Wednesday, March 16, 2005

My butt hurts like nobody's business now. It's so painful that I have to sit on cushions to alleviate the pain. And my thighs, oh my poor thighs... They are so sore, I can't even squat right now.

I went night-cycling yesterday with friends from church and boy was it an experience of a lifetime. It started at 10pm, and the plan was to cycle from West Coast (where my church is) to East Coast Park. We were all pumping with adrenaline and bursting with energy at the beginning, and we reached our destination at 11.20+pm, way ahead of schedule because we estimated 3hrs travel time. I enjoyed the cool night breeze on my face, the quietness of the city that never sleeps, and just simply watching the world go past me as I cycled on. When we did reach ECP, I thought it was "no-kick" at all because I expected a tougher journey.

And a tougher journey I did get. (even tougher than I imagined)

Ps. J and Isaac decided we had time to go down to Changi Village and be back in West Coast by sunrise. I felt just a tiny hint of fatigue setting in, but I pressed on anyways. Thus began the first leg of this torturous journey. I used to love looking at the planes while travelling along the road beside the Changi Airport runway, watching the trees fly past in the comfort of the car I'm in. Not today. (Or, not tonight, for that matter). It was 2am in the morning and I'm cycling along this insanely long road which seems to stretch forever - it was so long that I couldn't even see the end. There was a period of time when I was cycling alone, and it was pure madness I tell you. The people in front were too fast for me to catch up, and the people behind were to slow to be seen. It was really mindless cycling: my body only knew to keep pumping my leg muscles - up and down, up and down, up and down. The thing that kept me sane all this while was talking to God. Like always, God was the one who was and is and will be there for me when I'm alone and going mad.

Just when I thought it'd never end, we finally reached Changi V. I couldn't be happier for this break, but thinking about the journey back home filled me with dread.

It was going to be another 2 hours of pure toture.

So at 4am we set off for home. To beat the morning traffic, we were to cycle at a faster speed. I almost went crazy. I was feeling tired, and wondering where all the initial energy I felt had gone to, but here I was on the same long stretch of road again. It was different now. I was feeling the full blown effects of fatigue. It tortured me mercilessly like I was some lowly slave, and with each lashing whip it split open my flesh and sapped my energy dry.

My thighs were screaming for me to stop, and they threatened to set fire at the rate lactic acid was accumulating and burning them. And my butt, how they hurt. The bicycle seat was so small (and it didn't really help that I have a big butt), and applying the law of pressure (force over surface area), plus the constant rubbing of them against the rock hard seat everytime I peddle up and down, I was in excruciating pain. Yet I know I cannot stop.

And it didn't really help that my bike was one lousy bike with lousy gear shifts, lousy tyres, lousy seat, and a cyclist in pain and agony. The rest of the guys (I was the only girl! :S) had power bikes, with shock absorbers, turbo gear shifts, good tyres which minimise friction, and one peddle could send them on lightning speed. So while all the guys were zooming past, here I was peddling like mad, but still moving an a snail pace of approximately 1cm/s. And it also didn't help that all I could think of was how long more we had to cycle before we even reach West Coast Highway. :(

With each pump of the peddle, my posterior felt as though it was being whacked b a plank a thousand times over, my thighs felt as though highly concentrated acid was being poured on them. And we were still nowhere near the halfway mark. I never felt more lost, more pathetic. Dried of all energy and the will to go on.

I'd be lying if I told you I never thought of giving up. I fantasised about flagging down a taxi and riding home in the comfort of the cushioned seat and air-con. I just need to stick out my arm and flag, its that easy. But I hung on. I didn't wanna give up and choose the easy way out because then it'll be yet another proof that girls are weak, incapable of hardship. I wanted to proof to the world (I'm a little ambitious here. :P) that what guys can do, girls could too.

This was what pushed me on to make the next pump on the peddle, and the next, and the next. And of course God was there to give me that mental strength to overcome all physical barriers I was facing. And when I finally saw West Coast Park, I was so exhilarated I almost wanted to scream out loud in joy.

It was like seeing an oasis when your throat is dry and parched, and the sun is bearing down on you like nobody's business when you're in the desert. It was like plopping down on your soft fluffy bed after a day of inhumane training. It was like dipping your tired feet in warm water after a day of continuous shopping. It was like... well, you get my point. It was like reaching heaven after you're torn and battered by life's journey (of course reaching heaven would be far better than this, but its just an analogy lah.)

When I reached church finally, I almost knelt down to kiss the "holy" ground. Like what a sailor would do after months at sea when they reach land.

And all my other friends and I were like survivors after a terrible war. We just lied down on the floor, fatigued, yet thankful to God for seeing us through this whole experience. I remember feeling a great sense of achievement, amazed that I could overcome this test of determination and sheer grit, before I succumbed to slumber.

In total, we cycled a shocking distance of 88km in a night.

The power of the human will.

Moral of the story: Impossible is nothing.

Conclusion: I'll never touch a bicycle ever again.

writing at 10:50 AM

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