One morning, I felt like walking. Walking is therapeutic to me. It clears my mind. It relaxes me. It makes me feel as though I am one with the universe. It makes me feel as if I am able to receive the messages from the higher beings better.
I have been walking around for the past 30 minutes. I haven't received any messages yet though. But no worries, I am in no hurry. Haha
Badminton with the Vs
It was July 2010...
Dust and cobwebs have already accumulated on my racket when I opened it. The grip, tattered to pieces from a game a long time ago, was gathering molds.
It has been a year, maybe more, since I last held a racket and smashed a shuttlecock. I tried holding the racket (Of course it's already been dusted and I had already changed the moldy grip.) The racket feels almost foreign to me now. Just almost. Somehow, thankfully, my hands still remember the all too familiar feel of the handshake grip. I swing it in the air, poised to smash. Swish. The familiar sound of the racket slicing through the air fills my ear. Aaahhh. I haven't forgotten.
But after a few more swings comes the reminder of a year of not playing. Although the mind has already made the connections and familiarized itself with the sport once again, the body is none too willing. The shoulder especially is much too eager to warn the rest of the body of the lack of training. Stiff and inflexible, it sends a not so gentle reminder that practice and a lot of warm up and stretching are much needed, and pain, a lot of pain is expected for sure.
I prepared my stuff. Today is going to be a long day. Queen T made sure I wasn't late so she woke me up around 630 in the morning, calling 6 or 7 times to make sure I made a move to prepare my things. I packed my racket, shoes and a few shirts along with some toiletries. I was as ready as I could be.
I took the taxi going to Powersmash, where we agreed to meet. I was there early, 10 minutes to 8.
Dust and cobwebs have already accumulated on my racket when I opened it. The grip, tattered to pieces from a game a long time ago, was gathering molds.
It has been a year, maybe more, since I last held a racket and smashed a shuttlecock. I tried holding the racket (Of course it's already been dusted and I had already changed the moldy grip.) The racket feels almost foreign to me now. Just almost. Somehow, thankfully, my hands still remember the all too familiar feel of the handshake grip. I swing it in the air, poised to smash. Swish. The familiar sound of the racket slicing through the air fills my ear. Aaahhh. I haven't forgotten.
But after a few more swings comes the reminder of a year of not playing. Although the mind has already made the connections and familiarized itself with the sport once again, the body is none too willing. The shoulder especially is much too eager to warn the rest of the body of the lack of training. Stiff and inflexible, it sends a not so gentle reminder that practice and a lot of warm up and stretching are much needed, and pain, a lot of pain is expected for sure.
I prepared my stuff. Today is going to be a long day. Queen T made sure I wasn't late so she woke me up around 630 in the morning, calling 6 or 7 times to make sure I made a move to prepare my things. I packed my racket, shoes and a few shirts along with some toiletries. I was as ready as I could be.
I took the taxi going to Powersmash, where we agreed to meet. I was there early, 10 minutes to 8.
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