The garden is white in the morning. If you were a bleary-eyes alien, you could mistake it for snow against the dark sky. But you would catch that instead it is a seed of the Bombax, the cotton tree, the Semal. It’s red fleshy flowers litter the ground as if poured wine morphed to flowers.
The interval-tempo today was – to say the least – hard. I proposed to the track gang – Monu, Khushboo, Dipasha, Suryansh, Ashwini, Jeet – that we run the two mile intervals on the road.
On the road it was an out and back – from stadium gate to the main crossing, then a bit more, was a mile. U-turn back to the start meant the effort of one repetition was complete.
The air was salty, sultry and still. With each u-turn and repetition, the traffic built up slightly, the dogs gambolled, and we ran.
Writing about Running 