Today is a public holiday. It is nice to have holidays on a
Friday which offers everyone a longer weekend than usual. Without other plans
for the day it is a simple decision how I should start the day – drive out to a
not too far away place that can offer me a 4-5km jogging route, and preferably
one that I have not gone too recently also. I immediately thought of the Ulu
Pandan canal route at Clementi.
I parked the car at the HDB car park located at the end of Avenue
4. Free parking on public holidays. That is music to the ears. I could take my time and linger as long as I
wish.
Aside from keeping cardiovascular fitness, jogging for me is
an opportunity for self-reflection. And music. Hence, an important accessory to
bring along would be my ear-phones and the few times I had left them at home
and jogged without my all-important music accompaniment I cursed at my carelessness
and absent-mindedness. I have a massive collection of mp3 music files from
several of my favourite bands and musicians stored in my hand-phone, ready to
be shuffled out for sheer listening pleasure.
Music has been a key part of my life for as long as I remember.
So it is easy to explain why I rarely go jogging with other
people.
 |
| The canal foot path where I last ran more than 30 years ago |
The few times I had gone jogging along the Ulu Pandan
waterway, I had headed westwards where the canal path ends up at an industrial
estate in Jurong East. Today I decided
to run towards the other direction. Doing
so should bring a tinge of nostalgia. It has been more than 30 years ago, and
long before I got married when I last ran along this part of the canal which
connects from Clementi Road to North Bouna Vista. I was then residing at
Holland Drive, so my running would start off there in the opposite direction
from the one taken today. As I recalled, this would well be the foot-path where
I had first cultivated my running or jogging habit which persisted to this day.
In younger years, running for me was not a matter of choice. The army’s annual physical
proficiency tests demand that I maintain this huff-and-puff routine on a regular
basis.
Today, shortly after I started, I felt tired rather quickly and
my pace was slower than usual. I reminded myself to go easy even as I decided
to push on. Jenny’s passing away has put
me in a despondent mood and my sleep has been disjointed for most nights. Lack
of sleep and not getting into the REM (rapid eye movement) phase can be
damaging to the heart. My last two
tread-mill tests, the last one taken only a month ago have both revealed
abnormal blips in my heart rhythm. Fortunately the follow up CT scan that I took
last year, aside from bursting a hole in my pocket, was negative and the doctor
assured me that my heart arteries and valves are in healthy state. But the doctor could not quite explain the
blips even as he rejected my suggestion that his treadmill electro-cardiogram
might need calibration.
After close to 25 minutes of a slow and tired run, I reached
the NBV end of the canal-side path. On the right side of the path were the
familiar new residential blocks that tower up to 40 storeys high. These are the blocks where my colleagues’
running sessions would take them to where they end each session with a vertical
climb up the 40 storeys. Climbing steps
is an excellent form or cardiovascular training which is less stressful on the
knee joints, as I have often heard. I would not pretend that I have that level
of fitness like my colleagues’ to scramble up 40 storeys. Certainly not after already
expending much of my energy. But I felt the
old gas tank might still have a sufficient fuel left to give the block a go,
and this would be a good chance to gauge my comparative fitness. My exercise
routine today could also finish up with an added vertical twist.
So I set my stop watch and started the climb. The stairwell for these new flats was
particularly narrow, barely more than one meter wide. Flanked both sides by
grey concrete walls there was a uneasy feeling of claustrophobia. The first few flights were easy enough but
after five flights I was breathing harder and grasping onto the hand rail to
push myself up. The hand rail felt
grubby and dusty. Not many people used these staircases obviously. I was feeling more and more of my weight with
each step, and drips of perspiration rained down my face. The knees were creaking which made me wonder
how such exercises are rated to be gentle on the knee joints. By the 10th
storey, my heart felt severely strained, beating furiously and screaming for
mercy. I should stop or I could wound up as a carcass, sprawled across the innocuous staircase of this HDB tower block, to be discovered many days later by
an unsuspecting resident who decided with much regret to use the stairs on that
day.
