipline.” (Seneca) … Well, I guess the desire to lie around in bed and have bacon bits for breakfast can be considered by some to be ‘evil’, can’t it? …

“If we do not discipline ourselves, the world will do it for us.” (William Feather) … Well, either the world or nature itself …

Hmm, so am I sufficiently inspired? I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow when I’m trying to get out of bed early in the morning. Ask me then.

Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon 2009

I love Singapore. This is a momentous occasion for me, sort of like a gay guy coming out of the closet and I will say it again: I lurve Singapore. Was there last weekend with some friends for the Singapore Marathon 2009 and I loved it! Oh yes, did I mention that I love Singapore? Well, I do. And this is why:

THE RACE PACK COLLECTION

On the day before the run, we drove to the Expo Convention and Exhibition Centre to collect our race packs. There were tons of cars but it was a gloriously huge parking lot, so no frustrating fruitless rounds were required.

No waiting or lining up either; we walked right up to the row of counters. Young girls (school kids, they looked like) were manning the booth. They were professional, cheery, fast and even wished us a good run the next day. Being Malaysian and therefore, used to bad service, I was a little taken aback.

This is so different from the KL Marathon when we had a horrendous time circling the area at Dataran Merdeka hoping for a parking spot to magically appear. It didn’t appear of course, simply because there were no spots. We had to dump the car in some god-forsaken corner, pray a truck wouldn’t ram into it, make a mad dash to the collection booth, put up with the grumpy staff who shoved our race packs at us and dash back to the car.

THE FLAG-OFF TIME

Flag-off was at 8.30am, so we woke up at 6am, were at the MRT station by 6.45am, reached Raffles City station by 7am.

We had arrived way too early cos we were supposed to meet two other friends over there at 7.30am, so we had some time to kill.

The flag-off time for the KL Marathon was 7am, which meant we dragged ourselves out of bed at 4.30am, drove to Dataran and got there by 6am, spent the next hour lining up in front of the few lousy portable toilets, then made a mad dash for the starting line at 7am. I think flagging off at a decent 8.30am is a much better idea.

THE STARTING LINE

We were all gathered near the starting line at about 8am. The emcee was great and did a fab job getting everyone up and in the mood.

Pic by Susan Ng

He cracked a bunch of jokes and led the runners through a silly dance routine before the horn finally sounded at 8.30am.

I can’t even remember the emcee for the KL Marathon – he (or she) was that forgettable. The Penang Bridge Marathon emcee I can remember however, but for all the wrong reasons. She didn’t talk to us; she talked at us. She was like a matronly schoolteacher admonishing a bunch of silly kids (that was obviously us).  She added nothing to the atmosphere; just tossed out instruction after instruction. It was quite a turn-off really.

THE RUNNERS

There were 50,000 runners (hoo yah). Men and women were separated into different categories and had different start times.

The moment the horn sounded, everyone started running. Damn semangat. Nobody seemed to be slowing down but that was normal right? The crowd would probably start to thin out (and slow down) by the fourth or fifth km – or so I thought. But no wor.

Pic by Susan Ng

And what was more, most were running throughout the entire route. Even the ones who did slow down only slowed down for a few moments before picking up the pace again. These people were doing this for real – don’t play-play! I was impressed!

You have to understand where I’m coming from. As far as my experiences with Malaysian marathons went, some runners are already walking within the first few hundred metres. And as the kms go by, the crowd thins out and more runners start to do the half-run, half-walk thing (including yours truly). So in Singapore, I was impressed … and of course, stressed. Had to work harder to keep up, otherwise no face!

THE WATER STATIONS

There was so much water here, the only risk runners could possibly suffer from was being over-hydrated. There were water stations and at times, 100PLUS stations, every 2K or so.

I found myself giving the last water station a miss cos I was so well-hydrated. That has never happened before, at least not with Malaysian running events. I have never understood why our organisers are so kiam-siap with water. Aren’t these things sponsored? It’s inhumane (not to mention kinda dumb) to expect people to run in such hot weather and offer only one or two water stations along a 10K route.

