I’ve been under the athletics radar the past few days, thanks to a bum hamstring and a mild cold. The hamstring felt better after a few days of rest and the mucus level had dramatically subsided. Nevertheless, I still feel out of sync. I was supposed to hit the track last night, but thanks to Typhoon Juaning (and to mucus-clogged nasal passages), I had to skip the workout.

I just hate it when unexpected occurrences derail my plans. Just when I was starting to shift into high gear, I have to pause.

I’m not training tonight too, since I’m gonna watch the second round of the Philippines – Kuwait football match-up. Besides, I am in such poor mental state. Perhaps a two-day respite from the routine would whip my mind into training shape again. Perhaps watching my countrymen face those Middle Eastern football giants despite the steepest of odds would fan the fires of (sporting) inspiration.

Many a time have I felt pumped-up after watching a Manny Pacquiao fight. Such is the effect of spectator sports. It enables myself to push my body to the limits, to will my mind to excel. Some people wonder why I pursue the sport despite the fact that athletics is a fringe Filipino sport. The statistics are against me. Chances are I won’t run fourteen seconds, much less thirteen seconds, considering my crude sporting background. In relative terms, I suck in the hurdles.

So why in the hell do I continue? What’s the point of doing something you’re not good at? From a rational point-of-view, I might as well pour everything I got into building up my financial career and my social relationships. Instead, I religiously do endless sprints, hurdle workouts and weight training exercises. To make things worse, I train alone. The solitude amplifies these thoughts a hundred-fold.


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