Killer Instinct

I was watching a documentary, Nat Geo Wild recently, about cheetahs, and was intrigued by the fact that there's a stage in a cheetah's life when its mother would teach it how to hunt. The process includes capturing the prey, of course, but would eventually lead to the killing for food. It is in fact a survival skill.

Eons ago, I bet humans had to hunt and kill to survive too. It's an instinct that must be developed and honed in almost every single human. But times have changed; now not all of us humans actually know how to hunt, let alone kill when and if we've caught whatever it is that we hunt. Most of us would rely on others to do it for us, and we just deal with the dead animals. Or rather, parts of the animals.

A facebook friend shared her experience recently on how her mom bought her a whole chicken—a dead one, of course—and she seemed to have had quite an experience learning how to cut up the numerous body parts of the chicken. I found her post quite amusing, and in my mind, I was saying, "Wait till you have to slaughter a live chicken; now that'd be an experience!"

Cutting up a dead animal for cooking is nothing like killing a live one. And I had my fair share of the latter as early as when I was just 10 or 11 years old. I can still remember the first time I had to slaughter a duck. As a little boy, it was quite a traumatic experience, to say the least. Although it has been many, many years since I was 10 years old, I still know a bit about slaughtering chickens or ducks; and so here I am to share with my readers. 

You start by sharpening the knife. Then you proceed to pluck the feather around its neck to expose the skin. Between a chicken and a duck, let me tell you that the duck seems to have a thicker skin! I'm not sure if that's a fact, or if it's just my imagination because of my experience. You will have to hold the duck steady—for the inexperienced, it's a good idea to get someone to help out by grabbing the duck's feet and wings, so that you are free to deal specifically with its neck. However, if you are confident enough, you can also use your own feet by stepping onto the duck's feet and wings, so you can do it alone.

I said it was a traumatic experience for me, but it's not like what you might think. Frankly, I wasn't very scared to kill the duck. It seemed like a natural thing to do; and of course when you really think of it, it is a natural thing to do in the animal kingdom—just like the cheetahs killing other animals for food. But the thing that was traumatic to me was that although I cut the duck's throat, apparently I did not cut it deep enough. So you can imagine what happened next. When I released the duck, it ran off helter-skelter, blood oozing out of its throat and all, and I was frozen for a bit before I was able to shake myself out of the trance to chase after the duck! 

You just have to take it from me; it's not so easy for a fat 10-year-old boy to chase after a zombie duck, especially if that zombie is ridiculously fast like the type you see in The Maze Runner series or Train to Busan. Thankfully, the difference in my story is that I was the one chasing after the zombie, not the other way round. Although I can't remember now, I wouldn't rule out the possibility that I was smiling to myself in bed that night, thinking about how I was chasing the zombie duck. Anyway, like all other skills in life, once you can get through that first time, subsequent chicken or duck slaughtering sessions would be very easy. No more chasing after zombies, that's for sure. 

I know that many people are convinced they can never bring themselves to kill animals no matter what, but I'm quite sure that when it's a matter of life and death, they'd do it eventually for survival. There is always that killer instinct in us all that will be provoked to give itself reign to ensure that we'd continue living.

The Organ Donor

I was listening to the Lite FM on my way to work a couple of days ago, and there was a segment about organ donation in Malaysia. If I heard correctly, we now have over twenty thousand people in Malaysia at the end stages of organ failure. Malaysians are therefore urged to be organ donors, and they can register at the Rotary Club, though I can't remember if there was a specific branch of the club, or at any Rotary Club in Malaysia.

Incidentally, I've had an interesting conversation on the subject of organ donation with my running buddy, a surgeon in one of the specialist medical hospitals in Kota Kinabalu during one of our many running sessions together sometime ago. He, too, was saying that Malaysians are not, statistically speaking, organ donors. I'm not sure if that was due to religious reasons, but I have to confess that I've not pledged to be an organ donor too.

