Twice in one week, I was almost hit by a jeepney while crossing the intersection of Osmeña Blvd. and R.R. Landon St. On both occasions, the jeepney had run a red light. Obviously. That meant the pedestrian crossing light was green, which was why I started crossing. Again, obviously.
And on both occasions, I just saw the jeepney zip right in front of me, missing me by a meter or so. It wasn’t exactly a close call in every sense of the word, but it was close enough. And that got me worried. The first incident happened at night while I was crossing from the corner of the PRO 7 headquarters to the Abellana Police Station. I was on my way home from the office. The second time happened in the afternoon three days later while I was crossing from the corner of the Abellana National School to the corner of Cebu Normal University. I was headed to the office.
You all know I have been walking everywhere since I moved from Banilad to Sambag 1 around eight years ago, simply because everything — and I mean almost everything: work, grocery, market, shopping mall, etc. — is within a 30-minute walking distance. Even before I made the transfer, I would leave the house in Banilad, park my car in Urgello and then walk to the office.
Before I decided to make a lifestyle change, I drove everywhere or took a cab. My only exercise was walking the stairs at home and in the office. That was about it. Oh, I did play tennis once in a while, but then I would always binge-eat afterward. I weighed almost 300 pounds, smoked two packs a day and drank every night.
Then reality came knocking at my door when I turned 40. After a thorough checkup that included a colonoscopy performed by a female doctor who happened to be a friend, my physician advised me to stop drinking, quit smoking and lose weight.
You know that feeling when the rug is pulled out from under you? That’s how I felt at that very instant. Fortunately, my doctor had the best bedside manner and laid it out to me gently. He didn’t have to show me photos of patients who had suffered a stroke, which another doctor had done when I was morbidly obese at 24. That guy scared the bejesus out of me.
This isn’t the first time I’m telling this story. But let me tell it again. I do it to remind myself that I am able to overcome insurmountable odds and to remind others that if I can do it, so can they.
It turned out the doctor knew me better than I knew myself. Before I could plead my case, he quietly asked me, “You don’t plan to stop drinking, do you?” I shook my head. “Smoking?” Again, I shook my head. “Then at least lose some weight, or at least try.”
And try I did. Slowly. That meant overhauling my lifestyle. I walked wherever and whenever I could. The reason I decided to call my column “On the Go” is precisely because of that. It took me two years to get from almost 300 pounds to 165 pounds.
I can’t remember when I quit smoking, but it was right after I was admitted to the hospital for three days because my potassium level had dropped to dangerous levels. It must have been a decade ago or so.
So I did what the doctor had asked. Lost the weight. Quit smoking. But I still drink. Regularly. Hey, give me a break. Two out of three isn’t so bad.
I suffered a setback during the pandemic: gained several pounds and gained two inches on my waistline, but still within reasonable limits. I may no longer look like a junkie or someone who has a life-threatening disease, but I’m alive, albeit possessing what some people might describe as a “dad bod.”
And I still walk, even jog, when I can. Which is why I can’t get over the feeling of frustration and a bit of anger that I escaped certain disaster not once, but twice, while simply practicing the very habit that saved my life in the first place.
As for the traffic enforcers — yes, with an “s” because there were three of them — standing in the shade of the waiting shed while the jeepney nearly hit me and two other pedestrians the other afternoon: be on the lookout for red-light beaters.
I understand that it’s hot and you just want to get out of the sun and I also know that you are powerless to issue a ticket to the vehicles that park on both sides of the boulevard outside the PRO 7 headquarters and across — a clear parking violation meters from where you were standing, and yet you did nothing — while you flag and issue a ticket to a motorcycle driver that entered the dedicated CBRT lane.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.
