NOV 14 — It is regrettable how we take things for granted.
The simple act of waking up in the morning is in itself a miracle, yet so often goes unappreciated. Every day, more than a hundred thousand people, globally, lose this privilege. Yet we rue the idea of waking up to the alarm clock and face each day with as much enthusiasm as a fat kid on a low-calorie diet programme.
Back when I was a player, we trained every day. Each session was rigorous, daunting and naturally, effective. We could run for hours on end with nary the need to rest. We were lean-bodied and agile. The copious amounts of gym sessions made us strong. We could run, play and fight with the best of them.
We could also eat whatever we wanted and not gain a single ounce. I had princely breakfasts, sumptuous lunches and enormous dinners, yet, my weight never changed.
Now, I’ll have an additional fried egg and the weighing scale tells me I swallowed the whole of Sibu for lunch.
It took me a while to realise the changes my body underwent. My breathing is now slightly laboured. I take a tad longer to walk up steps. I used to scale steps with relative ease. Now, I need my relative’s help.
While all these were apparent symptoms of aging, it took the harsh words of my elder brother, Keevan, to drill a good dose of reality into me. As always, this happened on a hockey field.
We were five years out of retirement. I haven’t held a hockey stick since. A good friend wanted the both of us to play in one of the league’s lower divisions. Thinking this was an opportunity to have fun and keep fit, we agreed at once.
In one of the games, I received a pass from my teammate. Upon collecting the pass, I was approached by a defender — young and fit — bent on robbing the ball off me. I evaded his tackle with some brilliant stick work. Before I could look up, I noticed another stick approaching my way. I gracefully dodged the block.
Hardly five seconds later, another player attempted to steal the ball away from me. I wrong-footed the defender and sped forward.
Throughout this whole time, I couldn’t glance up to identify possible passing options that were made available to me. My eyes were trained on the ball.
Another tackle, swiftly avoided.
I heard Keevan screaming my name.
“Logan!! Pass the bloody ball!!”
I sidestepped another player. I was on a roll. 5 blocks, all dodged.
“How many times do you want to beat the SAME guy?!” he screamed again.
