I ought to be shot.  I had three serves of ice cream today.  They say that carbo-loading before a long-distance race is good, but even I have to concede that this is hardly a pretext for behaving like a pig.  I did not even have to read the following article to know that ice cream contains too much fat to be of much use as a carbo-loading food: 

http://www.scottdouglas.biz/Articles/marathoneats.htm

Although it did provide me loads of useful information on how I should carbo-load for the up coming marathon.

I also discovered that Baskin Robbins is the most expensive ice cream, compared against Lecka-Lecka and New Zealand Ice Cream.  Regrettably, I had to learn through the most painfully embarrassing means of not having enough money to pay for two miserable scoops of ice cream.  Although, I will concede that BR does give pretty big scoops. 

The hubby and I were wondering through Midvalley when we both decided we were a little peckish.  I handed my ten dollar note to the hubby so he could get himself a KFC meal.  Unfortunately, I forgot that all I had left was seven bucks.  Now I have to suffer the snide remarks from the hubby every time he asks me if I have enough money.  If I reply, “Yes,” he’ll ask, “What? You have more than seven bucks?”

I guess the rationale for choosing BR would have to be the exciting array of flavours they offer in their ice creams that surpasses all the other ice cream brands currently in Malaysia.  Not only do they provide interesting flavours, but they also offer an assortment of textures in their ice cream that go beyond the norm.

The hubby prefers the taste of New Zealand Ice Cream because it is not as sweet and he finds the texture to be smoother.  To my indiscriminate tongue, I did not perceive there to be any difference, though for two thirds the price of BR, I can deal with having less flavours to choose from and a slightly smaller scoop of ice cream.

Lecka-Lecka offers the softer texture of Italian ice cream, gelato.  The milk-based flavours in gelato are not as rich in cream, providing a slightly healthier alternative to relieve a craving for an icy dessert.  They also present a wider selection of fruity flavours which might be more appealing to the health-conscious.

Why the analysis?  Well, I had to provide a legitimate excuse for stuffing my face since the carbo-loading defence was not justified.

Le Grunt called me the night before asking me if I was going to go biking with them on Sunday morning.  As tempted as I was to give it a go, I respectfully declined.

My Dad had called me the day before to request a stationary recumbent bike for my Ah Kong, giving me a spec list that was a mile long.  After some internet searches the night before, I noticed that there was showroom selling a model meeting most of these requirements located at Midvalley.  Midvalley being Midvalley, I was not about to confront the throng that would have implanted themselves at the shopping complex by mid-afternoon on a Sunday.

As MT and I were walking back to our cars, I spotted Le Grunt lifting his bike off the roof rack of his car and pointed him out to MT.  Cheekily, MT broke into a jog with mock concentration on his face as he ran past Le Grunt.  MT "accidentally" brushed his elbow against Le Grunt's ribs.  Le Grunt emitted his usual string of expletives for the audience in the car park.

Since I was not joining them, the bikers had decided to hit a much harder trail at Kiara instead of the baby trail they would have taken me on at FRIM.

K arrived shortly after and she and Le Grunt exchanged some comments about their bikes.  Le Grunt proudly pointed out his new bike seat and for the first time, I realised that his whole bike looked new.  Since the first time I saw his bike until then, he had changed every single part but one.

Yes, Le Grunt was a great customer.  If I owned a bike shop, I am sure I could survive if I had just one customer like Le Grunt. 

He asked us to guess how much his bike seat cost him.  I took a punt and was out by about fifty ringgit.  For that price, you could be the top-end bike from Tesco and still have change to buy an ATC and a large carabiner.

Next, I noticed that Le Grunt was completely colour-coordinated from his helmet to his clip-on biking shoes.  Even his bicycle sported the same grey-black hues.  A moment later, D and K rocked up in their van.  D appeared with her own uniform colours of blue and yellow, while K modelled blue and pink tones.

This was the group that I was going to bike with?  They looked like a bunch of professionals entering a race, instead of heading for a leisurely Sunday bike ride.  I started to wonder about the wisdom of joining them.  AN had already made ridiculous recommendations for me to take on the "4K" trail when the last time I rode a bike was during my first year of University when I flew over the handle-bars.

It did not take a genius to realise that this group was crazy and I had to be brainless to think about joining them. 

