Around the one kilometre mark – a made up mark – at the bus stand on Vinay Marg – that is exactly the aforementioned distance from the midpoint parking on Niti Marg, I was just about to a cross a fellow middle aged runner, albeit a heavyset man, and just as I was about to cross him, he picked up pace.
Normally, this can be a trifle annoying or exceedingly so, depending on the body language of the fellow runner, indeed that in running, you can puff like a peacock, even while breath should not allow you to, be exhibit macho body language that might be more useful in cage fighting than the sport of running.
But this was a harmless man who (probably) looked to pick up pace and keep with me as much as he could.
Truth be told he picked up such that in turn now I was in danger of falling off. But here we were together. Soon, very soon, he began to huff and puff more than he already was until his breath intakes were a series of near wheezes which caused a bit of alarm on my part while keeping a check on my own breath and ensuring that I was feeling easy.
By the time we reached the Hanuman temple on the same road, though it is on the opposite side, he looked on his right and for a split second I thought he looked at me, but he was looking at his God and he exhaled, Bajrang Bali ki Jai, with such exertion and force as to compound his present efforts and receive in turn from his God a few extra powers which he surely so deserved. And desired.
But now, by the second bus stand, and the second kilometre mark, he began to fall off or I should say perhaps return to a more comfortable pace and exertion.
I carried on around a long loop, keeping check on my breath and staying within an easy range.
Writing about Running 