Imagine karo ghar se phone aaya hai, I said to Ashwini between breaths as we raced down the main road toward the stadium entrance to finish an intense tempo run.
Aur gharwale pooch rahe hai kab aaoge.
Woh bhi Mummy ka phone, Ashwini said. I laughed. Whatever it means to laugh when you’re running hard.
He had been slipping, and I made up any manner of visual exercises to push him along.
But I had to ask him if he would rather I shut up.
Nahin ji, he said. Motivate karo.
Perhaps he was simply being polite.
There was a helicopter at the track and as always when that praying mantis is upon this sacred ground, the track is closed.
But there were mile intervals to be done followed by an eight kilometre tempo effort.
Ashwini and I decided to take it to the main road. There was no other choice.
When we were finishing, coming down the home straight to the stadium gates, the sky was just beginning to change to a pale grey-blue.
Afterwards celebrating Coach Nikhil’s birthday with two cakes, (one which had smooshed on its way to track), dawn overhead, the chatter and laughter of the track gang, it felt – at least to me – like its own kind of unique world.
Writing about Running 