On a Friday evening, many aeons ago, my husband somehow managed to convince me to join him on his morning jog the next day. I agreed, but only in a moment of weakness, when my mind was not with me.
I put forth two conditions – the first was that we would walk and not jog, and the second was that we would not rise with the birds or beat the sun at his game. We would rise only when my eyes opened of their own volition. My dear husband agreed to both these conditions.
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and I was ready for this – walking shoes, cap and water bottle.
We set off at a normal pace, and reached the gate of our condo. Another couple, good friends of ours, were also leaving for their walk. We called out cheery good mornings to each other, and went our separate ways.
About 10 minutes into our walk, my husband was nearly a hundred metres ahead of me. I called and asked him to wait. And he stood there, as I walked quickly to join him.
Me: ‘I thought we were supposed to be walking together?’
Husband: ‘Hmm. Well we are supposed to be together, but you are strolling rather than walking.’
The irritation that wives reserve only for their husbands surfaced in me.
Me: ‘Look at my heart rate. My Fitbit shows that I am in the cardio range. Can’t help it if the ratio of our strides is 3:1, three steps for me and a giant leap for you!’
Husband: ‘So, do you want me to stroll with you? I will hardly burn any calories.’
Me: ‘Nope. You go ahead and run, and blaze a trail. I will go for my own morning stroll. Bye!’
Husband: ‘Ok, bye.’
He sounded relieved. And..that was that. My husband’s form took off in a jog, I was not going to follow him. I took the opposite road.
After an hour of walking, I got back to the condo, and the other friends that we had seen earlier were also returning from their walk.
We smiled at each other, and they asked, ‘Where’s your husband?’
‘We took different routes’, I said, and smiled.
A really polite smile.