Filth

I have to die young. Living to a ripe old age was ideal until I’m here now at the age of nearly 2 decades. I think I’m an ageist. I can’t stand old frags and the way the slur in their speeches. Or the alternative extremes of snobbish bastards who think they own every single experience under the sun and those that think they are as athletic and healthy as the rest of the youths in a marathon. The latter should explain many deaths to come when the next Ah Cek passes out before he finishes 3km. When you’re that old you should shut your trap and listen when the situation calls for it, when you’re in the wrong and when your experiences are invalid. So now you know I can’t live for too long beacuse I would then hate myself. I already fear I would become one of these losers. ):

Yesterday we did fartleks in the morning. For a moment it sounded like one of those mornings in the mid holidays back in school when we had morning track trainings. Not. It’s the ah-mee’s hell-thee lifestyle thing. Fartleks feel very different without Andrew and Khai or Chee Sheng and Glen pacing me. And even though I pushed myself, I know there’s no adrenalin. There’s no purpose served and I don’t even feel myself doing it properly. It’s more like dragging myself on till sir announced the 60s out. One thing remains – I almost collapse after the fartleks. Back in the more purposeful days, we do 8 to 10 reps at above 90% intensity. Here I believe we only gave 80% and it’s just 6 reps. Ah-mee makes me so much more weaker, so much slower. Also, their training are all wrong. I don’t hear people dying from track trainings despite it being so much more intense than those we have in N S.

If only I had someone to pull strings into safsa, I would not be such a mess as my current sorrowful state. ):

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