A Work in Progress

As a restless kid in school, I wasn't drawn to books or blackboards. I didn't excel at studies, and I never quite understood the teaching methods we were supposed to follow. But I did understand the fire that rose inside me, anger, anxiety, questions I couldn't answer. So I found an outlet. I skipped classes to shoot hoops, practiced martial arts in hidden corners, and poured myself into movement. I didn't know it back then, but I was choosing a different kind of education, one that started with the body and healed the mind.

As I grew older, that love turned into obsession. But like most Indian kids raised in traditional homes, I had expectations to live up to, to become a top student, or fulfill my father's dream of joining the army. Yet something in me knew: sport was the only thing that kept me sane. So I bet on it. I started training seriously for MMA and committed seven years of my life to the sport.

In between training, I found brief escapes to the mountains. I even completed a basic mountaineering course, but living full-time in the mountains didn't make sense. Not yet.

Still, one childhood memory stuck with me like a compass: a family trip to Manali. I was tiny, maybe five years old. My dad pointed at a small rock that looked like Everest to me and said, “I'll give you some money if you climb that.” I did. And I remember the pride I felt. That feeling never left.

Years later, as COVID shut down the world, I found myself lost. I had gained weight, I was stuck indoors, and MMA no longer gave me purpose. Fighting in a cage felt more like proving something to others than a calling from within. I knew I had to get out, not just from my home, but from my old life.

When the first lockdown lifted, I packed my bags and left for the mountains with no plan. Just a little savings and a gut feeling that something new was waiting.

That's where running found me again. Some new friends ran to stay fit, and I joined them. At first, I hated it. Years of martial arts had taught me to see running as punishment. But in the mountains, it felt different. The terrain distracted me. The peaks invited me. I could run for hours, just watching the clouds move across the ridges.

Slowly, those friends stopped running. I didn't.

Then one day, I saw a man sprint up a mountain trail fast, minimal, and powerful. He wasn't a superhero. He looked like any of us. But he climbed in hours what others did in days. That was it. The spark I had lost came roaring back.

It's been five years since that moment.

Since then, I've raced, explored, and built a life from this passion.

Coaching came later, not because I always dreamed of teaching, but because I couldn't find the kind of coach I needed. Some were great athletes but lacked the ability to guide. Others had knowledge but not the experience to back it. I kept wishing someone could offer both.

So I became that person.

I studied. I tested things on myself. I signed up for the right certifications, learned from the best I could access, and kept applying every bit of it both on the trails and with people.

Today, coaching and running are two sides of the same fire. My time on the mountain makes me a better coach. My time with athletes makes me a sharper runner.