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After yesterday’s progressive run, I left for the airport for a short trip.

Today, back in Delhi, it will be near impossible to do a run. Perhaps a core workout in the evening might round up the day in line with the long run tomorrow.

A cold, white fog enveloped the track today. Steam was rising from the ochre surface. Dark, quiet, there were two people on the sidelines. From where I saw them, it seemed like they were contemplating the track too. Nearly foreboding.

I began to run, a progressive run for today. It was just me for a few loops. Then I saw the headlights of a scooter. It growled to a stop. The one solitary stadium light was switched on. Must be the guard or the maintenance person, I thought. The lights grew brighter till they reached their capacity.

The grassy infield seemed to acquire an even more ghostly appearance – what could be described as a white shadow across the green grass.

A huddled figure called out my name. It was Ashwini. Bas abhi aaya, he said.

Thank goodness, I thought, peeling off a layer while running, feeling better with the company.

After a few rounds it was Suryansh too and then others who weaved in and out.

I had been upping the pace but with the boys, I pushed it just that much more through the progressions.

Towards the last ten minutes, I pushed hard, harder than I thought I would. I stopped at exactly an hour. I

It was yet dark but the track was dotted with familiar faces, familiar routines.

It’s on the treadmill again today. I hadn’t been listening to music or anything lately.

Instead, I decided to try the NYTimes Audio app.

I ran slowly, feeling the tiredness – if that’s the right word – from yesterday’s intervals. It didn’t matter. It was an easy run and it would be better to run it slow and feel the easiness of it.

I wondered if I removed the watch, blacked out the treadmill data with a towel, would I be able to tell the speed if I went purely by feel?

I think so. After all these years, I can tell, give or take. I’ve run marathons without looking at the watch and been reasonably accurate. But certainly not a strategy for a personal best or a race.

With the headphones in my ears, I heard a bizarre story about a Kit-Kat cargo heist to steal rare Kit-Kats. This, from their unusual popularity in Japan, with limited edition flavours and ‘drops’.

Then I heard a futuristic story about humans adopting space habitats.

Time went by. Dawn started edging with the sky softly changing colours. The run ended soon after.

Because of the Diwali weekend excess and lack of sleep, I wasn’t sure at all about the morning intervals.

Despite coffee and while driving to the track, I prepared to forfeit the interval training in exchange for perhaps a simpler time on feet.

But the track gang was there and I felt a bit of confidence. Would they be able to pull me through what was – for me – an exceptionally hard varied distance effort with diminishing rest – done twice over.

They did.

We all smashed the intervals together with near ferocity. Monu ahead. Ashwini, literally, shoulder to shoulder with me – except inelegant, flailing me – and beautiful form him.

It was one of those mornings that makes you remember what this sport is about. The camaraderie, the sheer pull of movement and exhaustion, the feeling of using your body, nichod de sab, kheench le aaj.

I am not a big fan of the treadmill, but I do respect it’s convenience.

I started at a quick pace – for me. I take much longer on a ttreadmill to warm up and I run quite a bit slower. But I wanted to make it a quick start, and so I did.

I adjusted to the pace quickly and at regular intervals, I played with the incline. In this, I divided time into sets of three minutes each, setting the incline for a minute each time.

It made the run perhaps less boring and in a way more mindful. Of time, of the incline, and of running at the same speed.

Save for the sound of the machine, I ran in silence and tried to empty my mind. But that was impossible. Thoughts flew around from left to right.

After the run, I did a circuit of medium intensity that rounded off the Tuesday morning.

The day after Diwali, Vishwakarma is celebrated. Today, Monday, my usual off day, but I felt like running. Burning the weekend of excess. But, a whim that I should give the treadmill a rest because of Vishwakarma.

Tomorrow the week starts again and it’s less than a few weeks leading to a half and the journey ahead to Bombay full.

It’s time to stop eating dessert.

Kinda.

This morning, on Diwali day, I felt a longing to go to the track or to Nehru Park. It seemed like the day would be incomplete without it.

I decided to go to Nehru Park because the track was closed and because I wanted to do a short run too. The young boy came with me and we ran two loops inside the park. The soft turf felt easy, the trees and grass looked lush and clean with the recent rain.

At the end, we lit a candle, took a couple of photos. Diwali would feel only complete in this way.

When my friend Aditi used this word recently in reference to life, of course it would come to mind as I ran the roads of New Delhi.

When I began, I was alone, the roads around Nehru Park were empty save for a few dogs that took repeated interest in me. But soon, thanks to my friend Gokul, the long run today, on Choti Diwali was a friendship run, a run that took us from Nehru Park to Kautaliya Marg, Wellingdon Crescent to Race Course, Safdarjung to Lodi Road, past India International Centre, towards Amrita Shergil, Rajesh Pilot to Aurangazeb, wide open Lutyens Delhi boulevards, it was a run to remember.

It had been a long time since I did this type of meandering, turning right or left, decisions left to fancy, not a care, just running, here and there, aware of the destination that was measured in kilometres but one that felt freeing all the same.

When I was driving to the track, as coincidences would have it, it was raining lightly, a beautiful pitter patter, and November Rain by Guns ‘n’ Roses was playing on the stereo. Everything about this track takes me back to another time, another century.

But soon after, it was time to switch gears from rock to metal and all roads in metal universe lead to Metallica.

As Moth into Flame was finishing, I pulled up to the stadium, growling, head banging and ready for some track.

Still buoyant by riffs and drumming, I began the warm up. It was cool, misty drizzle and wind blew down the home hundred. Eventually Coach Ravi and Monu showed up. Strides, warm up drills and a few exercises later saw Monu and I lining up for the session ahead.

It seemed easier, on paper, than actuality. This rarely happens. Usually the session looks terribly daunting on paper and is crazy enough in person too.

Whether it was the metal frame of mind or a general optimism, I started the varied repetitions with aggressive intent. It paid. I was faster than the prescribed paces. I pushed myself to a red line that suctioned energy, blew up lactic acid and had me panting and grovelling.

Though Monu was faster than me in most repetitions, I could see that because I pushed the pace, he pushed his own and it had us both winded.

Because of the light rain, the track was near empty, save for a few stubborn folks. Only when it finished, I saw the track was quiet, although washed and gleaming, ready for the Diwali weekend.

It was time for some Metallica again. This time One.

Because of a Diwali commitment, I did not run today. I could have – and yet again run after a few hours of sleep.

But it seemed that sleep wouldn’t hurt and perhaps a missed run wouldn’t hurt the training.