Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
So it has been a rainy season, and I have to admit that I have a tendency of keeping very quiet when the going gets tough.  Maureen, my good friend, just sent me this article, and it's too good not to share.

http://www.lookingforgod.com/?/2/god-has-changed-their-life.html/198/jonathan-edwards.html

The sun is just starting to peak through the clouds, and I'm starting to peek out from my shell.  The past three weeks were filled with painful niggling injury (tennis elbow), a terrible flu bout (think hacking green gooey phlegm), starting my new job as night warden for the academy residences (very stressful), and adjusting to the horrid cold (very cold!).  Amidst the obvious roller coaster of emotions, the only thing that stayed constant was God and His abiding patient love. 


So I'm back!  To throw more updates (too much has been happening), and to take a deep breath, and start talking again.

I end with something I saw in the sky after a huge downpour a few days ago.  An amazing, hearteningly wide double rainbow :)

Tomatoes from Little Shop of Horrors,
Egyptian Cookies from London
Robin my Australian friend bought one GIGANTIC mother of a tomato during his rendevous on Wednesday's weekly supermarket outing.  Amir, my other British friend brought over some Egyptian cookies (he's half Eyptian, half English) for me to try out.  I've never really seen either before, and I was so tickled, I had to take pictures:

Juxtaposed against my archaic 5th generation 30GB ipod.  Just look at that!

Sheesh!

From the angle the tomato looks like Botero's backside...haha!

In the background: Robin oogling at a random blog post.

Mother of a tomato with her minions.

I ate one of them, btw. It was pretty good.

 

Amir: Over and showing us his wonderful box of Egyptian cookies (bought in London... hrmmm)

Robin: Frolicking in the empty bunk bed in my room.

"Okay, so there are a couple of different types of cookies here..." -Amir

"These are called ghor-ro-yeh-bah.  You've got either minced dates or mixed nuts fillings in them.  The pastry's made of flour, eggs, sugar and ghee. And coated again on the outside, is powdered sugar."

"These doughnut-like looking ones are the most fattening of the lot,"

"And these pistachio pastries are my favourite." 

They were, by far, the best among the lot.  Flakey, crispy and sweet to the taste.  Fortunately, these came before my diet got imposed, so I got to nibble on a few :)

Back on Court
I'm finally back on court and doing physical.  It's been some week alright--starting off slow and largely stressful for a host of reasons (injuries, staying possibilities, and the general task of tuning my body back to training).  It helped that the coaches were understanding and patient about the recovery process, and it involved more than a few tears and being put on a diet to expedite the healing process.

Food wise, life was restricted to organic produce--no simple sugars, no sauces, no processed, deep or pan fried foods.  Only lots of multigrains, brown rice, pasta, lemons, vegetables, fruits, clear soups and water.  It's no fun eating pasta sprinkled in lemon juice (the teeth get a little edgy)--but still, it's moments like this I'm thankful dad raised us up very organic.  His tirades against soya sauce and ajinomoto have helped me develop a natural, holy love for all things whole and healthy.  I still miss mee pok and hae mee (prawn noodles), but am happy with the food we get here.  By far it's not tasty or delectably finger-smacking, but it is mostly very heavy and healthy.  None of the processed fishballs, chee kueh or simple-carbed chee chong fun we get back home.  A tomato is a tomato, a chicken leg is a chicken leg.  That's about it, really.  And no complaining because it helps you crap on time, and that's something everyone needs here.  Hahahahah.

What I am thankful for is how faithful God has been through this trying time.  I was hit by horrible bouts of home-sickness during the week--I think largely sparked off by the very real possibility that I might be staying here for much longer than I expected.  Wonderful news from the tennis front!!  The coaches seem to like me and so much of my game has improved thus far in just one short month.  But the week-long lay-off, Sunday's late-night fright and the stress of injury recovery played out a melody of strain I hadn't prepared myself mentally (or emotionally) for.  And it was all welling up.

