Knees don't lie

I’m not a fitness freak — more like a browned popcorn kernel who pirouettes.This piece is for the days when motivation hides under the duvet, when donuts feel like destiny, and when all you can manage is a little mobility and a lot of music. A treadmill, a confused jog, a soft halo (of sweat), and a whole lot of trying. Because sometimes, showing up is the only flex that matters. Age is just a number and the knees..they dont lie.

I’m not fiendishly obsessed with fitness. I like it ... it keeps me out of trouble. All that unchanneled energy needs a release valve. Otherwise, I would be that overly browned, nutty, salty popcorn — pirouetting in a blackened pressure cooker.

Most days, I follow a bunch of ’Grammers, try to sneak in more movement, more steps, eat clean...but to err is divinely human. Honestly, I feel like a walking oxymoron these days...spooning down coconut ice-cream and bench-pressing like it is going out of fashion.

There are mornings when a rainy sky and overcast hush beseech me to stay put. A cinnamon-laced donut oozing sizzling chocolate allure feels as forbidding as biting into the biblical apple while a good ol’ carrot lies on the countertop untouched. Some days, I skip straight to mobility...and then stay immobile for a long, languorous while.

And then come the guilt bursts, the need to break the inertia ...when I believe I am the supersonic boom. The result? A slightly confused apparition of a woman jogging around the neighbourhood, hair flying, much to the amusement of my neighbours.

I need to weigh in on CrossFit, I don't know why. Maybe, I am just being envious not jealous, mind you. There is a difference. The snatches, the snares, the pull, the push, the Thor-like intensity, the taut muscles, wow! Those Cross Fitters? Greek gods with humongous power. Definitely not created equal with the likes of me. Must be karma from an earlier birth, I tell myself. So do good. Go on that pilgrimage you have been putting off for so long. Do the dharma. Eat...hmm, earn the karma, the carrot on the countertop remember. This is my refrain now.

For now, I’m blissfully content as a beat-up jalopy — not an M340i BMW, sleek and shiny. Built for the long haul. Cruising steady-state. Headphones on, thoughts meandering.

The dreamer in me longs for soft sunlight, the susurrus of leaves, a gentle zephyr threading through my hair. But this is India — and the mercury is always in renegade, retrograde, and climbing.

The roads near my house are still under construction — cratered, dusty, waiting (hope against hope) for better days. Come monsoon, it becomes a moat. I’ll have to leap high and land soft — as my trainer says —because once you hit 40, the knees won't lie, they are your built-in lie detector.

So, for now, I run on a treadmill with Netflix in front. Sometimes indecipherable music in my ears. A go-between... the here and the there.

(And while we’re on moats...I wouldn’t mind an economic one for my brand. Sigh. Business goals.)

But there’s something seductive about running. I can’t explain what it is about the sticky hair, the sweat-drenched tee, the stubborn ache in my calves...that makes me want to do it all over again the next day.

The first five minutes are hell. You want to quit. Throw in the towel. Sprawl out on a couch with a cold lemonade. Air-conditioning whirring in the background.

But you don’t. You put one foot in front of the other. Slowly. Repeatedly. Until the cadence of your feet hitting the belt sounds like music to your ears. Consistency. That’s the real deal. Showing up...even when an Oompa Loompa on your shoulder whispers, “Let it go.”

You start slow. You find your stride. You stay.

And maybe... that’s what life is about, too.

Doing the same hard thing — again and again — with mule-like stubbornness, ten thousand times (Malcolm Gladwell–style), until, just maybe, you cross over into the realm of gods.

So don’t quit on yourself. Or your dreams.

Hang in tight. You’ve got this. Motor on for one more day.

Reach for the carrot.

I’ll be cheering for you — always. I write about what makes me smile… and what makes me toil.

 It’s a peek into my world — the chaos, the small wins, the big emotions… and the family that fuels it all.

I am just rolling, flowing, roiling… through everyday life.

 If this made you smile or chuckle, come back on Tuesdays and Thursdays for more stories to sip with your chai latte… or coffee. Molecularly yours,

Sanjana

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