Growing up in a beautiful hilly region where courage, valour, and athleticism are woven into daily life, I was surrounded by role models. I watched my father and uncles run and play sports with passion. I remember joining my father on his morning runs, dreaming of becoming an athlete myself.

Early challenges

But the dream ended before it truly began. During a school sports event, I was mocked for my knock knees—someone said, “You run like a hen.” The sting of those words lingered, and I was embarrassed. I just couldn’t continue to do what I loved. As I moved up to higher classes, I watched friends compete in athletics, wishing I could join them, but shyness and self-doubt held me back.

Rekindling the passion

Even in medical school, the urge to run never left me. I once had a chance to run a marathon. I tried to train, starting with short distances. I ran breathless, all alone, and soon my efforts fizzled out. The demands of MBBS and preparing for postgraduate exams left little room for anything else. My life became a blur of early mornings, library sessions, and restless, tiring nights.

Everything changed one fine day when I met an athlete in the library. Inspired by his passion for running, I decided to give running another shot. With his encouragement, I registered for my first 5K run, giving myself just 20 days to prepare. I began by jogging 500 meters, which left me breathless, but I persisted. By race day, I was able to run 2.5 km in a stretch.

First race experience

My brother joined me on race day for support. I was slow and breathless, but his encouragement kept me moving. My athlete friend finished his half marathon long before my 5K ordeal ended. My hands were on my knees, my lungs gasping for air, but somewhere deep inside, I was filled with pride and excitement. I had finally become part of the running community. I stood there, baffled, watching kids as young as six running alongside adults over eighty. It was a day I will never forget.

There was no turning back. I broke free from my self-imposed limitations and started running daily. The joy and energy I felt were incredible. Within days, I completed another 5K—this time, barefoot.

New Opportunities

My new workplace brought new opportunities. Here, everyone was into running and sports. Soon, I completed two 10K runs and met an ultra-runner who encouraged me to join the Summit Run—a 16K trail run in Manali.

The Summit Run

Soon, I found myself standing at the start line. With the tall Himalayas on either side, I was again surrounded by runners as young as seven and as old as sixty. I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The whistle blew, and we all surged forward into the mountains. I started my run with anticipation and anxiety, knowing the terrain ahead would be challenging. In all my exuberance, I started fast, and within the first 500 meters, I was gasping for breath, forcing me to slow down and steady myself. I recalled my mentor’s advice: “Slow and steady.”

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The initial stretch was exposed and open, the sun beating down relentlessly, making every stride feel heavier. I kept walking as quickly as I could. Soon, the runners thinned out. All I could see was the vastness of the mountains and the gentle whisper of the breeze. I felt a bit uneasy in that moment, but I picked up my courage and kept moving, climbing rocky hills and weaving through pine forests as the elevation increased.

At one point, I encountered a tall, thin man in his sixties, gracefully navigating the trails with his two hiking poles. His presence was reassuring, but soon he faded away. With fatigue already setting in and the disappointment of being alone kicking in, I spotted him standing still at some distance. As soon as he saw me approaching, he started walking again. That’s when I realized he was waiting for me, and that sense of camaraderie lifted my spirits.

The trail hugged the banks of the Beas River, its waters sparkling under the sunlight. It felt calm and serene. I saw a pack of mules trudge by, carrying heavy loads, reminding me that strength isn’t always about size—it’s about commitment and consistency. As I was some 500 meters from the peak, the heat intensified, and my skin felt like it was on fire. Every step I took felt like a burden. The altitude was also hitting me now. But somehow, I pushed myself to the top. Exhausted but exhilarated, I was greeted by cheers from volunteers and fellow runners. Energy bites and drinks awaited, and their encouragement fueled me for the journey ahead.

The return journey was a new challenge. The sun grew hotter, and the path was steeply down the hillside. My knees were already crying. I met the same elderly runner again, his energy unbeatable, as he cheered me on. The cool breeze, the serene beauty of the mountains, and the constant support around me made each step easier. The run became more than a physical test—it was a race against my own doubts and fears, a search for answers to problems that once seemed insurmountable.

A journey of self-discovery

I was never the sporty type as a child, struggling to run even 500 meters. Yet, I crossed the finish line of a 16 km trail run in 3 hours and 16 minutes.

Running had become more than a way to cover distance; it was a journey of self-discovery, revealing a stronger, wiser, and more resilient version of myself. Now I’m looking forward to the half marathon, eager to embrace new challenges and continue growing. Until then, I will run—taking one stride at a time!

Epilogue

If you’ve ever doubted yourself or hesitated to start something new, let my story be your motivation. Lace up your shoes, take that first step, and discover the strength within you. The journey is worth it!