Not Joggling on Snakes

This morning I went for a joggle on Taihang Mountain. At least I tried, but a green tree snake crossed the path, and halted my progress. As I was waiting for it to move on, I met Hing Din, a Xiamenese living in Northpoint, on his regular morning hike. He told me not to worry about the snake, and asked me where I was from.

Well that was it for joggling. We chatted about hiking in Australia, my recent trip to Xiamen, the tasty little sandworm jellies which are a specialty of his home town, Dongsik, how he came to Hong Kong on a boat in the deep of night from Macao settling where all Fujianese of Hong Kong settle, North Point. As gripped as I was with his story, so too were the ricesocks in my hands, not whirling, or cascading, but motionless; ignored as I talked to Hing Din

It was a fortuitous meeting. I have been writing about Fujian and Fujian food this last week, and was able to quiz him on the cuisine scene in Hong Kong. “Chunyong Street at the North Point markets is about it,” he said.  He confirmed what the Hong Kong tourist board had told me i.e. that there are bugger all Fujianese restaurants in Hong Kong, but recommended I check out the small hawker stalls in North Point anyway.

Then as we were descending alongside a watercourse we saw another snake, sun baking on a rock. Two in one day!

So what has all this got to do with joggling? Not that much except that joggling can be dangerous if you don’t use the ‘eyes on the track, not on the ricesocks’ technique mentioned in a Eyes off the Rice-Socks and onto Beijing. You might in fact tread on a snake. Furthermore joggling, even when you’re not actually joggling gets you out meeting interesting people, who might just tell you something useful.

Calling Jogglers of Lusofonia

Three days ago, dressed in their new Gaffa tape outfits I took the rice socks over to Macao to check it out as a joggling destination. Exactly two years before the Olympic games, on the (7-15 October 2006), Macao will be hosting the 1^stJogos Lusofonia, which is something like the commonwealth games but for places linked by a Portuguese speaking heritage. Surprisingly, joggling was not listed as an official sport. Recognition takes time, I guess, but hopefully by my doing a bit of joggling along the newly  reclaimed waterfrontat Fisherman’s Wharf, I may have raised a bit of awareness for the sport, and hopefully planted the idea in a few observant menbers of lusofonic country’s minds.Nonetheless, Macao is actually a good destination for joggling because of the waterfront prominades,which have their  own name over here–prayas. There are three main prayas on the three islands (Macao, Taipa and Coloane) that make up Macao, all free of cars as promenades are, and mostly free of people because the tourists are all too busy sinking their cash into the casinos, which in all of China is only legal in Macao. It is like Los Vegas on the sea..

Joggling is also a good exercise to burn the fat from all the rich European food that’s on offer from the islands previous caretakers – the Portuguese. Think butter rich egg tarts, liqueur soaked flambés, acorn fed pork, cod lasagna with  roasted  ceam potato-bake, Portuguese steak and egg, sangria by the jug, chocolate milkshakes, gelatos, African chicken, crab curries and wine, wine, wine.I stayed with my friend Stacey at the Emperor Hotel, which had real Queen’s Guards, a Cinderella style coach, and more than a hundred real gold ingots, set amidst diamonds inside glass bricks, as a paving for the lobby floor. There were real live, bottle-blonde Russian dolls, wielding polish cloths ready to shine little emperor’s shoes.  I considered giving the rice-socks a polish, but the gaffa tape was still shiny, so I saved my 20 Patacas for another glass of Sangria instead.

Gaffa Face Lift

Gave the ricesocks a face lift with a bit of Gaffa tape. Actually the socks have gone altogether– the new tacky to ouch and slightly crumpled surface of gaffa tape is a far superior grip. The rice still remains though (good for emergencies), wrapped inside an inner glad wrap membrane.

Eyes off the Rice-Socks and onto Beijing

I’ve taken to carrying a single rice sock everywhere I now go which I toss about trying not to look at it.  This is to develop my peripheral vision so that I can keep my eyes on the track ahead, and to use my minds eye to predict where the rice socks will land. I negotiated the streets of crowded causeway bay yesterday afternoon with a single rice sock, then moved onto the mountain path on the hills behind Taihang to practice the same technique with two rice-socks, and this morning at the track I made 50 meters without looking at the three cascading rice socks – well peripherally only. My eyes are now on the big picture, the finishing line, or shall we say Beijing. Only 730 days now till the opening ceremony.

