Last weekend, I participated in my first run. I don't mean the kind of manic movements I exhibit when there's a rabid soi dog chasing me, or when I hear the jingle of a Wall's ice cream truck coming down the street.
I'm talking about an actual race where you're required to keep your legs moving for an ungodly number of kilometres, pin a number to your shirt, and wear short shorts if you're feeling frisky.
With my calves still aching five days later, blisters hanging off my toes, and all the muscles in my body punishing me for making them work instead of feeding them with cookies, I thought I would share my experience of this weird thing called "getting off the couch and actually doing something active".
If you're reading this while running sweat-free on the treadmill and simultaneously lifting weights to admire your biceps with each curl, feel free to turn the page. The revelations of how lazy one person can be might offend you. This column is for those of you like me who consider getting up to change the channel when you can't find the TV remote a form of exercise.
I always found running to be strange. The fact that people willingly keep themselves moving at a speed that's not on par with walking or sleeping seems like self-inflicted torture, and frankly, a bit boring. Why run when there are so many taxis and chauffeurs ready to take you where you need to go?
Perhaps my complete misunderstanding of running is rooted in childhood experiences – I definitely grew up in the generation that was raised by TV and computers. Plus, why would beds be so comfortable if they wanted you to get up and be active?
Not to mention that running was something we were forced to do in P.E. classes in school, and it just seemed to be easier for some people than others. If you're huffing and puffing on the track while your gazelle-like peers are two laps ahead of you, that's not really going to make you feel good, is it?
Thus began my dislike of this activity. Sure, I'm not a complete slob and I do go to the gym, but I could never relate to the many people I would see going to the park before/after work in their tracksuits and fancy athletic shoes.
As my friends and I crept further and further into our 20s and closer to the big 3-0, we began falling into two camps: the people who started running regularly and participating in marathons (or other sporting activities) citing odd reasons like "health" and "getting in shape", versus the ones who continued racing from bar to bar to club and scoffing at the others.
"But you feel so good while running!" the advocates would preach. "Seriously, try running after a late night, that'll be the only hangover cure you'll need!" they would say in their cult-like voices. "Anyone can do it, just start slowly and soon you'll be able to run without stopping!" they would gleefully chirp, probably because their brains were in a perpetual state of the runner's high.
I guess I can be considered the turtle in this scenario, as it took me a while to catch up. Taking up running seems to be a rite of passage as you get older – either because you start valuing the importance and necessity of exercise, or because you realise you need to combat all the unhealthy things you've done in the past (a very real truth in the sin city that is Bangkok).
So with that in mind, I decided to challenge myself. I signed up for a six kilometre run (yeah I know, that's child's play for serious runners, but a big deal for someone who might only sprint if I heard Ananda Everingham was in the next room).
I "trained" by running two laps around Lumpini Park one time, and then spent the rest of the time thinking that I should really try to run more to prepare for my first race, but chose to eat instead.
And then the day of the race came. I'm not going to pretend that it was a magical fairytale. There were moments of cursing, dreams of giving up, and fantasies about ditching the run and going into McDonald's. Heck, there were people older and more overweight than me who were making me eat their dust.
But I did it. I made it to the finish line, very sweaty, and with imaginary sounds of applause playing in my own head.
I don't suddenly think I'm going to represent Thailand for running in the Asian Games, or that Nike will start featuring me in their ads. But this experience did teach me there's something to this running business after all.
You don't have to be the fastest, strongest or fittest to do it. You just have to get off the couch and get moving, and with dedication you can work your way to running faster and longer. I'm inspired to keep it up – well, after my body ceases being in pain from this first run, probably a year from now.