Before I elaborate further about why I'm reluctant to register as an organ donor, I'm rather amused to share that  my wife had a very interesting reason why she's unwilling to be an organ donor. She had the peculiar idea that when she dies, she'd like to die intact—meaning that she wants every part of her body to be still attached together, so that in the afterlife, she'll be intact too. She somehow had the idea that if, for example, her kidneys are taken from her when she dies, she'd arrive at that other place in the afterlife—wherever that place might be—without any kidney!

As most of my readers would know, I'm not a religious person—in fact, I don't believe in any religion at all. So my reluctance to pledge to be an organ donor has nothing whatsoever to do with my religion. Neither am I concerned about whether I'm going to arrive in another place in the afterlife, if there is really such a thing, with my body still intact or otherwise. I'm thinking that when I'm already dead, whatever parts of  my body that can live on as spare parts in other people, is not really a big deal to me. When I'm dead, I'm dead—period. 

I try to keep my body healthy in the hope that it can keep functioning properly until old age. But at the same time, I'm also fully aware that nothing lasts forever; sooner or later, the expiry date will come.

With such a mindset, one would think that I'd readily sign up as an organ donor. But I won't, because once I signed up as an organ donor, my name will forever be in the "database". My details would be there in the database, and that data could be searched by some desperate people. I may be marked as a "potential or promising match" for somebody even when there is still a lot of life in me. The ugly thoughts of people waiting or hoping that I'd die soon because I have something that they need desperately. And I somehow fear that scenario, simply because I'm convinced that there are many, many rich people out there who're in desperate need of organ transplants. When people are rich and can afford to pay practically any price for an organ(s), that, to me, puts those who've already pledged as organ donors at risk.

I must admit, however, that such notions sound a lot like paranoia, especially in the context of Malaysia. But, y'know, remote as it may be, it's still a possibility to reckon with; one that I'm unwilling to carry at the back of my mind for now. Maybe when I'm 70 or 80, yes, if I can live that long, but not now.

My surgeon friend opined that it's quite unlikely that the database for the organ donors could be so easily accessible by just anybody, let alone the scenario beyond that as I've described above. But my paranoid mind is not so easily convinced.

The irony of it all was that when I reached the office that morning, having just heard about the call for Malaysians to become organ donors on the radio, I read the news about the database of over 220,000 Malaysian organ donors that had been hacked since 2016. It makes me wonder what the hackers are planning to do with the data...

Authority & Loyalty

I was having my weekly ABC at the Damai Phase 4 food court last Saturday afternoon. Seated at the next table were two women. One of them was lamenting to the other about her daughter-in-law. I'm not sure what was it all about, but it had something to do with that woman's disappointment in her son. She said that her son was always defending his wife; whereas she felt that the son should be loyal to her as his mother. She felt that she had the authority over her son simply on account of being his mother.

I'm not in the habit of listening in on other people's conversation, but it's hard not to hear such an animated conversation. Unfortunately, I did not hear the other side of the story, i.e. the daughter-in-law's story. So as a policy, I won't comment on the merits of this mother's complaint. I can only pity her for her predicament.

Elsewhere in this blog I have discussed this topic before, but I propose to revisit the same topic again here now. Women are of course peculiar creatures—forgetful creatures. I should know because apart from being married to one of them, I have also seen so many interactions between mothers and their daughters-in-law in my day.

Let me hasten to say that I'm convinced that there must be a fair number of mothers whom are good friends with their daughters-in-law. I mean truly good "good", not just good on the surface, if you know what I mean. But in many, many cases, mothers can very rarely live under the same roof with their daughters-in-law. Well, at least not for very long. They are like time bombs—sooner or later, something will give, and the explosion will usually be ugly.

