Gonna start with a disclaimer right at the outset of this truly long overdue post with the caveat that this is by no means an attempt at a sordid motivational story. It isn't intended to nudge, push, persuade or force anyone into making any major life decisions. Please don't. Oh, I tend to be quite liberal with the use of inverted commas, for obvious reasons (to those who know this NBC – Natural Born Cynic).
This post is merely an attempt by a self-proclaimed, introverted and occasional narcissist at putting her jumbled thoughts into some kind of narrative. As usual these written ramblings are often a “note to self” or something I need to get off my chest, commit to “paper”, breathe and then move on to thinking about something else.
Right, here goes.
I like to consider myself an active person, having indulged in all kinds of sports. But with a plethora of shoddy excuses over the years - from an insanely jealous individual who forced me to hang my skates up (once upon another life I used to play inline hockey) to having no time - a dread sense of realisation that something had to give began creeping into the periphery of my consciousness. So about 20-ish months ago, I embarked on a journey down a road, one I never really thought would lead me to where I am today. And, it is a trek I'm quite happy to continue plodding on.
The seed of that need-for-change prick of a thought had already burrowed itself deep in my psyche particularly after visits to a “lifestyle” physician at the behest of a family friend. At that time nothing really happened despite having to endure listening to the “doctor” and “nurses” drone on about “BMI”, “borderline obese”, “height to weight ratio”, “aerobic and anaerobic” blah, blah, blah.. At that time, I actually perfected the art of going into safe mode, i.e., “I really am paying attention and looking concerned, but actually somewhere in my head, I’m strapping my snowboard on and staring down the line through the trees of that gorgeous powder-deep snow covered mountain, preferably somewhere deep in Viking-land.”
And so, nothing happened.
The Nordic eye-opener
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| Can you really blame me for taking that extra few minutes at the top of the run to marvel at this. Norway 2015 |
That was until I was actually on my snowboard marvelling at the gorgeousness of the Nordic landscape of central Norway some 20 odd months ago. Now, I have been on many snowboarding adventures over the last few years and it is my one and only true love.
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| Chairlift respite |
I had never really noticed it before, but it would always take me a fair bit longer to get my ass off the frozen ground after strapping in my right foot and start riding. Once I got going though, everything else becomes a pleasant blur. And what contributed to my ignorance was the fact that I typically got used to it after the first 48 hours of any snowboarding sojourn. But my last Norwegian escapade really became an eye opener. I didn’t endure any particular slanderous body-shaming or “you are so not fit” experience per se, but for one very strange thing that happened one unsuspecting day.
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| In winter, the sun never rises any higher. I was up really super early and first on the mountain to catch this. It's these kinds of vistas that make me want to pack up everything and just live here forever. Happily this was not the day of that awfully embarrassing episode. |
That "Oh Sh*t" moment(s)
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The offending binding!!
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Holy %*@$#^!!! I’m stuck!!! The binding strap on my right boot simply refused to release itself from the catch. Trying very hard not to look like a complete idiot, I eased out of the view of the chairlift operator whom I had come to know and took a deep breath and tried again. I failed.
After sitting there for what felt like an eternity, I realised that I needed a little help despite my sorry-ass attempt to look like a cool cat. I should tell you that I ride regular which means that my left leg is the lead, and far more coordinated than my lazy right.
But, for some bizarre reason I decided against strapping the left foot back on, and started to skate on my right to the café where I might try extracting myself again. Naturally, I fell several times making little Norwegian children laugh so hard at my comedic theatrics. After clowning about I finally reached the café and thankfully my barista friend was there and I managed to get her to help me call a ski patrol. The complete and utter SHAME!!
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| My saviour! Jas is an amazing soul. 💞 |
All the way back to the house, I reflected on what had happened in the midst of praying that I would not bump into Mr. Ski Patrol tomorrow on the slopes or what disguise I would opt on for the remainder of my stay. Alas I did see him again, and will have this rather stupidly amusing story between us, and probably one to add to his list of the most stupidest rescues.
Another oh-sh*t moment happened on the return journey home.
I met up with an old work colleague somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere and during our very long dinner date, she threw me a curveball. She asked what had happened to the feisty super fit tiny kenit (Malay slang for 'small') she met an aeon ago. I was like, “What? Who?” She asked why I had let myself go so much and from the inference, she was referring to my girth. As my genetics means I have the enviable gift of having a much lower centre of gravity, i.e., I’m short, in essence I had literally let myself morph into a fairly wide human ball.
Thor's delayed thunderbolt
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| How round was I! This kid is one of my inspirations.Kiwi racecar driver, Faine Kahia |
Therefore, upon my return to these tropical shores, this trek to turn things around actually happened more like an unconscious and quite possibly, happy accident - the consequence of a series of different forces. So, there was no being struck by a bolt of lightning on a clear day but the ball began rolling after I plucked up the courage one day.
I had been eyeing this mma/Muay Thai gym in my locale (sadly it went out of business) and decided on a visit one random day. After a quick scan at the rates, I politely proffered my apologies and exited with as much grace a human ball could muster. That would have been it but for the man who ran after me when I left the joint, someone who would come to change my life. Turns out he was just helping out and was there to train some of the trainers at that gym. After shaking off pleasantries, he was very blunt and asked me what my motives really were.
