I will start at where it all began, on a windy Saturday morning. I took the bus to the north of our sunny island, where a friend picked me up in his church mate's car to a hard court a stone's throw away. Here, a beauty game, born in the land of St George's Cross, blazed across that mythic field only dreamers tread. My physical condition had reached a decisive junction. Necessity can spark a passion.
Airy-fairy was a common degradation in the beginning. Sunday morning was a drag. On a kind soul's advice, to avoid the scorching sun, I sacrificed, waking at seven-thirty - before falling immediately back to sleep. Then, there were the runs scheduled at the weirdest hours - half-past ten, eleven in the late evening after work or class - and I mean when I said, that is they were scheduled; their materialisation irrelevant. Impracticality can be a passion-killer.
On one rare occasion that I stepped out of the house at half-past ten, the brilliant sky casting a mirage-like haze over the asphalt, a white in shades breezed past me spitting sweat. That was when it hit me, and I began to start my runs at nine or even half-past nine after a good night sleep, and have not look back since.
Life is by design, never by chance. I choose to lead a healthy lifestyle - actualising Maju FCC's CO's words of wisdom - setting time aside for runs and sticking to it. It's an investment even, on a deeper level. That was the extra push then, that I needed.
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