The whole problem revolves around those two little words, "Authority" and "Loyalty". When a woman marries a man, she'd usually feel like she has authority over her husband, and she'd expect his loyalty too. Moreover, that authority and loyalty are even more than what her mother-in-law deserves. In due course when there is friction between her and her mother-in-law, she'd expect her husband to support her.

However, when she eventually has a son of her own, and when that son gets married, she'd assume authority over her son, and she'd expect her son to be loyal to her, not to his wife! It is a strange reality about women in general. I'm not sure if it's a case of forgetfulness—as in forgetting the time when she, too, was once the daughter-in-law to somebody's mother, and that as a daughter-in-law, she had assumed authority over her husband and demanded his unconditional loyalty.

Well, I'd consider myself quite lucky in that my mother had long ago migrated to Canada. Over the years she's been visiting us every now and then, but had never actually stayed for a prolonged period in my house. I therefore have no opportunity to prove the above theory about women as far as my own mother is concerned, but I'd bet my bottom dollar that if it is fated one day that my mom comes over to stay for good, it would be just a matter of time that there will be frictions between her and my wife. It is almost natural for this to happen between a mother and her daughter-in-law!

There will be bound to be occasions when my mother would be tempted to "share" some of her wisdom on how to raise children properly—that children shouldn't eat junkfood up to 3 hours before dinner, because that would spoil their appetite; that the kids are spending too much time watching TV, and should be spending time studying; that kids have no business having cellphones of their own. And the list goes on and on. I dare say that some of these policies are good ones, and my wife would have no problem in agreeing with them. Nevertheless, there will be some ideas that may be not so agreeable to my wife.

And then there are also other matters where mom would sometimes like to throw in some of her ideas. For example, she would suggest that I put my sister's name, at least as a co-beneficiary, for my life insurance policy, instead of naming my wife as the sole beneficiary.

So let me repeat—there will be bound to be frictions. If I'm lucky it will remain a ticking time bomb that will never explode. Maybe my mom would end up lamenting to her friend at a coffeeshop like that woman at Damai Phase 4 above. But if I'm not so lucky, the bomb will explode with serious consequences. What would I do then?

Well, first and foremost, I'd like to listen to both sides of the story, and then assess which side I can agree with. Let me just say it here now that I am immune from the expectation of the society—that my loyalty should ultimately go to my mother. Not in the least. If I can't agree with my mother, I shall have no qualms in telling her, with due respect, to back off. I told her, for example, that there is no place whatsoever for my sister's name to appear in my life insurance policy even as a co-beneficiary; end of story, and there's nothing more to discuss, thank you. This has nothing to do with being ungrateful to my mother; but if it is deemed as ungratefulness anyway, then so be it; life goes on. But of course on the other hand, if I can't agree with my wife, then I will also tell her to back off.

There is no end to the argument of who, between mothers and daughters-in-law, deserve a higher authority and loyalty over/from the son/husband, although I suspect that in this part of the world, the majority of the population would say that mothers deserve more authority and loyalty. Well, what can I say, this is not the first time that my opinion is different from the norm.

I'm very lucky that having been married now for over 25 years, there has never been a quarrel between my mom and my wife. It would have been a rotten deal—and I would have done it anyway—for me to have to tell one of them to back off!

Cheapskate

A couple of weeks after his mother's funeral, a man was packing some of his mother's old stuff, and he stumbled upon many of her old diaries. Curiosity got the better of him, and he started reading some pages randomly. He came upon an interesting entry from many years ago. 

It said:

"Today I've learnt a very important lesson—Sometimes, it's not worth to save a few cents by buying cheap and low-quality stuff because it might just fail to do what it's supposed to do. It's OK to spend a few cents more for the sake of quality!"

That entry made the man pause for a bit; he wondered what was that all about, and he kept thinking and thinking about it to no avail. It wasn't until much later when it suddenly occurred to him that the date of that entry was about 9 months before he was born!

Well, I have a story to tell about buying cheap stuff too. But in my story, although I'm not the one buying the cheap stuff, in the end I'm the one who paid for the consequences.

