I was just coming up to my fifth kilometre, when a familiar bare chested middle-aged man like me was coming near the Nyaya Marg roundabout at the back entrance of the Canadian high commission.
Wearing wraparounds and his trademark printed shorts (he wears the most colourful clothes of any runner I know) he asked me if I would pace him for three kilometres.
He was running considerably faster than me but this seemed like the perfect way for me to get some pace under my feet after weeks.
So we set off at an eventual pace much faster than his intention and reasonably effortless for me, I am pleased to report.
Oh nahin bhai, he said occasionally. Oh bahut ho gaya. Arrey do kilometre hi kaafi hai. Arrey thank you bhai saheb. Oh. Aah. Oooh. Aaah. Maza aa Gaya. Oh bhai saheb. Bas.
And all such and what not that he continuously spoke. I hoped I encouraged him.
When it was all done, a quick hug and I went my way to complete a steady hour on feet.
Writing about Running 