Running Scared

He stirred groggily from his bed and instinctively reached for the alarm that had been annoying. He was tempted to hit the snooze button but woke up nonetheless, after a fight with himself. As he rose from his slumber he mumbled under his breath, cursing himself for having to wake at such an ungodly hour, when the whole world was nicely tucked up in their beds. Why oh why did he have to sign up for another Full Marathon when he had made promise to himself, never again?  But then promises were meant to be broken, and the pull of doing another full can be irresistible, and blame it on peer pressure. Well whatever the reason may be, he had gone back on his promise and signed up for yet another full marathon and now it was time to train. So he woke up trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

He grudgingly brushed his teeth, drank his coffee black, prepared his hydration, and applied Vaseline in places unmentionable  otherwise there would be great burning from all the chafing, ek runner ka dard only ek runner samajenga, he thought to himself, letting a smile break on his face. He got dressed and put on his running gear. He completed his warm up and patiently waited for his Garmin to catch the GPS. And when it did, he put on his music and off he went.

Initially started slowly and then building pace. It was the weekend long run, so it was endurance over speed. He maintained a steady pace desperately fighting sleep and the temptation of speeding up and getting the run done with. Finally he gave into temptation and picked up his pace.

As ran down deserted, unlit streets, where the streets had no name nor did they have their street lights on, he ran quickly but with caution, lest he trip on a speed breaker or a pothole or a sleeping dog. He could never fathom the need for switching off street lights considering it was still pitch dark outside, and there were times when they remained on evening in the morning light. Something’s you can never understand. He tried to not to think too much about it and continue with his run.

There was not a single soul on the road, a few stray rats, peered from their comfy abode to see which fool had taken to street at this dreadful hour. A few stray dogs stirred from their slumber and gave pace, I mean chase, forcing him to up his pace, or else it would be his flesh and their teeth.

Somehow he managed to get away from them, like he and many runners have always done. But in the bargain he tripped on a speed breaker and had a nasty tumble (with the speed breaker doing its job and breaking his speed). He picked himself up and dusted himself off and checked for any injuries. Beside some minor bruises he seemed fine. So he took off and continued with his run.

A few minutes later, he felt a dull pain. At first he decided to ignore it, after all he lived by the notion no pain no gain (however, inappropriate it may have been at time), but then pain got worse as he continued to run. He had to stop, almost wincing in pain. He couldn’t go any further. So he tried to see if he could find a way to get back. 

Unfortunately there was not a soul on the street, not even a single car had passed by. He hobbled for a bit trying to muster all the strength he could, praying for any form of divine intervention. Low and behold he spotted a headlight coming his way. Was this the light at the end of the tunnel, or just the oncoming train that would knock him over, pass him by. He could make out a silhouette of a driver wearing a cap, which he felt was odd thing to do, but then it was not the time for bordering about men with caps.

To his great relief it began to slow down, coming to a halt right in front of him. He could hear the hallelujah ring out, his prayers were answered! Ok his prayers at the moment were answered. He quickly got into the back seat and thanked the driver profusely for coming to his aid. He tried to dust himself off as the car slowly began to move on. 

He explained his predicament to his saviour. But he felt there was something odd, something not quite right. He tried to ignore it blaming it on the tricks his mind was playing on him. The car was moving at almost snail pace (if snails had one), which he found very odd. Was there something wrong with the vehicle? He asked this a couple of times but got no response.

When he finally peered at the seat, he got the fright of his life. There was no one there, the cap was placed on the headrest of the seat which created the illusion of a driver. Who was driving the car? He thought to himself. The car seemed to be steering itself. To his utter dismay, the car began to catch speed. He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. He began to panic. He could feel his heart beat against his chest, threatening to burst out, tearing his chest open like the creature from alien. He tried to scream, to bang against the glass but nothing seemed to work. 

Today was not his day, or was it his last day. This was not the way he wanted to go. He wanted to go up in a blaze of glory and not blaze and be gory. He began to say his prayers, feeling his heart in his mouth, any moment he would just vomit it out. 

The car began to slow down, coming to a halt near a petrol pump. He felt his prayers were answered, he was saved, or was he? He once again tried the doors. To his delight it opened. He forgot his pain and began to run from there, making a dash for it, as fast as his feet could take him, screaming “bhoot, bhoot!” as he passed by a bemused attendant. He needed get as far and fast as possible from that car.

The attendant looked at him with bemusement. He asked the man who was huffing and puffing behind the car, who the man was? He replied that he didn’t know who he was, he had run out of petrol and had been pushing the car all this way, after briefly loosing the car when it began to go down a slope.