So at the 11th storey I slumped to the floor, exhausted
and feeling faint. This vertical climb
had knocked the wind out of me. And I had conquered but only a quarter of its
total ascent. A far cry from what my much fitter (and younger) colleagues can
achieve. It will be embarrassing to share this with them.
But worry of my comparative poorer physical fitness was furthest
from my mind. A graver danger was
presenting itself.
The staircase is dusty, grim and grey. A far cry from the lush
and verdant surrounds of the waterway and park below. At the 11th floor landing, I was
panting away, drained not only physically but emotionally. The world without Jenny has not been the same
for me. I could not run away from that
hollow emptiness which sometimes feel so overwhelming. At the edge of stairwell,
above the side wall parapet is a sweeping view of the waterway. I was tempted
to lean against the parapet to take in the panorama and draw in air to regain
my breath but instead I kept my distance and avoided looking out and down. I
have never had a head for heights and this irrational fear has worsened with
age. Already, the thought that I was more than 10 storeys above ground made me feel
dizzy.
What was frightening was the fear that I might lose my mind.
The loss of my wife has disoriented my entire life. I sometimes felt that I am
walking on the edge of a seemingly unreal existence. Other times I struggled to keep a balanced
footing and even more in seeking out answers to the meaning of my shattered
life.
Alone by myself in the stairwell this supposedly uneventful
morning, exhausted from my miscalculated physical exertion and feeling emotionally
tattered, I realised that I was then in a vulnerable and fragile mental state.
A single surge of negativity could sweep me off from the stairwell landing and
find me dead at the foot of the block. Am I at risk of doing the unthinkable - clambering
up the parapet and plummeting 11 floors down? It will guarantee a quick and
certain end to the emotional wrought that I have to deal with, day-in day-out
since Jenny’s tragic demise.
I actually started to feel anxious as the dangerous idea
appear to start germinating. My heart pounded harder than before. Was I in mortal
danger of harming myself? This would be so uncharacteristic of me but there and
then, I could not trust my state of mind. Not having been down in the depths
for so many weeks. All it would take is
a tipping point.
I realised that for my own good, I should not linger too
long at the stairwell. Being alone and cloistered in the narrow and claustrophobic-inducing
staircase landing has put me at risk of doing something really stupid. I should
quickly get into the nearest lift and get the hell back down.
Luckily nowadays the newer housing blocks are built with
lifts stopping at every floor so in awhile I was back at the ground floor. And feeling somewhat safer, the sense of
panic quickly subsided.
Well, my routine jogs are for self-reflection as I had said.
Plodding back to the car, I thought through again on this rather adhoc vertical
climb episode and the anxiety and thoughts of hurting myself that surreptitiously
crept into my mind. Have I inadvertently acquired a suicidal tendency with
Jenny’s passing? I am aware that a prolonged state of grief is a sure-fire path
to depression. Many chronic depression cases have tragically ended in suicide. An
ex-colleague had sadly suffered this fate. Jenny's passing on has dealt me a terrible blow and I sometimes feel totally stressed to have to accept that she is gone forever but I
can never imagine taking my own life as a result of this. Dying is not an option. I
have too many reasons to stay in good shape and stay alive. My three children, needless to mention.
I brushed off further negative thoughts. I need to preserve
my self-belief. I am definitely stronger than I think. Today was but my first
attempt to scale the 40-storey block. True, it was a poor start but next time
with better preparation I will ascent higher, if not reaching the very top. I should learn to overcome my fear for
heights also, after all it is very much a play of the mind.
BTW, today is the 17th day of the month and a
Friday. Jenny’s last breath was taken exactly 13 weeks ago on 17th
April, Friday at around 10.42am in the morning. That same time this morning, after
freshening up with a simple breakfast at a nearby coffee-shop, recuperating
from my jog and additional vertical exertion, my mind shifted back to her. She
was a mentally strong woman, in health and even in sickness. I have to do
better than allowing myself to be shaken so easily.
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