tonight, at practice

it was the last of the fifty kicks to the punching bag when i felt it, the sharp, jabbing pain shooting up from my right ankle. "there it goes..." i thought to myself, referring to the chronic pain that had been plaguing me. it is my weakness, this ankle of mine, a literal achilles' heel. i had to stop from my training and rest a bit. i stretched my toes, and tried to loosen my foot. i walked around the floor for a few minutes, trying to get a feel of how much more my ankle could take. quite a lot still, i hoped. quite a lot more still, it must, i convinced myself. i will learn to not give up without giving first my all. i shall not be discouraged with failure and pain. with that in mind, i walked back to my opponent for the day, a leather punching bag swinging aimlessly in front of me, drenched from the sweat left by my already dripping legs. i took my stance. i readied myself.

WHOMP! one... WHOMP! two.... WHOMP! three...

each strike took my breath. each blow i winced in pain. each kick bore all the focus my mind could muster. each hit was a reward for my determination. i was happy to at least forget.

dad's procedure didn't offer the results as we had hoped. his tolerance for pain had caused him to loose valuable time, time that could have prevented the worsening of his eye condition. the doctors are hopeful nonetheless. we will reschedule for the following week. now all we can do is wait and hope for the best. till then, impatient, ill- tempered dad was advised to behave. be kind. relaxed. be forbearing. no stress, no anger, no frustrations. nothing to excite him or irritate him lest it aggravates his already volatile condition.

when my relatives heard this, despite their sincere well wishes, they could not help but snicker.

self diagnoses

my body is still unusually toasty, as how i would often find myself when i walk about like a zombie, my state when i severely lack sleep. the past nights have been interesting to say the least, definitely way beyond the standard weekend fare. from an overnighter with blogging friends wherein we exchanged stories like giddy girls on their first sleep over to warping myself hyperspeed into a super adult as i come home and get drafted to nurse my father as he got rushed to the hospital ER, i am quite surprised i am handling all of these events rather well.

please don't get me wrong. i am not complaining in any way. it's just a habit of mine whenever i encounter more un-usual days, this now putting myself on a petri dish and performing divination on my disemboweled innards. rather a weird practice i have to say, but necessary to a degree. i am a creature of habit and when un-habitual events come my way, it is best to do an overall check up if all systems are still a go. considering that i am numb to the core, floating, hungry yet full, nauseous, thirsty, sleepy yet alert, and disoriented, all in the same time, something is telling me i am not yet all ok.

hmmm, here's a random thought. dad's doctor noticed how i could keep up with his medical jargon and asked if i had medical training. i said i did. he then told me to be wary. my dad's eye condition is hereditary so chances are, i would get it as well.

hmmm, and so i now add ANOTHER to my growing list of possible maladies that would serve as the thorn in my flesh when the day comes, some giving me uncomfortable days already. what a fine day that was.... my first sarcastic comment for the day.

a race for life

i am turning out to be quite an adrenaline junkie nowadays. not to misconstrue with people who engage in rather extreme activities like, let's say, bungee jumping or even more extreme, dancing while pretending to apply deodorant for the entire populace to watch, my definition for the term is by far more conservative.

i registered to join a marathon not too long ago. i said registered since the marathon will be this saturday and i have yet still to fully convince myself not to chicken out.... like the typical coward that i am. now before i completely discredit myself, allow me to state my case on the matter since, i for one, do not believe that my lack of courage is the only issue at hand. there is for the most part, the issue of me keeping myself alive! no exaggeration there, despite my propensity to roll into high drama! though i don't believe i am suffering from anything seriously fatal except probably for some idiopathic maladies related to my stress, this did not seem to fully convince my folks when they accidentally stumbled upon the waiver form i was to fill up, as part of the registration.

mother expressed her concerns first.

mom: "what's this 5K thing? you're joining a race?!"
me: "yup!"
mom: "i'd rather you not. it's dangerous! and 5K is far! it's like...um, FAR!"
me: "don't worry too much. i have been training to increase my endurance. besides, i don't really have to run all the way."
mom: "but still, i think its dangerous. you could DIE!"

like with all dotting moms i guess, the impending demise of their children always play in their minds. sometimes i even wonder if my mom dreads the day or anticipates it with relish since she brings up the topic of me dying more often than what i would really feel is necessary.... hmmm (i think i should sleep with the lights on now...).