It was particularly bad on Tuesday, when my hamstring started to feel pain again after morning fitness.  I was angry at Roman (the angsty fitness coach) for making me join the main group that morning instead of letting me ease back into the weight of physical training.  I had done a full evening session with Kapi the day before, with a series of exercises to test out the leg.  Roman was there to see it all happen, and accussed me the next morning for slacking off on the rowing machine instead of joining the group for the daily morning run.  "If you could do it then, why aren't you joining the rest of the girls, Sarah?" I didn't like the ice in his voice, or the insinuatory way he stressed "if you could do it then".  Truth be told, my right deltoid was still hurting, my legs were feeling cold, and I didn't want to shock-stress them with a pounding morning run when I'd done a full work out less than 24 hours earlier.  "Stupid ass," I thought to myself, as I looked at his hunched back, accusing eyes.  But it was difficult saying no.  "Sure, if you think I can take it, I'll join the group", I forced out a smile as I got off the rowing machine.   We did legs again that morning and the pain came back

As I felt it, I also felt anger and frustration rising.  "Why the hell did I listen to him?  Why couldn't I just stand up and say 'No'??"  The pain wasn't as bad or sharp or piercing as it was when I first got it, but it was there.  Small, tight, slight, but oh so present.  Predictably, Nacho told me "NO tennis" for the day, and the more I focussed on the inevitable disappointment, the thinner and more stretched I felt.  The tears were welling in my eyes, my breathing was getting short, and I had to blame someone.  Quick, throw it out, lash out.  "Damn you, Roman, damn you." I thought to myself, lashing out at the man with all the honest inner vengeance I could muster.  As I seethed in the blame game, held it tight in my chest, there came bleeding in another underlying train of thought.  "Damn him." -Wait a minute.-  "No, damn him!" -Wait...- "DAMN HIM!!" -Am I sure.?- Why was I so eager?  Was it not really him but actually... damn me?  Damn him or me?  Why do I feel a little guilty blaming him?  Fine, I feel guilty.  Why?  Dammit, what's wrong, Sarah?  What's wrong??  Make up your mind! The questions kept swirling in my mind, turning and upturning themselves in a maddening vortex. 

Lord, I need you here.

And just like that, the thought came true and sudden, like a tired sigh.

I went back to my room, plugged in my ipod, and listened to Hillsongs.  The guilt and anger got stuffed under the rug as I took out my bible and opened my daily devotional.  Take your eyes away from Roman, from trusting that he has the power to make or break your body.  Take your eyes away from trusting in man, and place your trust in Jesus, in His love for me.  As I read about Abraham building altars of worship to God (Genesis 12:7), about casting our cares on that altar that remind us of His love, goodness and faithfulness, new calm came seeping into my soul.  "You are my child, Sarah," was His voice.  "I am here with you, to take care of you, love you.  I'm here!" 

As I logged onto Skype after that to reconnect back home, God similarly moved loved ones and close friends I was thinking of, online.  With miraculously good internet connection, I spoke with five of them in my afternoon off.  I got listened to, loved and supported.  The last person I spoke with was my good friend from NUS, Calvin Xie who prayed for me over Skype.  It was an amazing prayer, filled with the life and the exact promptings that God had been filling my heart with during my quiet time.  Seriously, the power of prayer and the spoken word in faith is full of incredible power.  At the end of that afternoon, my lenses were adjusted, perspectives were refocussed, and my heart was filled with a supernatural love and joy in Jesus and His finished work.  Strangely, after my quiet time, the niggling pain in my right deltoid that had been bothering me for the whole week--had evaporated.  My left ham felt better, I didn't feel any more pain.  Praise God!!  He is indeed faithful, even when we are faithless.  When I went back to the gym that afternoon, instead of scowling at Roman, I couldn't help smiling back :)

The rest of the week only got better--fitness sessions with Kapi were fun fun fun.  On Wednesday we danced the rumba, salsa, tango and waltz (LOL seriously!), on Thursday played this insane three-personed game that involved person A throwing a ball against a wall, person B hopping over it after it bounced, and person C catching it before it touched ground again, all in quick succession!  On Friday we did running and footwork, and on Saturday wrapped the week off with an hour-long stretching session by the pool, in lovely 11am sun.

