Nine years ago, KK ran a marathon. He was 32.
I was pregnant with Day, cheerfully plied him with bananas while he trained and even won a Runspirator (running inspiration) cash prize for a touching essay I wrote about a pregnant wife supporting her marathon-ing husband.
This year, along with the other many post-40 bees which have suddenly buzzed into his bonnet, KK decided he wanted to run it again.
The training, conducted over several months, was painful and tiring. It was patently clear that 41 is not the same as 32.
One 20km practice run (he runs at night) and he sleeps at 8pm for a few nights after. Muscles require massage from the parlour across the road which happily closes at 2am. The cycling to work stopped entirely.
Days before the run, he, consistent in his belief that one needs the best equipment to be at one's best, kitted himself out with new top, new shorts, new sunglasses, energy gels and beef jerky to munch on the run.
He had also cannily roped in my brother Choon, visiting from Darwin, and our insurance agent Chong to run alongside him. Very nice of them to agree, I must say. I wouldn't.
The day of the run, 2 Dec, I wake up at 4am to drive KK and Choon to the start point near the Somerset MRT station. The Christmas lights are beautiful and so is the buzz. Everyone is bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and they smell clean.
Once I am back home, I cannot sleep because I discover I can track KK, Choon and Chong's real-time progress online. At every 5km ping, I check to see if they are still abreast or if one as overtaken the others.
At 7am, I cycle down the canal to the beach to catch them. The number of runners pounding past is overwhelming and for a while it feels like I am watching a film on fast-forward. I can barely track. But luckily, I see them for about 10 seconds. Of the three, Chong is up front.
I return home and at 8am, I return back to the beach, this time in a car, with Lulu who has woken up to catch the guys on their return leg. Lulu dresses up in her cheerleading costume and brings a pompom.
This year, along with the other many post-40 bees which have suddenly buzzed into his bonnet, KK decided he wanted to run it again.
The training, conducted over several months, was painful and tiring. It was patently clear that 41 is not the same as 32.
One 20km practice run (he runs at night) and he sleeps at 8pm for a few nights after. Muscles require massage from the parlour across the road which happily closes at 2am. The cycling to work stopped entirely.
Days before the run, he, consistent in his belief that one needs the best equipment to be at one's best, kitted himself out with new top, new shorts, new sunglasses, energy gels and beef jerky to munch on the run.
He had also cannily roped in my brother Choon, visiting from Darwin, and our insurance agent Chong to run alongside him. Very nice of them to agree, I must say. I wouldn't.
The day of the run, 2 Dec, I wake up at 4am to drive KK and Choon to the start point near the Somerset MRT station. The Christmas lights are beautiful and so is the buzz. Everyone is bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and they smell clean.
Once I am back home, I cannot sleep because I discover I can track KK, Choon and Chong's real-time progress online. At every 5km ping, I check to see if they are still abreast or if one as overtaken the others.
At 7am, I cycle down the canal to the beach to catch them. The number of runners pounding past is overwhelming and for a while it feels like I am watching a film on fast-forward. I can barely track. But luckily, I see them for about 10 seconds. Of the three, Chong is up front.
I return home and at 8am, I return back to the beach, this time in a car, with Lulu who has woken up to catch the guys on their return leg. Lulu dresses up in her cheerleading costume and brings a pompom.
At this point, the collective whiff of musty sweat from the runners who have already run nearly 30km is solidly palpable.
Lu and I sit under a tree where a bird shits on her arm.
Tissue-less, I stare at the gooey green and milky white before wiping it up with the bottom of my T-shirt.
Due to the bird shit debacle, we miss our runners. Lu goes back home, pompom unused.
At 10am, for the fourth time that morning, I head out, this time to the finish point at the Padang.
Of our three, KK comes in first. He takes 5 hours and 40 minutes, an hour slower than his 2003 time. But he comes in smiling, thumbs up.
Lu and I sit under a tree where a bird shits on her arm.
Tissue-less, I stare at the gooey green and milky white before wiping it up with the bottom of my T-shirt.
Due to the bird shit debacle, we miss our runners. Lu goes back home, pompom unused.
At 10am, for the fourth time that morning, I head out, this time to the finish point at the Padang.
Of our three, KK comes in first. He takes 5 hours and 40 minutes, an hour slower than his 2003 time. But he comes in smiling, thumbs up.
Chong comes in next.
Then Choon, who inexplicably chose to land in Singapore (from Darwin) just seven hours before the 5am marathon start time. The ectomorphic one looks somewhat prune-ish and shriveled up at the finish line.
But they did it. The amazing trio. Mostly running and some walking of 42.195km.
* Chong, Choon, KK
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