now, though my mom's argument was not really anywhere near solid (like most of her arguments, really), it definitely did not do my confidence level any good (most especially the part of me dying). realistically of course, i do know that even with all the training in the world, i can never reach the endurance level of a KENYAN (realistically???). i don't think i can even reach the level of a kenyan even if he was starving! but still, i thought to myself to at least give it a try, now while i am still young and able and well, healthy i suppose. isn't it really the trying that matters the most, i thought.

not even having to recover from my talk with mom, my dad pops in and has a go on the issue as well.

dad: "what's this waiver? you're joining a race!?"(how come it sounds so much like a surprise?)
me: "yes. i'm joining a marathon, not really a race, RACE."
dad: "but you don't run! you just lift weights. so what now, just because you think you're fit, you think you can run a marathon already?"
me: "you need not worry! i just want to try it out and see how well i will fare"
dad: "but you need training! this is highly taxing, running. and you're not built to run. running is only suited to two kinds of people, those who are in track and field and those who are into basketball!...."
me: "but...."
dad: ".... you don't even do either! my friend was a runner, you know, and he said that you have to train rigorously for events like this. he knows, he was a professional, they even sent him to china to compete! he said you have to eat right, not too much, nor too little! some get carried away and eat too much, they then can't run and just fall down because they were too heavy!"
me: "i know, but..."
dad: "some don't eat at all, like you, those just faint out of exhaustion! some even get rushed to the hospital! then you have to drink right as well!, you recall allan? my other friend? he plays basketball and out of his entire team, there's only 8 of them still ALIVE! all because those who died drank COKE after they played. coke is full of carbon dioxide and when you're tired, you need oxygen! those idiots never thought of it and just reached for the coldest drink.... there! patay! they would practically need an ambulance to follow you around."
me: (my mouth stayed agape for a few more minutes after that, in absolute disbelief of the conversation i am in. it's only a freaking race for goodness sakes! i'm not running for president!!)

my dad, bless his twice infarcted heart, scrimped no detail in informing me of my possible, painful, disgraceful doom, if by some chance i still decide to join. i really did not understand that pep talk i just had. part of me was trying to rationalize that my folks were just concerned for my well being. part of me on the other hand questions their rather unorthodox way of showing their "concern", by ripping me into shreds.

needless to say, you cannot last long in this family without learning to take things in good humor. though i was practically massacred, i still was able to smile and collect my thoughts, more so, hold on to the idea that i will still run. i started it, training for it, might as well run it. so yesterday, i officially joined and am now in possession of my race pack. though there is a sense of pride i feel for pushing through with my decision, however gruesome my end will be, i still however could not shake off the dread, my gathering anxiety, for the upcoming event. being the worry wort that i am, being care free and having fun are ideas i have yet to fully embrace.

so now, i train. i train almost every morning, running laps around the quirino grandstand. i really have no idea how much i have run or how long it has taken me but i honestly don't want to concern myself with it. i really just want to run. i'm still having second thoughts but i'll leave that for now as well, i just want to run. i want to run and show my parents, and myself, that i can run 5K.... and live to tell all about it.

rampage at myron's place

we celebrated dad's birthday last night, as we always do whenever we feel festive, with another display of sheer, unabashed gluttony. the scene of choice.... myron's place at greenbelt 5.


i have heard and read a good many reviews about this place, mostly from bloggers who have been trying to compare the restos situated along this particular strip of the new mall. of course, i am still a die-hard fan of felix's, of which is still the place to beat in terms of food, ambiance and service, in my opinion. but fine... let us TRY to give other establishments a chance to woo us.

myron's place is essentially your typical american steak house, only packaged in (very) expensive gift wrap. though they try to reinvent the food and offer exotic sounding ingredients and additions like foie gras and scallops, you still know at the dish's very core, it's still the same ol' diner food, comforting and very hearty. not really a bad thing if you're in a particularly carnivorous mood, of which that night, we all were.

after closely scrutinizing their laser-jet printed menu, we settled on the following dishes...