Court work also went ever-progressive with the coaches slowing the pace down for ball drills and being very, very patient.  The hamstring occassionally felt tight, but there was no more pain and I did all the footwork  effortlessly, with increasing pace as the days went by.  The week off seems to have done good to the footwork, because I can feel myself moving more cleanly on court.  I don't know how, but it's gotten easier getting into balance for most of my shots during the drills now--I can feel my legs stronger, more measured.  In a sense this gives me space to concentrate on my strokes now--which is great.  The next thing now is to keep improving my footwork, learning how to move faster, and translating that into actual game, rally-play, beyond just drills.  One thing that has also changed greatly this week is my serve motion, which has gone through an overhaul.  When I figure how to post up a vid on this blog, I'll be sure to show it off.  Hahahaha.

Look forward to more posts to come this week guys :)

Chicken curry, fireworks, and a series of unfortunate misadventures.
Yes. Things happened in roughly that sequence.

Sunday was such a blast for a host of reasons—misadventures included. I was invited to lunch by a very kind Singaporean family living in Barcelona. By some stroke of God-given blessing, I was introduced to Lenard Pattiselanno—a Singaporean doing his Masters here, a week before I left Singapore. We kept in touch via facebook and over the week, he and his wife invited me for lunch over at their humble home. It was nice getting out of the Academy and getting exposed to a real Spanish neighbourhood and speaking Singlish with fellow Singaporeans, all on the same day. Oh, and I needn’t forget mentioning the smackalicious chicken curry and fragrant white rice Leanne whipped up for lunch : ))

The company was fantastic. Lenard and Leanne were unspeakably warm and helpful answering questions and sharing more about the finer intricacies of getting by in Barcelona. Zachary, their cute little two year old made me feel at home almost immediately, showing me his toys and reminding me very much of my own adorable nephews and nieces back home. So we talked, ate, watched the Singapore F1 on telly, and what was meant to be lunch continued with an extended invite to dinner  As shy and hesitant I was about imposing on them, they were so chill with their “Oh no, no laaaa!” “Don’t worry!” chillness. I really enjoyed hanging out in their living room, just being around people who were from… home  To think that I’d asked Jesus to hook me up with Singaporeans in Barcelona, He really answered my prayers above and beyond by giving me a Christian family to connect with.

Misadventure #1: Close Shave With Determined Pubes
In the interim between lunch and dinner, Leanne and I took a stroll to the supermarkets in the neighbourhood to get some groceries I needed for the Academy. Talking on our way back, we stopped at a pedestrian junction, waiting to cross. It was lovely light afternoon: think Singapore-in-aircon weather, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, calm streets, the body naturally slipped into relax-mode. Standing there, I turned my head to the right to look for oncoming traffic. Unfortunately my view was somewhat blocked by huge recycling bins that were parked by the side of the curb (recycling’s a big initiative in Barca). I noticed a small old man with grubby stubble and shabby clothes, sorting out trash, and while I gave him a cursory glance, our eyes somehow met. He looked like a grim old man, hardened and made small by a long life of grind. His heavy lids were rimmed with that undeniable sick pink that fatigue often brings. His mouth was lined with wrinkles, and the lower lip pursed itself with a sort of obscene, grim, determination. To my surprise, as all this flashed through my mind, this old man in contrast, started unbuttoning his pants with a sick sort of nimble, furious dexterity…

Too focused on the strange way he was returning my gaze, I ONLY realized what was happening when my peripheral gaze registered the sightings of a pale lower abdomen and a brazenly held out, unzipped fly.!!
Thank God I only saw the beginnings of his pubes (pronounced “pew-bb-s”, i.e. slang and short for pubic hair) before I immediately turned my head in the opposite direction. Leanne was on my left. “Oh my God!! I think that guy just flashed me!!” I exclaimed, shocked and eye-balling her to look in the other direction (probably a wrong thing to do, in retrospect…). Thankfully she was the more experienced of us two. She held my gaze, smiled calmly and said “Yes, every neighbourhood has a couple of these old weirdos.”
We briskly crossed the road and right after the initial shock registered, I started laughing really hard at the ludicrousity of it all. No wonder he looked so determined! I just got flashed!!!

