Rukte hi shareer jalne lagta hai

Today was kilometre interval day. It was 33 degrees Celsius. But it felt like I was in a microwave.

The warm up was literally that – it felt like we – Gaju and I – were in a hot box. Coach Ravi on the bike said it was “gandi garmi.”

We hadn’t even begun the intervals.

For the first kilometre I was on pace – we were on pace – or put it yet another way – I was on pace because of Gaju. And because of Coach Ravi yelling splits from the bike. Then a gentle jog. Whatever that meant in this weather.

Then off again. The difficulty level that usually by a second interval stabilises, instead only increased. But once again, we were on pace.

I doused myself with water. So did Gaju. Coach Ravi looked sympathetically at us. He didn’t look like that very often.

During the next three, I felt I would faint after each interval. Between one of those, Gaju said, Rukte hi shareer jalne lagta hai.

That was absolutely true. After each interval, the heat was tremendous, searing through us. During the interval, while it was hot, it didn’t feel like the burn it did between sets.

There must be some straightforward physics and chemistry for this. Cumulative heat build up, said ChatGPT amongst other things. Hmm. Whatever.

I thought a few times that my friend who came last week would have seen something in this session through the lens of a camera. Something beyond the visceral sweat and the pain of today’s intervals. What? I’m not sure. What did I feel? And Gaju? Relief and feeling faint.

In the car, on the way home, Let Me Blow your Mind blasting through the speakers, was apt enough.