Those little white pills that Thea brought home for me the other day from her work are amazing. Although the official cure is ten days, I feel completely cured after only two.

The pain in my shoulders is pretty much gone and I feel great. Actually, I still can feel that the something that used to be painful is still in there, but the pain impulses normally sent to my brain are blocked dead in their tracks.

The ultimate test was surviving a number of intense golf training sessions hitting balls on the driving range. The ball trajectories are slowly but surely getting straighter with an occasional errant draw/hook, the constant pounding of club face to the mat ineffective.

The secret goes by the name of Meloxicam 7,5 PCH, at least that is what is written in tiny letters on the back of the medicine strip.

According to the scientific literature, "Meloxicam inhibits cyclooxygenase (COX), the enzyme responsible for converting arachidonic acid into prostaglandin H₂--the first step in the synthesis of prostaglandins, which are mediators of inflammation. Meloxicam has been shown, especially at its low therapeutic dose, selectively to inhibit COX-2 over COX-1."

Lovely little miracles these small round objects that I swallow.

My right shoulder is killing me, and it has been pretty painful on and off now for about half a year. I cannot figure out what is causing it. The intensity of the pain doesn't seem to have any logical correlation with my daily activities. It can flair up for no reason at all or then disappear just like that. Sometimes it can lock at the joint slightly, and the ensuing muffled crack from deep inside of the ligaments can hurt pretty bad. Could it have something to do with my working long hours behind my laptop?

Luckily it doesn't affect my golf game, except if I have to carry my bag. Winter play disallows usage of push carts, so now I just carry my bag from my left shoulder and hope for the best. My back swing and follow-through are not limited by my right shoulders which makes me very thankful.

This afternoon I have an appointment with the friendly neighborhood physiotherapist, and I'm curious what he has to say. His usual thing is to give me a bunch of exercises I have to do each morning to loosen up my joints. But to be honest, I'm a little worried that this is some kind of chronic infection that requires a more serious medical treatment.

So how long has it been now that I've been postponing those two simple tasks? Half a year at least, I should think.

I'm still not sure what finally got into me, but this afternoon during a fanciful spark of inspiration, I decided to do them. To replace the outside vent for the dryer, and then to re-attach the metal latch to the window so that it can be kept open properly.

In total the two activities took me about six minutes, maybe less. Six minutes over a period of half a year is not very much. That's merely 0.0023% of total time so-called wasted.

I'm feeling so good about myself having accomplished such trivial matters, that I seriously wonder why I hadn't done them long ago if not sooner.

You can imagine how very excited I was this morning to receive the following email.

"We are happy to inform you that based on our recommendation your outstanding Contract Fund of TEN Million, United States Dollars ($US10,000,000 ) has been approved to deliver to your doorstep.from MR LAMIDO SANUSI."

I can't wait.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and I could not breath. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get my lungs to work. In desperation I tried and tried until I panicked and thought that I might even die then and there.

Why was my brain incapable of sending the proper signals to the muscles that control breathing? What was the cause of this nightmare obstruction? Why was this happening to me?

It must of lasted a couple minutes at least so it seemed. My ribcage muscles were sore and I'd pulled a muscle in my neck due to the effort.

When I woke in the morning I could still feel the soreness in my lungs and my neck is very stiff.

I'm glad I survived. Chalk up another interesting life experience.

Don't you just hate it when you really have the urge to yawn and no matter what you do you cannot manage to yawn completely? Like you inhale deeply, open your mouth and almost get there but just quite. You try and concentrate but get distracted for some reason. After two or three tries you give up. And then out of the blue a spontaneous yawn catches you unguarded and it continue all the way to completion. What a relief. I wonder why that happens.

What a great feeling pushing myself to a new personal record on the cross-trainer: 7.83 kilometers in 31 minutes.

I was sweating so much in the sauna that I must have lost 10 kilograms in sweat, which is good for my diet.

It's now time for a nice tuna salad and half a pizza.

When I called Thea to tell her about the gruesome bike accident I had this morning in which I received a bloody gash to my left knee as well as a steering column which nearly pierced my spleen and a bruised rib cage, she was only worried if her nice bike was alright (yes, not a single dent) and whether my pants didn't get ripped (sorry, long slash above the knee beyond repair).

Driving home again on the highway, that big billboard on the side of the road always catches my attention. There it is as always with those big bold black letters superimposed on a perfectly white background:

GOD IS LIEFDE.

Nothing more and nothing less. This is a very powerful statement and always causes me to gulp slightly and think things over. How should I deal with this eternal truth and what can I do to improve my life?

Who could have ever imagined that these three simple words could have such an impact on my thinking?

(Taken from Dutch, God is Liefde can be translated to God is Love)

The timing could not have been worse. Two days before the big race, I trip over the front door and slice a good-sized gash in my right big toe.

Ouch that hurts, blood all over the place, and it won't stop bleeding, what a bummer.

They tell me again that it's not a good idea to run in the marathon, and it now really looks like God does not want me to take part in that grueling sixteen kilometer run from Amsterdam to Zaandam.

I am not going to give up that easily (and I hope God forgives me for going against his will). In just ten minutes I'm going to take a trial thirty minute run in order to see how well I hold out. Wrap a tight tourniquet around my big toe to reduce the bleeding and hopefully keep it from falling off. 

For practice this time, I will carry with me one of those jogging belt pouches filled with extra tape, band-aids and so forth, in readiness for any emergency that might arise. Just to get used to that thing hanging from my waist.

My fingers remain crossed.