Half asleep in Singapore

Predictably, after yesterday I was a complete wreck. My legs weren’t that sore (hooray for compression socks) but the rest of me was devoid of energy. Somehow I managed to transport La Serpiente to school on the bus, laden down with all her paraphernalia, and then caught another bus to the office, just avoiding getting soaked in a sudden downpour.

I haven’t quite figured out the buses yet. While the MRT deposits me right inside the office complex, the bus I was on zoomed straight past the office and then carried on until I was a great trek away from where I wanted to be. Slowly, I stumbled, swearing, back to the office, where I was aghast to discover there were no scrambled eggs for breakfast. What’s a boy to do, when presented with that sort of challenge?

I think I was productive throughout the day. I had at least one conversation where I added value, although to me that seemed to be more like a few minutes of common sense, pointing out to somebody that if we tried to do something that was impossible, we’d probably fail and look stupid into the bargain. At least they were impressed. Perhaps I’m setting my standards for value-adding just a bit too high for the first day back from an epic journey.

This evening, I went for a run. This was necessary as I was still sore from yesterday, and the best thing to do was to torture my body some more. Or something. I must have been a state, because a man recruiting for a charity came round at 8:30, and he went away again after remarking how tired I looked. The run was no better. I set off, and after ten minutes of running at a laughably slow pace, my watch beeped to tell me my recovery was POOR. This is a rarity: the Garmin is usually impressively optimistic, telling you that your recovery is GOOD, or at worst FAIR. At the end of my half hour of self-abasement, it told me I needed to take 61 hours of rest before I did anything else hard. That gives me until Thursday morning, which seems fair to me.

And so to bed…

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