Couch to half-marathon

After spending 24 glorious years stuck to a couch or a bed, I decided to start running because I was at a location where I had loads of time and nothing to do, and a roomie* who was 'into' running. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why someone would just run, and that too for hours together. What's the aim of long distance running? Not going to do half marathons in 59 minutes ever, are we? So pick a skill-based competitive sport instead where a score can be kept and you can win and lose. Well, I haven't got an answer to this argument but fortunately, boredom made me pick up my sneakers that fateful day and tag along for a run. I think I lasted 2 km, with one break to catch my breath and a second permanent break where I prayed that my lungs and heart could take the pounding without stopping altogether. My roomie was away in the distance, running into the sunset, and came after an hour, saying 'Good run, na, let's do more tomorrow'

Let's do more tomorrow.

I think I agreed to go on a run again the next day, out of shame more than anything else, at not being able to run 2 km without dying at the end. So the exact same sequence of events repeated the next day. Not a meter more than 2 km. Death at the end of it. 20 minutes to normal heartbeat and ability to speak in full sentences. I think my innate competitive spirit was alive by now and it recognised that my roomie was too far ahead in fitness and so this was just competition with the self.

One more day, one more 2k run. At about 1800 meters, my lungs would cry for mercy and paradoxically, that would scare me into thinking I had only 10 seconds to go and run faster and break down quicker. Or if my lungs were in form, the moment I started thinking 'Only so much more to go' they would die on me as if on purpose. Thinking about the run and the goal while running, in general, was not helping. And one fine day, I was perhaps distracted with thoughts of work or something else. The first time I snapped back into reality from drifting, I had run 2.5 and my lungs were silent. No appeal from them to slow down or stop. I ran 3.5 before my lungs went like 'dude, let's not push it now, ok?'

So the secret was that there was no secret. You just keep running 2km every few days and dying at the end of your runs and cussing for taking up this insane hobby. And one day you will run 3.5 km and not even notice. And then another day will come when you can run 7. And then 10 and 15 and 17 and 21.

So whether you have had a good run or a bad run or a humiliating-will-never-eva-try-this-again run, just go home and do more the next time around.

* roomie = aseem kohli who is still fitter than most of us and can run at will