Arch Support

It wasn't the shoes. It wasn't on the way I run. It was the arch on my foot. It was too high according to the X-rays. The ortho suggested I get myself an arch support.

So I ordered myself an arch support as my ortho suggested. I finally got to use it early this evening. After a 1.5-hour walk-and-run combo I could still step with my right foot without wincing.

I was ecstatic. I was cured albeit in an artificial way. A workaround. But who cares? I can finally get rid of those expensive painkillers. And start visiting takbo.ph for that first official marathon.

After the Point of No Return

The year is 2008. The Olympics in Beijing is in full swing. It has been the topic for days in your household and in your workplace. You were enthralled over the possibility of Michael Phelps beating the record of Mark Spitz.

The year is 2008. It is morning and you just had sex. You lay spent on the bed. A few minutes later you grab the remote and turn on the television. The Olympics is being shown. Suddenly the person beside you asks why the Olympics is being shown on TV.

Your face registers a bewildered look. Just the night before both of you had watched the swimming competition. You ask more questions. The blood drains from your face. Your partner does not remember anything except your name.

What triggered the amnesia? Was the sex that great? Or was the sex that forgettable? Find out here.

Bump

How weird is it when you notice a pimple in australialand? For me, not weird enough. Didn't pay any attention to it. That was at most 6 months back. Flash forward to last week. On one of those rare moments when taking a bath, I felt a solid bump on australialand. i looked down and the first thing I noticed was that the pimple was gone but an undeniable black bump took its place. I pushed, pulled, and pinched the bump.
It hurt. A little. And it scared me. A lot.
So I googled what a bump in australialand meant. The internet wasn't very helpful so I did what any responsible 27-year-old guy would do (naks!), I had it checked. And that was the start of me dropping my pants to not one but two male doctors in two separate occasions only a couple of hours apart. It was embarrassing to say the least. Even more embarassing was that the air conditioning was on full blast. And no, it's not what you think it is. Don't think Ennis Del Mar. Think anti-Dirk Diggler or Fox Mulder's warning when he dropped his pants in one of X-Files' episodes. Haha.
After takng a look, the clinic's resident surgeon concluded that it was a mass and can be taken out w/o my spending a single cent on the operation. So i had the mass removed a few hours back. It took like 15 mins to open me, remove the mass, and close me. Again, about 5 people saw me in my birthday suit lying on the operating table arms apart like I was being crucified while Seal crooned Kiss from a Rose from a black cd player. I did see the mass, which the surgeon now described as a cyst (i had and still have no idea of the differenced between a mass and a cyst), and it was the size of a quarter of a marble and that there was no reason for me to lose sleep over it.
I almost sighed with relief but the surgeon, Dr C, told me that I had to go back to the clinic in a week to remove the stitches. Which means dropping my pants. Again. Damn it!