THE FANFARE

There were so many people stationed along the route – school kids who played cheerleaders for the day, the first aid folks, supporters, volunteers and at one point, even a band.

Pic by Susan Ng

And these people weren’t window dressing either. They were really cheering us on, encouraging us to step it up. It was real motivation not to slack off (no face leh) … there’s hardly any fanfare here in Malaysia. The handful of people stationed along the route is usually either busy yakking with one another or simply looking utterly bored, swatting mosquitoes by the roadside. They make you want to ram into them with your running shoe, then give them paper cuts with your bib.

THE LAST 2K

While I was more than sufficiently hydrated through the entire 10K thanks to the many water stations, there was a downside to this. Because I was used to having water stations pop up every 3K or so, after having passed three water stations at the Singapore Marathon, I was under the impression that I had already done over 9K.

That was before I saw the sign, which said another 2KM – %$#@$#$#@!!!

… and then, this sign – %$#@%!!!

THE FINISH LINE

Despite my cussing, the last 1K before the finish line was really a lot of fun. There were so many supporters and cheerleaders along the way you couldn’t help but be boosted by their really loud enthusiasm. So there we were, running running running … 800m … 600m … 400m … the cheering got louder and louder and I heard strains of Bryan Adams’ Summer of ’69. It was such a rush as everybody picked up the pace and gunned for the big finish. It was great

THE MEDAL COLLECTION

The moment we finished, we were herded down a designated path. I had no idea where we were going, so I just walked along. Within a few short minutes, I found myself inside a massive tent, the Finisher’s Medal placed in my hand and a warm “Congratulations” from a volunteer. Talk about efficient.

Pic by Susan Ng

At a Malaysian running event, not only is there no fanfare at the finish line, once you are done, it isn’t immediately clear where you’re supposed to go. Case in point: after finishing the KL Marathon, we were pretty much left to figure out for ourselves where to go. We asked around and were told to queue up to collect our medals. We spent the next 30 to 45 minutes queuing and the last 5 minutes shoving our way through to the collection counter (the crowd was merciless) to claim our hard-won piece of metal.

THE TOILETS

On the way out to the MRT station, I caught sight of rows and rows and rows of portable loos.

And rows and rows and rows … they looked exquisite.

If my remarks disturb you, again you must understand where I’m coming from. I come from a country of deplorable public toilets. So this beautiful row of toilets, to me, is nothing short of exquisite. Sublime. Divine. And look ma, no queues!

THE MCDONALD’S

As is customary after every run, we stuff our faces with the unhealthiest food we could find. Delicious.

And the McCafé Oreo cookie cake slice wasn’t too bad either.

THE END

So in conclusion, I love Singapore. Oh wait. Did I already mention that before?

Penang Bridge Half-Marathon 2009

It is 8pm and I am trying desperately to sleep. Which is stupid cos nobody sleeps at 8pm. But I have to get up at 1am and be ready for the Taxi Man at 2am so we can get to Queensbay Mall by 2.30am so we can be in time for the flag-off at 3.45am for the … Penang Bridge Half-Marathon!!! (cue: cymbals clash, fireworks explode, dogs howl and babies wail in the background).

It’s hard to sleep. We’re staying in this over-a-century-old adorable little guesthouse (look at the pic – I just love the shutters) with walls so wafer-thin you can be in your room upstairs and hear every word of every single conversation that’s going on downstairs in the lobby area. I’m not kidding. So yeah, it’s hard to sleep.

By the time I manage to nod off, it’s past 12 midnight and in less than an hour, my alarm rings. %$@#$#!@#!#. I ask myself for the millionth time why in the world I’m doing this to myself. Then I remember: the reason is sleeping right next door. I remind myself to clobber her when we’re done.

It’s pitch-black out. And why shouldn’t it be? It’s friggin’ 1am in the middle of the night! Hardcore runners (a group to which I obviously do not belong) think nothing of doing this year after year after year but honestly … I think they’re just drugged up by all that 100 PLUS. It’s kind of insane to crawl out of bed in the dead of the night just to go run on a bridge, don’t you think? I mean, who does this kind of thing?? Oh wait. I’m doing it right now.

