Diet, schmiet. Why everyone doesn't just go for a 7 mile run as fast as they can around Singapore is beyond me. And since I drank about two pints of sports drink while I was out running, I think I really lost about five pounds. It's a good life, if you don't weaken.
Mind you, the weight isn't all I lost. The strap on my old Garmin sheared in two at about the 9 kilometre mark. It must have been so impressed with my athleticism that it spontaneously shredded itself apart. I suddenly felt my wrist get much lighter, and had to scrabble in the dirt my the side of the path hunting for my GPS. Fortunately, it's a big old beast and easy to find in the dark: if it had been slimmed down I'd probably have lost it forever.
It was a tough run. I was aiming for 4:30 kilometres. It's an easy speed, if you don't weaken. I was certainly weakening, ready to stop at 8 kilometres but managing to talk myself into one extra kilometre every five minutes until I was done. By the end I couldn't see: sweat was pouring into my eyes and stinging like mad, and it's miraculous that I didn't kick a toddler into the bay. (Why do people think it's acceptable to take their kids out for a walk at close to midnight? Are they trying to toughen them up for a future of insomnia?)
I got home, stinking, and hid in the shower until I stopped sweating. It's a good life, until the weekend.
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