On a breezy day at 7 AM, I was struggling to breathe. I was gasping for air, my body trying to pull in as much oxygen as possible. The breeze hit my sweat-soaked body, trying to cool me down.
And my body was confused. Six hours ago, I was drunk. I had slept for three hours. Completely sleep-deprived. And now I was running, lungs pumping like the nightingale from my high school English textbook.
Yeah, I had just completed a 12K run with my friend Nilim (shoutout). It wasn’t my first run, but it was one after ages. The last time I ran, I had decent stamina. I was slimmer—not an 80 kg junk-food-powered demon like now.
Back then, it felt normal. This time, it felt like a story.
It was around 1 AM. I was doom-scrolling Instagram when I got an email from my university. The subject line made my pupils widen:
“Application for Annual Marathon.”
I had tried to run last year, but due to ALD (Acute Laziness Disorder), I couldn’t wake up and missed it.
But this time felt different. It was my last year at university. And I wanted to stop abusing my body—which had become a storage tank for sugary drinks, fried food, and processed junk.
So there I was—lying in bed, one hand scrolling reels, the other holding blue Lays—deciding that this time I will run.
(Yeah, I see the irony too.)
The marathon was 10 days away. I just had to keep that motivation alive.
Days passed quickly. Suddenly it was March 6. The marathon was on the 8th. The fire was still there. I was excited.
But there was a problem.
Humans are social animals. I didn’t want to run alone.
I asked my friends to join. One by one, everyone said no. Each had their reasons. With every rejection, my motivation dropped. I started doubting myself.
Then came the main character: Nilim.
Like me, he also suffers from ALD—probably worse. I met him on Holi. We were both wandering around, talking about random ideas, overanalyzing things, appreciating each other’s thoughts.
Out of nowhere, the marathon came up.
We agreed to run.
Honestly, I didn’t expect that from him. But my eyes lit up. Now I had someone with me. We shook hands and locked it in.
Now comes the twist.
The day before the marathon, I heard someone say: “Thik aase, aaji khai dim.”
A plan was forming—Gin night.
We had been trying to get this specific gin (Cherrapunji Gin), but it wasn’t available nearby. The nearest place was 700 km away. Luckily, someone coming back from there could bring it.
So the plan was set: drink that night.
I was conflicted. I had a “Colosseum fight” the next morning (the marathon), but I also didn’t want to miss the fun.
So I came up with a genius plan: Start at 6 PM → Finish by 8 → Sleep → Wake up fresh.
Perfect balance.
At least in my head.
The day moved on. The closer it got, the more excited I became—not for the run, but for the gin.
The plan:
- Gin arrives at 5
- Food prep by 6
- Eat + drink till 9
- Sleep at 10
- Wake at 3 → conquer the world
I admired myself. What a perfect plan. Peak efficiency.
Reality hit.
We actually started at 8 PM.
Don’t ask me how. Even I don’t know.
Everything blurred. Time disappeared. Suddenly, doubts started creeping in:
- Should I run tomorrow?
- What’s the point?
- I should just rest.
I convinced myself. I wasn’t running.
We drank. We laughed. Everything felt amazing. Time flew. Suddenly it was 12 AM. I could barely stand.
I somehow got back to my room. No plans for tomorrow. Fully convinced I made the right decision.
Then Nilim texted:
*Have some motivation *
*You're a God *
You can do anything bc
It might not make sense to you. But it did to me.
I decided—I’m running.
I slept at 12. And somehow woke up at 3—before the alarm.
It happens when something feels important enough.
I woke up dizzy. Put my right foot in the left slipper. Managed to get ready.
I was dehydrated but couldn’t drink much. Stepped out into the pitch-dark night.
Nilim was waiting at the intersection.
On the way, three dogs followed me, howling. Normally terrifying—but in that state, nothing felt real.
I was dealing with nausea, a hangover, dizziness—everything at once.
We reached the starting point. Around 30 people were there. We were easily among the most unfit.
Instead of warming up, we were admiring the shoes of elite runners.
The whistle blew. The race started.
Within 1 km, we were done.
Years of junk food and neglect showed up instantly. But we didn’t stop.
Running without stamina feels like meditation. Your thoughts start sorting themselves out. You gain clarity.
I realized how badly I had been treating my body. Problems in my life started making sense.
At 7 km, my body gave up.
I don’t know how I reached that far. My body wanted to stop. My mind wanted to continue.
Then something clicked: Progress is the only thing that saves you.
So I didn’t stop.
Slowly, painfully, step by step—I finished the run.
Finishing didn’t feel like a big achievement. I wasn’t excited. Not proud in the usual way.
But internally, I was happy.
Not because I completed it—but because of what happened during the run.
It gave me clarity. It cleared my judgment. I felt more decisive. More aware.
That feeling—nothing else gives me that.
At least, not yet.
That’s it.