You see, I bought a smart phone for JJ, which was in itself an irony, really, because JJ is not so smart about taking good care of her stuff. She brought her phone to school one day and then left it lying around unattended, and eventually it was stolen. So daddy came in for the rescue with a new smart phone. That was almost 2 years ago. Although JJ has dropped her cellphone like a million times, the phone survived the torture somehow. It was quite an expensive cellphone, but it's not waterproof.

Then recently, while Mia was passing a phone accessories shop in a mall, a plastic casing for smartphones caught her eyes. It was designed to contain smartphones which can then be submerged into water. It was selling at a price of just RM10. Such a cheap item with the function of protecting a cellphone worth at least 6 months of my lunch allowance.

So JJ was excited. Last week, she went swimming at Sutera Harbour. She put her cellphone into that forsaken plastic casing and then took selfies in the pool. And then came the painful part of the story. After JJ had had her fun taking selfies, she noticed that water went into the plastic casing after all. What followed next were numerous attempts to revive the phone, including putting it into the rice container (not sure where she got that silly idea). But to make the long story short, her cellphone is dead. Like "DEAD" dead!

So JJ was the not-so-smart user of a smart phone; Mia was the cheapskate buyer of the miserable plastic casing at RM10; and now daddy is the one having to get JJ a new cellphone. After about a week without a cellphone, JJ finally got a new phone today. After checking out some of its features, she said to daddy, "Wow! it's cool dad!"

So JJ is happy; her mommy is happy; and I'm happy for both of them. But I'm rather sad for myself. But unlike the dead mother in the story above, I doubt that Mia has learnt anything from this episode. I bet if she sees another plastic casing selling at RM5, she'd buy it in a heartbeat...sigh.

The Walking Bible

A priest was driving his old sedan into town one day, and a young beautiful nun asked for a ride. On the way, they stopped briefly at a red light, and the priest's hand started to wander and come to rest on the nun's knee. The nun remained calm, but said, "Father, remember Matthew 7:7?" The priest withdrew his hand apologetically.

They made several more brief stops, and at each stop the priest's hand wandered and rested on the nun's knee. And each time the nun uttered that same line, "Father, remember Matthew 7:7?" When they finally arrived at the town, the nun alighted the car, and the priest said, "Please accept my sincere apology, sometimes the mind is strong, but the flesh is weak!"

When the priest finally got home, however, he rushed to his Bible to look up Matthew 7:7, King James Version. It said:

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you"

Moral of the story is that whatever's one profession or expertise, he should make sure that he knows his business well. Otherwise, he is bound to miss rare opportunities to strike big!

Such is the story I'd sometimes tell younger people. I have quite many such stories that are quite often amusing, but contain valuable life lessons. Truth be told, I'm a non-believer of religions, and although I know some of the stories in the Bible, I only know Matthew 7:7 by heart; simply because I have the above story in my arsenal of life lessons for my younger friends.

Today, I was at the High Court to appear as an Assessor to assist the judge in a property dispute. During a short recess, some of us made a beeline to the toilet. Although there were separate male and female toilets on that floor, the male toilet was out of order, and we had to share the female toilets. It happened that the female toilet door was closed, and I thought there was someone in it. So we waited for a while. However, the wait became too long, and an old man started knocking on the door. No answer, and after a few more knocks, he opened the door. Turned out that the toilet was empty.

The old man remarked absent-mindedly, "Luckily I knocked on the door; otherwise we would have waited for nothing," and then added, "Knock, and it shall be opened unto you."

Upon hearing that line, I was reminded of my story above. So I said, "Matthew 7:7?"

The old man was extremely surprised. He exclaimed, "Wow! You know your Bible very well, young man! I'm very impressed!"

