What wakes you up?

It has been over two years since our small exercise group disbanded. It is often said that familiarity breeds contempt. Everyone took each other for granted, or they grew too big for their boots. In the eagerness to self-motivate and right the wrongs, ego got in the way. The bottom line is that everyone has flown the nest in pursuit of other things in life. 

So, what is the difference between exercising in a group and alone? For one, the fun factor is eliminated. There is nothing like having many people with the same mental illness flock together to do the same thing week in and week out and expecting a different outcome, to quote Einstein, if he actually said that. 

I take a special kind of motivation to push the sorry ass up in the early mornings to start the exercise. If previously the motivation was to keep up with the rest of the gang, now it is just you, yourselves and your sorry ass. 

During training, there is a push and pull factor that tickles the ego to outperform oneself. Sadly, when one is training alone, this is missing. The worst part is that the inner demons remind us to slow down and not to overdo it. It takes a different kind of something to slay that beast. 

Given that background, I registered for this year's Powerman duathlon, as I have been doing since 2020. This will be my fourth participation, having been shelved for a couple of years due to COVID.

After sending and parking my bicycle in Putrajaya and moving around with the competition wristband, my wife asked me, "So, all running and torturing your body gives you happiness?”

“Oh yes,” was my reply. "As much as you enjoy going to the temple, meeting the same friends, updating the obituary list, doing the same rituals, eating the same vegetarian food and coming back in bliss, feeling blessed."

As for me, the competition went smoothly. A 5 km run was followed by a 30 km cycle around Putrajaya, then it concluded with another 5 km run. Over the years, my speed has been steadily declining. It could be due to the ageing process or perhaps a lack of peer pressure to motivate me. 

Come to think of it, even at the finishing line, finishers were served the same snacks that the organisers had been providing for donkey's years - a dry O'Brien sandwich, a Cavendish banana, and 100-plus isotonic drinks to wash it down, along with a finisher's medal.

https://www.riflerangeboy.com/2022/11/the-things-you-do.html

https://www.riflerangeboy.com/2023/06/life-is-battlefield.html

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Never say never!

I guess a felicitation note is due for my partner in crime. This post is dedicated to his tenacious path to glory, paved with shrapnels of thorns, aches, pains, strains, and even fractures.

I met SK at a dinner party of a mutual acquaintance. That was more than 10 years ago. After the usual pleasantries, our conversation went to recreational running. He was intrigued that I ran, which, at that time, felt, to him, like a marathon. In reality, it was a mere 10km.

Fast forward, we, and a few friends, became weekend warriors. From 10, the distance becomes longer and longer. Then someone came up with the idea of doing the full monty, not the British type but the Phillipedes type - the crowning glory of running - a full marathon, the whole 42.195km of them.

When SK puts his mind to something, he puts his whole soul into the shebang. He would want to know all the nitty-gritty of the basics. He would not want any stone unturned to the extent of obsessiveness. Just like that, all the research landed his name in the annals of 1% of the world population that completed a full marathon.

Then some gang members with restless leg syndrome started toying with the idea of cycling. Like the children of Hamelin, everyone just played to the tune of the Piped Piper. So cycling it was. What started as an easy, relaxing 30km weekend ride morphed into gruelling 1000m climbs and diabolical six-hour rides in the heat of the tropical high noon. Then came the out-of-state and international rides. During one of those practices, SK received his badge of honour. He was christened a true cyclist after sustaining a clavicular fracture. He went on fine-tuning into the subtleties of road cycling until he became restless again. Perhaps, he wanted to realise his deep inner desire to make it to the 0.1% category of the population.

I guess that was when the talk of swimming started floating (pun unintended). After having two near-death experiences in the domain of Neptune, yours truly gave a pass. I tried to venture into playing a musical instrument instead. That is another story for another day.

Many group members put one foot into the water, but only SK, with his compulsive desire to beat the waves and re-wire his survival instincts to connect with prehistoric ancestors; from a non-swimmer, he grew fins to fight the choppy waves of an open sea.

