Threads of yarn

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I went for a run yesterday to Hanging Gardens. The plan was to run a few (1 or 2, depending on fitness levels) repeats on the slope (3-4 km), have breakfast and head home. Something truly magical happened. I couldn’t stop and it was a 10 km slope run through Walkeshwar and Peddar road. At one point at a signal I asked a septuagenarian for directions to Hanging Gardens through Peddar road.

Him – Take a left and then a sharp left. But beta, it is quite steep

Me – Haanji, Uncleji. It is hill repeats day today.

When I approached L in May, my red flags were that I couldn’t get out of bed for a run and couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for blogging and the gym. Something was truly wrong. Was I bored of running? Is it because I stopped running half marathons and there was nothing to train for anymore?

Like a friend said – Your life has turned around for the better

Me – Has it? How do I know it is for the better and not for worse? Most days I don’t even know what am doing. What if counting your blessings jinxes it?

Thoughts in my head are like tangled threads of yarn. I need to look for a free end, pick it up, start wrapping it around my hand neatly till I get to the last end. Then store it aside in a box with all the other untangled balls.

Why did I stop running? And why was it effortless now? Running keeps me sane and I rely on it to get me through shit in my life. But if I can’t run at the low points, how do I survive? If the drugs that are supposed to help are not to be taken when you are low, how do you get better?

My theory is that I need to be at a certain minimum threshold of mental health to push me out of bed for a run. As long as am above it, running is the only therapy I need. But when it falls below that, it is a red flag and I need help.


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