Freebies and good health

Last Friday I had to get up at 6am to get to the open beach in Jumeirah from where earnest, crazy people were planning to cycle around on the streets.

I drove to the venue yawning and wondering why people don't stay in bed on a Friday and sleep the ‘sweetest sleep' on the weekend, as my colleague describes it.

When I arrived, people were already milling around on the sand like busy crabs, getting themselves registered or picking up their bikes from an open stall.

Energy drink companies had pretty girls go around the crowds and offer drinks from a portable cooler bag. "Sugar-free?" the girl asked as I asked for a drink — anything, since I had no time to have my wake-up cup of coffee.

Over a hillock were the Friday beachgoers, already basking and toasting themselves in the sun and making up for all those years lost in the fog and mist of their home countries.

Others were jogging barefoot and barely clothed on the beach sands, but I didn't linger, worried that I would be reported to the police by someone bashful in his or her minimal bathing suit. I believe there is a law in Dubai against just that under ‘beach etiquette', sub-section: ‘gawking'.

I had it all planned out for the event; I would follow the cyclists in one of the organiser's vehicles, catch someone at the finish line and ask what drives him or her to do such things, talk to the organisers and ask them what motivates them to make others do these things, file the report, have a heavy breakfast and go back to bed.

I am basically a night person and I am wide awake even at 3am (it comes from all those years working the graveyard shifts, as they say in our business) and seeing all these energetic people at the crack of dawn gives me the DT's, or delirium tremens, the uncontrollable shaking of the hands you see in most alcoholics.

I was day-dreaming about whether I should have a warm omelette with melted cheese and sun-dried tomatoes at home or whether to pick up a dark chocolate donut and coffee, when a PR person spoilt it all.

"This is for you," he said, pointing to a shiny, red bicycle. My first reaction was to ask, "What will I do with a bike?" But journos usually cannot say no to anything free. One of my walk-in closets is full of laptop bags stamped with the words: diabetes, hypertension, work stress (from the conferences I have attended).

I then decided to join the cyclists who were trying to send a message against obesity. But I wondered if any couch potato would get the message that it is better to get up early on a Friday, instead of snuggling up in your quilt, and cycle around on the roads where there are no cycling paths, for good health.

As I rode the cycle in my black, shiny slip-ons (since I could not find my lifestyle shoes in the dark closet), wearing an orange T-shirt and cap, motorists slowed down and grinned at me, thankful for seeing such a funny sight in the morning.

At the jetski slipway on the Beach Road, my backside felt like I was riding a horse without a saddle. I also noticed that the street I was cycling on was crowded on both sides with wellness clinics.

"How much more?" I gasped at a volunteer waving a flag and giving me the victory sign. "Three kilometres more," said the Filipina, embarrassed for me as a tiny girl on a teeny cycle went zipping past me.

When I reached home with my bike, having scratched the paint of my car while putting it in the boot, my son said he wanted to be a journalist just like me. "You guys sure get some weird gifts," he said.