That’s hangover. Need to get into my game. Just as I nailed it yesterday, I lost the plot. Need to get in the game.

Finally. Finally. Finally.

I hit the track today after what seems like eternity. I had hard intervals and after these last couple of weeks, I was sure I would have lost significant fitness.

I made up my mind that I would run according to RPE – keeping it somewhere around the 6/7 mark and settle for whatever time it showed for these maniacal kilometre repetitions.

When I woke up, it was raining down relentlessly, the skies a discotheque of flashing lightning and booming thunder.

I made my way to the track, the pelting rain reducing to a drizzle and reached a near bone dry track.

Coach Ravi ran the warm up rounds with me, chatting about shaking up my routine. He suggested it cautiously. Eilish wouldn’t mind, I smiled to myself.

Monu and a new kid, Nikhil, ran the interval efforts with me. Kilometre intervals at the track always seem longer than on the road.

A piece of paper near the hundred metre mark on the front straight looked like a folded five hundred rupee note. Every loop I watched out for it. It reminded me of back in the day at Friends Club when I swam as I kid. My memory tells me that all manner of small objects or goggles and what not were at the bottom of the pool. I would fixate on one object that I would peer at each time I did a length. That folded paper was a beacon to me today.

I wish I could say kilometre after kilometre flashed by. It didn’t. It was hard work and at the end I was grateful and somewhat famished.

At home, the young boy was missing school, so he ran instead and I took my workout outside – medicine ball in hand – enjoying him go through the paces. Maybe he had his own folder paper to look out for.

After a restless night, an early flight from Madras and a long day, running today was never going to be easy.

I look forward to recuperating over a hot meal and decent sleep tonight – hopefully hitting the road or the track tomorrow morning.

I had a choice to go to track or run at home before packing and leaving for the airport.

I chose home. The young boy joined me as we did a progressive run, going faster each round. Eventually, he decided he wasn’t going to keep up but pace me for a minute or so whenever we crossed each other.

It turned out to be fun. For me the minutes ticked by but I also realised that I had lost much fitness over these last couple of weeks.

At any rate, it felt good to get the run followed by a fast workout under the belt before heading to Chennai.

From Chai Point, Starbucks market on Golf Course Road to the Sikandarpur crossing that meets the Faridabad-Gurgaon road, is an exact five kilometres.

For years, I have done that out and back loop and various combinations with other roads to increase (or decrease) the distance if need be with my friends Maneesh and Amit.

Because our training and Maneesh’s move to Kathmandu have taken us to different directions, I haven’t run this road in a while.

Today, I met Maneesh, who was in town, and parked the car in a familiar spot, although there were at least another dozen vehicles there. More runners, more cyclists.

We used to have tea at Chai Point afterwards that then opened at six thirty – now the timing pasted on the glass door said eight AM.

Things change, of course. The cityscape of this busy road is in flux, with infrastructural development and a plethora of seemingly endless buildings under construction.

At any rate, the first kilometre as before beeped exactly outside a well known liquor store, the third kilometre at the Shiv Nadar School crossing. It’s familiar terrain. The sleepy dogs under the metro stations, the sun rising up from behind residential towers but giving a sneak peek of its full glory at the Camelias development junction.

Maneesh and I caught up, exchanging notes on work, training and families. A familiar run with an old running partner is easy, convenient and comfortable.

Monday Mania is a good way to put it even as I took the rest day. And so the week began, a lingering cough and a deep yearning for a normal cadence of running and routine.

I am not a foodie. I crave carbs after intense runs and I love eating home cooked food. But I wouldn’t describe myself as being knowledgeable about food or the kind of person who thinks about the next meal.

But I love restaurants. I love to observe and participate in the ambience, interiors and energies of these gathering places.

Because of the aforementioned reasons, of going out with friends and family to new places, and because I love good writing (who doesn’t) I thoroughly enjoy Pete Wells who is retiring as the New York Times food critic.

He has long been one of my favourite writers in the Times. I have so very much enjoyed his reviews and seeing the photos of foods I may or may not try – photos of restaurants – most restaurants that I couldn’t visit even if I wanted to – because I don’t live in New York and even if I did – this task is for the critic or foodie.

But I lived vicariously through his writing many a time, seeing the buzz of a restaurant in the photos made me pinch and zoom in, seeing happy. laughing faces wearing fashionable clothes at a crowded bar or a dimly lit, white tablecloth restaurant that made me think of Gatsby-esque possibilities or secret deals. A Pete Wells era at the Times always had me look forward to his writing and fairyland journeys in my head. I can’t wait for his next project.

On to the running report: Still sneezing and coughing, I made my way to the driveway with as much determination as I could muster. The young boy joined me soon after. I was ever grateful for his company as I could very much feel the effects of the flu. I believe I may have written after effects yesterday but these seem to be in the present. I was woozy, tired and at some point I thought I might fall. Imbalance in the ears. Haha.

We started the game of naming at least three countries with each alphabet that kept me distracted and going. When he stopped, I decided to carry on. I needed a good run under the belt after these missed days.

So run I did, simply head down and kept it going. Finally done and spent, I found I had a bit of engine in me to hit the bars for a quick workout to round up the Sunday morning session.

In the face of stress and illness, things haven’t been at their best for the last few days.

But this morning, feeling better and determined, I set out with the young boy for a run in the driveway. I could feel the after effects of this flu. Although I did get into a rhythm, I ran slowly, my breath catching up already as if I was running at tempo speed.

I made the young boy do some drills as we chatted about this and that. We played the bird game – where you have to name a bird with each alphabet. It’s not so easy when you’re out of practice and rusty.

To run free with the young boy and think of bird names, these are the pleasures of daily life.

Buoyed at the end of the short run, I made my way to the bars. Pull ups, circular leg raises and varied core work lifted me out of this past week.

I must run tomorrow. I might have the flu but after these absences from running, I am losing my mind too.

Even if it is a short run in the driveway, I must run to clear my head and hopefully my nasal passages too. The former is critical, the latter should take care of itself.

Because this is a diary mostly about running, the days when I don’t run, especially due to sickness, feels like futile writing.

But as an exception here – the days have been full and manic – meetings heaped upon meetings – in that I can only hope that I’m expending some energy so as to keep up some fitness level too. A roundabout way to think about things.