Rice-Socks and Hungry Ghosts

Today i ruptured a rice-sock. I was practicing high throws and missed a catch. The plastic inside the socks came undone and rice spilled onto the 100 meter rubber track.  Wasting rice is a big no no in Chinese culture, but  this is currently the month of the hungry ghosts, when the gates of hell open up and the  souls of  the ancestor-less haunt the earth looking for sustenance. They  are hungry because it is ancestors who usually feed you when you die –by burning hell banknotes and  leaving offerings of food and wine at your grave or alter — so getting into the local culture I left I the rice on the tracks for the poor hungry ghosts.

I could have daggled all night

I added an ipod to the joggling equation this morning. It does take the joggling a little beyond the rice-and-socks-sport-of-the-masses realm, but I cannot describe the impact this has on the experience.  Music lifts joggling to a whole new realm. Exercise becomes dancing. Joggling becomes doggling, or daggling

To ‘the living end’ I was jerking my shoulders in punk rock rhythm as my hands flew   through a three-ball waterfall and my feet sprinted for the 100-meter finishing line. The ipod shuffled to “the car wash” from some seventies compilation that somehow (mysteriously even) got uploaded to the Pod. I slowed into a funky gibbon trot, practicing just the just the left hand as the disco beat better suited a two ball syncopation.  Nina Simone came up next (I’ve been borrowing lots of obscure albums from the library) and started singing a bluesey ballad about gin, and making sure that her friends were good to all the bootleggers in town. I like the blues  as they give you a bit of a rest and are good to practice something obscure like highflying throws. I tossed my risocks higher than Nina Simone’s moonshine addled mind, which I would then try to catch in an over arm lunge, much like the action of serving a tennis ball.  As I said in my last post, you can do anything on the exercise scene here cause everyone else is doing crazier stuff.

Soon En was also at the track doing conventional jogging, so during Nina Simone’s trials and gin drinking tribulations, I did a round of pure and simple jogging before the trippingly comic soundtrack of Amelie switched me into whimsical daggle.  Before I knew it I was doggling two-step forward and one-step backward routines, with little Irish leprechaun skips here, pirouettes there, vogue moves, disco steps and even a moonwalk joggle-doggle. .

I could’ve daggled for hours more but Soon En finished up his twelve rounds of conventional jogging and the waifs had came on the Ipod with their nostalgic piece  “I’m in London Now” a lights up curtain down song if ever I’ve heard one.

I can’t wait to daggle tomorrow.

and a spriggle

Joggled again this morning. I may as well have invented it here in Hong Kong, as it is a mild novelty to the taiqi and fan-dancing mob that practice at the track. Mild is the word though, for in terms of exercise it’s hard to raise an eyebrow in Hong Kong. People walk backwards beating their chests expelling audible “hi-ya’s” with no embarrassment at all. The China mainland is even less restrained; people bringing songbirds in cages to create the music to go with their unique exercise regimes which can include rubbing their backs up and down the rough bark of trees (believed good for circulation) line dancing, group tango, sword play and pole spinning — I cant wait to joggle up there. Joggling seems to have brought me into the fold, and people give me thumbs up as they witness my progress. I nod my head in acknowledgement of their own interesting pursuits, and mouth the words “Beijing 2008” as I try not to drop the rice-sock balls in my joggle around the track.

Tomorrow I will bring a stopwatch and begin timing my three-ricesock cascade as I attempt the 100-meter spriggle. After all its only 737 more days till the opening of the Beijing Olympics.

  

Birth of a Joggle

Just recently whilst running and tossing a few balled-up socks in the air I discovered joggling, a combination sport of jogging whilst juggling.

My first joggle was along the rubber track at the sports and recreation centre oval in Causeway Bay, Hong Kong, using old socks, which I added weight to over the following days by stuffing them with rice wrapped in gladwrap. Juggling adds zest to plain old jogging and jogging adds energy and rhythm to the repetitive excercises necessary to improving tecnique. It is a perfect combination.

I thought that I had invented the sport , and wanted to write to the Beijing government to suggest it as a new event for their coming Olympics (Chinese acrobats are talented jugglers), but googled it when I got home just to check. I should have guessed that the Americans had been already been joggling for years, with a world Championship Joggling Race staged annually since 1980. Even the native American tribe were jogglers according to Wikipedia. Owen Morse is the current record holder for the 100 meter joggle (maybe that’s a spriggle),set in 1988 at 11.98 seconds.

Though I am not the father of the sport, I will continue to joggle and practice the 100 meter spriggle. Beijing is still two years away. I’ll keep you posted.

Hello world!