Rain stinging like pellets slashed across my face as I ran the second set of mixed intervals. I looked back at the young boy, hoping he was alright – he was – swinging his arms and running with all his might.
Great, I thought. Good for him, this training. It was yet dark, the stadium lights illuminated columns of rain moving across the track, and the eight to ten runners who continued on.
When it was clear it wouldn’t let up, my sister Roshini came down from the safety of the stadium ramparts to continue on with her run. That’s the way. Long distance races never stopped because of weather.
Just before the last interval, I looked back to see the Agniveer boys and I wanted to imprint that image in my mind.
The lights were behind them and I could only see their silhouette, shadowy blocks of limber and youth, glittering at the outlines with lashing rain, the drops bouncing off bare shoulders like diamonds, hair glistening wet, water streaming down legs, arms, fingertips.
When we finished the last interval – a 1000m – the sky was just beginning to turn an angry blue, the rain continuing to hammer down, and the young boy finished too. He wanted to do more and ended with a couple of sharp 200s.
A morning to remember, I thought, as we sat in the car, drenched, soaked to the bone and the workout done.
Writing about Running 