This morning the track was submerged under water. I could see familiar faces peering through the iron gates. The glistening water mirrored the stadium lights – only a few patches of the ochre track and lane 10 were visible – as if a washed beach.
They could have opened just lane ten, I thought to myself. That’s where I had planned to run today’s session anyway. Session that’s what my coach called each training. She said it like SAY-shun.
Monu called it work. He said it like var-ak.
“Kal tak na sukhe ye bhai,” I heard one of the familiar runners tell another.
The sky above was changing light. Already many had begun to run up and down the driveway of the sports complex.
Whistles were beginning to blow, athletes here and there formed groups and and began makeshift exercises and drills.
I shrugged. There was nothing to do but run.
Today I could manage. What would I do tomorrow if the track remained closed? I had intervals.
I tried to push the worry out of my mind and began to run – an estranged feeling – the submerged track not a few metres away – a locked iron gate – and dozens running in small loops.
Writing about Running 