Sunday, 1 June, 5am wouldn't be the first time I hold a dude's hand in public. Proudly, at that.
Every year, from 2005 to 2011, I would hold the sweaty hand of my best friend Beng, as we both crossed the finishing line in various marathons.
After all, it is expected of Beng the veteran marathoner to hold my hand - not literally - every step of my marathon journey, since it was he who started endurance sports for me.
And that fella is one dedicated best friend, for despite being a sub 3.20 runner (meaning he can complete 42km in under 3 hours 20 minutes), he would wait for me regardless how slow I am.
Even with my fastest timing, I'm an hour slower than he.
But he's never once complained.
He'd been so damn encouraging - from training with me at the wee hours of the morning and sometimes night, to cheering me on when I am on the verge of walking, during our marathon races.
Sadly, Beng decided to retire from marathon running in 2011 - just the year when my career demanded more of my time.
Just as well.
Until another friend of mine, D, asked me to run his first marathon with him.
Great. Time for me to pay it forward, the way Beng did for me, I thought.
"Okay, here's the plan," I told D in February, four months before the marathon. "I'll train and run with you regardless!"
Two months down the road, I changed strategy. "Eh, D, I'm going to encourage you to train. You just train by yourself. I'll be running with you on the actual day, regardless!"
You can't blame me.
For one, D and I live so far apart, and I have crazy work hours.
And since February, I had been training for my half Iron Man race six days a week - how to squeeze time to train for marathon?
After all, my mission would be to pace D, and to make sure I drag him on the gravel to the finishing line, if he so much as to faint halfway through the race.
Then came the race night.
Can one lah. Won't die one. We just keep running. Want to give up also just keep running, I told D the game plan.
And so we ran. And ran. And ran.
At the 11th km, I stopped my running commentaries on the sights of the route.
"Wah, got spider man sia," I singled out one fella in superhero tights.
"Eh sial lah! Got clown in the race," I noted another, who had, of all things, chosen to don a neon pink Bozo wig.
At one point, I even hummed the tune of X-Men, when I saw a runner's yellow and black singlet, which reminded me of Wolverine.
But I realised I was no longer the fit athlete I was years ago, when my running commentaries could last me till 32nd km.
So I learnt to shut up and preserve energy.
At the 12th km, boredom set in.
"I can think of five places I'd rather be, at this moment," I said out loud to D.
"In bed."
"In bed."
"In bed."
"In bed."
"In bed."
Somewhere near the 14th km, we got into some twilight zone, where the only lighting was neon objects illuminating the route.
Bad joke, organisers.
It was so dark that I tripped.
And because it was embarrassing enough to trip, I decided to do a dramatic roll over, as if I were some stunt man.
There were audible gasps, and several call-outs of are you okay? Are you alright?
I sprang to my feet, raised both my arms, as if I were a Russian gymnast, and said to the darkness, I'm all good, guys!
In a parallel universe, I would imagine no-nonsense judges raising their placards to rate my recovery: 9.5, 9, 8.5.
At the 21st km, thoughts of giving up crept in my head.
Running a marathon is certainly no bed of roses.
And near that half-way mark, it became a bed of thorns.
My 35-year-old knees began creaking, radiating sharp pain.
I badly wanted to give up - pretend that I'm having a heart attack, so that I can tell the ambulance driver "Erm, no need lah. Just send me to Bukit Panjang can already. No need go hospital."
But there was no room for drama.
At the 22nd km, rain pelted down, as we ran the never-ending track along East Coast Park.
Tsk. I. hate. running. in. the. rain.
I want to be in bed.
I want to eat curry.
I want to drink milo.
At the 25th km, I bumped into an uncle, who looked to be in his 50s.
He was walking and he kept mumbling under his breath, "No joke, no joke."
I agreed inwardly, but at no point during the marathon is it considered polite to tell your fellow runner that, you're damn right, it's no joke. Let's give up.
So again, I bit my tongue and jogged on with the pace of a caterpillar.
Just when I thought I had made some good progress to reach the 26th km, I saw Uncle No Joke again.
And he was in front of me!
Erm, if he's been walking, and he's in front of me.... That's certainly no joke.
I pressed on.
At 30th km, I was on Nicoll Highway - again, another never-ending stretch.
By this time, almost all runners ahead of me were walking like zombies.
You wouldn't be very encouraged too, if you don't see an end to the high way.
Just then, a woman ran past me.
She was highly motivated, humming an incomprehensible tune only she and the singer of her iPod would know.
Wah, woman over take me!
Never mind. I'm too tired to catch up. Let her run. Run, woman, run!
At the 36th km, we were some 6 km away from the end point.
That was when the first rush of positive thoughts hit me.
You want to eat curry right? You want to drink milo right? RUN. ON!
I drew strength from the road marshals, who kept clapping and saying "good job, good job!"
So every time they cheered the runners on, I visualised myself consuming their energy to spur myself on.
Didn't work. I was still tired.
By the 38th km, my strategy was to just keep running, regardless how slowly.
Though I didn't train specifically for distance, I'm glad my half Iron Man training prepared me for endurance, which I drew heavily on.
D was almost dying by then, but because he's very fair to begin with, I didn't know if it was just him, or that blood has drained from his body.
Nevertheless, he kept trudging on, determined to finish his first marathon with his target time of 5 hours 30 minutes.
Perhaps, it's the passage of time and the continuous movement of our legs, but soon, we saw the end point in sight.
D pushed on, as I kept telling him to RUN! RUN! RUN!
And run he did.
On June 1, at about 5am, D crossed the finishing line at 5 hours 33 minutes - slightly off his target time, but it was a good job.
He thought out loud after crossing his maiden 42km.
Should I run the year-end marathon?
I thought to myself inwardly, please count me out.
