A.R.Ts (131) Running and Living

Lessons I learnt from a year of running.….and finally completing my first Half Marathon last week -

Sometimes you are your only competition. I am fiercely competitive by nature, and my competition was always with the external world. I wanted to score the highest marks in school. I wanted to get into that coveted college. Every time I lost, I wanted to know “who” won. And by “how much”. I always had a mirror that turned out and reflected the world’s achievements on me, making me oscillate between exhilaration and disappointment. Running made me that turn that mirror inward. And start focusing on what I best I could do. For the first time in my life, I stopped being harsh with myself. I learnt to listen to my body, respect what it was telling me, and treat it gently. I allowed myself more mistakes, less  guilt in case I couldn’t do what I had set out to do, and a lot of positive strokes to keep going.  As I ran faster on the track, I think I gave myself the freedom to slow down a little in life.

Being left behind is not such a bad thing. When you are competitive, you want to keep pace.  And stay ahead. Lifestyle, job, salary – there was always a measuring scale, and slipping downwards on that scale made me a tad anxious about how I was faring in life. But throughout all the runs I participated in this year, I got used to seeing people go past me. And surprisingly, it didn’t make me restless. I actually developed a strange sense of comfort with being the last in the race. Because I knew I was giving it my best, every single time I ran. Running truly fades the concepts of winning and losing into insignificance – I’ve never heard any of my runner friends say “I want to win the marathon” or “Damn I lost the marathon” It is of no consequence, because they all know that nothing beats the privilege of being in the race. Yes it is a privilege. Even if you are the last to finish.

Discipline is the most underrated virtue of life. And routines are a must. For a year almost, I woke up and ran every Sunday morning. I never in my life imagined I would do it. And neither did many people around me : ) Running every Sunday alone is obviously not enough discipline and I wish I had more of it. But both running and writing have taught me the value of just “showing up”. Whether at the writing desk or on the running track. There is no concept of “Today is not my day”. You got to make everyday your day. Even if it is pushing you away.

There is pleasure in pain. Say if you will that I have masochistic tendencies, but the soreness in my limbs after a long hard run would often be accompanied by a tingle of pleasure. I loved the stretch my body felt. It was a pleasant surprise for me to know that after years of being a slave to my body, I could finally dictate to it. I could control it. I could make demands on it. And it would oblige. Even if that gave me some pain in return.  I loved being in charge again.

If you want to know whether it was really worth it, you have to stay the course and cross the finishing else. While you are at it, you wonder if you really need to put yourself through this. There are enough bad days that make you feel miserable. There is a despondency that sets in when your timing just doesn’t seem to improve despite all the trying. But here it is – I choked mildly when I was about 200 metres before the finishing line, which is when I finally believed that I had done it. And the feeling is incomparable. I will keep running just to feel that way all over again, because it is the most reaffirming feeling, putting to rest all your self-doubts, fears, anxieties. Fundamentally, at a very deep level, I know this is true of life. Keep going – everything else will follow.

After many many months, I’m going to be tucked into my bed on a Sunday morning tomorrow, giving myself a break from the running, and catching up on sleep instead. Strangely, it doesn’t excite me all that much. Can’t wait to get back on the track : )

A.R.Ts (130) What are your plans for New Years Eve?

We get judged all the time. By our religion. The clothes we wear. The cars we drive. The address we live in. Heck, even the colour of our nail paint.

So I decided to go one step further and judge people based on that they were planning to do for New Years Eve. I mean the ones who weren’t already posting selfies from the snow, downing tequila shots in Bali beaches,  or “feeling fabulous” at Sydney. On a ten point rating scale, with one being “least happening” and ten being “most happening” – they were at 9.75. They don’t get the 0.25 was because I was not with them.

And I asked around – “What are you doing on New Years Eve?”

One told me she was going to a Shantanu Nikhil do. I didn’t know who they were and what they do. (Ofcourse I googled it later on and now I know). But they sounded like some famous duo. Abu Jani, Nadeem Shravan types. So I said “Wow” with a sufficiently high eyebrow raise and made some asinine reference to her being Page 3 types. She blushed exactly the pink that I had wanted my comment to elicit. I gave her six points. For getting an invite to something more than a Falguni Pathak show.

Another said she was going for a quiet dinner with her boyfriend. Now that’s a tricky one. Does that mean they got dinged by their friends? Or are they the trigger happy selfie couple who need to welcome the New Year with the mandatory romantic dinner picture? The ones that have a wine glass, a cake with a candle, an untouched table napkin (for effect) with PDA oozing out of every frame? I sized her up very quickly. She was 26 maybe. I could give her the benefit of doubt. It ought to be the latter. Seven points. Five for having a life, oops boyfriend. Four for having a plan. Minus two for the selfie that would soon be up on Facebook.

One said he was “partying at a farmhouse in Lonavla”. Yawn. What an age old dinosaur like plan. Even my ancestors were more adventurous. Minus one, I thought instantly. And then in true middle class style, my conscience took over and I asked myself – “How many times have I partied in a farmhouse?” The answer to that question made me change my rating to a more respectable five. Atleast he was breathing the air outside Mumbai.

Another more adventurous one said she was going for a Bollywood theme party. Cool, what are you going as I asked. Zeenat Aman, she said, all smiles. Dum Maro Dum types I asked, immediately picturising the long hair, brown tinted glasses, and garland around the neck. No, the chura-liya types, complete with a guitar in the hand, she said. Ah ok. I briefly considered asking her what her husband was going to be dressed as, but then decided that the information would be of limited use to my pea- sized Bollywood quotient which was nearing exhaustion after discussing Zeenat Aman looks. I gave her eight. For having an invite, a theme, and a costume.

But I discovered that the trend of the year was the “house party”. The fashionable way of dealing with being left behind by all the vacationers, it has certainly come of age. “Restaurants are unnecessarily expensive.” “I hate the music the clubs play”. “I can’t handle arm-wrestling with crowds on the dance floor." "I hate having to drive back after partying.” And so the house party has emerged the sly and silent winner. Making dancing in your pyjamas sound as exotic as partying in the Carribean. Ten on ten. For being cheaper, noisier, safer, and making life a tad easier for the cops.

Some day (and maybe in the very near future), if I’m asked the question “What are you going to be doing for New Years” – I think I am likely to say any one of the following:

• Arranging my wardrobe (because Swacch Bharat begins from your room) 
• Eating the most delicious curd rice for dinner (because the comfort of the familiar is all you need)
• Knitting a sweater (because I want to start a new hobby maybe?)
• Watching Mithun on TV dancing to I am a Disco Dancer (because I am too old to dance myself)

Judge me if you will. Give me a minus. Fail me on the acid test. But I will live to tell the tale.