For the past two weeks, Marc and I have been frequenting the Marikina Sports Center for regular work-out. He runs at the oval while waiting for me complete my boxing session. I can think of many different reasons why I decided to start working out, but none really stood out except for the fact that I just wanted to.

Marc brought me to the Marikina Sports Center two weeks ago so we’d be able to try the place out, but going there brought back so much memories—I used to run for the track team in elementary and tournaments were usually held at the very same place, and my Dad took me there frequently for practice runs as well—that I couldn’t help but take a step back and look at how I’ve let myself get so unhealthy. 50-meter runs used to be a piece of cake, but that night I couldn’t even get past half that without getting so tired and be at the brink of an asthma attack.

When my asthma first resurfaced last November, I wasn’t bothered much—considering that I spent a few hours at a nearby hospital’s emergency room with an oxygen tube shoved up my nostrils. I accepted the fact that I might have to be on maintenance medicine for the rest of my life, thinking that the doctor’s suggestion of work out as a way to eventually get well was just too much work.

I know for a fact that asthma can eventually be controlled through regular exercise. Basketball, running, and martial arts in both elementary and high school controlled my asthma so much so that I didn’t have any attacks until last November, when it was apparent I hadn’t been getting any work-out except for occasionally walking my dog.

I just had so many excuses why I couldn’t get myself to work out: I was too busy, working out will tire me and I wouldn’t be able to work, I can’t afford to sprain my wrist, I was too tired, etc. etc. It was only after I was actually on the very same place where I ran races that I suddenly realized I could no longer deny I was getting tired of being a “has been” athlete. I could no longer accept the idea that everything I do would be controlled by my asthma acting up. I was tired of being weak. I wanted to be strong again.

So there. Marc bought me a pair of sparring gloves, hand wraps, and enrolled me for boxing lessons at the Marikina Sports Center. I go there three times a week. Every Tuesday night, I sometimes join Marc and a few bloggers for badminton in Pasig (if you’d like to join us, drop me a line). I’m not very fond of badminton, but it’s still a way to exercise, so what the heck. I don’t strain myself for badminton though, I’d totally suck, but at least I would have more than enough energy for boxing the next day.

My mom, my worst critic whilst having a stroke, said I seemed to be losing weight. Compliments like that are always flattering, specially from my mom, but what makes me happier is the fact that I wasn’t only losing weight, I’m also getting stronger. I haven’t had an asthma attack for two weeks now—ever since I started working out.

I’m planning to pay my pulmonary doctor a visit after this month. Who knows? She might say I’m well enough to start lessening my dosage!

And yes, the girl in the basketball outfit was me, circa 1995 🙂