And I turned red in the face. I'm not exactly a young man at 52, and neither am I any good at the Bible. But thankfully, he did not ask me to cite other verses of the Bible. Tomorrow, I'm appearing in court again, and I hope I won't be meeting him in the toilet, just in case he might be tempted to quote other lines of the Bible, and expect me to name the specific Chapter.

Ironman Malaysia 2017

I did the Ironman Malaysia (IMMY) last year, and it was something of a disaster for me. And shortly after that race, I decided to come back for a second attempt this year. I had originally wanted to focus fully on this race. But for a long time it seemed like there would be no more Ironman Malaysia. I therefore started scouting around for other Ironman races in the region, and my friend Anslem told me about Ironman Gurye in South Korea. I didn't think very long; I registered for that race and embarked on serious training for it.

However, very shortly after I registered for Gurye, IMMY opened for registration, to be held on 11 November 2017. So I registered for it too. I achieved a personal best (PB) in Gurye as reported here. And then I became lazy to continue the hard training for IMMY. I finally arrived in Langkawi at my heaviest in recent years; just a little shy of 75kg during the weigh-in at racepack collection the day before the race. Thinking of the hills, I knew that I would be in trouble.

Mia came along for this trip as she had registered for the 70.3 event which was to run simultaneously with the Ironman race. We were having lunch at the Happy Happy Cenang Seafood Restaurant the day before the race, and as I was chewing my seafood fried rice, I was suddenly attracted to a significant figure walking at the adjacent Mali Mali Resort. It was none other than Wendy Tan; she was obviously prepared for the race. There she walked with that trademark huge hair and dark sunglasses, shoulders held high up like The Rock, and a painfully straight back. She reminded me of someone at the back of my mind, but I couldn't for the moment tell who that someone was. It wasn't until much later that I thought she reminded me of C3PO of the Star Wars saga; very, very straight back and walking very stiff, full of muscles. For a brief moment, I had the crazy idea of calling out to her, but I checked myself. After all, the prospect of Mia stabbing me in my sleep with a huge Rambo knife wasn't very amusing, you see.

After lunch, we walked the street of Cenang and I bumped into Dr Yap Eng Hui. What a small world! Or maybe it's just Langkawi that's small. But anyway, he took the opportunity to take this photo of us.

Now where was I? Oh yes, about the Ironman race. We found ourselves at the swim start at about 6am the next morning. And after making final checks on our bikes, there was a slow procession of a bunch of fools to the beach. The 70.3 event was to be flagged off first, but I lost sight of Mia in the huge crowd. 

Although there was a significant gap between the 70.3 and the Ironman flag offs, it felt like time was ticking extremely fast. Very soon, I found myself queuing for the start of the swim. My friend Quintin was there too, and we started the race at more or less the same time.

Now the swim is my weakest discipline, and I have always had a kind of fear of it. This race was no exception. However, as soon as I got into the water, I felt surprisingly calm. I've never been any good at swimming, and throughout the months leading up to the race, my longest session at the pool was just 1.5km, and that was with many stops too. When I got to shore and about the make a second entry into the water for the second loop, suddenly Dr Yap came alongside me. But he left me behind in no time at all. I eventually emerged from the sea in about 1:36 for a distance of just under 4km.

I took my time rinsing off the salt water, and then made my way to the changing tent. My heart was still racing like crazy, and by the time that I got to my bike, I noticed that Quintin and another friend, Felix, had already left T1. My heart sank, but there was no time to think about all those.

I started pedalling slow as I tried to catch my breath. But very soon after the bike start, I entered to Jalan Datai where the nightmare began. Hills, hills and more hills. At 75kg, I felt like I was hauling a ton of bricks. It was just ridiculous. I merely shifted to the lightest gear and took my sweet time going uphill. When I finally emerged back from Jln Datai, I felt a little relieved. For about an hour or so, it was a pleasant workout. And then came the nightmare of the 3 famous hills, apparently known as Bukit Hantu. In my mind, I was like, "Memangpun sial macam hantu ni bukit semua!", and I calmly pedalled uphill with my lightest gear. There, I saw Tey Eng Tiong, waiting with his camera, and he took this photo of me (Thanks bro).