I would be spending the next two Sundays travelling to and from Japan.  On the third Sunday, I would be running my first Marathon.  I figure that if I survive the Marathon, I would probably be ready to start training my biking skills so I might contemplate a duathalon.  Either that, or I could make my way to an early retirement… we'll see.

Well, my promise of running "tomorrow" did not emerge, but I did do some climbing in between, does that count?  Anaerobic exercise, not exactly in the same category but it achieved increased respiration (albeit for the wrong reasons) and sweat production.

With the posers back in town, the training schedule for the KL Marathon resumed again.  Two break-off groups commenced separate training schedules early morning at the TTDI track yesterday.  SKT was planning to run twenty-one kilometers.  I was content to stick to MT's plan to complete one.

SKT and JY were nowhere to be seen, but MT and I made it to the track after some individual morning delays.  Mine because MIL took my car out for some early morning errands and MT because of difficulties getting out of bed.  Nice to know I am not the only one with the carburetor engine disorder. 

The park at TTDI was chocker block full as it was every morning, so getting a park was somewhat of a challenge.  I was tempted to break some traffic laws and park on a solid yellow line, but decided to be a good citizen after my early morning gripes about law enforcement being a poor example to be followed.

A leisurely toilet break and some minor adjustments to my MP3 player and I was off, tackling the track in the usual anti-clockwise fashion that PCL and I would take during our odd weekday running pursuits. 

As I started pacing, I felt invincible.  That "easy ten" would be mine today.

I had completed one lap before MT arrived and he suggested running clockwise.  I found it interesting how different the circuit becomes when you alter your perspective of it.  The relatively "short" downhill stretches felt impossibly long and the incline was more severe than it should have been in proportion.  I was also amazed to notice how steep the anti-clockwise inclines were.  I had always remembered them as gradual inclines.

I was feeling worse for wear by the time I completed the second lap.  MT ran ahead of me and I let him run out of sight.  Even my MP3 player started acting up in sympathy.  I figured it did not like the continual bounce from a runner's pace and the duration of three kilometers was about as much as it was willing to take.

If MT had not been running ahead of me, I would probably have called it quits at about this time.  Instead, I tried to focus on the music and the two meters of track just in front of me.  Surprisingly, it was quite affective.  I stopped thinking about how long the ascent was and how much further I had yet to run.  Although I still think I have a lot to work on in terms of handling an incline.  It was still habitual to attack it with more vigour than my body was capable of, resulting in my failure to recover even during a compassionate descent.  Of course, some additional cardio fitness would not have gone astray either.

On completing the third lap, MT turned and asked if I was up for another round.  It must have been the mask of agony on my face that prompted his query.  MT looked remarkably fresh and capable of running another ten rounds.  I, on the other hand, was ready for the stretcher to wheel me back to my car. 

"Okay," I gasped.  "One more…"

MT turned and continued running, but he thoughtfully slowed his pace so I could keep up.  Secretly, I was relieved.  At least someone would be within reach to call the paramedics when I fainted. 

An hour ago, I was untouchable.  It was amazing what a couple of laps could do to the body.

Six point four kilometers, a far cry from the forty-two kilometers I would have to run in three weeks.  I made it home to the hubby who was still comatose in the foetal position.  When I roused him to come shopping with me for Ah Kong's stationary recumbent exercise bike, he asked me how my training session went.  So I told him.

He replied, "Never mind.  You can call me to pick you up on the race day."

Post Chinese New Yew gluttony, it was time to start training for the marathon.  I headed to the gym to complete “an easy 10km”, as JC had always called it back in the good old days when we were running together.

My mind was obviously feeling stronger than my body because I remembered thinking, I’ll start with 10km and if I feel good, I’ll continue to 15km.

Barely completing three kilometers on the treadmill and I was ready to go home.  My mind, disgusted by the weakness displayed by my body, managed to command another four kilometers before my legs made an executive decision on their own.  So much for running an easy ten, let alone fifteen…

Sigh… we’ll start again tomorrow.

Chinese New Year, food and lack of exercise are synonymous with one another.  Hence after returning from a far too leisurely holiday at Langkawi, my sister in law and I decided it was time to shed some recently acquired kilos at the gym.  Being a member of Celebrity Fitness, and having signed up, up front with a three membership, I figured I could get her in on a guest pass. 

