Who's breaking through,
Taking down the wall, brick by brick?
Who dares bring warmth to a place,
Of cold and dark and damp?
Your light seeps through.

A single floodlight shines on the plane, a lone actor on a stage. I hurry across the tarmac, struggling to keep the bag from falling off my shoulder. Oh good, the door is still open, I think to myself when I reach the plane. I hate being late, and I chide myself for leaving everything so last minute again.
'Come on in,' says the driver. I mutter an apology and jump on board. The plane has now turned into a bus, and it's filled with guys talking and laughing. A few people greet me, but mostly they're engrossed in conversation with the person beside them. I can only see the first few rows - afterwards the faces are lost in the darkness - but I know that everyone is from my high-school. I seat myself on an empty row at the front, make myself comfortable for the long trip. I look outside the window, and there's nothing but the black tarmac illuminated faintly by overhanging orange lights.
The driver, sitting in the driver's seat not far from me, turns the key to start the plane, and we slowly taxi down the runway. Hawaii, here I come. It doesn't bother me that we're sitting in a plane that looks more like a bus, or that the pilot is a bus driver. I'm too excited to care. Or is it something else...
And then an important thought strikes me. I stand up and face everyone.
'Hey guys, do you think t-shirts are cheap in Hawaii?'
'Why?' some of them ask.
'Cos like, my mum packed my luggage and she put all winter clothes in there.'
The bus erupts in laughter. 'Shut up!' I shout, and sit back down. Whatever, I think to myself as the quasi-plane-bus lifts into the sky...I'll just get myself some Hawaiian shirts or something when I'm there. I close my eyes and think of the Hawaiian sunset. Days of bliss; nothing in my head save for the gentle waves on gentle shores. Hawaii, here I co.........

I wake up abruptly. The picturesque views of evening beaches dissolve like wisps of smoke through an open window. The bright sunlight signals another working day, and my mind curses itself for the trickery played in its own corners.
And then I glance at the time. 8.15.
Oh shit.

Pain is an unpleasant feeling, and so on Wednesday I made it my friend. After work I walked down to Chinatown in the sweltering heat and into pain's abode: The Chinese Youth League headquarters.
Walking in, the memories of when I used to train here during uni came back to me: the pungent smell of sweat, the solemn faces on the wall, the murderous chin-up bar, the lion's head and drums. And, of course, the pain.
We started off with the weights. 'Come on guys,' said the heavily-muscled guy who was taking the training. 'We want to work on endurance today. We'll be doing four sets of twenty reps and then another....'
I went to pick up a heavy set of dumbbells - well, tried to. Shit, too heavy. 'Try those ones there,' said the heavily-muscled guy (I've forgotten his name). He pointed to a smaller-looking but no less ominous set of weights. 'Okay thanks,' I said, and chose a smaller set after he turned around.
I never did manage to finish all the sets, as halfway through my arms started feeling like they were going to simultaneously explode and drop off my shoulders. I spent the last few minutes walking casually around the room, pretending I had finished everything.

After the weights session, the Heavily-Muscled Guy called us outside. 'Time for the run guys,' he informed us. Groan. I bent down to tie my shoelaces, but tying shoelaces is pretty hard when your fingers feel like bricks.
The suffering I had endured from the weights was soon overridden by the run. Running for me usually follows a typical pattern: start strong and end up dead. This time was no different. At first I cruised along at the front of the pack, but after ten minutes I was really struggling. I was sweating like a pig, panting like a dog. My legs threatened to give way any second. I was like one of those runaway horse carriages you see in movies, with the wheels almost falling off and the whole thing in danger of plummeting off the cliff.
I eventually made it back, splintered wood and broken wheels. 'Okay guys,' said the Heavily-Muscled Guy, 'back inside.' We all filed back into the gym for stretches and (oh god) sit-ups. Suffice to say, I spent most of the time sprawled on the mats, dreaming of dinner and bed.

On my way out, one of the guys asked if I'd be back next week. 'Mmm..I'm not sure; I should be,' I replied.
But I know I'll be back because it's painful. And pain is my friend.