An Orgasmic Workout

If you  should chance to step into a gym, if you aren’t a gym rat like me (though that’s a term I detest to be known as but in reality I know I am), you know you’re stepping into a testosterone filled space (would that be same for women too???) 

The puffed chests, the pumped biceps, the sound of clanging plates, of pumping iron, with each trying to out do the other, an unspoken competition between the gym rats. But above all the clatter and the idle chatter (yes you can find it in the gym too) and over the din of the music blasting over the sound system, comes that grunt of giving it your all in the final set, feeling the burn.

Then there are those who grunt incessantly throughout their workout. And sometimes these grunts can be quite suggestive, awkwardly funny (you know what I am getting at). They sound like their getting some action (which is actually true in the literal of sense), in the heat of moment, filled with passion (damn they seem to be quite passionate about workout in a different way). Oh come on you definitely heard these sounds before, one way or the other, you can’t  be all that sanskari!

All the sound that they make makes you wonder what are they actually upto. It sounds more like they are  humping around, climaxing, reaching the point of no return, an orgasm (damn they seem to be quite passionate.... about their workout).  It’s like what the f@#%, get a room, why do you want to let your bedroom secret out? Why do you want the world to know the sounds you make in the bedroom?

Sometimes you wonder if they are aware of the sounds they make? But then you see the ear buds and you know the are deaf to themselves. So they continue to grunt to their hearts content, oblivious to the sounds coming out of them, much to the  embarrassment, awkwardness, amusement of those who happen to find themselves in the gym at the same time as them.

You wonder if you should give them the eye roll, or give them the WTF stare, or just plainly chuckle at their obnoxiousness. But no matter you know that no matter what you do or try to do there’s no stopping then from having one orgasmic workout.

DNF: A Tale of not Finishing what You Started

You win some... and the you learn some... you never ever loose.

Flashback to third Sunday of January, Peddar Road, struggling with cramps and tightened muscles, unable to run up that slope, I muttered to myself, never ever would I attempt the full marathon at Mumbai again.

Flash forward to sometime in August, convinced by a friend and fellow Runner, once again signed up for the full at Mumbai. Come December, had managed around only two 30 plus kilometres. Finally in January finished my third 30 plus kilometres run.

Two days before D-day, greedily gobbled a couple of five stars that a friend/colleague had got on the pretext of carb loading (to hide my weakness for chocolates). What followed was just an outcome of the gobbling.

A day before race day tried to keep myself light and not eat much, but then what was done was done, no matter how much you try to keep yourself light you will always be too light (after sometime I felt like a gas balloon).

The nocturnal visits to the loo should have been good indications I needed to sit this one and join my friends at the cheerzone, but then you have your Male bravado that makes you think that you can do it and it would be a great achievement. So decided to go ahead and run (much to the charging of my mum... on hindsight... Mother knows best).

The morning was nice and cool and started off strong, thanks to my buddy Dylan. At the back of my head there was a voice whispering in ears (don’t really hear voices... or do I... i solemnly swear I am not crazy) that I had this one the bag and who knows even a personal best could be (talk about wishful thinking).

So thanks to Dylan, went pretty strong till the 16th km. But after there was a something not quite right. Felt something weird and lightheaded, so began to walk, asking Dylan to move on. Walking made me feel like a man returning home after a night of debauchery, a badly hung man (chocolate hangover is what you could call it). 

So groggily walked till I managed to find an aide station with a doctor. On the way had many runners, some known friends, some unknown friends, asking me if I am ok or need any assistance, and walk to the side of the road so as to avoid having runners running into me (who said runners have only their PBs on their mind).

So at the Aid station, was attended by this  pretty Doctor (yes Sam she was pretty) who gave me so much ORSL and water to drink (enough for me to never want to consume it again... advantage Enerzal and Fast and Up) to help to get my pulse rate back to normal and rehydrate myself. 

So lay there, drinking ORSL and water and seeing the volunteers and physios struggle to tend the runners as they suffered strains, aches and pains, trying to be as patient as they possibly could be. So after a good 20 minutes (or was it, I was too light headed to notice) she gave discharge (if I can say so) and warned me to walk to the finish line and not to run.

Setting out I realised I had a good 27 kms more to go and the sun was out and the weather was getting warmer. So with a heavy heart and light head, decided to call it a day (cause it was just not my day). Called my friends for help (cause this wise man didn’t carry any cash with him) who came to my rescue and dropped me off at Mahalaxmi, from where I made my way back to the Holding Area to get my bag with a bruised ego and a broken heart but no way with my legs between my tail, or is it tail between my legs, so confused, blame it on the light headedness.