It was at the second big climb that I saw Wendy Tan coming through; out of her saddle and literally dancing on her pedals going uphill. I could only look in awe. But I didn't look for too long, mind you; or I would be in danger of falling off my bike because of too engrossed looking at her! Then came the third hill. Again a very slow climb. Several people were pushing their bikes uphill, but I refused to give in to the temptation of doing the same. 

The most painful part of it all was that we had to repeat the whole thing again during the second loop, and during the second visit to Bukit Hantu, I felt like kerasukan hantu to be able to climb those hills. But thankfully, I survived all the hills without pushing my bike on foot.

I finally finished the bike torture in about 7:10. Again my heart sank when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't seen Quintin since the start of the race that morning. I have of course run many marathons before, but running 42km with an empty tank is quite a different story altogether. Coming out of T2, my legs felt like jelly, and I dreaded the thought of the miles upon miles of torture for me to reach the finish line. The mind was willing, the legs weren't cooperating.

One step at a time; a slow jog, a brisk walk, counting in my head. I tried everything, but it was no good. Fatigue was setting in. It was perhaps 8km into the run leg when I finally caught up with my friend Sandi. She, too, was lack of training and was obvious struggling. I merely jogged slow and steady. And then to my surprise, I caught sight of Quintin not very far ahead. I eventually overtook him too, perhaps a little over 10km into the run. But by then I wasn't really running; more like a fast walk, and a very slow jog.

I caught sight of Quintin again at the U-turn at MIEC. He was all smiles, and I reminded him not to be too happy, as we had to repeat the whole loop again for the second time. That went on for a while; I would jog slowly and Quintin would be hot on my heels. When I finally reached the MIEC again for the final U-turn (roughly about 7km to the finish line), Quintin was still tagging along very close behind. He shouted out, asking me why was I going very slow. I responded by reminding him that I was still ahead of him! It was already nightfall, and as I was approaching the finish line, my whole body was aching. I crossed the finish line in about 15:10, not very impressive, but more than half an hour faster than my finishing time last year. Quintin arrived at the finish line shortly after. I'm getting too old for this shit, but then again if I can still finish within 17 hours, why not, right?

All the pain, and in the end, this was what I got for spending a lot of my hard-earned money and torturing myself:

It's supposed to be fun, but I don't know how to explain it. While I was doing it, I must have done it wrongly, as I didn't feel like it was fun at all. The fun was only when I had already crossed the finish line, showered and admiring my medal on the bed in the hotel room. 

Mia said she enjoyed herself. She had quite a race; although she did just half the distance that I did, she struggled up the hills, and failed at the final hill of Bukit Hantu. She fell to the ground, but was lucky that she wasn't seriously injured. She went on to finish the race and got the finisher medal and finisher T-shirt. And now she says she wants to do it again next year!

Dumb, really dumb! See you again next year, Ironman Malaysia!

NSiX Tupong Duathlon 2017

A few months ago, a friend told me about the NSiX Tupong Duathlon 2017 in Kuching. My racing calendar for the second half of this year is rather packed. 2 weeks after the Ironman Gurye, in September, I raced the Challenge Iskandar Puteri in Johor. It was a tough race for me as my body had not fully recovered from the full IM distance. There was another short duathlon organized by University Malaysia Sabah on the following weekend, but I decided against it, as I thought it would be too stressful for my body. Instead, I allowed for another week's rest and joined the Kuching duathlon event.

I was a little concerned about finding my way to the race venue from the hotel, and I posted a short paragraph on the organizer's facebook page, seeking help from other participants. Shortly later, a lady by the name of Wendy Ng (not to be mistaken with the goddess, Wendy Tan, who has the habit of turning up at almost all the races in Malaysia) offered to help me out.

