How good do you want to be?
The Nike nippon high school boys sports' club website has a typically Japanese-kamikaze-spirit but nonetheless inspiring tagline :::
何処迄行けるか
[どこまでいけるか ]
DOCOMADE IKERU KA
(How good do you want to be?)
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I guess it's no longer enough in the postmodernist era to tell yourself, "JUST DO IT." The more relevant and urgent question would and should be, "How good do you want to be?"
Damn good.
That was what I wanted to be in terms of my fitness level for the last couple of years.
Being a platoon sergeant (who was responsible for the platoon's fitness level and physical training regime) during my military service days; a basketball hoopie, and a consumer of mainstream media male imagery, meant that I had to constantly pursue a physical ideal that required ardous training and an ascetic diet.
I didn't have problems with the tough training bit, especially during my army days. Physical training was actually a welcomed escape from the bothersome paperwork and politics in my military logistics office.
It was also a really nifty feeling to know you are stronger and have better stamina than all the dim-wits around you. Those fools. If only they saw how pathetic they truly were, jacking themselves off with their self-indulgent shit-smack-sputter. (Oh I digress...the nostalgic anger...how un-Zen... )
Well, I trained hard back in those days. The army rewarded you with off-days and money for gold awards achieved in the physical fitness test, so why sit on your fat-ass and count down the days to your official release date? Extra cash, time away from the depressing army camp that I can use to go kiss my girlfriend with... What's not to love?
But despite the gold-award worthy sprinting, the 20+ pull-ups, I never had a 6-pack. No Brad Pitt abs.
Why? * sighs * I confess. Yes. I'm a foodie.
And Yes. The problem was with the dieting. Not the training.
As much as I enjoyed tough training, I also savoured my roast beef, tossed noodles, pasta with rich cream, salmon belly soup, macademia chocolates...and kimchi ramen.
Sure I was lean. But the Brad-Abs were never there. I could never put myself through the ultra-extreme-low-fat diet that was necessary to help them emerge from the layer of lard around my waist.
Anyway, 6-pack notwithstanding, I was fit.
WAS.
Fighting fit.
These days however, I struggle to do half the amount of pull-ups I used to execute with ease.
A 2.4 KM run? How about 2.4 hours of hardcore NBA Live 2005 Playstation gaming instead?
Chips-n-DVD-sloth-ing. Yes. Sun-n-salad-swimming? Er, maybe tomorrow?
I procrastinate, as usual. But I cannot lie to myself anymore.
My annual military fitness test is round the corner. It is time to throw that bag of chips out of window, and start running. I've gained 5kg! If I don't start training for my fitness test, and start whipping myself back into shape, it's "goodbye beach-boy!" and "Hello Plump-Bum!"
I not only have to tell myself, "Just do it....NOW."
I must also ask myself once more,"How good do you want to be?"
Good enough, to get the gold award. That's my target. Thank god for pride and vanity.
posted by audaciousjoy @ 1:53 PM
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