It was the greatest victory I could savour, while I limped back home with pride...

A cool, crisp morning, stomach full
Determination in my heart and
Liquid sloshing in my tummy
Albeit the wrong kind: Red Bull.

Two goals to achieve: to be injury-free
And the other to finish
Thirteen miles and one-tenth
Of sun and shade, asphalt and debris

99 being my runner's tag
Among 100 runners
Hoping I wouldn't finish last
And beaten by an old hag

Customary pictures taken, wishes galore,
A few stretches and warm-ups
The radio in my pocket
Plenty of gatorade in my store

Tried not to think about the 60-year-old lady
Who passed me on mile three
Nor the 12-year-old who flew by me
And whom I labelled totally crazy

The key to success is a sustained pace
They said, Slow and steady
No spurts of any sort, no sprints of any kind
If you want to win the race or just save face

Mile six and I was going smooth
No sign of the turn-around and I was worried so
My liquid nourishment was running low
It was dawning on me slowly, the truth

Hydrate, stressed my still functional brain
My legs screamed for energy on mile eight
My tummy rumbling away like no tomorrow
The worst was my bladder, placed under great strain.

The course, along the river would've been great
On any day but today with its inviting coolness
And little waves lapping on the shore
But not so in my tired, wornout state.

One mile 11 I found a partner in pain
Who was on her first half-marathon
Hah! Advice from one novice to another
Flowed freely and without rein.

A quarter mile from the finish and I faced abandonment
From my partner who ran away
While I struggled to walk
While my confidence was shaken bent.

I heard screaming finally, cheerful and loud
And caught a glimpse of my father, taking pictures
I crossed the finish line with a groan
With cramped legs but admiration from the crowd.

While I lay on the grass overwhelmed by
Cramps, exhaustion and encouragement.
The acknowledgement of people around me
Not the sense of accomplishment or the adrenaline high

Was the greatest victory I could savour, while I limped back home with pride...

I used to be...

Those were the days when I was young and cared little
When living, loving, losing and lying were simple
Confusion, conflicts and a conscience I had not
I lived as though life was forgiving and short.

That's when I used to be...

My world laid out into neat squares of black and white
Happiness and liberty were my well-earned birthright
Decisions were easy, impulsive and instant
For I was feckless and free of any repent.

That's who I used to be...

Now I'm in a different place and in a different light
Yet somehow this feels so fitting and right
My old rose-tinted glasses were actually clouded
Not by warmth, but frosty shades of self-interest instead

That's how I used to be...

There's a burst of colour in my world these days
With violets, yellows, greens, red and yes, even greys.
I splash about in waves of uncertainty and fear every minute
But now I wonder how to add to life and not what I get from it.

This is who I am...

Unrequited love

Unrequited love is a good, healthy sentiment. It gives one the freedom to choose whom to shower affection, how much of it and when. If you are a control beast like I am, this is the perfect kind of love to give and in the process, enjoy every up and down moment. When your love is unreciprocated, there is no limit on how much love you want to shower or how little. There are days when I may not feel like loving at all. I may want to moulder in my own space. And there are days when I am overflowing with affection with an intensity that would put Romeo to shame. Why not show it selflessly and bask in the sunshine of all that love? When there is no expectation of a return gift, one is free to give without boundaries.

The problem steps in as soon as your love is reciprocated. There are the perennial perils of failing to match up to the same level of love as what you are receiving. You don’t want to love someone too much more or too little, compared to the other person. You are constantly re-calibrating your love scale when love is reciprocated. He has called me twice today. Should I call him twice today? Or more? Or once? He has written such a lovely poem for me. Should I write something back? I have told him something about my painful past. Should he not share something from his life too - after all, I was honest with him. 

Being in a real relationship, is like driving on a two-way street, you have to watch out for oncoming traffic, judge the spaces, distances and then move ahead and still make sure you never step over the lines. Isn’t it just less worrisome and more fun to drive on a one-way street? :-)