We went over to 1utama and I introduced HL to the staff at Celebrity. 

"You want to try out our gym?  Sure, sure," said the gentlemen behind the counter.  "We just need you to fill out this form."

Thinking that all was going well, I told HL I would see her on the treadmill.  Thirty minutes later and there was still no sign of HL. 

Hmmm, I thought, perhaps they are giving her a fitness test somewhere else…

An hour of sweating, I finally see HL approaching me looking aggrieved.  I scanned for signs of physical exhaustion, but there were none.  Her pained look was the result of mental trauma, for she had spent the last hour being harassed by the gym staff to sign up for membership on the spot.  Talk about high-pressure sales…

Feeling thoroughly annoyed, I went to the reception desk and asked to speak to the manager and gave him an earful.  Okay, so I exaggerated a little in some instances, but most of it was factual.  All the manager could do was nod and apologise to me.  I wanted to send my message home.

Why I was angry:

I have been a member of the gym since before it opened.  I signed up without any fuss and paid upfront for a three year membership plan.  They send me tons of smses about introducing my friends to the gym.  So I do – more than once.  Then they humiliate me by harassing my friends to join the gym which I recommended as being a "great" gym.  Not only did they harass HL, they also called one of their managers to turn up the heat.  He kept her from trying out the gym for one hour.  We were supposed to work out together, but by the time she is ready to start, I am already done.  This was the final straw.

What I told the guy:

I just got married and this was my sister in law that I was trying very hard to impress (this was my only little white lie but I figured it would help convey my point).  She made a comment about wanting to get fit again so naturally I recommend the gym I am going to.  We came to the gym thinking it would be a simple task of filling out a form, but she gets held up for an hour.  I might have been willing to overlook the time factor had it been that they were busy showing her the gym and telling her about the facilities.  Instead, they spent the better part of that hour grilling her with ridiculous questions on why she would not sign up on the spot.

The conversation between HL and L (the fitness advisor at the gym) went something like:

HL: I would like to check out Fitness First to see how the gym compares to this one before I join

L: Well, there's no need to check out Fitness First.  Our gym is much bigger, we're opened long hours and we have much more equipment.

HL: Well, that's not the only thing I'm interested in.  I have personal reasons.

L: Might I ask what sort of personal reasons?

HL: No you may not.  That's why they are personal.

L: Why don't you check out Fitness First today?

HL: What?  Do you want me to run over there and check it out now?

L: You know there's really nothing to compare.  If you pay now, we can sign you up today.

HL: Look, I don't have much money on me right now.

L: That's ok, we take credit card.  You have a credit card, right?  It's only RMXXX a month.

HL: Well, I'm currently unemployed and looking for a job and a place to rent.  I don't think I can make that kind of commitment every month.  Maybe once I get a job.

L: That's not a problem.  We can auto-debit your credit card.

HL: (in a thought bubble) Hello? Did you just hear what I said?

There was much more to the conversation – it took one hour, after all.  This was the gist that I picked up.

With the millions invested and the competition increasing between the gargantuan gym chains, I appreciate the necessity to increase gym memberships.  However, based on my recent experiences, I feel that the intensity and approach that these gyms are employing to solicit new clients have simply become downright outlandish.  It is simply not acceptable.

If this manner of doing business continues, I would not be surprise that all the gym will achieve is to turn away potential clients rather than attract them. 

Since I had committed myself to the full marathon in March, I decided to do some research online to see what sort of training programs I could use to prepare myself.  The first site I found was:

http://www.marathontraining.com/marathon.html

Suffice to say, the training program runs over a course of thirty-seven weeks.  I checked out a few other sites and the shortest I could fine was still twenty-one weeks.  Here I was trying to condense twenty-one weeks into twenty-one days…  Good luck to me. 

In the site above, they did not recommend anyone running a marathon if they had not been running consistently for at least a year.  They wrote:  "the 26.2 mile distance of the marathon must be respected… most people can B.S. their way through the training… leads to the marathon participant surviving instead of enjoying the race." 

Gosh, that almost sounded like grandpa talking me to me during the last seven kilometers of the Great Eastern Pacesetters race.  If I was truly honest with myself, I don't really think I've ever enjoyed a race.  The whole aim of the game had always been about completion, and of course, that shiny piece of medal to show for it at the end.

