Niti Marg is a sun dappled road in the spring afternoon. I am seeing it outside my window now as I type. These roads empty of runners at this time. These roads that were full, early in the morning, heaving with dozens of runners. These roads that are training grounds of hundreds of runners. Training. Training. Half. Full. Personal bests. Or not. Intervals. Talking. Laughing. Sweating. Struggling. These roads.
Dreams. Possibilities. Chances. Time. Rolling seasons. Wind. Rain. Sun. Stars. Moonlight. These roads. Nothing happens here but running. No evil. No world. Nothing belongs here. Only running. Your thinking hat for your running shoes.
Pace. Speed. Time. Distance. Sometimes it’s everything. Usually it’s nothing. Because it takes care of itself. You just move. Breathe. Heave. Sweat. Stop. Recover. Breathe. Race. Pace. Run.
These roads.
Writing about Running 