The two tongas came hurtling down Shanti Path at full gallop.
At first I thought it was a large group of runners occupying the road. Then the objects seem to be moving too fast. Horses? Couldn’t be I thought. Tongas on Shanti Path. No way.
But here they were and as they raced past me, I thought the horse nearest to me looked me in the eye, gleefully and pitifully.
Even with a cart tethered to me, I can eat you for breakfast, it seemed to suggest, as the sound of their hooves faded away.
Meanwhile, all morning, a cyclist, a newbie, swaying side to side, continued to give me the creeps as he crossed me each loop, leering behind clear Oakley style glasses. Eventually, I ran longer than he cycled.
I could eat him for breakfast, I thought contemptuously. How women must feel, I thought, shaking my head.
When I reached towards the end of two hours, I wanted to round it off to a number, and I bumped into a very fast college runner at one end of Shanti Path. I don’t know his name, and I doubt he knows mine, but we’ve done a run here and there together; my tempo, his easy kind of thing.
We exchanged notes on last weeks Delhi half and while he had done a blistering 1:15, he said he wasn’t happy with the outcome. Cramps bhaiya, he said.
He could have the whole of Nehru Park for breakfast.
Satisfied, spent, I headed home to have a spinach omelette and oats for my breakfast.
Writing about Running 