One early Sunday morning in 2007 the police blocked Pattaya's major streets for the annual marathon. Runners started before dawn to escape the enervating powers of the tropical sun, otherwise the twenty-six miles would be shortened to a single kilometer.
When I was in high school, I ran cross-country.
5K-10K.
Not anymore.
My friends and I have a standing challenge for a 100-meter dash. Most ask if they get time-out during the race and if an EMS ambulance will be in waiting. None of us are in good shape. My 4 year-old daughter is faster than most farangs and yesterday I was slowed down to a snail's pace by a bad oyster.
Total standstill.
On previous Saturday I had gone to a Jomtien seafood restaurant. The waiter brought a plate of hoi nang rom sod or fresh oysters. The first was delicious and I downed the rest with crispy garlic. The last tasted a little funny and with good reason.
That night I was stricken with stomach cramps followed by an urgent need to vacate my lower tubes.
Time from my office to the toilet. One second and I barely made it.
I must have gone to the bathroom 200 times in the next 24 hours.
So much that my loo-tut or asshole protested working overtime. My dog stayed out of the house as her delicate nose was offended by my offerings to the porcelain goddess.
They didn't smell too bad to me, but I passed gas on Walking Street next to an apparently crippled beggar. Upon being enveloped by a miasma of flatulence he got to his feet and walked away fast. My friend Fabo laughed as well, calling it the 'miracle of the fart'. His mirth ended upon smelling the foul fog.
"Go home."
And I stayed home until I was better.
The only plus was that I lost about 2 kilos.
Several of my chubbier comrades asked where I ate, so they might also shed some unwanted kilos.
Hoi nang rom sod the fresher the better.
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