The Racing Mind

There were the few familiar faces, though I wouldn't put the competition as particularly tough. But still, you never know.
It is always the excitement of racing that jolts the body awake. That call to the start line that pumps the adrenaline. Then, the pull of the trigger "Bang!" and off you go.
The wind in your face, you start, looking for a rhythm. My rhythm.
Completing a race is no longer an issue. It is achieving desired results. In this particular race, it is timing and position.
As I went through the route, what did my mind go through?
"This is not so bad."
"It's quite cooling. I hope it is a cloudy day."
"I can do this. I can get Top 10."
"There's a hill. I'm not scared. Bring it on."
"Bigger strides. C'mon, big strides."
"First water station. Ok, we can slow down for some water."
"Damn water is not cold."
"Hah! That's another person we overtook. We're looking at Top 5."
"Don't be greedy. It's only eleven kilometres. Pace yourself. Top 10 is fine."
"Why is a slow music in my 'Workout Music" folder? I need to rectify this when I get home."
"Where's that damn U-turn?"
"It must be near. Some of the runners are already making their way back from U-ey."
"Where the fuck is the U-turn?"
"This fucking hill never ends. Shit, shit, shit."
"Ok, calm down. You do hills every other day. This is small stuff."
"Oh my God. It's downhill. Let's go! Let's go!"
"Where is the fucking U-turn???"
"This guy hasn't taken a bath in years. If I don't overtake him, I'm gonna throw up from the stink. C'mon, overtake him!"
"Finally, the damn U-turn."
"There's the first lady."
"There's lady no. two."
"Three."
"Four."
"I think I'm in 5th position. That's pretty good. Let's maintain this."
"Only because the Kenyans and the Indians didn't show up."
"If they did, I'd probably settle for 10th place."
"Maybe not even 10th place. Maybe Top 15th, like the Orange Run."
"If this road doesn't end soon, I'm going to scream."
"I really am going to scream. It's driving me nuts!"
"Holy crap, look at that hill."
"You can do it. It's a piece of cake."
"We'll sprint up the hill and then we'll bring our heart rate down after that."
"I have 20 more minutes to do the last five kilometres if I want to keep my personal best."
"One kilometre in 5 minutes. 5 kilometres in 25 minutes."
"Ok, slow down. Slow down. Your heart rate is shooting off the roof."
"Dear legs, please don't fail me now. I promise to be good to you."
"Pain, please go away."
"I need to get back before the sun comes out in full vengeance. I don't want funny tan lines."
"My shoes are wet. But this shoes are great. It doesn't seal the water in. Well worth the money."
"Fourth and last water station. I'm near. Let's have a drink."
"It's the last kilometre. Let's run for my life. It ends after and you can rest."
"Where am i?"
"THANK GOD! Thank God! There's that finish line!"
"And yes!! 5th place. I was correct!!"
"Not a great win. Would never have done it if the Kenyans and Indians were here."
"I still did my personal best."
"Fuck, i need a drink badly."
"Where's my other half?"
"What's taking him so long?"
"I hope he's ok."
"The sun is freaking hot. Where IS he?"
"Oh! There he is! C'mon baby!"

And with that, another race in the pocket.
Next up - A Famosa Triathlon.

Making A Stand For The Wrong Cause

I am no football fan. I've been explained a million times what an "offside" means and how an "offside" is called and it swooshes past my brains. I don't get the idea of twenty-two grown men chasing after a ball.
By the same token, I am not interested in the Israel-Palestinian issue except bits and pieces of history which always ties back to images of massive bloodshed and irrevocable loss of lives.
I don't believe in war.
I don't believe in repression.
I don't believe in irresponsible loss of life.
It doesn't matter who is wrong or who is right.
It doesn't matter who is trying to re-write the wrongs of history.
All that happens really is innocent lives are affected. Greatly. And nobody wants to take responsibility.
But this is not about war.
This is about the shamefully narrow-mindedness of the people of Malaysia. Well, some people of Malaysia.
I heard Chelsea FC is coming to Malaysia. I also heard two people on the entourage are Israelis. Israelis are not allowed to enter Malaysia. Why? Because Malaysia greatly opposes to the occupation of Palestinian land by the Israelis.
But are we talking about war? No.
We're talking about football. Maybe it is some form of war as two opposite teams meet on the battle "field" and fight to win some title (again, twenty-two grown men running after a ball.. and their egos). However, from what little knowledge I have about football, I realised that if every real war were to be fought the way football is played, there would be less bloodshed.
Why? Because football unites people. You have Israelis, Russians, English, Korean, African, etc.. work together on the same team, for the same objective. They forget colour and creed. They only remember to chase the bloody ball. And hopefully score. If someone's family passes away, the entire team, despite race or religion, wears black arm bands as a sign of respect. Football, above anything else.
So, why is it that these group of some Malaysian people are against the two Chelsea FC players entering Malaysia? Just because they are Israelis? Why? Are they here to give political sermons? Are they here to win support for Israel? Are they here to incite hatred for the Palestinians? No. They are here simply to chase the bloody ball around the field and hopefully score. They want to play football. Please forget the fact that they were born in Israel, by no choice of theirs.
I know Malaysia made a stand regarding the Israel-Palestinian issue. But as I said - we're not talking about Israel and Palestine here. We're talking about Chelsea FC and football.
I don't really care about football.
But I care when people try to rule with a narrow-mind.
Narrow-mindedness is what causes war to prolong.

Which pain?

She hears his breathing. Deep, heavy and rhythmic. He turns and pulls her closer to him, spooning her from the back. He continues sleeping.
She felt his manhood, solid and sturdy, rubbing unconsciously on her back. She moves her hand over it and touches it apprehensively with one finger. It is rock-hard indeed. She smiles, while still keeping her eyes closed and continues gently rubbing it with her finger.
He moves over to whisper in her ears.
She wakes up.
She wakes up enough to know she was not in his arms. And all she had been rubbing was the cold, hard wall next to her bed.
She sits up and inhales deeply.
As she exhales, she slams her fist into the wall. A dull crack swept through the quiet of the room.
She looks at her knuckles, blood oozing from where her skin broke.
Better this pain, then the pain of frustration, she thought.

Random Thoughts

Does anyone know the pain of losing someone you love?
You love so deeply that he is one half of you.
That as a part of a half, you cannot function completely without the other.
How does one go on?
When you wake up and you know with a certainty that today, you won't see his smile, hear his voice, touch his skin, smell his breath.
How does one go on?
Knowing with absolute certainty that the text message will go unreplied, the phone is disconnected, that he is no longer at an arm's reach.
How does one go on?
Feeling the despair of not being able to call out to him in your joy, in your pain or in your anger.
How does one go on?
One doesn't.