Sibling rivalry

I hope this doesn’t turn into a “I had a poor childhood boo hoo hoo” post, or read like one, but hopefully this will help explain my training philosophy.

My mother still beams with pride when she speaks of me being the easiest of three children to look after. While my elder siblings ran the hell out of her, and needed constant monitoring, I would sit quietly and play on my own. While they won medals in childhood for athletics, I won prizes for academics. That’s right. Big-headed geek.

As my brother reeled in more awards for sporting prowess, and as he neared the time to do his national service (which in Singapore means 2.5 years in the military), my parents felt the constant need to remind the other son, the 10-year-old, that one day, I, too, would spend a fair amount of time doing pressups in the mud and log presses with fellow recruits. I still remember that fateful day when I was going about my own business when my dad proclaimed, “You. Better go and exercise. You are going to suffer in the army.”

I enjoyed cycling. But exercise and fitness became such a biased topic of conversation, each time anyone saw me doing anything remotely active, I would hear about how I, the lesser of two brothers, would find military service difficult, while my brother, sportsman, swimming team captain and all, would breeze through it.

Along the way I discovered a love of basketball, and since even I wouldn’t trust myself to shoot free throws I decided I would work on defense: specifically, blocking shots. Every day I did on-the-spot jumps, aiming to reach, as closely as possible, the low ceiling with my head, and squat jumps (tuck jumps), working up to ten sets of sixty a day. Problem was, to avoid the usual discussions on fitness if ever I were found trying, I did them quietly in my own room, and didn’t wear any shoes to minimize the noise. Bad mistake. Repetitive foot pounding on hard floor.

Ten years and a torn ligament later, the doctor who looked at my endoscopy results told me the inner meniscus had worn out quite badly, and my left knee was a mess. I believed him. I saw the pictures myself. Since I don’t walk one-legged, I can only assume the right one is just as bad. The doctor’s dreaded advice was to make "lifestyle changes" and to possibly give up running. No way, I thought. But my knee acts up if I run more than 15 miles a week, so that’s why I try not exceed that.

My sister never followed up athletics and gravitated towards banking.

My brother’s now a PE teacher. But I own the 5K bragging rights.