Posts Tagged ‘attempt at fitness


It’s the sportswear

There is no better way to have gestating plans afoot than by entering a sportswear factory outlet in Subic.

The sight of discounted sportswear revived our plan to join a short marathon, return to the badminton court or learn golf. We knew what we wanted to wear and how we wanted to look. If we were going to run, we might as well be wearing a coordinated get-up. If we were going to sweat, we could at least be wearing Dri-Fit.¬† And if we didn’t make it to the finish line, we would be walking in shoes specified for running.

So we entered the store with thoughts of golf, badminton and running a 10K warming us up for the shopping.

This is how we kicked off our sports plan: We saw something in the racks that we liked, thought of the sport activity that we could wear it for, then asked the saleslady for our size.

I found a combo of green shorts and gray tights that the saleslady said was for running and was being sold at 50% less. Appraising the shorts and tights, I asked myself if I would ever get to wear them for the purpose of their design. Who knows? I asked for my size. But after calculating the probabilities of running and sleeping in them, I returned them to the rack.

I liked the running shorts the athletically built mannequin was wearing. It was 30% less. The saleslady¬† said it was the last pair, so I said I will have it. To remove the shorts from the mannequin, the mannequin had to be lifted so the shorts could be pulled down. The saleslady, who was only the size of my thigh, couldn’t do this by herself.

All the other sales attendants were busy with the other customers like my two friends who looked to me like they were buying the entire ladies section. My friends and I were recommending shirts and pants to each other, playing up their value in our impending sports-driven life.

I offered to help the saleslady undress the mannequin. So I lifted the mannequin as the saleslady began pulling down the shorts. I bore the weight of the mannequin by cupping its smooth butt and bulgy crotch. It was a male mannequin dressed in women’s running shorts and singlet.

Removing the shorts from the shoe-wearing mannequin was neither quick nor easy. There I was, cupping the mannequin’s butt and crotch, rivulets of sweat forming on my forehead, neck and torso while the saleslady was tugging down the shorts. It was hardly a fun menage a trois.

Finally I had the shorts. I bought it without trying it on. After all the trouble I went through, it should fit me.

We left the store with several purchases, feeling good about ourselves and the future. We felt light and ready to run or play golf or badminton or maybe do all three. We were ready with our sportswear.

When do we start? Uhm, we’re still kinda busy.


The snooze power of yoga

In a moment of hope of doing yoga again, I bought a pair of yoga pants at Bossini. Two months have passed since the purchase and the price tag is still on the pants, the pants waiting for the actual moment of yoga.

I miss group yoga.

Doing yoga by myself, I spent too long on the relax pose, looking up the ceiling on my back and thinking of expensive chiropractors and eventually going back to sleep.

In class, I occassionally snored during relaxation when Dada droned about a ball of emerald green light passing through my toes, legs, knees, fingertips, stomach, chest, head, and the ball bursting into two, and zzzzzzzzzz. One time, I woke up to find the others already leaving the room.

That’s me but not me. (Photo from Yoga for Regular Guys)

During a bending pose, I heard the soft fart of the old lady who carried on with the asana like she hadn’t just passed gas. She had mastered the art of not looking fart-guilty. That’s what yoga does; it makes one more attuned to his surroundings and stay deadma to publicly emitted human gases.

Back when Mohan was the teacher, understanding his instructions posed as much challenge as doing the three-legged dog or sun salutation. A Vietnamese who learned to speak English in the Philippines, Mohan spoke like he was pinching his nose to avoid breathing in the wisp of gas emitted from the old lady’s digestive tract.

“Breet in, right lek up. Breet ow, lep lek up.” He had to demonstrate as he instructed to be understood. Oh, breathe in, right leg up, breathe out, left leg up. That’s what yoga does; it equips one with discernment in times of confusion.

Before I hit 63, I will take up yoga again and hope not to pass gas in those expensive pants.


Inspiration from Dara Torres from AFP

Dara Torres has given me hope.

At 41, the mother of a two-year-old daughter is competing in the 50-meter splash and dash in Beijing, against swimmers half her age. Emerging from her retirement after Sydney in 2000, she is on her fifth Olympic quest.

She set records, swimming faster by 2.47 seconds than she did 20 years ago. She is 5.4 kilos lighter than she was in Sydney, Time reports.

Diagnosed with asthma in the 1990s, Torres takes prescription inhalers but other than those, she isn’t pumped on steroids or any other enhancers. I would trade anything to have that body.

She spends more hours in the gym than in the pool and has a fitness team that costs her $100,000 a year. I haven’t been in a gym since Bodytone in, uhm, 1994? The last time I swam a 50-meter lap at the Abellana pool, I felt my eyes coming out of their sockets when I finally reached the other end after what seemed like an eternity of kicking and crawling. Every year, I find my Speedos shrinking.

But Torres inspires me. I look at her body and know I can have one like hers at 41. Sports psychologists say that an athlete has to focus on his goals.

I am an eathlete, sorry, athlete. My goal is to have Torres’ body by my 40s. I will swim again. I will work out again.

Failing those, I will superimpose my face on Torres’ and I will have her body, by Photoshop or by Photoshop.


Running with the strollers

(The Sun.Star sports editor had refused to publish this photo in his section for reasons he politely pointed out to me. The only real runner in this group is the guy in the green and white singlet, Gabby Ingles.)

We set out into the early morning sun with athletic and holy intentions.

We were going to run the 5K to help raise funds for the re-roofing of the Seminario Mayor de San Carlos. We were going to have a reflective morning. Today was going to be life-changing for us, because for once, we were not gathering to drink but to run for a cause.

There was only one real runner among us and he had competed in marathons. The rest of us were runners-in-the making. Entering the race posed a problem: Where do we pin the bib numbers? Front of our shirts? Back? it took us longer to work on our bib numbers than our run, er, walk, er, stroll. Goodness, OK, run.

Finally pinned where we wanted them, the bib numbers made us look like real runners, competitive runners.

But runners don’t wear slippers and wedge sandals and bring umbrellas to a race, which some of us did. Well, if Oscar Pistorius can run in steel legs, why can’t we run in high heels?

Of the eight of us, one ran, three brisk-walked, one walked then ran then walked, and four strolled for 15 meters then waited for our return. We had a strong support group in this four; they cheered us on as we passed by them on our way to the finish line. They made us feel worthy of our bib numbers.

By 8 a.m., we were hungry regardless of how far we had gone, whether beyond 15 meters or less. All of us ate like athletes. We felt near to God because we had breakfast in the seminary.

The cook blessed us for such hearty appetites.

(Event happened on Dec. 2, 2007 in Cebu City)

June 2018
« Sep