*****
After a hearty dinner, Lenard and Leanne sent me off with a big paper bag filled with the 1101 essentials to successful Singaporean living (abroad version). Leanne’d packed me a big bag of milo sachets, 6 packs of Koka and Cintan maggi mee, a red twin pack of Bee Cheng Hiang lap cheongs, and a Barcelona guidebook “on long term loan” :). To balance that off (health-wise), they also passed me a carton of milk and nectarines for everyday healthy living at the Academy. Hahaha. Trust me, it felt like Christmas!
I left their place at 9pm, and by right, it would’ve taken me, perhaps, slightly over an hour to get back to the Academy (it’s actually not very far away—probably from City Hall to Commonwealth by MRT. It’s just that public transport is painfully sparse). Unfortunately, what I didn’t know was that Plaza Espana, the square where my bus stop was, was also centre stage for the final leg of celebrations for the La Merce festival. When I got there, the place was thronged with crowds eager to catch the final fireworks display.

What was cool was that I managed to catch (entirely by fluke, mind you) the final firework display for the festival. By and large, it was a breathtaking display of musical and astronomical genius—the fireworks danced to music played over a massive square-wide sound system. The entire performance lasted for about half an hour, and in a sense it numbed the 2 hour waiting episode slightly. I’ll attach pictures soon, and in advance, sorry if they’re not that fantastic—my mind was preoccupied with avoiding pickpockets and looking out for my bus : S

Misadventure #2: 11.20pm, Shady Streets, No Taxis. Stranded alone.
It’s remarkable, how different a place can look and feel, just by a simple change of light and temperature.

After the fireworks ended, I resumed my position at the bus stop and waited for the throngs of people to clear the square. “The bus will come eventually,” I was staring at the gps display screen at the bus stop:

Bus 94—2 minutes
Bus 95—38 minutes

And so I waited. Faithfully. The elements though, weren’t so kind. The wind started coming in
(think: dipping temperatures),

I started clutching my arms harder
(think: “I’m feeling cold”),

and the buses continued to roll by
(think: damn 94 and 95 weren’t there).

By the time I realized the bus was never going to come, it was two hours past, my teeth were chattering and there were only a few stragglers left at the bus stop. There were a lot of pockets of people sitting in the shadows, just “hanging around” when Leanne’s recount popped fresh in my mind. Some guy had stalked her, then attempted to get her to Plaza Espana with him

I started to get edgy.

Cab. –I thought.
CAB!

Unfortunately, the bus stop was in the direction of traffic was moving out of the city. The cabs were no where in sight—so I crossed the road and tried to hail one in the opposite direction. No luck. The bulk of traffic going city-inwards was taking the expressway underpass about 50 metres up, and to get there, meant trekking through a stretch of poorly lit residential blocks. Not so good either. But what was I going to do? I was tired, cold, and feeling alone. Entirely alone.

—No, Sarah, you cannot freak out now.—

I decided to walk towards a posh-looking hotel down the street, in the hopes that reception might be able to give some advice on where to hail a cab. Sticking out my chin, big grocery bag in hand, and haversack slung close to my body, I started taking long strides, as if it was my place and I knew where I was going. It was probably my best bet against looking vulnerable and uncertain.

As I neared the hotel, I spotted a cab five metres into a dark alley to my left, free and totally available. Immediately, I thought, "CAB!".  And yet, instinctually, something told me not to walk towards it either.  There was a man standing a metre away from the taxi, lurking in the shadows drinking in the last dregs of his beer, and a bike rider on the other side, waiting with his motor running.  Clothed in shadows and pale streetlight, it all looked kinda dodgy.  Not surprising for the area—but none too cool for a young woman to venture towards, either.  So I stood at the main corner, looking into the street, and waited for the cab to drive up. Just as it was edging nearer, an elderly tourist couple waltzed right past me and started hailing the cab.

“Oh nooo…. NOO!”

If I were back home, I would’ve walked right up to them and told them off. But no, I was in a foreign city, I didn’t want to walk into that dark alley, and I certainly had no mind to get into an argument just then.  So I continued waiting like a dumbo, hailing the cabby furiously in my corner—standing pathetically on the light side.

