Jogging day

I went for jog today. It's been a while since I crossed 4 kms straight, so I thought why not. So, I decided let's pump it up today. I was initially planning to do 5 but decided I'd stop if I get really breathless since I been irregular on the loop. The first couple are always a sucker. I'm always concious of the breathing and try to concentrate so I can establish a good breathing pattern and steady pace. Most people run like a mule the first mile and find themselves out of breath and decide that's their threshold, which is just wrong. Once you get a steady rhythm, you're good for atleast 3-4 km. 

I crossed 3 and didn't break a sweat so I thought what the hell let's push it today. My legs felt fine, lower back was in super shape, calf and feet didn't give bad indications either so I kept on going. You know the great thing about jogging is that it gets a lot of rotting energy out of the system. And somehow I produce energy in bucketloads. If I'm not doing some activity I get all twitchy. Jogging helps me get off some steam, physically as well as mentally. If I keep sitting on my ass, I just go crazy. My concentration time span reduces to a you-know-what. Food becomes less enjoyable - than usual. And all in all, things take a decidedly darker form.

So, after 5 I still felt that I could stretch a bit and kept going. I stopped at 6 kms which is not bad considering that I'm not doing it regularly. Walked back for a mile or so to keep my legs warm and stretched a bit to escape from cramps. I reached home at around 7:30, in a sweat, and did a complete body-stretch to ease off the muscles. Should definately try >6 once a week.

Jogging tracks

Here's the list of tracks I'm using while jogging:

Michael Mind - Show me love

Eric Prydz - Woz not woz

Eric Prydz - Pjanoo

Bob Sinclair - Love Generation

Eric Prydz - Slammin

Moby - Bodyrock

Akon - Right now

Mark Ronson - Oh wee

Rihanna - Please don't stop the music

Maddona - Music

Maddona - 4 Minutes

Spanish/South American commentary = Muppet meal

I was watching the Real vs Rosenborg match on live streaming a couple of days back and the commentary was in Spanish. Now, sensibly you should turn the volume off and watch the darn match. But no, I wouldn't do it. Had to listen to the infernal thing. Well, that's because the streaming quality was so pathetic that I couldn't make out who was who on the pitch and when the commentator identified the players only then I got the gist of formation. Anyways, Real was playing freaky, possesion football, a bit like Barca which is really really disturbing to see. Anybody other than Barca or Arsenal playing that way looks weird. I was curious to see what the 200 million pound recruits are doing and sure enough on 20 min. or so Benz scored a good goal from inside the box. 

But just when I was about to applaud the move, the commentator started shouting... Goooooooooooaaaaaaaaaal, goal, goal, goal, gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaalllllllll (rhyming along the way). And I was like, what the fuck?! What the bloody fuck?! Since, I've seen South American matches where commentators do this a lot every time a goal is scored I consider myself ably thick-skinned to handle the assault. But don't remember Liga commentators doing this so I was taken aback. The bozo didn't stop though...GOoooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaal, Benzema, goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaal....I felt a strange feeling of evil that I didn't know existed within me. Had I been in that commentary room, I'm sure I'd have blood on my hands by now. Goddamn fucker crying away goal, goal, goal. WTF! 

If you hear English commentators, they go like...(When the player has hit the ball)Rooooooooney...(Goal is scored)THAT WAS A SENSATIONAL STRIKE FROM WAYNE ROONEY...Twenty five yards screamer...Man Utd seems on their way to victory here...

And that's that. South Americans will sing Gooooooooooooal even when the winning team has scored a fifth goal in a 5-0 drab victory. Nothing about skill about how the guy beat a couple of man or anything, just goal. I mean sock it. 

Real were playing well and soon scored another one and the cretin screamed again. "Shut the fuck up or I'll put a sock in your mouth and score one from behind, you lousy fucking cretin." I was mutterning something to this effect. The monkey kept on going. So, I closed the stream and went back to bed. I closed my eyes and felt sleepy. There was a noise ringing in my ear...goooooaaaaaal.

Fook me! It's JD.

I am the most useless, pathetic, lazy and heartless friend in the whole wide world. This was intimated to me a few days back by one of my fellow creatures who happens to be a "too close" friend. In case, you didn't understand the "too close" part it meant he's too bloody close for comfort. How? Let me tell you.

JD is a fucking idiot and a moron of the highest degree and he's a close friend becuase I respect and admire high standards and JD is the fucking George Washington of Moronic Manual. Somehow, JD got the information that I'm operating a confidential information portal (blog) and writing all kinds of infernal things about my friends. So, few days back I received a call at 3 in the night. JD is a bloody vampire and can't stand the sunlight (apparently his skins is not suited to the Indian summer -- and JD if you're reading this, I'll fucking peel it and hang it in my drawing room as a souvenier). Here's how the conversation went:

(Please note that JD has a bias towards British accent and words, especially "Fuck". JD pronounces it as "Fook" and will slit your throat if you disagree that this is the correct and authentic pronunciation.

JD: Sid!!!

Me: JD???!!!

JD: Sid. Fookin' hell.

Me: WTF??? JD, are you dead?

JD: No.

Me: Then, why are you giving me a call? We agreed you won't call me at 3 unless you're dying or dead.

JD: What if I am dying?

Me: I'm sitting a 1000 fucking miles away. Call KS and ask him to make sure that you're dead. Tell him to shoot you a couple of times just in case and send me an SMS if he's convinced that you're pushing up daisies.

JD: What daisies? 

Me: Means when you're dead.

JD: Ohh...

JD: But this is not what I called for. 

Me: Then?

JD: I was just reading that page you write on.

Me: (Page, I write on?) What fucking page?

JD: That blog thing.

Me: Ohh. JD, are you sick or something? You never "read" stuff. Since when you started reading?

JD: Fook me.

Me: There's no need, is there? You were born fucked.

JD: How come you've written about KS and RS but not me?

Me: JD, it's fucking 3 past midnight. I have to go to office in the morning.

JD: Like fook you do. Fookin' writing stories about others and all. I want a fookin story about me in that page and I want that now.

Me: Like fuck you do. I ain't writing about anything and not especially you.

JD: And fookin why would that be?

Me: Because you are a pestering megalomaniac and it's triple fucking am in the morning.

JD: Would you fookin quit singing "3 in the mornin". You used to sleep at 5:30. What the fook has gotten into you.

Me: A job has gotten into me JD.

JD: I don't wanna hear that. If you won't write about me then I'll call every night at 2.

Me: Ok, JD. Give me a couple of days and I'll make you the star of my blog (like anybody would be reading it). 

JD: (Chuckles) Write about that Joggin' thing. Remember when we didn't sleep till 6 and decided to go for a jog?

Me: Sure, JD.

JD: Or I have a new story. Yesterday, I met this...

Me: JD, JD...

JD: Yeah?

Me: Fuck, off.

My head was spinning and JD's dastardly voice was still ringing in my ears. You'd think what's the big deal in taking a call at 2. Let me tell you something, any call at 2 is tough but if it's JD then that equals a fucking heart attack. And I couldn't afford a second attack after that so I switch my mobile off every night after 12 and even then the fear of this 21st century Dracula is such that an iron-willed man like me is writing this very entry about JD. 

Ladies and Lads, introducing the evil, "authentic" pronouncer of "fuck", the devil in devil's soul, the goddamn assasin of goodness in heaven, the one and only...J fucking D.

[Note: JD, I've written this infernal thing. My soul is drenched in guilt for writing this filty description. So, if you ever fucking called me again for so much as a word in my blog, I'm going to chop off your balls and sell it to the gypsies.]