"You're almost there. 2.8km", the board writes.
We glanced at one another amongst our group, as if a ritual before the war. It wasn't a question, really, nor a suggestion. We knew we had to start running.
From our relaxed attitude, it was obvious this wasn't our first run. Run the first 0.2km, then, run the last 0.4km and run whenever a teacher is at sight. Those were the rules. And from experience, be aware that a teacher jogs along with the very last runner.
But here's the catch. At the end of the 3.2km race, you'd be offered a cold cup of Milo and a long queue to the loo.
This was how Milo came into a hormonal-pimpled-rebelious-teenager's life who now has owwies in her teeth because she sleeps with a spoonful of milo-slash-nutella in her mouth.
The name is Milo. I am
beautiful chocolate and ovaltine malty made better. I taste best when half-sticky or coating the surface of cold milk.
(click to enlarge)
Prepare your secret stash,