It was Jesus. Or one of His angels that guided the cabby—because the taxi ignored the tourist couple and rolled slowly, but surely right up to me. Teeth chattering, fingers freezing, I was close to tears and relief as I opened that door. Got home in one piece (two detours included), and the cab fare set me back by EUR23. Still, I could only smile and squeeze the taxi driver’s arm just before I got off. “Gracias, tio, gracias.”

A small price by far, just to feel safe.

Blogpost for Thursday, 24th September 2009

La Merce
Today marks the start of Spain's arguably biggest festival, spanning till Sunday with tons of activities, music and dance performances littering the city.  Being a holiday for the Academy too, I tramped down to Barcelona centre with Kiko and Robin after lunch, to check out the festivities.  Here is a photojournal (of sorts) of the day, kicking off with lunch at the Academy.

Lunch consisted of fried salmon fillet and paella--the typically Spanish dish of fried rice with condiments meat condiments--usually of seafood origin.  This had the cheaper, chicken substitute.

When we got to Barcelona centre, we were greeted by a host of colourful vending stalls, selling almost everything from Hello Kitty balloons to snacks and fizz drinks.  To the left of the picture you can see the beginnings of one of the many massive stages the city council has set up for performances this entire weekend.  Exciting stuff!

Picking balloons. There were tons of families walking about or sitting down, all soaking up the sun.

One of the many typical, colourful vendor stalls in the Square.

They even sold birdfeed for the pigeons...

There were tons of people lining the streets at different parts of the city centre, craning their necks to catch the passing processions.  I thought these three ladies here were especially funny.  Uno, dos, tres!  On a separate note, it seems that Spain does have a rather large elderly population.  They fill the buses, streets, everywhere!

Another old man enjoying the parade... :)

Robin--my Australian friend with a fetish for pistachio nuts, insisted on bringing a big glass jug of them along.  "What forrrr?? We won't be eating it!!"  I wailed.  (I actually didn't want to carry it.)  It found its way into my bag, and I lugged the whole lot through the city.  Here he is, caught nibbling on them during the parade.  I nibbled on some too.  Fine, they were good.

Some random cafe I chanced upon on one of the smaller streets, that I MUST go back and visit!

The adjourning inner courtyard to the cafe.
Took my breath away.

Gelare shopping.  Tons of stalls littering the city--all, surprisingly, with different distinct tastes.

Strawberry at one doesn't taste the same as strawberry at another.

It makes me happy, nonetheless :)

La Colmena--one of Barcelona's oldest confectionaries. 
It was tempting not to buy any chocs, but I saw EUR53/kg choc there... -Choak!-

 

I thought of my very fat, cute, 3.5 month old sausage-looking nephew Brucie when I saw this. The bar in contrast was old, quaint, rather run down, but cool nonetheless. Something like Yet Con at Purvis Street, back home.

Just look at the drawers hanging off the wall!  Love it!

Kiko's and Robin's pose are cool too.  Added with the random passerby and the stall owner's, their bodies plot a sort of guiding linear disjoint amidst the semi-chaos.  Interesting.

Pity it's slightly blurred, though.

Blogpost for Wednesday, 23rd September 2009.

Chopping Wood
Fitness this afternoon was particularly enjoyable—mostly for the wide (and interesting) range of exercises I got to do. It seems that being in the recuperating stage of injury has its own benefits—my training focus has moved to the upper body, and I’ve been put through a series of workouts focussing on my arms, abs, shoulders and hips. I’m glad about this because in a sense, it means I have time and space enough to rest, and focus on this area of development. Bulk up the stick thin arms, strengthen the back, solidify the core, add mobility to the hips.

And so, thus, immobilized by my current hamstring reparations, today’s exercises involved a wall, a medicine ball, a big long hammer, and a massive tyre.

How strange!

