Memory tricks

Sengkang, 36 km. Ignored memory: as I leave my house, I notice my gloves are off. I recall I said I'd never ride without my gloves, after I'd crashed and smacked my hands against the ground. Ouch. I ignore the memory; after a few years of cycling with gloves, surely I can do without them today. I crash. Lacerations on my leg. Strain on my wrist (I can't even squeeze my water bottle). Dopey look on my face. Unwanted memory: when you want to forget, but can't. I find this happens most with emotional pain, not physical pain. Forgotten memory: I pass my guru's home, and recall my last visit there, before he emigrated to Oz. Lasting memory: I recall how I cycled in this area at night, for "Rapunzel" moments. Pleasant memory: I finally meet bikeshop man who, since I met him six years ago, is now in his third location, having moved here a month ago. Postscript I usually cycle on Sundays. Why do I ride this Saturday, when traffic is heavier? Because I have a meeting tomorrow. At 7.30 am ...

Simple and quiet

Woodlands, 44 km. I'm so tired, I go to bed. I'm so restless, I go and ride. No sunglasses. No arm warmers. No sunblock. No sunshine. Even if it rains, I will cycle. It's that simple. I look for the quietest roads: Old Upper Thomson and Mandai. I stop at Kranji War Memorial. Part of trying to get closure. I'd have been the only soul there, except for a couple in a car, doing driving practice. I stop at a plaque that details the fall of Singapore. And another in memory of Force Z. The difference between their life and death was about a month, when Japan surrendered after executing them. The sky is somewhat cloudy, but the rain holds. The sun sets. The sky is ablaze. I look back and wonder. All those people who lived and died. All the happy, all the sad. It's the same sunset, isn't it?

Misery is free (in the short run)

Aug distance: 196 km

Tampines, 22 km. Last Sunday, I ran my first half marathon. It's the furthest I've run in my life. Physiological pain follows. That's bearable compared to psychological pain. Sadness is when you need to cry, but tears do not come. When you need to sleep, but lie awake waiting for day break. When you need cycletherapy, but the rain falls. For the first time in my life, I leave home while the rain falls. After checking the weather "nowcast" and making a gamble though the forecast is gloom. I win the gamble. While grey clouds are all over, there are gaps where the sun shines through. Though tears do not wet my eyes, at least I have eyes. Though sleep does not come, at least I have a comfy bed. Though the rain falls, at least I get to cycle. Misery is free. It would've been so easy to stay home and wallow. Lifting yourself out of a funk is costly in the short run but in the long run it may cost less than staying miserable.

Race against the rain

Admiralty Road West, 55 km. I amble on a gamble that it will not rain. I even (unusually) stop for lunch during instead of at the end of the ride. As I cycle home, for a moment, the road is clear. I admire how the trees arch over the road on either side, forming a green canopy. It looks misty in the distance. Then I realise the "mist" is rain that is coming closer. In moments, instead of the sun beating down, it is rain pelting down. I (unusually) stop at a bus stop instead of cursing my way on. Traffic roars and ants crawl past. Some of them look like spiders, with fat bulbous bodies. I marvel how the rain drops remain on my the surface of my new shoes instead of soaking in (this is the first time they are going offroad; they ride well). Within half an hour, the rain peters out. I lose the race against the rain this time, but the loss is not great. Sometimes, things aren't that bad even when they aren't what you expect.

Shut the door

Changi, 64 km. I buckle my shoe. And shut the door. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I tried so hard to keep you going. Just as you kept me going, for every race. And every expedition so far, three times along the length of West Malaysia, in Indonesia, in Thailand and Laos. You were fuss free. Did I take you for granted? After 2007, I saw the cracks. How I tended to you. But the special care was too little, too late. Something happened to you on the inside. You weren't the same anymore. I wish it wasn't so. But since you broke away, what else can I do? I still think about you. You look better and I feel more comfortable with you. But your replacement performs better; I get at least another 2 km/h with her. Remember, you gave up first. So the new pair, with fibre glass, clads my feet, while you lie in the box that you came in. So long. Thanks for the memories.

Replenishment

Admiralty Road West, 55 km. I haul myself out of bed. Usually, a tablespoon of oats is enough to keep me going for my Sunday ride. But not today. I realise my glycogen levels have depleted because of a Friday 1.5 hour run and a Saturday hike plus 1 hour run. Today, I scatter gravel and relish the traction as I pedal round twists and turns, then gorge on nasi bryani to top up my energy. I pass my bike doctor's shop and finds it shuttered. It has moved again, to a third location within six years, this time even further from my home. Policy shifts, people move and places move, which cause mental stress. My response is to move my body three days in a row, which cause physical stress. My body adapts so my mind will too. And just as my body needs rest, my mind needs to take a break too.

Change of challenge

Jul distance: 233 km

Admiralty Road West, 58 km. Some things haven't changed. Attap Valley Road still stinks of garbage. But I see a trail and what a thrilling vista it is. My knobbies scramble on the gravel as the trail twists and turns. Monkeys gape and a squirrel gambols up a tree. I find myself going in the other direction to increase the thrill of going up a steeper slope (instead of coasting down it) and round tighter corners. I realise that a hard ride is fun while a plain vanilla one is boring. Which means hard work can be fun compared to plain sailing ...

Self-talk, self-torment

Mount Faber, 65 km (10 laps). My worn bicycle shoes still serve me well even though they are falling to bits. I bought a new pair, model "M", reluctantly this month. Reluctant, because I want model "RT" model, which is lighter. I buy M because odd sizes are left and new shipments will arrive in Singapore only in Dec. And it didn't seem likely that shops will carry RT since it is esoteric. But yesterday, I see RT. I don't regret buying M now, because it looks more robust than RT. All that buyer's remorse was unnecessary. Sure, RT looked good in the catalogue but believing it is better is to take as certain what is uncertain. Similarly, what is happening now in my life looks bad but who's to say it'll stay bad? Today, I intend to do 5 laps uphill but end up with 10. It helps that a stranger is at the top smiling and nodding each time I pass. And that's what encouragement does.

Going uphill

Mount Faber, 43 km. After a two-hour pounding last night, my knee hurts. But it's not the running that weighs me down. Still, I get up and cycle up Mount Faber; the highest tarred road for cycling in Singapore. I sit on a roadie's tail but the high rotational mass of my knobby tyres and a heavy heart weighs me down. My heart and lungs struggle. This is bearable because I know it won't last. I throttle back and the pain eases. And that's how one copes: see things in perspective. The pain is there, the road is long. But along the road, there is hope, because of hope in things unseen.

Where to go from here?

Jalan Tapisan, 67 km. I awake in a daze but since I can't possibly stay in bed all day I get up and hit the road. As the day wears on, I decide to take what appears to be the easy way out: instead of Old Lim Chu Kang Road, just take the flat and straight "new" road. But there're unseen hindrances: the pong of chicken crap and a strong headwind. You make your bed, you lie in it. You choose your road, you ride on it.