I will also be the first to admit that I have never really enjoyed training for races.  Clocking in my time on the treadmill was a chore I would not have minded skipping altogether.  The whole thrill of a race was in the finishing and nothing else mattered.

PCL and I had a "get fit" agreement that saw us running a couple of laps around the TTDI track twice a week.  After watching me struggle to complete two miserable laps, she asked perplexed, "How did you managed to run the PJ Half Marathon without training?" 

I flashed a Cheshire grin and simply replied, "I perform a lot better on race day."

In uttering that single line, I realized what it was all about for me.  I believe that the ease of achievement in anything has a strong correlation with desire.  In my case, I had the desire to complete a half marathon, but I had no real appreciation for running.  It was on my checklist of "things I to do before I die" and I just wanted to be able to tick the box.  And because I had completed a half marathon, I had just created another box labeled: "complete a marathon", so here I am.

After the Great Eastern Pacesetter's 30km run, I recall mentioning that I would never again try anything more than a half marathon.  Sitting by the cendol stand where I had collapse as soon as I managed to crawl for my food, GB who overhead my solemn vow shook his head and disagreed, "That's what I said, but then I go back and I'm running again.  After each race I say it's enough, but I keep coming back for more."

Too tired to argue, I just thought to myself, that's you, but I'm me.

Expecting to have to get the bulldozers to get me out of bed the next day, I woke up feeling relatively pain-free.  The following day after that felt just as good.  Surprisingly, I was making a remarkable recovery. 

A few email communiqués transmitting between D and myself and my ego had swelled larger than the size of Ben Hur.  Intelligence went out the door and I found myself signing up for the KL Marathon – the full forty-two kilometers.

I ought to hand D a medal for she has a way with words that can stop the rain from falling and make the sun shine.

The day of reckoning had arrived.  It was a day to be proven or to return with my tail between my legs.  With a barbeque ending at about eleven thirty the night before, I felt surprisingly alert after four and half hours of sleep. 

Recalling the whopping flapper I developed on my little toe after completing the last 10km race in my Nike trainers, I made sure I had packed my New Balance runners.  Also a little wiser from experience, I packed my MP3 player (uploaded with some zippy running tracks) into a waist pouch with three sachets of Power Gel, some money for a cab and a mobile phone to call for help. 

I charged up with a double helping of Weet-Bix and succumbed to my weakness for my morning "pick-me-up" of that magical brown elixir.  Armed with my combat girl water bottle and cap, I hit the streets even before the sun woke up.

S, D and T were car pooling and we were planning to meet up near the Lake Gardens Club.  Despite the fact that we were meeting half an hour before the race began, cars were already amassing around the starting point.  I scanned the multitude of faces for someone familiar but found none. 

Perhaps they were already at the starting line, I thought to myself.

I parked the car and took turns ringing each of them.  No one picked up their phone.  I was getting a little nervous. 

Please tell me they didn't bail.

I got out of the car and started walking towards the starting point.  I had barely walked five meters when I saw S and D rounding the corner.  T was nowhere to be seen.  Apparently, he had called up on Friday to inform D that he was not going to make it because he did not feel ready.  We all agreed it was weak and D was delighted to hear that I had rung his mobile to disturb him at this ungodly hour.

D felt the need to pee.  I figured it was just a nervous bladder, but we both went anyway.  Surprise, surprise, it was the men's toilets that had the long queue, while the ladies' were quite manageable. 

We stayed in the middle of the pack, the three of us pacing together for a while.  The beat of the music was inspiring and I felt good all the way up to the ten kilometer mark.  That was about the time when S pulled ahead and D caught up.  After a while, I was not paying attention to the music any more.  Even the MP3 player was getting tired because it started acting up and going silent from time to time until I jiggled it back into sound.

I could see the faster runners heading back in the opposite direction and I felt that sickening hollow in the pit of my stomach as it dawned upon me that I would also be running back the same way.  I felt a great reluctance to take each step for it meant I was putting more distance between me and the finishing line.  Each stride was another meter I had to run on the return journey.

The trail took us across Jalan Duta and into Sri Hartamas where one of the race marshals shouted, "Five kilometers." 

