I’d like to tell a story about a man. The thing is, I don’t know much about him, despite us meeting just last week. I cannot recall even his face or his name. Only what he did and said.

It was sunset and I was getting ready to do my last set when I saw him. He was Asian, in his mid-60s to 70s, with a woman of a similar age. He wore a simple striped T-shirt, brown shorts and sandals. The two walked towards the exercise park I was next to, the man leading slightly ahead.

Without a word, he jumped on a bar and began to do pull-ups. Clean ones, too. Picture perfect form. I didn’t mean to stare, but I was so shocked I couldn’t help myself. He did five, then 10, then 20 and then I lost count. He must have done at least 40 in a row before he began to slow down. When the show was over, he had barely broke a sweat. He began walking to his female companion, who was doing stretches a few metres away.

I don’t usually approach strangers in public, but I felt like I had just witnessed something extraordinary.

“Excuse me,” I called out. He turned around. “That was great.”

We stared at each other for a moment. Then, noticing his puzzlement, I realised he didn’t speak English. I awkwardly flashed a smile and gave him a thumbs up.

“In a haddar.” He said. Now it was my turn to be confused.

“In a what?”

“In a haddar.”

Without another word, he took off on a run, leaving me and his female companion behind. He went the opposite way he came from. I thought I would never see him again.

But as I walked home, our paths crossed once more. He was running on the footpath towards me and the evening streetlights provided a long shadow. He had seen me too and seemed excited about something. I thought he would slow down. But he just flew past, in his same T-shirt and sandals, and said the same phrase again.

“Innaehada.”

It was Korean. Next to the passing street cars, I pulled open my phone and looked it up.

Innaehada. Korean for endure; persevere; be patient. His secret to my wonder.