A lifestyle with no finish line
My last blog focused on my first month teaching in Vietnamese schools. Here I paint a picture of my life away from teaching. Being healthy with an active lifestyle has always been important to me. I travelled to Vietnam wanting to experience new things, find new skills and expand my horizons. Never get so busy with making a living, that you forget to make a life.
On the day after I arrived to the city, I decided to go on a run around the block to see what was close by. It was around 6pm, just when it starts getting dark here. September is the end of the monsoon season, and I was right in the thick of it during my run. I had been running for about fifteen minutes, having diverted to the opposite side of the road every time I saw a Django ahead of me (for those wondering what a Django is, it is what I like to call an unchained, roaming dog). There was a building which looked like a temple, at the front of which housed a US Military tank. The gates were open and I assumed it was a public park. Ensuing my adventurous instinct, I wondered through. Ever hear of the old wife’s tale of the curious cat?
Suddenly I heard a loud shout, shortly followed by barks. I turned, it was a pack of Django’s. All looking at me with intent. One with a single eye, which reminded me of a Greek mythology class of a bygone year. The voice shouted again, and Cyclops and the other Djangos reacted and stood their ground. I turned to the voice and saw a man peering through the gate at me. With the glow of the Communist flag at full-mast on top of the building, the US military tank blurring in the background behind the haze of the torrential rain and the chasing Django’s at my feet, it would be safe to say I was cacking my pants.
Maybe it was the French influence of the formerly colonised Vietnam that had rubbed off on me, but I instinctively held my hands up as if I was surrendering at war. Helpless, I was holding up my white flag. I pointed towards the path to show that I was lost. He directed me away from his private property and I was on my way. The episode neatly epitomises my motivations for moving here. I didn’t know what to expect, but I thought it was worth going through the doors to this new world.
Only if you are curious, do you create opportunities; and if you open the doors, you create possibilities.
The following day I set off for my first session at a local gym, and had an interesting journey getting there. Nothing gets your adrenaline up for gym session like a ten-minute run through the slimmest of busy roads, at mercy to the wheels of hundreds of motorbikes. I even ran past a local food seller beheading a live chicken. My £90 Nike Pegasus sneakers were cursing me for trampling through the dripping blood that seeped its way to the roadside.
The gym is very basic. No air con and no water machine. But I was ready. I was pumped. I didn’t risk my life running through all that motor traffic and chicken guts for a measly spin session. I was ready to hit the hard stuff. Pump that iron like Rocky; though Rambo may be more apt for Vietnam. I walked into the gym like the biggest guy in the room (well I was the tallest at least). There I was, a six foot two and a half Arian guy amongst dozens of locals in the slum of District 7. Sporting a yellow Bronx basketball vest along with my Nike sneakers. I couldn’t look more American if I tried.
The gym provides a good means of release for me. Inside, some of the users that can speak English greet me and take an interest in what I am doing in Vietnam. I go on the occasional run, having settled for laps around a 7-a-side football astro-turf pitch. Progressing my pace along the pitch lengths and jogging the widths. Hardly comparable to runs in the Welsh mountains with my friends only a couple of months ago. Due to the traffic, lack of green space and the pollution, I have been forced to adapt my training. Prior to the trip, I was in the form of my life, setting running PB’s from the 800m on the track to 10k on the roads. But change can be a good thing.
Just under our apartment is a table tennis room, and outside is a basketball hoop. Often I play with my flatmates, Matty and Edu. They are both keen tennis players. The other day, Matty and I walked to the local tennis court in the evening. Guarding the court were two black Djangos. I ensued yet another stair down. Three seconds passed and, sensing an attack, I took a few steps back. Matty then shouted “Run!”. It was as if we had just entered that TV programme ‘Release the Hounds’ where contestants are required to sprint a distance with a bag full of dollar and climb a ladder before being caught and hurled to the ground by a pack of chasing hounds. But unfortunately for us, there was no Vietnamese dong to be won. Nor the safety net of a whole TV production team in case anything went wrong. We started sprinting, and I turned. The dogs were chasing, approximately thirty metres back.
When you are being chased by a dog, the finish line is when the dog wants to stop. Until that time you have got to keep going. Live a life with no finish line. Keep adapting. Keep progressing. Keep improving. There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow.