Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Running
I've been meaning to write about running for a while now; everytime I mount the treadmill I think to myself... must write about running.
Doesn't seem like there'd be much to write, you just put one foot in front of the other. Once upon a time before I turned pseudo gym-bunny I would have scoffed at the very idea of running on a treadmill. Boring. Boring, boring. Hamsters on a treadmill, going nowhere in a hurry.
Give me the wide open spaces of the open road, anytime.
Once when I was very very bored a very long time ago during some silly science research thingummy, I ran around the NUS track twenty times because I needed to run.
That comes to about eight kilometers I think.
It was boring as hell, seeing the same signpost, oh, there it is again - and again! and... over, and over again.
Henceforth, I resolved to stick to the hills and bumps that make up the place where I live. I get a kick everytime I try to sprint up the hill that leads to my house. Once, as I crawled up the summit on my hands and knees feeling good about myself, a caucasian chap cruised past me and did the friendly "y'allright?" brit thing. I felt like kicking him back down the hill into the abyss. It's a steep hill, okay??
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I never imagined I'd wind up on a treadmill in an airconditioned gym someday, staring out over a city skyscape and running on the spot.
But there's something about running... your mind is crystal clear, and focused... on nothing. Intentionally focused on nothing; all the daily worries of your world tuned out, no feeling. No thoughts. No quandries. No worries. No fears. No love... no love lost. No risks. No... complications.
Nothing.
Just putting one foot, in front of the other.
Pushing the envelope, going a little bit faster, feeling your lungs exploding and pushing for that something extra, that little bit more... of nothing.
Perhaps one day I will reach a little too far, and that horrible feeling that you're about to collapse will come into being. It doesn't bug me too much.
After the pain, you can look down at the numbers (in the gym anyhow) and realise you've cut another two seconds (ARGH ONLY TWO!!! FOR ALL THAT EFFORT?!?!) off your time, and after you've caught your breath the buzz begins.
Yeah. That's why I love running.
*****
In a strange cab heading to a strange place.
He wondered what he was doing with his life; what exactly he wanted. Where he wanted to be.
She was leaning against him a little - not much - just enough for her shoulders and arms to press against his, skin on skin.
He liked it.
It was odd; he normally shied instinctively from human contact; he didn't like it, ever. Even with the ex, he'd... tolerated it. Her skin was... a little bit cold, he'd always thought. But he'd made the effort because he'd wanted to love her.
But the feeling, right here, of the smoothness and warmth of her skin, and even of the fine hairs on her arm against his ... felt somehow comforting.
He went on wondering what the heck he was doing with his life, and where did he really want to be?
It was crazy.
******
Don't try to fix me - I'm not broken.
Doesn't seem like there'd be much to write, you just put one foot in front of the other. Once upon a time before I turned pseudo gym-bunny I would have scoffed at the very idea of running on a treadmill. Boring. Boring, boring. Hamsters on a treadmill, going nowhere in a hurry.
Give me the wide open spaces of the open road, anytime.
Once when I was very very bored a very long time ago during some silly science research thingummy, I ran around the NUS track twenty times because I needed to run.
That comes to about eight kilometers I think.
It was boring as hell, seeing the same signpost, oh, there it is again - and again! and... over, and over again.
Henceforth, I resolved to stick to the hills and bumps that make up the place where I live. I get a kick everytime I try to sprint up the hill that leads to my house. Once, as I crawled up the summit on my hands and knees feeling good about myself, a caucasian chap cruised past me and did the friendly "y'allright?" brit thing. I felt like kicking him back down the hill into the abyss. It's a steep hill, okay??
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I never imagined I'd wind up on a treadmill in an airconditioned gym someday, staring out over a city skyscape and running on the spot.
But there's something about running... your mind is crystal clear, and focused... on nothing. Intentionally focused on nothing; all the daily worries of your world tuned out, no feeling. No thoughts. No quandries. No worries. No fears. No love... no love lost. No risks. No... complications.
Nothing.
Just putting one foot, in front of the other.
Pushing the envelope, going a little bit faster, feeling your lungs exploding and pushing for that something extra, that little bit more... of nothing.
Perhaps one day I will reach a little too far, and that horrible feeling that you're about to collapse will come into being. It doesn't bug me too much.
After the pain, you can look down at the numbers (in the gym anyhow) and realise you've cut another two seconds (ARGH ONLY TWO!!! FOR ALL THAT EFFORT?!?!) off your time, and after you've caught your breath the buzz begins.
Yeah. That's why I love running.
*****
In a strange cab heading to a strange place.
He wondered what he was doing with his life; what exactly he wanted. Where he wanted to be.
She was leaning against him a little - not much - just enough for her shoulders and arms to press against his, skin on skin.
He liked it.
It was odd; he normally shied instinctively from human contact; he didn't like it, ever. Even with the ex, he'd... tolerated it. Her skin was... a little bit cold, he'd always thought. But he'd made the effort because he'd wanted to love her.
But the feeling, right here, of the smoothness and warmth of her skin, and even of the fine hairs on her arm against his ... felt somehow comforting.
He went on wondering what the heck he was doing with his life, and where did he really want to be?
It was crazy.
******
Don't try to fix me - I'm not broken.
