I had the strange experience of receiving a phone call from New Delhi on my mobile while travelling home on the train this evening. It was a chap called Rajesh from Air India, pleasantly telling me I had 15 minutes to give him my passport number to ensure that our flights to Chicago could be kept at the ludicrously low price of £250. It made for a tense final few minutes of the journey I can tell you, and a race back home once the train pulled into the village. But I just made it.
He gave me a London number to call, but I’m certain this was diverted to India. His accent gave him away. When I thanked him for the good service, he didn’t say "Yer welcome, Mate" but "Sir, it is my duty". A classic Indian Indianism, and one that made me smile nostalgically. India is the Greatest Show on Earth, and some aspect or other of the place drifts through my consciousness most days. I’ve spent about 8 months there in total, spread over 3 trips, though it’s been 12 years since I was last there. Perhaps they have a decent marathon? What a hoot that would be…
Returned to the gym this evening to try out a treadmill for the first time. A strange experience, as there’s a full-size mirror in front of you, so you have to pound along on the spot, glaring at yourself. After a while I started laughing, much to the consternation of my solemn companions.
At least I know something new about my running form. It’s appalling. My right foot bends inwards as I run. Chronically so. This was mentioned to me by the nice lady in Easy Runner in Bristol on Feb 25th. She said "You’ve got a wicked twist in your right foot, you know", as she watched me jog along the pavement in one of the many hundreds of pairs of shoes I tried on that day. I thought she was complimenting me but no, I now see that it was a dispassionate observation about my perverse running style. I’d forgotten about the remark until this evening when I had one of those all-too-rare opportunities to watch myself running towards… myself. And there it was. The wicked twist. So what about it?
I can’t help feeling it must be an inefficient way of running. Perhaps this was why the world record eluded me at the London Marathon in April. Perhaps I must now accept that it will always remain just beyond my grasp. Though looking on the bright side, perhaps if I mention it to the doctor I’ll be able to park nearer to the entrance to the supermarket.
