Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Written 2 years ago: August 10th 2007

The thing about running that I hate is that no matter how good you had it before, the moment you become careless with it and it bites you on your butt back. It is so easy to lose the momentum of running and so hard to get back to the stage you were. I haven’t been running for the whole duration of my trip and two days back, thanks to my wonderful host who herself loves to run, I went for a run. And this isn’t some ordinary run - we went for a run at Hyde Park, a place I’ve only heard about. I felt like I’m on some sort of a luxury cruise for runners.

In school, people always assume that I love running because I am so serious about it. The funny thing is, what I love about running is totally uncalled for; I actually DREAD going for a run, I just LOVE the feeling I get after a good run. My friends mistook the enthusiasm I show everytime I want to go for a run for my honest love of running, in actuality, I just can’t wait to get that runner’s high. I get seriously wistful when I see other joggers breathing hard, sweat making their presence known on their t-shirts.

Everytime before a run, as I am tying up my shoelaces, or when I am wearing my sports bra, or even when I am walking towards my destination, I feel seriously heavy. The trick about running that I have never fully mastered is the skill of distracting your mind away from the running itself. This isn’t like swimming where every single second is focused on the breathing, and feels awesome. When you run, you don’t want to think about running. You don’t want to think about how you want to stop, or about the increasing tightness in your chest, or the stitches you’re getting, or how your legs feels like spaghetti. I usually succeed in thinking about something else for a few seconds, and then come back again to the thoughts screaming inside my brains - STOP! STOP! STOP! The only thing that could prevent me from stopping is imagining that a rapist is chasing me and I am gaining speed away from that motherfucker. Or other strong runners, be it aging grandmas, athletic women, or seriously hot guys with to-die-for calves muscles.

Today I am going for a run again and honestly I can’t wait. Not for the heavy breathing, or the shallow breaths or the rubbery legs, but for the after effects that will make me walk around afterwards like a moony lovestruck lover, smiles on my face and the feeling that I can be whomever I want to be, like, Marge Simpson.

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