Jogging – The Devil’s Pastime

My brother and I went jogging yesterday. I’m an athlete (Alright, so that’s not entirely true. But I was part of my school’s volleyball varsity. And I do go shopping on a regular basis), so that shouldn’t really be a big deal. Of course, Royce (that’s the devil’s name) had an entirely treacherous concept of what I thought was “easy jogging”.

I was actually tremendously excited when he suggested we go running after mass. I don’t exactly have the Kate Moss of bodies, so I have to watch my weight. I’m not fat though – not anymore, anyway. I used to be really really fat. In fact, I weighed 9 lbs. when I was born (I was heavier than my three brothers at birth). When I was in kindergarten, I was the biggest in my class – boys included. My mom was afraid I’d grow up and become a whale, so she gave me her “healthy diet” lecture, hoping that I’d mature into a normal-sized creature.

Anyway, we arrived at Sports Complex in high spirits. I was ready to do some laps and hopefully shave off a few excess pounds. Royce, the big buffoon, decided to make me his little project.

So he made me jog. 5 rounds. Straight.

Royce (R): Ok. We’ll do 10 rounds.
Me (M):  What??!!
R: Pila ka laps maubra mo straight haw?
M: Eh? Err. Two.
R: Lang?
M: Yeah. And I’m getting pretty tired.
R: Well, we’re doing… 5 rounds today.
M: Okay. But medyo kapoy na ko gamay.

(After 2 rounds)

R: Okay, you can do it. You’re going to be thinner. 5 rounds!
M: I don’t want to anymore! I’ll get liposuction.
R: You have no money.
M: I can’t do it. I have to stop now!
R: Kay, no! (He pushes me forward).
M: Sakit na kilid ko.
R: Pain is an illusion. It doesn’t exist. It’s an illusion. There’s no such thing.
M: It does to me. I feel it right now. I have to stop.
R: Hindi mag-untat. Go. Jog. Athlete ka.
M: I’m not an athlete! I’ll go shopping instead.
R: Naano ka man?
M: I don’t care anymore. I’m a wimp. I’m a wuss!
R: O sige. Slow jog na lang. Malakat-lakat ta after the 5th round.
M: I hate you’re stinking guts!
R: One more round to go.
M: Manong! Daw mahibi na ‘ko.
R: Ano mas nami pamatian? That you did 4 rounds straight? Or 5 rounds straight? 5 rounds eh!
M: Shut up!

To add to my misery, he made me do 3 sets of 12 sit-ups (That’s 36 crunches!), 3 sets of 10 leg-raisings (I forgot what it was called because of the gut-wrenching pain), and 3 sets of  10 “lady push-ups” (I can actually do “fake push-ups”. But it wasn’t enough for Mr. Look-I’m-A-Trainor).

I was seriously contemplating punching him in the face. I’d knock his nose right off and send it flying to Somalia where pirates could turn it into stew. Then we’ll see how good an athlete I am.

I’m sore all over now. I can’t feel my arms. My legs have gone numb. My stomach feels like an elephant stood on it.

Royce is a pig. Fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. Fat.