Thursday, May 8, 2014

Sunday stretch

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What? I’m still stuck on Sunday? Well, I guess. I still haven’t posted what I wore last Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. (My photographers were busy earlier today.) But does it matter? The memory stretches back much much further.


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Like I remember the time when I bought these track pants: it was right before enrolling at the gym – the first time in my life. Must have been in 2007, when I was already four years working.


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Am sure I’m not only one who does it not just for health reasons. Come on, come clean. For me? It was mainly so that my clothes would fit better.


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So there. I kid you not, I couldn’t care less about attracting a potential date. Or bulking just so I could remove my shirt at the beach.


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I actually enjoy the endorphins. I rarely talk to anyone.


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There would be rare nods. Or forced grunts.


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I don’t even feel any embarrassment when people I don’t recognize would tap me on the back or call my name.


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I’d just smile. Then walk away.


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What can I say? Exercising is something I like doing in a solitary way, even if I’m surrounded by other people.


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If there was a track or a decent trail nearby, I would run. Without any music or the usual runners’ mantras.


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I would set fixed points in my vision. Or even memory palace.


T-shirt, cK by Calvin Klein
Track pants, adidas
Sneakers, Helmut Lang
Scarf, thrifted


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Come to think of it, isn’t it neat, the idiom “jog your memory”?


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Because jogging, running, or even brisk walking can help you remember things.


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I guess, yeah, to de-stress. But more to clear my mind.


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When I’m running longer distances, even on the treadmill, I imagine myself one with the light that skims the horizon.


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Invariably, I also think of going down, deeper into the ocean.


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Where light becomes sound.


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Where echoes are indecipherable.


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It’s like daydreaming, but with a purpose.


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Lifting weights is more challenging, because I don’t like facing the mirror.


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Once I’m confident with the correct form, muscle is the medium of that which flows.


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It is not rare that, half-entranced, I sense the flicker of an idea.


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That’s the main reason why I have my phone with me. To take down notes.


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But during ordinary days, I just track the time.


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The seconds and the minutes between rest and exertion.


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Cracking my joints and knuckles. Or burping (excuse me) to release air that needs to escape.


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The best times aren’t in the steam room, or even under a cold shower. I assure you, not even when I am shirtless and find myself before the mirror.


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The best time is after exercise, when I am full of energy and ready for my cup of coffee. That is when my stretch of sky or sheet of dark is ready to be written on.


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