Tired...Shagged out...Humbled...

I can't believe that practice one could be so overwhelming...

My brain is numb. My legs are aching. The pain in my left arm refuses to go away.

I feel as if I've just done 7-11. Twice.

My current predicament implies that I have to rest in bed for a couple of days. Unfortunately, this is a luxury that I cannot afford, considering that the next practice will be held tommorow.

The seniors in charge of R.A.G have great expectations...Expectations that the Year Ones have GREAT problems meeting. Honestly, how many people you know can do a cartwheel? Or launch their body into the air through an inverse push-up?

The warm-ups alone are enough to chill the blood. We had to lift a girl to shoulder level and spin around with her supine form propped against our upper bodies. It was a nightmare doing it with C., who could not stop laughing hysterically everytime I picked her up. For God sakes! Shuddup and lie still!

Next, we had to lift a girl by her hips and hoist her unto our shoulders...L. was my partner for this exercise. The other guys in my group were making irritating catcalls and wooting away because L. is a really hot sophomore. Unfortunately, I was quivering in nervousness and had zero confidence of pulling this off...I ended up head-butting L.'s derierre because I could not hoist her high enough. Both of us ended up in a tangled mess on the floor.

My head hurt. I think her buns are made of titanium alloy. Or possibly adamantium.

The final component of the warm-up was the 360...The movement is as evil as it sounds. We had to grab our female partners' waists and rotate their bodies 360 degrees in a corkscrew motion. On Saturday night I spilt orange squash on someone's ipod at a party....Bad karma finally kicked me in the ass today. My partner for the 360 was a behemoth...I struggled to fight against gravity while the rest of the world formed a mini spectators' ring and cheered me on. I felt like I was arm-wrestling a rhinoceros...Eventually, I managed to lift my partner an inch or two above the ground, before collapsing like a detonated building...At least everyone went to ask the girl if she was ok...so nobody bothered to laugh at me.

Before lunch break, several seniors with Rambo physiques urged me to join them for their daily routine at the gym.

You would expect lighter physical activities after lunch. Unfortunately, that was NOT to be. If anything, the activities got even more intense...Thank goodness nobody was vomitting laksa or Mee Goreng!

The boys and girls were separated. The guys followed a senior nicknamed "THE BODY" to undergo a punishing regime of cartwheels, freezing, hand stands and the fear-inducing "Caterpillar"...Initially all of us could not do anything...After intensive drilling by "THE BODY" ( probably a commando instructor in the army), almost everyone could do most of the stunts by late afternoon. Except me.

I admit that I was not exactly in top form; especially after being crushed by an oil tanker in the morning. However, I was really frustrated that I could not do stuff that the others were able to pick up relatively easily. ARGH!

Worse, someone had informed the seniors that I was a level 3 salsa dancer! So I was suan-ed the whole day...Can you imagine seniors hollering, "where's my dancer?" when they are looking for you? One particularly irritating one keeps on calling me "Mr. Salsa"... He injects this salutation at strategic timings, mostly when I am at my weakest and most vulnerable. For instance, when I topple over while attempting a cartwheel, he will sneer and go, "How are you feeling Mr. Salsa?"

Well, at least the day ended on a positive note. Just as I was packing up and getting ready to see a sinseh, a cute chick came over to talk to me. She wanted to find out more about salsa, so I basically puked out everything that I had memorised from Wikipedia...Of course, I did it in the most romantic and passionate manner...For a moment, I transformed myself into Fabio, Man of Men....Hero of smutty Romance novels and gay icon...I slipped into my role well enough for her to get my number. Thankfully, she did not realise that my fly was down and my Burberry boxer shorts were insidiously leaking out of the gap on the crotch of my pants...Phew! Talk about making the right impressions!