Run and Heal.

I shall unabashedly describe my love for the one thing that actually makes me feel happy and healthy, in the moment.

I like running. I always have, even as a young boy who unintentionally smashed the school record for the Primary 5 100 metres event. I remember that moment with fondness and hilarity, because it was to my utter bewilderment that I saw the words ‘school record’ beside my name, in the sheet of results put up on the noticeboard. Gosh, that sure fed my ego then. It wasn’t even the finals yet; it was the heats, and I ended up dead last during the finals. Performance pressure, you see.

But, my point is that when I was younger, I wanted to join the running events in secondary school, because deep down I was craving for that indescribable sensation you get when you run. I had (and have) a love for running, but I did not stand up for it because I was shunted sideways into the throwing events, which I failed at spectacularly. It has taken me six years to say this: I threw the javelin a paltry eight metres when the next nearest distance thrown was twenty metres. I had the choice to say “I still want to join running” when the teachers-in-charge attempted to convince me to take pole-vaulting or throwing instead, but I was scared to speak up.

Four years passed. During the brief time I was active in Track and Field in Victoria School, I detested training with the throwing team. I didn’t fit in, and I thoroughly disliked hurling softballs across the football field, or grasping my javelin and seeing it fall barely ten metres from where I stood. What I truly, truly enjoyed though, was when the throwing team would undergo endurance training. We would run to East Coast Park, and then to the Changi Airport runways, and back. Yes.

That covered 16 km in total. And I am telling you, of all the training sessions I went for, I enjoyed these ‘Changi runs’ the most. When I ran, I was blissfully on my own, in my own world, and pitting myself against… myself. It was nuts, when I think about it in retrospect. 16 kilometres on foot when I was 14 years of age, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

I would look at the pole-vaulters, who were easily the most ‘glamorous’ and admired, with their prowess at launching themselves three metres into the air and their physique and all. Then I would think of running, and that was something I could own.

So, four years passed. One day in October, my dad went for a run around our neighbourhood, and I was asked to join. So I did, and since then, running has become a staple of my lifestyle. I certainly have fallen behind in the frequency I run, when times were bad, but overall, since that day in October, I have never stopped liking to run when I wanted to do something to keep (and feel) fit.

There is this instant kind of freedom when I set my feet on the ground and run. The world around me shifts, almost psychedelically, and a sense of well-being bubbles up to the surface. Endorphins, of course, but there is something more to it. I put on my shoes, take a short walk, and then I run… That’s supposed to be all there is to it, right? But no. I’d like to say that I gain clarity when I run, and I do, but that’s not it. That’s the indescribable sensation I was talking about.

The unfortunate thing is, I tend to be prone to a malfunctioning right leg. It happened twice before, in 2014. It was a shin splint, and some knee issue that lasted for months, each. And now, it has recurred, and for the past two months, I have been mostly grounded from running.

I’ve always associated running with a personal sense of well-being. So when I had to stop, it feels like a part of me is withering away and decaying. Running is a part of me. Without running, I don’t feel me. I feel decidedly unfit, lethargic, unfocused, and fat. People rarely hear me say something like ‘I feel fat’, but right now I do. Without my feet snugly secured in my bright blue running shoes, I feel like something is missing from the very core of my existence.

I write like running is some kind of love affair you see in a Singapore Channel 8 drama, with the withdrawal symptoms, feelings of longing, and all. Perhaps running is like love. I can’t say for sure when it comes to romantic love because I have never felt that way towards someone, but in terms of just love in general, running is love. You can’t do without love. Love for your friends, your family, your cat, your soft toy, your neighbourhood, your interests. You can’t do without those right? So it is with me and running. We’re in a symbiotic relationship.

I pray and hope for my right knee to heal. Please heal. I can already feel you healing. I’ve stopped doing what I love for months, just so you could heal, so that you can help me run again. Heal. I love running and I can’t do without it. I promise I’ll take great care of you and the rest of my leg and my body in future. I shan’t take you for granted again. I’ve felt what it’s like to stop and it’s such a wrench.

And this concludes my description of my love affair with running — I can’t do without it and I’m sure many people can relate to how I feel.

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