This has been the story of SK's journey thus far. I can bet my bottom dollar that it is, by no means, the end of it all. He completed his Iron Man Competition. The echoes of SK's whining, grumbling and cursing still reverberate in everyone's ears. Do not be fooled. Like a parturient mother who screams, yells and pledges never to do it again but sheepishly presents at her Obstetrician's office before the baby can walk, with yet another pregnancy, be forewarned. SK may turn up again with another crazy venture.

Congratulations, my friend! Keep the flame aglow and keep the fire burning. Cheers!

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When Ali met MGR!

Sarpatta Paramparai (சர்பட்ட பரம்பரை, Tamil, 2021)
Written, Directed by Pa Ranjith

One can learn a thing or two by watching films, i.e. if one is bothered to check the backstory. This is one rare full-length boxing film in Tamil, coming from a land that usually infuses familial masala to the storyline. In keeping with the timeline the story is set in, in the 1970s, there is ample sprinkling of Tamil Nadu politics to set the mood.

For once, we see actors who really look their part as boxers. The make-up, boxing techniques and the make-believe props that cradles us back to the mid-1970s are convincing enough.

Before watching this film, I did not know that boxing was a passionate sport in northern Madras even before the 1940s. Boxing came to India with the British. In Tamil Nadu, it was named 'kuttu chandei', and it came with its own set of rules. Boxers could not hit each others' faces, not the body. In the early 1940s, it seems there was a black British boxer (some say he is Anglo-Indian) by the name of 'Tiger' Nat Teri was a fighter to be reckoned with. He defeated most South Indian boxers. Arunachalam, the greatest boxer of Madras of yore, fought him but died during the match. Three months later, an up and coming star, Kitheri Muthu, fought him and beat the British at their own game. He hailed from the Sarpatta Parampai (Sarpatta Clan).

Kitheri Muthu and ‘Tiger’ Nat Terry 

The clan does not refer to any caste or creed. It is basically a group of people who live together in the same locale and show allegiance to the Club/Clan/Paramparai. This area in north Madras where this sport became famous comprise shipyard workers and fishermen of all religions, Hindus, Christians, Buddhists and Muslims. The other prominent clans were Idiyappa Naicker Parambarai and Ellappa Chettiyar Parambarai.

With 'Quit India' yells in full force in 1942, Kitheri's victory over Teri was hailed as a booster to the Indian psyche. Periyar and his people in the Justice Party feted him as a Dravidian hero. With that win also, the sport gained popularity. The game went on full force, with enthusiasts from other districts making trips to learn and perfect their techniques.

This movie loosely overlaps with Kitheri Muthu's story but is set during the 1975 Indian emergency. Kabilan, a fervent boxing enthusiast, has his boxing aspirations clipped by his mother. His mother fears that the fate that befell Kabilan's boxer father's life would repeat on her son. Kabilan's father used to be a feared fighter when gangsters from a rival clan knifed him down.

The story tells the competitiveness of the various parambarais and their effort to stage a boxing match amidst the background of National Emergency, witch-hunting of DMK party members (who opposed Indra Gandhi's government), internal squabbling and sabotaging of members.

The hero, Arya, as Kabilan poses with his opposer, Vembuli, in a pre-match photoshoot (Lt) and with his coach, Rangan, played by the talented Pasupathy (Rt). 

M Kitheri Muthu, one of the earliest boxers of the Sarpatta Parambarai.

Ali, the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, and MGR, the Kollywood heavyweight, hold hands. An electrifying sight to the film-crazed Tamil movie-goers to see the star-politician and inspirational boxer together. Ali came to Chennai in 1980 for a bout with Jimmy Ellis in Chennai's Nehru Stadium. Boxing must have been that popular here that Ali decided to 'dance like a butterfly and sting like a bee' in Chennai. Before boxing became popular in Tamil Nadu, silambam was the primary self-defence sport. Gymkhanas and sports clubs were present even in ancient India.

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What's next?

With the single click of the cleat, I knew we had taken our relationship to the next level. After a year of trying to tame the shrew, I had taken a plunge deep in the unknown, rightly or foolishly, smitten by the latest craze around town. Drawn into the quicksand of recreational road cycling by a group of mad friends, who, as if by fate, happened to live just a few doors from each other, it has been quite a journey thus far. 