Yeah, pretty much. After the routine warm up on the rowing (elliptical) machine, things fired off with throwing a 3kg medicine ball against the wall in a series of patterns. From my left, this meant thrusting my hips and swinging my arms forward and then releasing the ball, as if I were hitting a forehand. Similarly on the other side, rotating my shoulders from perpendicular to parallel to the wall, and releasing, as if I were hitting a backhand. Forward overhead throws involved sticking my heels to the ground and using only knee flexions and arms to generate as much momentum as possible. Then there were backward overhead throws (with my back facing the wall, hauling the ball over and behind my head). Forward pushes—involved using more of the wrists, forearms and a quick forward toss to rebound the ball off the wall and catch it again, without touching the floor. One of the more interesting ones was to push/throw the ball at an angle downwards, at the floor just where it met the wall—so that it bounced right back up at you.

What made it all particularly interesting (and challenging) was that these balls have an almost zero bounce return. They’re weighty, made of solid thick, dull rubber, and have no air in them whatsoever. Instead of a springy “Boinggg!” (think: taut basketballs), or the neat “Dook!” (think: fresh tennis balls), all you get from a medicine ball is a deadening, almost depressing “Dud.” And yes, you get it no matter how hard you throw it against the wall. What you expect to bounce back up to your waist comes lolling back to your shins—or in worse cases, your ankles(!)

In a sense, this makes med balls good training tools because their sheer unresponsiveness forces you to make every throw a good throw. After twenty minutes of throwing balls against the wall like a maniac, you learn how to distinguish a good “dud” from a bad “dud” (sheesh…). You learn how to welcome the weight of the ball back into your arms after a rebound. You learn how and when to release the ball to generate maximum power through the arc of your swing. You learn also, that a half-ass throw always ends up with a rebound to your shins—which throws off your rhythm—forcing you to pick up and start again from scratch. I don’t think I’ve mastered the finer intricacies of med ball throwing, but it’s definitely fascinating in a Dudley sort of way. Hur hur hur.

What was equally fascinating was the second exercise with the hammer and the tyre. While wall throws were done in the courtyard outside the gym, we moved on to under the trees by gym for our next exercise. There greeted us, like black, over-sized polo mints, two humongous tyres. Kapi went into the gym briefly and came out with two big hammers. “Have you done this exercise before?” he asked, as he looked, frowning, from tyre to hammer, hammer to tyre again. “Erm… no?” I shook my head slowly. What was he going to make me do? I didn’t have time to think much before he thrust one in my hand and said “Watch carefully.”

Remember Kapi’s “once-only” mantra I talked about the last time? Here it was again, and I stood fascinated, wide-eyed and (slightly) open-mouthed as he began to re-enact the entire motion of chopping wood, hammer in hand, on the rim of this wide rung tyre. “The bottom hand does not shift… you swing your other arm back like this… lift the head, always, in front of you…and then swing down hard like this… BAAHHH!” (Kapi likes to use sound effects when he’s teaching to heighten understanding. It really helps.) He hit the tyre so hard, the rubber mass quivered and, to my astonishment, out buzzed at least a dozen mozzies, startled awake from its dark depths.

“Wah! So many mosquitoes!!” I thought. “What if they’re dengue?”
I must admit that for the briefest moment, I thought about calling the dengue hotline to report. Haha!

For the next half hour, I stood under willow trees outside the gym, lumbering with a massive hammer in hand, pretending to cut wood. “Doong! Doong! Doong!” I reckon everyone should attempt to hack wood (or at least pretend to) at least once in their life. It was surprisingly stress-relieving, and more of a work out than I’d expected. For the first since I stopped court work, it felt glorious to feel tears of sweat running down my brow and cheeks again. What was also cool was that Kapi seemed happy with the way I was hitting the tyre, and decided to film me going through the motions. “Good technique, very good technique” he repeated every now and again, as he whipped out his dslr to take a video. Wearing a ratty tee shirt, grey berms and specs, I joked about how I would’ve worn something nicer had I expected this!

What wasn’t half so glam was that I went to the bathroom right after to wash my hands and realised that I had one big pee sai dangling from my nostril all that time -_______- Wah lau!! I was grossly startled for a second--"Damn unglam lah!" I grimaced. But then I thought about camera close ups,... and just had to laugh out loud.