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| Muhammad Ali. My biggest inspiration and why I went to that blasted gym in the first place. |
Before I knew it, he had had made me think of the “what”, “why”, “who”, “when” and “how” behind my very random visit. After a good half hour of listening to me mumble something, he somehow concluded that he was to become my coach and I, his pro bono little project. The nerve of this stranger (on his self appointment, not the I-don’t-have-to-pay bit)!
I was a little stunned; this scary looking dude wants to coach me?? Why? After breaking down my usually iron-clad resolve of avoiding discussions on fitness, weight etcetera in any shape or permutation, he came clean in the most straight forward way I have ever encountered. In essence, he was surprised that I was brave enough to come to this dodgy looking place and that I didn’t run when he came after me.
In the weeks that he had been in Malaysia (he’s not from around here) he had come to see people (women, particularly) sneak a peek at all the gyms he had been visiting and beat a hasty retreat (probably after looking at Mr. Scarface). By chance, the one that actually decided to walk in and ask the price was the one he decided to talk to and literally adopt.
I on the other hand, swallowed my pride (despite the deafening protest at this point) and shock, and decided to just go for it. Amazeballs. I’m glad and lucky that I didn’t roll away (not run… NEVER run) or listen to my damned pride. To this day, I'm glad for he never asks for anything but my time. Sometimes I find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that he chose to help me.
Miss Procrastination, meet Mr. Scarface
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| Aches and pains.. Groan.. I'm getting really good at this kinesiology taping business |
He also wanted to school me on the many myths about fitness. Amongst the first thing we threw out was the idea of the gym, this despite him smuggling me into the gym where we met at low tide (i.e., it's empty). While my case of not having the funds to spare for these exorbitant membership fees was different to most cases, he used to say, the most common myth he discovered during his stay was the misguided concept that getting fit involved spending money on and time in a gym (sorry all you gym buffs, it's not my intention to belittle the idea, and totally respect that you may have different goals). Phew!
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More injuries.. haha!!
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The initial months were crucial, I realise on hindsight. With him guiding, I began to develop a whole different understanding of my idea of fitness, actually doing it and more importantly, keeping at it.
Truthfully, it isn’t a science with some weird mad calculations but is more about common sense. It isn’t about slogging out the hours per se, but more about accommodating activities into your daily life. He made me first re-adjust the way I thought about getting fit before attempting to change my day to include it. Every day was different but the same, if that makes any sense. It’s not that complicated but an approach that if I ever decided to commit to paper, would confuse people.
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| Although training during Ramadhan is scaled back, it's still torture. |
My relationship with Mr. Scarface is also a unique one that is slightly easing off with him having so much on his plate. He has come to the conclusion that I now have enough discipline and motivation to train without him in the (FaceTime) picture all the time. Yes, we FaceTime or send video messages to each other because Mr. Scarface went back to his home country. So, living in different time zones means our training was and has always been via electronic means.
More than that, we also have an unusual relationship where he became and remains my life coach. Whenever my motivation wavers, or I am frustrated and angry or lazy or complacent for whatever reason, he always makes me look at things differently and forces me to channel that energy. It doesn’t always work but he gets me off my high horse or from my slump and works my ass off.
Coach said I could, and I did, damned straight!
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| Mount Yotei in the distance, and I shall climb and ride you one day |
On my recent snowboarding sojourn to the land of the rising sun, I noticed that I had more endurance, didn’t huff and puff as much, and I would’ve ridden all day were it not for the stupid hourly passes someone on a teeny weeny budget like me can afford. That or the fact that I have to catch the last bus back.
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When I met MMA fighter Colby Covington,
we talked about my coach, and Colby agreed with my Mr. Scarface.. wow.. |
I’m also a creature that doesn’t really feed off people’s opinions, being the over-opinionated narcissist that I proudly am. But, when people started commenting, lamenting and even begging me to help them, I am reminded of the essence of what Mr. Scarface said to me early on in our relationship.
“I need you to remember that fitness begins first in the mind.” Profound. There’s often the (misguided) idea that fitness involves slogging it out for hours and hours. Inaccurate. People also often mistake that getting fit involves some weird science and requires someone with the weight of academic paperwork behind them. Do you? You might not really need it.
What you might really need is someone to guide you through the fundamentals on top of the prodding and pushing (gently or forcefully). Strip it down to the bare essentials; wrap it around your overly full (or otherwise) life and the rest we build on and learn together.
We are all unique, so your fitness regiment should also be unique to you. He used to say in the beginning, "it's working out at your pace, in consideration of what you can do, what your day is like, where your mind is at, for you." In essence - working out at YOUR pace, YOUR ability, your time, with what works for YOU, not anyone else.
I have also learned that what you really need is someone you can trust to unearth your own internal drive to chase your own inner demons away and tell you that you can and you will. Thank you Mr. Scarface. I’ve been lucky and maybe it is time for me to help someone else.
OK, it’s time to glove up and begin my torture training.
