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Badminton my ass

The weather is so lovely today. As I am writing this, there is a constant cool breeze on my face as I lay back to look at the cloudy skies above me. It had rained earlier so the evening air now is crisp with a hint of fresh dew.

I wish I had worn more layers of clothes so I could burrow more snugly into a warm cardigan and pull its long sleeves around me. My legs are beginning to feel the chill and the aches all over my body feel more acute in the cold air. Oh yes, THE ACHES.

On Sunday, everyone laughed at me whenever I walked because I would prop my sore arms against my creaking back and limp gingerly like an old fogey. Yet to reach my 30s and I had experienced what life would be 40 years down the road. It was a sobering thought.

At least it was better than Friday when I woke up with my whole face and eyes swollen. My eyes had swelled from crying so badly the night before that I looked more like a monster from underneath your bed, and less like the attractive, charismatic human being that I honestly am.

Thank god I didn’t have to report to work at a stuffy, oppressed office like the rest of the human race. Otherwise, I’d have a lot of explaining to do or call in sick. Instead, I had the luxury of staying comatose in bed the entire day until I had to get up for food and water that would sustain my numbness to life in general and yes, those angry tears.

Naturally, I got sick of feeling sad and miserable and sorry for myself. It was also fortunate that a cure arrived the next day in the form of… BADMINTON. Yes, the evil sport which consists of two to four players hitting a feathered shuttlecock back and forth in a manner that do not in any way look like the players are expending any effort at all. WRONG.

Seriously. You think it’s a wussy game? TAH! Wrong answer again. You obviously have yet to encounter a match where the participants all think they are professional badminton players after five minutes of hitting the shuttlecock to and fro without it dropping. You thought you barely moved on the court and all you did was swing your racquet at the correct angles and maybe make a few steps back and forth to connect with the incoming ball. But that did not explain how your entire body was drenched in perspiration after 10 minutes. Or how you were finding it difficult to breathe and that your heart seemed to be on the verge of collapsing as time passed. Now multiply these sensations by, oh I don’t know, A GAZILLION times since we played for about two hours.

You may applaud my heroics now because I managed to remain standing at the end of it, go for a salty ramen lunch in town, followed by a nutty nougat brownie with vanilla ice cream, hot chamomile tea, window shopping, milk tea, movie, iced mint tea, tandoori chicken, tortilla and hummus. All expertly conducted in my gym wear too. Yes, the gym wear which was drenched with my perspiration the entire day. I did feel a tinge of shame for that fine sartorial choice.

The only explanation for this insouciant behaviour is that badminton is evil.

Repeat after me. BADMINTON IS EVIL. There is a hefty price to pay. I have an aching left butt cheek, I can’t lift my arms higher than my shoulders, my lower back is crying from the soreness and every joint I move shoots pain up to my nervous system, I limp slowly to get to anywhere. I can’t pump the soap dispenser without wincing in pain at every push. Putting on clothes are accompanied by a series of ow, ow, ow, OW.

I know.

And the weird thing is my friends and I have made plans for another session of badminton next week, which should give our creaky bones and sobbing muscles sufficient time to recover before we assault them again.

What can I say? We really love the endorphins that playing badminton gives us? Or maybe we are just suckers for pain. HA HA HA!

Okay. I think the soreness from my left butt cheek has spread to my right butt cheek. I can’t feel a thing in my buttocks now. Only a mixture of numbness and aching pain. Damn. Is this what the term badminton ass means?

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