Getting up as early as 4.30am on almost every Sunday to cycle in the misty countryside of Hulu Langat and Genting Peras is not 'ride in the park'. It also took the group traversing the 633km track in the heart of the Korean peninsula. And not to forget the handful of cycling competitions in Penang, Cameron Highlands, Putrajaya and Lekas Highway.

I guess I must have listened to my mother when she used to say, "Choose your friends wisely!" But then, she also said that not everyone who is clad in saree is a lady. I wonder what she really meant by that. Did she mean that sarees are worn by all strata of society, from a world leader right down to a sex worker, hence not to judge a book by its cover? Or perhaps, she was referring to cross-dressers!

After more than a year of settling in (or rather saddling on) my Gusto road bike, I thought I could only call myself a cyclist (versus one who cycles) if I invested in a set of clipless pedals. After a few bumbling acts and faux pas, looks like I kind of got the hang of things (I think).

What better way to put the knowledge to the test than embarking on a journey along what has been described as the ultimate challenge to the cyclists around here - Broga Jantan Loop. Even though the name seems to exude the toxicity of the masculine type, it is just a description of machoism. Many a female cyclist regularly scale through this route seamlessly. So, on July 26, 2020, my cyclist group took the 115km challenge and succeeded.

• 
• Now that we have done this and that, I wonder what is next in the pipeline. For the next year or so, organising an overseas cycling expedition seems unlikely, looking the wave of the pandemic that has engulfed the globe. This must surely be the best time to arrange a 'Cuti-Cuti Malaysia'.

Pusan, South Korea, 2019

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Time flies when you are having fun!

S2B: Seoul to Busan

It is not a race. Ep #1
Meet the P-stars. Ep #2
Fighting the demons! Ep #3

Bare necessities that we need! Ep #4

7 Samurais set to go! ©Bob

The day is here! Ep #5

The time is now! Ep #6

Time is a river of passing events. Ep #7

Episode 8: Day 5 S2B (10.10.19)

Resolved to end the tour today, we made an early start, at the first sign of daylight. At least, that is what we thought. By the time we saddled up and tightened up a few loose ends, it was 0630 by the time we left our bike motel. 

It was a chilly morning, slightly windy and foggy at 7C. Everything was going on fine for the first half of the day. 

Korea decided to save the best for the last. She took us through multiple hills, some as steep as 13%. We managed most of the hills except for a few which proved too long too strenuous.

The world of Maya. The cloud-like fluffy structure in the bottom half of the picture is the early morning condensation of water above the river surface. ©HS

The struggle between Nature and Man started to prove a yo-yo. The hills at Changnyeong-gun was a sight to behold. The view of the light of the rising sun against a backdrop of mist-covered mountains and river gave the illusion as we were in high heavens. 

Born to be free in the meadows but creepy crawlies. ©FG.

The Duel between Man and Nature: Sometimes Nature wins! ©MM

After giving a bit, she tested us. One, but all us, took a wrong turn. With 3 punctures to repair, because of the wrong turn that took us through a gravel-filled path that took us through farms, we were delayed by two hours flat. 

Even our designated high priest thought he had lost his mojo when we found everything going the wrong way. With the patchy GPS signals in Korean language, by a twist of fate we somehow finally managed to get to the next certification centre. 

A breath of fresh air. Second last certification centre in the pipeline. ©FG

The body was aching and the muscles were fatigued but one resolve in each of minds to complete the course pulled us through. We pedalled through the gruelling heat and the mid-afternoon sun at about 20C.

Finally, at about 5.30pm, the Gods took pitied us and finally landed us at Nakdong River Culture Pavilion, the final destination. 

I am still standing, on the ground. ©Bob.

Three months of planning, weeks of training and many man-hours in research, we finally completed our mission. Shaken but not stirred, we were already planning our next trip, perhaps next year. 

We did it! ©RS

End of Day 5.
Completed about 140km. (Total ~ 675.15km) due to detours and off-course tracks, to and from accommodation and meals.

I cycled 675km and all I got is a gold-plated medal plus a piece of paper bearing my name and I had to pay for it! But it comes with bragging rights and something to talk about for a long long time.©FG.

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