-Shakes head- Sarah, Sarah!!!!

Snap
I've torn my left hamstring.

Well, marginally, according to Nachos, the resident doctor. It happened last Saturday during a measly TWO HOUR session of tennis (it wasn't even a full day, dammit!). Think cold weather, a half warmed up body, and an assignment to hit controls (rallies with specific shot sequences) with a boy who smacked the ball really fast, really flat. The sense of pressure struck again and maybe it was the fact that it was a new coach watching me hit, or that it was a new sparring partner, but I definitely over-stepped my footwork limit and felt a cruel, sudden pull in my hamstring as I stepped out for a backhand.

“Ouch!”
-brief pause-
“That really hurts. I can’t move my leg properly.”
-another brief pause-
“It must be a muscle pull. I can probably stretch it out later.”

Over-determined, I ignored the pain and muscled through the entire practice, including the 2 tie breaks we later played. Despite the pain, I managed to get into optimal position and balance for most of the rallies, varying the shots and cracking sharp with my serve (new toss included). I lost the first tie break 6-8, and won the second 7-5, and it felt good to have nicked 1 from him. I could tell he thought he was going trash me from the get go, so in a sense, it was a definite confidence boost. The niggling pain didn't go away, and while I forced myself to totally rest on Sunday, it returned on Monday during morning fitness.

We did a lot of running that morning and I was determined once again to muscle through the pain and finish it (sigh…sound familiar? :) ). Laps for us at the Academy are done around the perimeter of the swimming pool compound, and I believe it spans about 300 metres per round. I honestly thought Roman (pronounced Roe-mahn), our frequently angsty, sullen-faced fitness coach went ku ku. It was a hell lot of running—3 jog laps, 1 sprint lap, 2 jog laps, 1 sprint lap, 1 jog lap, 1 sprint lap; per set, two sets. What made it worse was that we weren’t allowed to stop after either sprint or set, so in all it was doing 18 laps and sprinting for 8 of them. That roughly translates to doing 13.5 laps around a 400m track, non-stop.

Needless to say, I could feel from stride #1 that my leg still wasn’t alright, and rightly so, I got a sore scolding from Nacho when I finally saw him. Thankfully the tear isn’t very big, so I will only be out for the next 4-5 days. I was instructed to ice my ham (mmm, yum yum… haha!) every three hours, and to come in everyday for ultrasound and stretching.

When I came in this morning for treatment, Allez (Nacho’s partnering physiotherapist) got me to lie down for another look. He made me do a series numb-inducing stretches, twisted my leg around in ways I never knew it could twist, then got me to lie on my tummy while he felt my ham (string and butt included). Verdict? He and Nacho think it’s not so much my hamstring that was weak, but my hips and abdomen that needs to give my legs better support—or in Kapi’s words, “protection”. While my legs are strong, my hips mobility and lower back are commensurately less—and so during rigorous movements, they tighten up and in this instance, pulled my left hamstring a little too much. Hence the tear.

Allez told me my sciatic nerve needs to loosen up—it probably caused the injury and its current equal tightness is impeding my healing process. He went on to pummel my butt while I yelped like a pathetic puppy in pain. “You’re probably going to have a little bruise here after this ok?” He laughed as he pressed down hard and I grabbed his knee, yelling “GAAARRRGHHH!!!!”.

When I told Kapi about my leg, he patted me on the shoulder and went “Don’t worry, training won’t stop. We can still do a lot of exercises for your upper body.” And a lot of exercises it has been. I am constantly amazed at how the fitness coaches, tennis coaches and medical team communicate with one another. Before I even told Kapi about Allez’s opinion I heard this morning, he nodded and said “Yes, Nacho told me.” What on earth? Yes it’s some reassurance for sure… I guess. Haha. Allez gave me a few exercises and stretches to focus on, and for fitness today, Kapi focused on my core and back. I wish I could show you guys how cool (and difficult) these exercises were, but this blog post will end up a little to long. Maybe in the next one!

(P.S. Sorry about the typos if any. It’s late and I have only time to type but not re-read through. I’ll edit it later, trust me :) )