By 2am, we’re safely installed in Taxi Man’s taxi and speeding off to Queensbay Mall. For the convenience of his round-trip chauffeur service, we’re forking out RM70. Talk about highway robbery!

We get to the mall with plenty of time to spare. At first glance, I am rather impressed. Nice huge area, clean and a well-organised bag check counter with friendly helpers (of course this is before more runners arrive, they run out of shelf space and start dumping bags on the floor).

The mall area is also well-equipped with portable loos. Don’t snigger. If you’ve ever been to one of these things, you’ll know that this is extremely, extremely important. No loo, no run.

We spend the next hour or so hanging around. Everyone else is busy stretching and doing all those warm-up things but not us. Hah. We sit on the pavement, motionless except for the occasional yawn, trying to stay awake. We take pictures and watch other people warm up. They’re such show-offs!

At 3.45am, it’s finally our turn. The gun goes off, confetti fills the black sky, the lion dancers go wild and off we go. God help us all. Well, help me, to be precise.

Now, up until now, I’ve only done up to 11K. My standard MMO (Marathon Modus Operandi) has always been to run half of the quarter, as in 5K out of a 10K. So it’s only fitting that I now run quarter of the half. So that’s what I do. Brilliant.

We start running on the highway. It takes us about 20 minutes to get to the bridge. It’s nice on the bridge – the sea breeze is strong, the air is cool, the lamps cast a soft orange glow on everything you see. It’s so nice out that I don’t even turn on my music.

Before I know it, I’m at the 10K mark – woo hoo! Hey, I think to myself, that wasn’t as bad as I’d expected! We make a U-turn on the bridge and it’s another 5K or so before getting off. I’m in high spirits now. Halfway there!! Only another 10K more to go!! Ok la, 11K but who’s counting? I’m way too pumped up!!!

It’s at the 15K mark when things take a turn. That’s when we get off the bridge and back on the highway. That’s when the soreness starts to set a little in the legs. Hmmm. Maybe I should’ve grabbed one of those Salonpas patches. Oh well, never mind. I’m still making decent time. It’s a little after 6am. Only 6K more to go … surely I can get that covered before 7am! I’m still doing gloriously well!!!

Somewhere between 17K and 18K, the soreness gets worse. By now, I’m thinking, aiya, why get so worked up about finishing before 7am? As long as I make it within qualifying time of three and a half hours, it’s still decent right? It’s still okay (gives self imaginary pat on back). No need to get stressed out over this. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose; what matters is how you play the game. Of course, I know only losers say this but I’m so sore I fail to remember this.

It’s right about here when I begin to lose the will to live. My feet are stinging and my legs feel like they’re about to fall off, and this is an understatement. At this point, I no longer care if I make the qualifying time. I just want my legs to not fall off.

I can’t even walk briskly anymore. I’m limping all the way down the road. After what seems like eternity, I see the sign: 20K. %$@#$#!@#@!!! Only 20K??? There’s one more %$#@$@ km to go?? Good lord almighty!!! Despite my silent emotional outburst, I put on a brave face and soldier on.

I tell you, 1K is very difficult when you’re crippled. But for the sake of sportsmanship (haha, the very idea of me being a ‘sportsperson’ makes me ROTFLMAO), I limp through that last 1K. I remember the announcer demanding early this morning that we run past the finish line in triumph, flash a big smile and look to the cameramen cos they want to get a picture of “each and every runner”.  Yeah right. My idea of ‘triumph’ is not passing out at the finish line. At that, I succeed. I hobble past the finish line and get this: I DO NOT PASS OUT (cue: harps play, doves are set free from their cages, their wings all a-flutter). Yes. It’s a moment of great triumph. I will remember this for as long as I live.

