When I find all of the reasons
maybe I'll find another way,
find another day.
With all the changing seasons of my life,
maybe I'll get it right next time.
— Guns N Roses
Over the last few weeks, my workmates (who have been moved to another building) have told me how surprised they are to see me so slim. I don't know if that's a compliment or something else. I'll take it as the former. Even my boss, Nick, said one time that I was looking very fit— yeah, just as I was dragging on a cigarette.
I'm not really a health buff. I'm not really a weight watcher. There was a time when I tried going to the gym. I went there for around half a year lifting weights and working the rowing machine. That's when I actually got so fat that when I came on board here at my current workplace, I weighed around 250lbs. But things have happened and things will continue to happen.
I run. I've been running two, three times a week during my lunch breaks, for more than a month and a half now. I've always hated running. Even when I was in the varsity team in high school or when I joined football clubs that took things a bit too seriously; I never really liked having to go around the field for 20 to 30 minutes or maneuvering around training cones— sprinting, jogging, chasing after balls. But I run just the same.
I run because I always have a lot of things on my mind. Not really. I run because I always have one thing on my mind. One person. And I need space and to try to think about something else. I run because of an incident that happened early in August where you saw me and you just ran. It hurt like hell. It still does.
I run because I don't want to think about anything else except my breathing; the pain in my legs and feet, whether they can still carry me to the next corner. When the people who are around ask me why I run, I tell them it's for the endorphins— that happy hormone that the body produces to get your brain out of “I'm hurting mode”. I suppose it really works. There is a science to it.
All this running. Perhaps soon, it will take me to Palanca; or to one of High Street's arteries in BGC, or to Emerald or to Garnet in Ortigas; or back to the corner of Bern and Amsterdam. Who knows. But I run— and I will run so you won't have to anymore.
Let me do the running for you.