Lockdown day 6 – back on the treadmill (Memories part 2)

What day is it? Oh, who cares. I’ve had it. This morning I took my “lard-ass” down to the basement, damp cloth in hand, and started wiping down two-milimetres of dust off the old treadmill. I plugged it in – it worked! With my bluetooth speaker I started playing a high-energy playlist on Spotify that I put together some months ago. It’s called “Funky Friday Night” and it’s a great dance worthy mix of tunes. I was blasting the music so I’m sure my neighbours now hate me. Wake up everybody!! DJ Susana at your serrrrrrvice!!!!

I forgot how great it feels to sweat it out while singing out loud. I felt like Brigitte Jones at the end of the movie, like Carrie Bradshaw at a NY city nightclub, like the dancing queen in the Abba song. And that brought back memories of my party days in Hong Kong from 2000 to 2002. That was a crazy time in my life. Every young-ish person worked hard and played hard and I was no exception.

I lived on the 19th floor of an apartment building on Glenealy street just a few steps from bar-central Lan Kwai Fong. I used to take the subway to Causeway bay then after work take a taxi to my gym, work out, go home, grab some dinner, then every weekend head out to meet friends at the bars. After bar hopping, where we’d meet some expat strangers who seemed nice enough, we’d move on to clubs like Drop in Soho where they served the best watermelon Martinis and always played the best music; Jamiroquai was popular at the time. Or if we felt like braving the seedy after hours’ bars we’d go to Wanchai where drinks were cheaper but you had to brave the sticky smelly floors. On ladys’ night (during the week) we could even score free Long Island ice-teas at many bars there so it was always oodles of fun. But excess has its limits and for me it was coming down with acute tonsilitis and ending up in Central Hospital for a week on intravenous antibiotics. I always seem to learn lessons the hard way.

Which brings me to think how lucky I am to have these happy, studious, genuinely do-good young girls as my children. When I was their age I got into so much trouble. Everything that was “prohibited” I was attracted to like a magnet. I smoked clove cigarettes at the age of 15, I was drinking and dancing in clubs with a fake ID by the time I was 16, spending every last dime I made from babysitting. I can’t imagine my girls doing this. Maybe telling them about how dangerous my behaviour was back then has had a positive effect. I occasionally offer them a sip of my wine so they don’t think it’s something off-limits and therefore something to do on the caché. They can try anything, I just ask that they are open about it. My mother was the opposite. She told me I would have to wait until I was 21 (in California that is still the age limit for alcohol consumption) which obviously did not work.

Sixty minutes, 5.6 kilometres, 360 calories and 6,500 steps on my fitbit, yesss!! I am sports queen, fitness godess, the champion of quick-walking on the treadmill. I feel like I just climbed to the peak of a tall mountain, like I can now conquer the world! Astounding what a release of endorphins can do for the mind. I feel happy again, waaaheyy!

“Mom, what’s for luuuunch?” Ahh, shucks, my kids are whinging again. Back to the kitchen. And I just realised – it’s Sunday.

Hong Kong party days