Taxi Man is waiting to pick us up and send us back to the guesthouse. We crawl into the car and spend the trip regaling each other with tales of how fun it had been at first and how horrendous it became in the last few kms. I’m on the verge of saying “never ever again” when I stop myself. Who knows? I once said, “I will never eat bittergourd ever again” … and guess what? I did. So I keep my mouth shut.

Iosodunnowai

I have a condition. It’s called Iosodunnowai*. It’s a condition that results from three things: a distorted sense of your own capabilities; susceptibility to the influences of the environment; and a general absence of brain activity at the time of decision-making. Put these three together with an activity that you would – under normal circumstances – never ever dream of undertaking in a gazillion years, and there you have it: Iosodunnowai.

I realised this last weekend when my Penang Marathon pack arrived. As I sifted through the contents of the courier bag, it hit me that the 21K I’d so enthusiastically (some say psychotically) signed up for months ago, is now just one week away! As in 7 days!! As in 168 hours!!! As in 10,080 minutes!!! As in … well, you get the picture.

I must’ve been drunk or something when I signed up back in May. No, wait. I wasn’t drunk. I was just over-confident and seduced by my friend’s enthusiasm (“Come la!! You’ve done so many 10K runs, don’t you want to aim higher? Don’t you have any goals? Any ambition?? Don’t tell me you’re going to remain a 10K runner all your life??!!”). Also, my brain wasn’t functioning particularly well that day.

So yeah, I’ve suffered from bouts of anxiety over the past few months whenever I entertained thoughts of my impending doom (usually when I decide to go eat thosai and drink Milo at the mamak instead of going for my run) but it was different back when it was several months away. Now that it’s THIS WEEKEND, I’m experiencing the true extent of Iosodunnowai.

“You signed up for the 21K?? Why are you doing this to yourself la???”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“You psychotic or what?”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“Have you been training?”

“No. I spent the last few weeks eating donuts and sleeping till 10am.”

“My god!! Some more now you’re going to attempt the 21K??!!”

“Like I said, Iosodunnowai.”

The realisation that one suffers from Iosodunnowai is usually followed by a feeble attempt to extricate oneself from the infernally dumb decision one has made. Which is what I’ve been trying to do these past couple of days. The way I see it, I have three choices:

1. Avoid all association with the event. By not wearing my bib and bright orange running vest, people will assume I’m a phantom runner and will not laugh at me if I wind up last.
2. Wear the running vest but conveniently forget my bib. That way, race officials won’t be able to tell which category I’m supposed to be in and will therefore, not stop me when I sneak into the 10K Fun Run route.
3. Stay at home.

The only real options are the first two. I can’t stay home simply because there are three people out there who have also signed up for the run and will kill me once they get back from Penang. So you see, I’m in a rather tight spot.

I think I’ll wear pink.

……………………………………………………………………..……………………………………..

* Iosodunnowai is known in English as “I also don’t know why”. It’s a common response Malaysians give when they’re asked why they’re doing something incredibly stupid/suicidal and is usually delivered with a shrug and grimace.

The Rabies Awareness Fun Run

I absolutely love The Office. I must’ve watched every episode at least three times and no, I’m not exaggerating. Seeing that my blog contains a fair share of stuff on running, I thought it was apt to pay tribute to the show’s one running episode: The Fun Run in season 4.

Michael hits Meredith with his car. She winds up in the hospital where she discovers she has rabies (from the time Dwight trapped her head in a garbage bag that had a bat in it – that scene was hilarious!). Michael then decides to organize a 5K run to raise money for rabies awareness.

Michael Scott: I love my employees. Even though I hit one of you with my car. For which I take full responsibility for. Look I’m just trying to take everybody’s mind off this unavoidable tragedy and on to more positive things. So I thought we should plant a tree.

[seeing Meredith in the hospital room]
Michael Scott: She looks like an angel.
Kelly: She looks awful.
Michael Scott: No, ok, she always looks like that. It’s not my fault.
Jim Halpert: I think she’s awake.
Michael Scott: No, she’s in a coma.
Nurse: No

[Talking to the camera]
Michael Scott: Why I’m taking responsibility, and it is up to me to get rid of the curse that hit Meredith with my car. I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.

