I was OCD before the phrase had been invented.

“Obsessive-cumpulsive disorder” is, I believe, what OCD stands for.

Let’s find a definition. Here’s one from medterms.com And this is just part of the definition.

“A psychiatric disorder characterized by obsessive thoughts and compulsive actions, such as cleaning, checking, counting, or hoarding. Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), one of the anxiety disorders, is a potentially disabling condition that can persist throughout a person’s life. The individual who suffers from OCD becomes trapped in a pattern of repetitive thoughts and behaviors that are senseless and distressing but extremely difficult to overcome. OCD occurs in a spectrum from mild to severe, but if severe and left untreated, can destroy a person’s capacity to function at work, at school, or even in the home.”

Wow. Sounds worse than I think it is. But we do allow for degrees here, right?

For me, the symptoms tend to cluster in one area.

Counting.

I’m finding that Hong Kong is conducive to enumeration. Anywhere you walk a lot, or jog, or take the same path to work … there’s a chance to start counting. Mostly, to compare results. Or to find the most efficent way of making a trip.

Is it more steps this way, or that way? Longer strides cover more ground, but are they so slow that you could go faster if you too more shorter strides?

These are important questions. And quantifiable. Answerable. If you count and compare.

For me, my serious counting is during my jogging/walking sessions over at Victoria Park. It’s 600 meters around, and it allows for all sorts of parsing. Which keeps me from thinking, at least a little, about how it’s not particularly pleasant to push yourself for 35-40 minutes …

So, I count every 100 steps. If I’m moving at what is a good clip, for me, it will take me 37 seconds to do 100 steps. If I’m dogging it,  it might be over 40 seconds. If I’m pushing, maybe 35. This is a sustained rate.

One full lap, of 600 meters, is about 575 steps, if I’m going along steadily, and over 600 if I’m dragging.

To cover 6,000 meters, I need about 5,950 steps. If I’m doing well.  If I fade, it’s over 6,000.

I have a watch and a stopwatch to help me keep track of this.

What I’ve noted, as these four months have unspooled, is that my “counting” is branching into areas away from the track. In the MTR (the subway). In the walk from the MTR to the office.

I’m also keeping track of the length of individual legs of the MTR ride.

To wit:

Here is how the four stops of the MTR ride, coming from the office to the apartment, in Wan Chai, break down. (I memorized this, at first, and then realized I had too many numbers in my head, so I actually wrote it down, as it happened, and then checked my work a few days later.)

From North Point to Fortress Hill: 1 minute, 15 seconds.

From Fortress Hill to Tin Hau: 1 minute, 9 seconds.

From Tin Hau to Causeway Bay: 1 minute, 23 seconds.

From Causeway Bay to Wan Chai: 1 minute, 46 seconds.

(This measures the length of time the train is in motion. The length of time at each stop can range from 24 seconds, at night, at a near-empty spot, to more like 40 seconds at a busy stop during the day.)

I am fairly sure the Causeway to Wan Chai stretch (and vice versa) is the longest on the Island Line. That is why I began this investigation. Because I was almost sure it was the longest stretch of those I travel regularly. I had some other evidence, too. It is the stretch in which the recorded voices in the train make the announcement about “no eating and no drinking in the paid areas of the station.”

On the other legs, there isn’t the time to make that announcement. Aha! It is longer, and I knew it before I clocked it.

So, anyway, yeah, I have some OCD symptoms. And have for a long time. I was counting steps in college, for sure. And probably earlier.

When I played basketball, I couldn’t leave the court until I made my last five shots in order — a three-pointer, a free throw, a right-hand layup, and left-hand layup and a reverse layup. And then I had to successfully spin the basketball on my right index finger as I stepped over the out-of-bounds line. If I failed at any point, I had to start over.

Same thing, when I was playing the piano or organ. I ended every session with the same three or four little bursts of chords. If I struck one of them incorrectly … yes, a restart.

I do believe I could avoid doing all of this, if I wanted. Mostly, it’s about luck. It’s bad luck, see, not to do it correctly. It’s an admission of failure, too, to just walk away.

I don’t advocate any of this. In severe cases, OCD can be immobilizing, almost paralyzing. You develop such elaborate routines for the most basic of tasks … that you never get anything done.

I know someone, second-hand, who has so many steps she needs to take before she gets in her car … that sometimes she can spend an hour trying to get into her car. She often needs someone else to convince her that, yes, the trunk is closed and the tires have air, and she no longer needs to check them.

Anyway, Hong Kong. It’s got me thinking about numbers. And if someone were to follow me around, while walking, they might even hear me counting. To 100 … and then start over again.

This doesn’t mean anything in particular. Just saying.

We’re all a little weird in one way or another, is just about the only point. I happen to be spending four months in a place that gives me a chance to reinforce my weirdness. It will be over soon.