move leg fast

Finally some time to be back here! Back to the series:

I'm documenting parts of my life, illustrated by awards that I've won in my 26 years. Could I be less narcissistic and tell the story without flaunting my shimmies? Heck yes but where's the attention-seeking fun in that?

Part 5! It's a first part of origins as a runner!

I recently posted this photo on my social media:

It's an SMS that I had with VS/VJC track legend Shi Ronghua, my old nemesis and friend. He's practically a caveman so to be able to contact him is nothing short of a miracle. I've been injured for 6 years and hopefully that is finally behind me, and now is finally the time for #comebackkhing.

I thought it'd be appropriate at this point in the series to hence document my running journey.

I've always liked to run, even before I officially joined cross-country/track in Secondary School. I'd often challenge friends to foot races (and lose) and would join the school's track and field meets (and lose). My greatest running achievement in Primary School was this:

As a clueless primary 3 kid I actually did some training on my own, leading up to that PE class when we would select the 8 guys to represent the class. I just barely squeezed into the team, having tied with Joel for 4 trials but got picked because the other 7 kids preferred me (take that, Joel). If it were the other way round, I might have ended up with some childhood scars because of that (thanks Joel for taking one for the team).

In sec 1 we had CCA trials. Apart from swimming which was actually my main sport, I was selected for track, waterpolo and rugby. Of course, I became a swimming runner. I went for a couple of sprint trainings and thoroughly enjoyed myself before being dragged over to cross-country because my 2.4 was pretty decent.

I actually wanted to sprint and not run distances at all, so I escaped plenty of cross trainings and went for track instead. Time and time again though, Mr.Bongard would pop up in my class, pull me out and ask me why I didn't go down for trainings. You don't want to mess with Bongard.

Yes sir, no problem sir, I'll go down for cross-country training sir. I'm only 13 but you want me to run intervals on Mondays and Wednesdays, then run 7km on Fridays and 16km on Saturdays just as a start? And after that when training picks up? No problem, sir, I'll be there, sir.

And that's how I got converted into a distance runner. 

Just look at me. You can plainly see the willingness on my face and the liberty that is abundantly expressed in my quadriceps stretch position. 

Anyhow, I did sort of begin to enjoy running - after endless miles it does eventually get to you. Things only really took off when we discovered that I was pretty good at sprints and long distances, then made the logical conclusion that I should be decent at middle distances. It took a while to fully realize it, but I was born to run mid d.

When you go for job interviews you might be faced with a "greatest achievement of your life" question. I never used it for an interview before, but it happened on the track when I was 14. It'll be the story I tell my grand kids, so I'm definitely leaving it here so I never forget.

By the start of sec 2, we knew my best distance was the 800m. It is a most horrible event; sprinting practically the whole way - but I loved it because I was good at it and I loved the rush of competition; running down the final curve and outlasting my opponents - as long as I can take more pain, I can win. 

In March that year, I ran my then personal best of 2:17 for the 800. I was the fastest on my team, but far off Andy from Fuhua Sec, who was already running a 2:12. Andy was always interviewed by the papers and always favourite for every 800 race. I wanted to beat Andy. But before I caught up to him, the day after I ran that 2:17, chicken pox caught me.

Just like that, I was out of training for a month and a half with an unusually long drawn out chicken pox and fever. When I recovered, I came home from my first training with a terrible ankle sprain. After all that, I restarted my training all over again in June. I missed every competition leading up to then and was left with one more race mid-June and then National in mid-July. Everyday leading up to my first day back on track, I believed I would beat Andy.

I knuckled down and trained as hard as I possibly could and credibly ran another 2:17 in mid-June. Andy was already running 2:10; the usual Nationals' winning time for our age group. Didn't matter. I was going to beat Andy.

I trained so hard after that. It was really amazing because even when I got older, I still struggled to complete the trainings I managed to complete back then. Every time I faltered, I only knew that I wanted to beat Andy. To beat Andy. To beat Andy. I thought it when I ran, I thought it when I showered every night and I thought it when I woke up in the mornings.

Nationals came and I ran my heats in an incredible 2:12 to qualify third. But if anything, I was only disappointed that I wasn't close enough to Andy's 2:10. It was one more week to the finals.

I don't exactly remember the race like it was yesterday, but I remember being laced up in my spikes, lying beside the track before the race with my eyes closed, controlling my breathing and imagining a star-lit night sky and hearing the sounds of a waterfall. I opened my eyes and it was time. I lined up on the starting line and before we knew it, the gun was off. Andy, in his flashing red and white top took the lead. I started ok and was running in a pack for the first round. We were overeager - I crossed the line 9th on the first 400m and I had ran a 1:04. 

I sat in 9th place for another 100m, and then, as I always envisioned it happening from since I began wanting to beat Andy, I burst at the last 300m mark, leading my run with my hips. I was 9th, 6th, 3rd, 2nd and then just before the last 200m mark, I was first. Andy breathing down my neck. We ran down the curve and Andy tried to overtake me on the outside lane, but I was on the inner lane and I couldn't let an inner lane advantage slip. I slowed down to run alongside him, giving him false hope that he could overtake. He ended up running on the outside lane for the final curve with the little precious energy he had left and I knew it was in my hands. I accelerated out the curve and onto the final straight, the last 100m. I could barely open my eyes from the effort and the searing pain in my legs were crying for me to stop. I heard myself think that I just needed to finish this as fast as I could, and I would be national champion. My thighs were gone, so I switched to my calves to take me through. I was running fast but still I heard footsteps and they were quicker than mine. Then I heard breathing.

Then I beat Andy. I knelt on the line and held up my arms. 2:08:01.

Thinking back, I'm amazed that I didn't just believe I would beat Andy, I literally believed it so hard I knew it. It thoroughly shaped and affected who I eventually turned out to be. Distance running is really the epitome of doing something over and over again until you really get good at it, which set me up for many of the good things I consequently achieved because I believed in hard work and experienced first hand how keeping at something will always pay off, whether you're talented or not. You only need talent to become world class; if not, you just need hard work to become really, really good.