Running

I have not really seen the almost crazy connection between accompanying my father to the farm up the mountain when I was a kid to buying a pair or running shoes. Not until now.
Silly as you might think, but yes, I should have refused the Saturday hikes up to the farm, then. I would not have to lose precious money over a pair of shoes!
It is too late for that now.
It starts with how, when I was a kid, I loathed Saturdays. I would wish every day was Monday, not minding the walk to and from school (it takes 1 hour to walk from house to school). Mondays meant the start of a five-day non-negotiably school time, which could not be taken away from me.
Weekends, however, are associated with the unforgiving heat of the sun and the heavy 4 liters of water that I have to carry with me all the way to my father's farm. It is on a mountain, steep enough for me to think of faking a fall, so we could take another break, a longer one, on the way there.
Let us just say that in spite of the fact that the farm is everything serene you can imagine, it was one of those that I prayed would disappear from the face of the earth. It symbolized unfairness in that other kids were allowed to play, or watch TV, or just do nothing on weekends, while I was expected to be hiking under the scorching heat to learn how to plant coconuts, clear the land of unwanted weeds or to make copras.
On several occasions, however, when my father's mood was so good that even if I would repeatedly and annoyingly convince him of how we don't need water, he wouldn't mind, I would ask for a 15-min break under the shade of my favorite mango tree on the way to the farm. Even that happened very seldom.
Those hikes made me swear to myself I would do very well in school. When I graduate, I would just be in my office not minding what the weather outside is...

Twenty years later, I fulfilled that promise. I am nowhere near being a farmer. I am not going to be forced to hike up a mountain on weekends carrying four liters of water with me. Now, I sit at my desk in front of my laptop. I don't just not know what the weather is, but in most cases, I forget that it is a laptop I am having a conversation with. I spend hours and hours typing what solutions I could give, plans that need execution, excel reports, powerpoint presentations- basically running my departments.
For five years now, my weeks are all about Mondays. It is difficult to notice the other days of the week when I do pretty much the same thing every day. And the weekend? I can vaguely remember. I spend most of them in bed and making sure my place is dust-free for the next week.

They say the tragedy of human existence is when every day is the same as any other. I thought that if I do not do anything right now, I might as well be Sophocles, and write down my life for the greatest tragedy of all time. But I am not the kind that does something suicidally stupid by just dropping everything at the moment and head for the beach to go surf and not care about tomorrow. I could take baby steps. I thought about cooking. I could start with dinner.
Three attempts, however, and I know I was not born to cook. There was some improvement, but not the kind that could make me invite friends over. The pasta I made last weekend was almost edible, though. Culinary is not what I should get into if I want to feel good about myself. That is sure.

I decided to go running.
I would schedule this at least 3 times a week. On Monday mornings just before I go to work, Thursday mornings, and weekends. I thought this would be perfect. Eventually, I would also join fun runs or marathons that allow 70-year-olds to join as long as they pay the registration fee (which is a stupid idea by the way). I was going to start this two weeks ago, except that I remembered I do not have a pair of running shoes. And it has been two weeks that I am deciding among the many pairs out there. Should I get the expensive one? The cheap one? Which model? Which color? Which brand? I have been to the mall several times, and I still have not gotten a pair.

Now, I am thinking of picking up where I left off with my cooking escapades. At least there, I eat what I buy. I would like to believe that I am slowly getting convinced that to be great in something, I just have to be a little patient. Even beyond patient with this one.
But it's that farm that's to blame for all this. Had those weekends been spent on swimming at the river or playing marbles with friends, I would probably not have to be stuck in a job that makes me realize I am not good at cooking, forcing me to go running instead, which is giving me headaches about what pair of shoes to get.

10th Floor

Today, I was thinking about taking the stairs to the office, which is at the 10th floor. I thought this was a faster way of getting some exercise. These days, I either do not have the time to work out or too lazy to start one. An instant work out would be fantastic!
Before I reached the building, I had to think about this whole business of taking the stairs again. The practical side of me thought it was not something a normal, thinking individual would do. I realized, it was not clear to me what this ordeal is for.
I remember having done this a couple of times, days before my last hike to Mt. Pulag. It was necessary, then. The pay off was more than gratifying when I did not have any problem keeping up with the more seasoned hikers on the way to the peak of Luzon's highest. A hike to Mt. Pulag is not something that can be pulled off by just going around malls as preparation for the arduous trek. You have to be mentally and physically prepared for it.
I am not hiking anywhere soon, so taking ten flights of stairs is something to reckon with. Deeply.
I could be doing this for health reasons. There is, after all, a need to be healthy. This sedentary lifestyle and my apathy towards my diet will soon take their toll on me.
Problem is, I have not really accepted this.
People, the media, and everything else that bombard others with information about this and that are saying so many things about how we should all live our lives. They tell you what to eat and what kinds of exercises you should be doing. They tell you what you should not be wearing anymore and what kind of movies you should be watching. They even tell you that another color is the NEW BLACK. It makes me wonder really if I am the only one who does not seem to have any idea about what to make of my years ahead.
Once, the other day, I heard a conversation about giving service tips and the unwritten rules this practice accordingly has. There is the idea about the percentages, and if you are going back to avail of the same service in the future. In that case, it is a must.
In the pantry, I heard somebody talk about how the Filipinos need a dictator, someone capable of punching an errant sherriff in the nose without care of whether it's televised or not, or of whether the sherriff is, indeed, errant or not.
On the way home, on the jeepney, a woman was telling another how Kate (a colleague of hers) was so annoying that a fan page on facebook was put up to bash her. She thinks that if people do not want to be an object of cyber bullying, they should just be invisible or to be clearer, they should not annoy her. This woman reminds me of  recess in high school, which would always get me hungry. She must be 38, though.
I think the most interesting of all, is how one was supposedly told to keep her mouth shut over management's pulling a fast one on her. They told her to let it go, since really, the appointment paper issued for her promotion is just some piece of document that might as well be used to wipe one's arse with. After all, it is not really a contract, says HR (Don't worry, I also did not get this part). The clincher, she is part of HR.
If logic is something of a habit to you, you would probably think that if HR is able to do this to one of its people, just imagine what they do to other employees? Maybe, nothing.
They will do nothing. They think that it is best to be quiet.
I must really be missing something.

I did not realize that this musing over so many things that people say made me forget I was getting nearer and nearer to the office. I had taken the stairs even before a decision was made on it.
I wanted to go back down only to prove to myself that I was not somebody as gullible as those paying a thousand bucks to run under the heat of the sun.
Then, I noticed the sign on the wall in front of me. It read, "9".
Fuck that! I am not going back nine floors down to prove my independence.
This time, I say, taking the last flight of stairs to the office is the most practical thing to do.
And I do not really care what you think.