[In the meeting room]
Michael Scott: You spend your whole life trying to get people to like you and then you run over one person with your car. And it’s not even one of the popular ones, and everybody gets on your case. Doesn’t make any sense. God is dead … maybe believing in God was a mistake. What did people believe in before? The sun. Maybe there’s some sort of animal that we can make a sacrifice to. Like a giant buffalo. Or some sort of monster … something with the body of a walrus with the head of a sea lion, or something with the body of an egret. With the head of a meer cat. Or just the head of a monkey with the antlers of a reindeer. With a body of…. a porcupine.

[Answering phone]
Pam: Michael Scott’s Dunder-Mifflin Scranton Meredith Palmer Memorial Celebrity Rabies Awareness Fun Run Race for the Cure this is Pam.

[Talking to the camera]
Michael Scott: A woman shouldn’t have to be hit by a car to learn that she has rabies. But that is where we are in America, and that does not sit right with me. And that is why I am hosting a fun run race for the cure for rabies. To raise awareness for the fact that there is a cure for rabies… a disease that has been largely eradicated in the US, but not very many people know that.

[In the men’s room, taping his nipples]
Andy Bernard: I’m petrified of nipple chaffing. Once it starts it is a vicious circle… you have sensitive nipples, they chaff, so they become more sensitive, so they chaff more. So I take precautions.

[Presenting a mock giant cheque for 340 dollars, made out to Science, to a stripper posing as a nurse because he couldn’t find a Rabies Doctor]
Michael Scott: Myth – three Americans die every year from rabies. Fact – four Americans every year die from rabies. How many of you know someone that has been afflicted or affected by rabies? Show of hands. One, two, three… too many to count. It is truly the silent killer. No, it is the foaming barking killer.

[running, out of breath]
Michael Scott: I am not going to finish. I can’t beat rabies. Nobody can beat rabies. Rabies has been around for a thousand years. And I was a fool to think that I could beat it.

[collapsed on the ground, about to puke]
Michael Scott: Finishing that 5K was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I ate more fettuccini alfredo, and drank less water than I have in my entire life. People always talk about triumphs of the human spirit …

… Well today I had a triumph of the human body. That’s why everybody was applauding for me at the end. My guts, my heart and well I eventually puked my guts out. I never puked my heart out, and I am very proud of that.

And at the end of the run, they were all 5 kilometres away from the office and had to walk back. “You couldn’t have made it a circle??!!” ROTFLMAO

Adidas King Of The Road 2009

Every blog entry must have a story/a point/a hook – something you can capture in a single sentence. KL Marathon was my maiden run and SHAPE was the one where I was last (first few kms la). But truth be told, I don’t really have a story/a point/a hook for Adidas KOTR … so what I’m going to do is wing it and by the end, the story/point/hook shall reveal itself. Here goes:

We reach the stadium at about 6.30am. It’s dark out and there’s already a stream of cars inching their way into the parking lot. We park across the street.

First order of business (pun intended): the customary loo visit. Just like last week at SHAPE, the line is ridiculously long. Unlike last week at SHAPE, however, we waste no time hopping over to the men’s loo instead. We enter it only to find it packed with girls.

Yes, this is the men’s toilet (even though it looks suspiciously like the ladies). There, you can see that poor dude at the sink on the right, washing his hands nervously, eyes downcast. Every once in a while, a guy or two appear at the entrance and look startled by the sight of girls lining up. They hesitate for a second, their faces frozen in uncertainty, and then they flee. They’re probably running off to pee in some bush instead.

Pic by Susan Ng

Thanks to the men’s toilet, we have plenty of time to spare (and camwhore). We take a group shot while waiting for the flag-off.

Pic by Susan Ng

In line with the tradition I’ve set for myself when it comes to running events: I will never wear the official shirt. I know la, the Adidas KOTR shirt is very good quality, dry-fit material, nice colour, blah blah blah, but I’m a woman of principles (when you have only one principle in life, you better damn well stick to it), which is why I’m wearing my bright orange Nike top, with Nike cap and Nike pants. Yes, I realise I’m at Adidas but I refuse to apologise for my wardrobe!