I guess my brain had malfunctioned and thought I was running twenty kilometers, because I remember thinking, Thank God, only five km more to run.

Heartened, I pick up my pace and kept running and running and running.  It was the longest five kilometers I had ever run.  Even with my brain weary from the physical fatigue, it finally realized that the race marshal meant I had run five kilometers after the first  ten kilometer lap, meaning I was only halfway through the race, not almost finishing.

I remembered that D mentioned we had to run past the mosque in Sri Hartamas.  I kept looking out ahead for a mosque that would mark the return journey of the race.  As I passed Plaza Damas, my thoughts flickered to the mobile phone that sat in my waist pouch.  I lingered on the tantalizing thought of running into the shopping complex and calling the hubby to pick me up. 

I looked at my watch.  He was probably still sleeping and I was certain he would hardly be sympathetic to the cause of rescuing his wife from a fate that she had brought upon herself, so I kept running.

The mistake I made was not consuming my powergel until I had reached the 20km mark.  By that time, my throat was so dry I could barely swallow the gelatinous liquid.  My energy was spent and it was taking too long for the powergel to kick into my system, so I slowed to walk.  Sheer arrogance had made me lose my head to common sense.  Feeling vitalized, I thought I could continue without the powergel.  A grave oversight…

I spent the better part of the last 10km walking.  The funny thing was that I could probably walk as fast as I had been running.  From time to time, when I knew the next water station was up ahead, I would find the extra burst of energy.  Perhaps it was the knowledge that respite was just around the corner. 

Somewhere along the way, an elderly gentleman old enough to be my grandpa slowed down to spur me on.  "Don't stop running," he said. 

With a groan, I quickened my pace into a slow jog.  If grandpa could do it, so could I…  Funny to think my mind could still be so proud even when my body felt like it had been beaten to a pulp. 

I kept pace with grandpa, while he talked to me about the merits of understanding a long distance route.  He also explained the difference between running a race and enjoying a route.  Funny, I was just there to put a tick next to my 30km mark.  Apparently he had been observing me for some distance because he noted that I had the ability, but my technique was out.

I remembered running a half marathon and I had always found the "distance to go" placards very encouraging.  When I hit the "3km to go" mark, I thought, You've got to be kidding!  I've been running forever and there's still three kilometers to go?  The sentiment was no different when I saw the "2km" and "1km" signs.  At the 1km indicator, my fatigue overruled my pride, and I told grandpa to run ahead.  When he was out of sight, I stopped to walk.  I felt ready to pass out.

We turned into Lake Gardens where the crowds were loitering and giving encouragement to the runners in their last leg.  After some cheering, I picked up the pace again.  The battery on the MP3 player was long dead, so the only musical inspiration was the song in reverberating in my head was "I can go the distance". 

I went past a group and one of them shouted, "Only another five hundred meters!" 

I smiled at them, but I think what emerged upon my face was more like a grimace.  He could have said five kilometers for all I noticed.  In the last hundred meters, I pelted down the track with the promised vision of collapsing at the finishing line where they would have to carry me if they wanted me to move.

After crossing the finishing line, a little boy handed me a bottle of water that I was too tired to carry.  I walked over to where some marshals were handing out the vouchers only to find that I had to walk another hundred meters to the food stands.  I swaggered across the field like an inebriate.  It was such a concentrated effort to put one foot in front of the other that I felt like a baby learning to take its first steps.

When they handed me the goody bag, I peeped inside and smiled at the sight of a shiny sliver of silver gleaming up at me.  All this pain for a piece of metal…  I had to be out of my mind, but there it is.

After trudging through a rather muddy field to the finishing line of the Mizuno Pacesetter's 10km run, my almost brand new white New Balance W1220 shoes had taken on an unbecoming earthy brown hue. 

When I got home, I took to the unpleasant task of cleaning them, when my eyes caught sight of the washing machine.  The cogwheels started turning and the light bulb upstairs came on. 

Conclusion: washing machines are great for washing muddy running shoes.

I thought it was a better idea than J's "running in the rain" suggestion.

Note: Since I have a top loader, I left the spin cycle on.  Leaving the spin cycle on for a side loader may not be advisable.  If I ever get a side loader washing machine, I'll let you know how it goes.  For now, I shall leave at the reader's discretion.