Monday, September 11, 2006

Sprinter's Ego

Racist riddle of the day: What do you call 8 Indians in a 100m race?
Bangla-DASH!!


I love competitive sprinting.

It clears my mind when I'm stressed. All that matters to me is getting ahead of that guy in front of me. And then when I'm in front, there is this exhilerating rush that beats drug, cigarette and alcohol-induced highs anytime. It centres me, makes me focused. It gives me motivation. If I were to end anywhere worse than first, I get terribly upset, but that was always positively reshaped into a crazed hunger and drive. It's the most unbelievable feeling in the world, next to attending an American presidential rally.

There are two groups responsible in converting me from a chocolate-obsessed bookworm to a chocolate-obsessed decent sprinter: the stray dogs that used to loiter in the park opposite my place, and the St. Andrew's Junior College Track Team.

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As compared to the other junior colleges, we may not be as professional or as competent. Not even during photo-taking sessions.

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In embodying determination, professionalism and maturity, we have very few to fit the bill - among the few, of course, being our captain, Daniel.

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I may make fun of his mannerisms quite a bit, but looking back, he was a man of fantastic personal discipline. Not my cup of tea, but respectable nonetheless.

Even the guys, in my batch at least, did not look like alpha-males. Undeniably, though, they were all considerably capable in their respective track or field event(s).

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However, as Jamie, Nxcko and I would demonstrate, we have talents outside the stadium. For one, we make great models. We can model anything, from hats...

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To sticks, digicams and even disembodied hands.

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We are also good at making friends with anybody. Even the most unresponsive, stiff-faced motherfucker on the planet cannot help but be friends with us.

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We were so close, I helped clean him once.

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We weren't much of a hit with the ladies, but we were lucky here and there. Nxcko liked girls in shorts.

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While I had rather different taste.

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Broke up with mine, though. Tried to win her back, to no avail.

Another talent of ours was camwhoring, and we were almost as good as any Singaporean blogger.

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You must wonder, how did any of that improve my fucking sprinting? Well, I have to tell you this. Sprinting definitely comes with a major physical aspect. But when you know your team is not made up of a whole bunch of morose browneyes, competitive sprinting becomes a liberating process.

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At that time in my life, nothing ever brought me down.

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