Pic by Susan Ng

So anyway, we’re let loose at 7am. The announcer says a bunch of stuff (I don’t think anybody is listening) and we hobble out of the stadium. There are so many people you can hardly walk, let alone run.

We plod on – a carpet of humanity painted in Kodak yellow. I’ve never seen so many cops in my life – they were everywhere, watching us, making sure the cars don’t run us over. The cops make you feel like King of the Road. You know how we cuss at people who cross the road like siput? “What the $#@%$@#!! This stupid fler think his grandfather own the road or what!” we say. I imagine that’s what the drivers are saying about us this morning. Well, our grandfather may not own the road but for today, we are Kings (and Queens) of the Road. Who says so? Adidas (and the polis). So we can cross as slowly as we want and the drivers can’t do anything. It’s a nice feeling, pissing off the drivers.

Before I know it, up comes the first water station. Eh? According to the registration form, there will only be one water station at the 5K point (which I thought was an evil thing to do to people attempting an 11K) … but this can’t be 5km already! Unless I morphed into Paula Radcliffe somewhere along the way or something, which of course, I did not.

Pic by Susan Ng

I guzzle down two cups of lukewarm 100 Plus (blech), toss the paper cup onto the ground and carry on.

The thing about Shah Alam is … there’s nothing. All you see are roads, petrol stations, shops, buildings, cars, cops, cops and more cops. There’s no view to speak of. This makes the run kinda … BORING. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot … yawn. Once in a while, you see a cracked pavement. That’s about it.

Before I know it (again), there’s another water station.

This time, there are some guys along the road holding plastic bags for us to throw our cups. Everybody pretty much ignores the Paper-Cup-Collectors. Throwing paper cups on the ground is part of the whole marathon experience! Throwing them, then stomping on them and flattening them like pancakes. How dare these Paper-Cup-Collectors try to wrestle that away from us? Who do they think they are??!!

Pic by Susan Ng

I ask the one of the Paper-Cup-Collectors, “Berapa km lagi ah?”. Yes, there are plenty of signs along the route but the organisers were – unfortunately – not bright enough to figure out that maybe the signs should mark how far along the route we are. Every sign says Adidas KOTR 11K. We all know that already – DUH. Tell us something we don’t know.

Paper-Cup-Collector says, “Oh, sudah halfway, ah moi.” Oh, okay lor. So, on I go: right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, cracked pavement, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left … hey, if you think reading this is a yawn-fest, just imagine what it was like for me doing it.

Anyway, we’re soon near the stadium entrance. I’m excited. I can almost smell the sweet fragrance of the Certificate of Participation. We go into the stadium tunnel. It’s dark and a little dingy (like the Sungai Wang parking lot) … right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right … eh, why this tunnel like never end one?

Finally, the tunnel ends and you run right into the stadium. You’re overcome by the sudden burst of sunlight, the skies open up in a brilliant blue, you can almost hear the crowds roar

Pic by Susan Ng

My initial impression of the stadium is, wow, it actually looks kinda nice. People are milling about, laying around, stretching, lining up at the Milo booth, camwhoring, etc. What strikes me most is how lively the scene is. I’m enveloped in an orgy of vivid colours; it’s like being smack in the middle of a rainbow.

Pic by Susan Ng

Pic by Susan Ng

People decked in yellow, red and orange lay on the fresh green grass … encircled by the red rubber track … against a backdrop of cascading stadium seats that look like yellow, orange and blue Chiclets from afar.

Pic by Susan Ng

So bright, so cheery. It feels really good to just be there … just like it felt great to wallop a big breakfast at Coffee Bean later, you know, to make up for all the precious calories lost.

Pic by Susan Ng

Hmm, sounds like a nice ending to a nice blog entry, doesn’t it? Maybe I don’t need a story/point/hook after all