starters

beef "sisig" samosas with foie gras
oven-baked mussels
stockholder's salad
cream of pumpkin soup

entree

BBQ baby back ribs, for mom
grilled australian lamb chops, for dad
franco cut black angus rib eye steak with foie gras, for kuya and i
(served with a side of mashed potatoes and 3 different kinds of sauces)

dessert

bread pudding

coffee

as you can see, nothing exemplary with our choices. you can definitely find the same selections in other less fancy restaurants for sure. what could only set myron's apart, in my opinion is the service. very pleasant staff, attentive and well informed (i certainly LOVE servers who know what they are serving).

the beef samosa was interesting. almost like having a jamaican patty but with a hint of foie gras velvetiness. i think i would have enjoyed it better if it wasn't as greasy since biting into the golden packets almost felt like drinking oil.


the mussels and the salad was rather unremarkable. it tasted good but was, well, just unremarkable. i guess you can only do so much with such dishes.

for our main courses. mom had the baby back ribs, to which she only got to eat half. partly due to her already being full (e kasi naman, daming kinain na complementary bread, pero in fairness, masarap sya ah!), and partly due to her not being able to stand the rather pungent smell of the pork. i took a taste and despite the marinade and the generous BBQ sauce on the ribs, neither really did much to mask that porky smell. i definitely would understand how unappetizing it would eventually get after you've had a couple of mouthfuls. dad, having manned a charcuterie all these years, said it did not taste good at all (mas grabe pa critique nya!)

i wasn't able to sample dad's lamb chops. but basing from how fast he devoured it, i'm pretty sure it wasn't bad. dad concurred with a grunt when i asked how it was.

our steaks arrived last, a 2-inch thick, 450g slab of australian black angus rib eye, medium grilled, of course. served with a slice of pan-seared foie gras and grilled vegetables and mashed potatoes as our starch of choice. i forget what the sauces were except that one was a shiraz reduction (wine based), the other was probably made from blue cheese and the last, a peppercorn mix. i liked the first and the last... not really a fan of cheesy sauces, really.


the steak was truly tender with copious amounts of marbling. the steak rub caramelized beautifully over the meat, giving it a distinct aroma and flavor, an olfactory and gustatory delight for sure. even the fat, which i most often trim off for obvious reasons, was too good to waste. in no time at all, my plate was clear. i think i even finished way ahead of everyone else.

ang BABOY BABOY KO!!! i'm sucha phfffiiig!

the bread pudding was a good way to end our rich dinner. served with coco jam, caramel syrup and a scoop of chocolate ice cream, it was surprisingly not too sweet, nor too rich.


overall, our dinner experience at myron's place was truly delightful. the food (except for the ribs) was good and comforting. the place was beautiful and charming. coupled with great company, the night was definitely memorable.

****

on a side note, though not the fault of the resto but my own lack of inhibition. all that foie gras consumed is now giving me problems.... UGH!

a walk to remember

"do you remember these parts? back when you used to be here?"

"yes". he smiled faintly, nodding to my question.

"i'm sure things barely changed throughout the years. these parts look old, they feel old. i look at these trophies sometimes when i have nothing to do. i read the dates and i wonder, what it might have been to be here back then."

he stayed quiet. we ascended the polished concrete steps, worn from thousands who have walked on them throughout the years, to the third floor where the auditorium was. the moon was full that night and cast a silver glow upon the walls. shadows quivered as a cool breeze blew. we entered into the auditorium and stood under its expanse. i stood behind him and rested my arms on his shoulders. he was younger back then, proud, strong and stubborn. standing in that room however, changed him momentarily. it made him somehow more tender, softer, kinder, gentler. he was reminiscing and i could only wish to know what was going through his mind.

"ei!" a familiar voice shouted from the stage. "what are you two doing here?" it asked.

"we're here to see you. are you still going to be long?" i shouted back.

"no. i can go ahead, we're almost done anyways."

"ok."

i turned my gaze back to him and his face had not change. a faint smile still fixed on his dark face, his eyes surveying every detail of the auditorium, every point eliciting a vague, distant memory of time gone by. then he stopped his gaze on me.

"sorry to keep you guys waiting. oh by the way, you gotta hear this tape i got. i'm sure you'll like it. her name is enya."

"let's listen to it when we get home 'hya, it's late and dad still has to get up early for work tomorrow." i said.

i never got to ask him what he was remembering when we were back in my old high school. no point asking about it now since i doubt he still remembers. but i guess back then, just being able to connect with him, share a place, a memory with him, even briefly, was good enough for me.

love you pa. never thought you'd be a softee too :)

happy birthday.