Out and about

It's the weekend, which means I have to get up at stupid o'clock and go for a very long run. I was lazy on Saturday and delayed running until the evening, which mean there were less than 11 hours between when I got back from my run, and when I went out this morning. As we spent several of those 11 hours drinking fantastically strong cocktails, I hadn't really built any recovery time in, and as I'd been wearing my less-cushioned shoes last night, I figured today would be hard.

I ran to Queenstown, and then I ran on, and on, trying to put as much distance between me and the centre of Singapore as I could. I knew that if I had any opportunity to bail out early, I'd probably take it, so instead I ran almost all the way to Holland Village before turning back; that meant I'd have to run at least 19 km. Or do the walk of shame for nine-and-a-half kilometres.

There's never anyone around in the morning, just a few cats in Queenstown lying on the footpath, eying you with contempt and suspicion. I didn't get rained on like two weeks ago, but by the halfway point my shorts were soaked through with sweat, to the point that an uncharitable onlooker would have concluded that I'd soiled myself. So I didn't really fancy eating the gel I had in the back pocket of my shorts.

Still, I made it back to the marina bay, and carried on until I got my 21 k done, despite being out of water for the last two miles, then staggered home, squelching slightly. My shorts were soaked, sweat was dripping off me, and my shoes were wet too. So wet that even after leaving them to dry for twelve hours, they were still damp to the touch. Singapore is good for bringing out the sweat in you. (Or maybe that gin, whisky and beer last night had something to do with it...)

I conked out for a few hours, then we went to the cinema to see Lockout, which has Guy Pearce's cheekbones, and a ludicrous plot which seems to be Scottish Criminals In Spaaaaace, until you pay attention to the cast list and find they're actually Welsh or English Criminals. In Spaaaaace. We liked it: it was not as silly as the last Luc Besson we saw, but then that was Transporter 3, so that's not saying much. Guy Pearce is a much better action hero that I'd expected.

With that out of the way, we took a train out to Chinese Garden, an MRT stop by a Chinese Garden. Truly, Singaporeans display an incredible imagination when they name things. We walked around in the rain, then took the train back to Queenstown, where I wanted to show my wife one of the picturesquely derelict buildings I run past. And then we walked for a short way.

Well, we walked for about 7 kilometres home again. That was not wise, given this morning's exertion. I almost fainted at the 4k mark and had to down a bottle of ginger beer and gobble a Mars bar, but I wouldn't give up, driven by a dream of an all-day breakfast at Robertson Quay. I was hugely disappointed, as you can imagine, to find that most of the all-day breakfasts can only be ordered until 4pm. How is that all-day? Even if you started serving at midnight, that's nothing more than a two-thirds-of-the-day breakfast. It seems my earlier jibes about Singaporeans not having much imagination may have been misplaced.

We had tempura and soba instead, and then walked some more. That was probably a silly idea, but hopefully I sleep well tonight. Our walk was very pleasant, and it was through an area that felt completely different to Chinatown, but I'm beginning to wish I'd bought some rollerskates to ease my aching legs.