It was going to be brutal to begin with. When I read the interval sets, I balked. I knew it would not only be tough but that with my state of less sleep and exhaustion, I was uncertain to meet the time targets.
Dekhi jayegi, I said to myself earlier, while making coffee, as I did countless times before intervals and races.
Sure enough, the mile paces were off by ten seconds. And then, just as dawn was breaking, the skies opened, releasing torrents of pent-up rain. It came down like bullets, blinding me, hammering down with ferocity, complete with lightning and thunder theatrics in the sky. In a scramble, nearly everyone ran to the stadium seating protected by the overhang.
I was drenched in seconds.
Only a few of us remained. 800s next. Within a lap, the track was covered in an inch of water, and whether it was the water kicked up from the shoes of Monu and Sujit or that the rain further intensified – probably both – I was running squinting through the curtain of mist and stinging rain.
The paces continued to be off. I shrugged. It was an unsparing session anyway. So be it in this weather. The next couple of sets I kept up – as much as I could – with my fellow companions. Their shirtless bodies were glistening with the continuous wash from the skies. I marveled at their effortless stride even in this incredible rain.
The lady in the salwar kameez nodded at me from across the track. She too had continued to run.
More people had made their way down from the stadium steps to resume their workouts and training. Some continued to enjoy the break from routine. The respite on the stadium steps must surely be charming – chatting, taking photos, hanging out.
Just as the 400s were finishing, the rain subsided ever so slightly.
We took a photograph at the end. Would I have, instead, preferred the perfect session? This was perfect enough.
Writing about Running 