Seeing all the runners with their medals made feel a stab of guilt if i just gave up without giving it my all. It made me want to go on a social media detox, to go and live under a rock for the next couple of days. But then I told myself discretion is better part of valour, I will always bounce back, come back stronger, there will always be a next time (and all the things you tell yourself to pacify your ego).

The day thought me a very important lesson, eating 5 Stars is not form of a carb loading and I have a bad weakness for chocolates (as if someone needed to tell me this), and no matter how well you train, what you eat a day before can... pure kiye karye pe pani dal sakta hain (not bad for a non-Hindi speaker).

P.S.: Got to thank my friends and fellow runners who stopped by to check on me while I groggily made my way, and even called and messaged after the race. 

To the pretty Doctor (yes sam I am thanking her) who tended to me and got me back in my feet, and the entire volunteering team.

Lastly, definitely not the least, the two angelic friends who came to my rescue, Dee and Jenn, thank you so much, you guys know you’re the best.

Finally, the race gave two medals, one for you and the other for the person who inspires you. As I didn’t complete my run, I didn’t deserve my medal, so I didn’t collect either medals. But Sharad Chaturvedi the inspiration medal was for you, cause you have and will always inspire me.

To Love a Man

There are so many songs that serenade a woman and how to love her and how to treat her and how to hold her. Yeah we get it, you’re beautiful, inside and outside, and your beauty is beyond compare, and there’s no one like you in this world. But how about a song on what it takes to love a man? We are not as simple as you take us to be, well not as complicated either. We may not want to be serenaded, but how about a song for us too (not like the ones from Game of Thrones)?

Well as the ladies are busy writing songs on how they have not been treated fair (which in all fairness is true), how life has been hard on them, and how they have been cheated on, so it is upto us men to shine light on what it is like to love a man. Now remember this just an opinion and may not represent all of mankind, so please don’t come at me with pitchforks and torches to hunt and burn me down.

So let’s start! Not all men are Male-Chauvinistic pigs, may be some presidents and ministers and a few men but not all men. Yes we have century old of hardwiring that has been soldered in our brains, so it’s going to take us a while to unlearn what has been drummed into our head. Trust us, we are trying, well at least a few us.

Chivalry ain’t dead, in fact it is alive and kicking. It all depends on your upbringing and what your parents thought they taught you. But then if you believe in equal rights then treat her the way you would like to be treated. Trust me, most women actually like these things, it shows them R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

We may (with the emphasis on “May”) have read, seen and even liked (shudder) the 50 Shades movies and books, but we don’t believe in dominant and submissive. What we do believe that when egos are kept in check, we can have a good and healthy relationship. Remember we are all humans and as humans we do mistake, so we can’t always be right.

We may seem to have an attention span of a goldfish and memory like Dory, but we will certainly make up for our forgetfulness (that’s if we are that forgetful). No matter how un romantic we may seem, we can be romantic and spontaneous when we are not pushed to it. Remember it took Chandler to complete Monica’s proposal.

It’s a common misconception that we keep thinking about sex every three minutes (or is it less?). Oh come on, we can’t be thinking of that much sex, we do think about food, cricket, football, and “Oh hell, what did we forget now?”

Our eyes may stray, but heart is always with the one we love the most. So though the eyes may follow the good looker it will always return to the one that holds the heart.

Just as there is Daddy’s little girl, we will have the mummas boy. But trust me this is the most uncomfortable thing to juggle, to satisfy two people at once.

We are bad at answering trick questions. We have left answering questions in college. Besides what’s the use of answering something for which you already know the answer.

We may seem forgetful, untidy, indisciplined, wild, but know that we will do what we can for love. Cause if it is meant to be we will do all we can.

We may believe that we are the breadwinner, the provider, the giver, but every help is more than welcome. It may seem that it would hurt our fragile egos, but the truth be told we believe in all hands on deck.

As much as we love caring and taking care, we love to be cared for and taken care. We may not always express it, but we love to be loved and showered with all the attention.

We may not show it but can be an emotional wreck. For all the machoism and bravado that we display, we are a softie on the inside. We may not show it public cause we don’t want to hurt our image or we need to keep up a strong exterior, but we too hurt, we too tear up, sometimes into ugly tears, but we do.

So there you have it, it may not be exhaustive, but here’s your guide to what it takes to love a man... according me. So it doesn’t matter your gender or preference, these are just a few aspects for it. And once again we have a right to our opinion and I respect yours as much as I have respect mines, so please don’t kill me for it.