Singapore Adventure

Friday, September 16, 2005

by venitha

One of the downsides to living at the Pasadena is its fitness center. Of course, there is a great pool, and I should be thrown into it for whining, but the workout room itself provides only weights, a treadmill, and a bike. In spite of my fanatical dedication to physical therapy, it's going to be a while before I can use a treadmill. And because of my fanatical dedication to physical therapy, it's going to be a while before I want to use a bike. I'm loathe to add up the number of hours I spent earlier this year reading about Singapore and pedalling to nowhere on my very own stationary bike, now gathering dust in the basement of our house in Colorado.

Exercise is going to have to be a part of life here, though, in order for my knee to recover normal functions. I want to be able to run to catch the bus. I want to be able to squat down over toilets. And, unrelated to my knee, I want to continue traipsing around Singapore in less than modest attire.

In an unfortunately unrepeated burst of resourcefulness - Where is that woman? You know, that resourceful, decisive, capable woman? I really liked her, dammit - I tracked down a drop-dead gorgeous dealer of used exercise equipment and purchased a Precor crossramp of my very own. Perhaps she ran off with him? I sure wish she'd come back. At any rate, I figure I'll sell my latest toy back to this Malay Adonis when we leave. I saved his number in my little black book, er, phone.

Now daily I can sweat buckets, and I do mean buckets, in the privacy of my apartment, beneath a ceiling fan set on high and an air conditioner set on powerful. I fantasize about I study my Malay notes. I listen to Bangkok Tattoo on my Muvo, made by a Singaporean company, Creative, don'tcha know. I watch the sun rise majestically above the distant skyscrapers.

Mostly, I am mesmerized by traffic on the CTE below. 7:00 am comes and goes, and the red and white lights slowly flicker off. Revealed below me is the coolest Hot Wheels set imaginable, and the Matchbox cars are definitely not Made In America. Brightly-colored taxis make up at least half of my fleet. Lorries, their back-ends crammed to capacity, in pax, speed laborers to worksites. Motorcycles weave foolishly and fearlessly in and out of the traffic. There is a notable lack of semis, and a notable wealth of buses.

The road suddenly darkens and windshield wipers start to sweep. Is that my sweat or has it started to rain?