Just the other day, my dear friend Iris, opened up to me about why she couldn’t bear watching certain TV shows for their flagrant display of adultery.
Regardless of how popular they’d become, Scandal and Power seemed topmost on her list considering how many times she picked on those two.
She was resolutely unyielding in accepting the idea that it is now “modern” to break your marriage vows, especially when it makes you happier – giving you a chance at a truer and more exhilarating relationship with somebody else, who’s supposedly better and more compatible than your once precious and unequaled significant other.
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If you’ve never paid heed to the words of our fathers, listen now: It is true that “bad” company corrupts. I have kept such a company, so I know.
For who would have thought that at the end of 2015 I’d find myself a fanatic of the long-distance run. For before then my less than a kilometer early morning jog from my house at Chemist Bus stop to the University of Lagos (and back) was sufficient in maintaining my fitness and vigor. The virile physique I possessed didn’t need much to keep the unsightly features of neglect at bay. But all that changed when my best friend somehow unwittingly convinced me to try something hardcore.
Known for adamantly sticking to my own way – especially when I feel comfortable with it – I am usually never swayed. And so for a long time (precisely up until September 2015), I played true to the script. I was only amused and intrigued when my “brother from another mother” would recount his exploits of perpetually running 5km, 10km, and then talk about plans to push even further.
Never for once did I refrain from asking the crucial question, “Why the heck would you want to do that to yourself?” It absolutely didn’t make sense to me why a competent computer programmer would exert himself like a professional athlete preparing for the Olympics.
Oh, did I not mention he didn’t only care about how much distance he covered but also the time it took. It was his goal to reduce gradually the minutes per kilometer, perhaps until it looked something much like what the Kenyans often achieved, like aliens on steroids. Continue reading →