I pity my eyes. They are forced to see so many things thanks to my wayward profession – film maker, copywriter, communications consultant at large…with the emphasis on LARGE…

Frankly, I get to see many more things than the average Joe who has to get his dose of kicks and enervating visuals from his neighbors’ television set…or from funny videos on YouTube.

But definitely one of the more painful things my eyes have to see are a breed of humans called the joggers.

Now please don’t go all google-eyed on me and remind me of tear jerkers like Bhaag Milka Bhaag…docudramas like Paan Singh Tomar and so on. And don’t you dare lecture me on the visual wonders of an early morning jog…the clear skies, the short skirts, the not so gently wiggling posteriors and heaving chests, the sweaty t-shirts and all the other things that health freaks look for and look like.

There is something about a man…or a woman…who runs for the sake of running…every time I see one of them athletes, the words of a childhood song come to mind…I don’t know where I am going…but I am going there fast…Sheesssshhh!!!

This mindless running, and most of the times in circles, baffles me. A Telugu movie that I saw sometime back had a trainee policeman ask why running was part of his training…he was after all…a cop…the good guy. The answer was…to catch a thief.

That made sense.

Also it made sense when as school boys we had to take part in races – from sprints to ‘marathons’…there was some inbuilt aspect of promoting the competitive spirit or whatever…

also when as a scout, you had to do the scout walk which meant a timed four kilometer walk, you dismissed it as an evil exercise that was part of survival training.

But having grown up, having imbibed whatever competitive spirits that are required…what is it that makes some people run. What is it that empowers this band on the run?

I mean, I can understand good health…and I can live with ‘walking’…it is after all a physical activity that pumps up your heart enough…and also gives you ample time to come to terms with your thoughts. Walking also means you continue being polite…slowing down and saying hello to a friend…even stopping for a cup of tea with someone…but running…running is rude…and sweaty…and breathless…and at the end of it all, it stinks.

And you know what makes it worse…that oh so superior attitude of them runners who have some milestone or the other to their credit. I ran the ‘Marathon’…I did the 800 in under…so bloody what???

So you could write better? So you could chase better? So you could parent better? So…what…

So you chisel your body into some forgotten Greek muscularity and show off a six pack…strange…have you ever thought about it…the original six pack was a term that referred to beer…and what beer gave you was a beer belly…now you flatten your tummy to starvation and call it a six pack…ironic or what?

Some of the funniest set of runners that I have seen are the vendors who hang around a hill station of sorts near Mumbai called Matheran…as you take the twisty turny train that takes you up the hills…you will see runners…running along the train…running up the slopes to catch you on the next turn…while you snack away inside a cute little chug-chug…bloody petty salesmen…

And then you have these serial Marathoners…

When someone asked Sir Edmund Hilary why he climbed the Mount Everest…apparently he replied…because it was there!!!

If someone were to ask a runner, why do you run…the correct answer should be…because I am mad. But damned if they hide from reality and say things like…I run for my passion…I run for my health…balls…they run for their lives. Scared little punks…scared of dying…scared of letting loose…scared of having to buy a larger size of clothes…

veritably…a bunch of scared-y poos. A bunch of wooses…

oh I can’t eat that…I can’t drink that…I have to watch my calories…I have to watch my figure…shit…how vain can you get? The world has better things to do…it has better things to see…

and believe me…it’s preferable to see a pretty young thing walk past you in a voluptuous manner…rather than see a stick rush past you in a hurry…where’s the fire?