I arrived in Kuching late morning last Saturday, and the driver from the hotel was late by about 45  minutes. Wendy drove me to the race pack collection and we duly collected our race packs. I met my friend Rizal Ahmad Banjar there. Later, Wendy brought me to lunch where we met her friend Trevor, and we spent the time talking about races. We got a little carried away with the carboloading however by having ABC for dessert.

The next morning, I rode from the hotel at about 5:15am, and reached the race venue at about 5:30am. It's a very small event with just a little over 100 participants. I met Jazel Chiew as she was setting up her bike. I have known her for quite a long time, of course, since I've seen her in many of Coach Vachel's cycling photos on facebook. But I'm rather sad that she didn't realise all this while that I ever existed in KK! And I thought I'm a famous chap!

It was just a short race; 5km run; 38km bike; 5km run. But truth be told, I'm not a big fan of short races because I have to race hard, and my heart rate would shoot through the roof! The flag off was delayed for about 15 minutes. But immediately after the start horn at 6:45am, I tried to break away from the crowd. For the first 200m or so, I was running at 4:30min/km pace, and then settled to about 5min/km thereafter.

As I had expected, I was gasping for air by 3km into the run, and I had to slow down a little. I was trying to keep up with the front pack in the hope of catching the leading peloton during the bike leg. But I just did not have it in my legs to keep up. Accordingly, when I finished the 5km run, the leading bike peloton had already left.

I started the bike leg with about 32kph, and then shortly later, Rizal overtook me with a few other riders. I decided to keep calm to bring my heart rate down a bit. We had to pass a residential area where there were many roadhumps. But by the time I was ready to get into my normal cruising speed, Rizal was already too far ahead. I maintained an average 34-35kph and there were some other cyclists drafting behind me.

During the run, I was aware of some strong cyclists behind me. You see, most cyclists don't like to run. They would ride practically every day, but not run. I decided to just maintain my bike speed and wait for the cyclists to come. At about 10km into the bike leg, a whole bunch of cyclists came from behind, riding at around 40kph. I let them pass, and then took the chance to draft at the back. I'm so used to training solo on the bike, and I very, very rarely get to draft. But now I had the opportunity to draft behind a big group of cyclists at 40kph, and it felt so easy!

I had expected to take turns to take the lead. But there was no need. As usually is the case with cyclists, everyone seemed eager to lead, so I remained steady at the back. I had a phobia about drafting however, as I was afraid that if anything happened in front, I would be involved also. Along the way, I saw some bike crashes from the corner of my eyes, but I remained focused on the cyclists ahead.

I'm so used to training long for the bike. So when I finished the bike leg in just over an hour, I felt like it was too short a workout. I got down from my bike and there was a bit of a congestion at the narrow path in the transition area. But eventually I was able to start on my final 5km run. Because of the high intensity, I was fast becoming tired about halfway through the run. On my second loop, I overtook Jazel. I was keeping an eye open for Rizal, but he was probably too far ahead of me by then.

Photo credit: Journie Chong

I crossed the finish line in just under 2 hours and was second in my category. And then later I saw Rizal. He was unfortunate to have crashed a few kilometres before the end of the bike leg, but thankfully he was OK apart from a few minor bruises.

Wendy Ng emerged champion in the women's category, and Jazel got third. Coming down from the stage after receiving my trophy and mock cheque, I was intercepted by the Race Director. I thought there was some sort of mistake somehow with my position. But actually, he just wanted to tell me that there was a printing error with the mock cheque—it said RM400 on the cheque, but actually it was RM500 in the envelope. I'm not complaining!

Then a quick ride back to the hotel to repack my bike and prepare for my flight home. It was like a dream—out from KK on Saturday morning, race on Sunday and fly home the same day; and then back to work on Monday morning!

But now back to the dreadful Ironman training routine. about a month left for the Ironman in Langkawi... gulp!