‘Just about. And there’s no way I can become good enough to be able to take part so soon. Unless you want me to drown? In which case, go ahead and sign me up, murderer.’
‘Fine, calm down,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘No need to be so dramatic. Let me think . . .’ Lucy tapped on her chin thoughtfully.
‘I think—’ Arjun began and we both turned to glare at him.
Arjun gave us the finger before stomping back to his desk, while Lucy continued to hmmm out loud while she pondered.
‘I know!’ she said finally. ‘You obviously can’t do a triathlon and I’m not sure if you should try and find Noah at one either. It’s a bit stalkerish.’
‘Agreed.’ I felt relieved. ‘So that’s it? We move on to the next item?’
‘That’s not it, Maya. The list is about experiences and doing different things, changing the course of your life. So you need to adapt it to something you can do.’
‘Which is?’
‘Running! You’re going to start running. It’s one-third of a triathlon. You’re going to train for Race for Life.’
‘What? Isn’t that 10K? There’s no way I’ll be able to do that! I can’t even run for the bus!’
‘I think there’s an option to do 5K. Look into it. You’re a paralegal, I’m sure you can figure it out. Anyway, Sheila’s coming and our lunch hour is up. I don’t want to be the next Arjun.’
Later that evening, I took Lucy’s suggestion on board and researched Race for Life. The race wasn’t for a few months and there was a 5K option that was more achievable than 10K, so I quickly signed up me and Lucy, giving us each a £500 target to raise. I also discovered an app created by the NHS called Couch to 5K that would help me train without having to waste money and join a gym. As well as getting fit and getting out of the house, I could also raise money for a good cause. It was pretty much win-win all round.
The downside of this plan was, of course, the fact that I would have to exercise. Movement and I weren’t the best of friends. We were barely acquaintances and were more like enemies. I was the girl who ran for the bus, tripped over her own shoelaces and ended up falling into dog poo. True story.
But maybe this would change things. I was doing something good. God wouldn’t punish me for that by landing me in shit – both the real and proverbial kind. In fact, He might reward me for my good deed. Hopefully in the shape of a tall, brown-haired man named N-O-A-H.
As I screenshot the confirmation of our participation and sent it to Lucy, I considered how, in a couple of weeks, my sixteen-year-long friendship with Dina had changed. I should have been doing this list malarkey with her, my best friend, not my work colleague. She hadn’t replied to my last few texts or emails, or returned my calls. I picked up my phone to write out a text to her and then stopped. The words were stuck on the tips of my fingers as well as in my throat and for the first time in all these years, I didn’t know what to say to her.
I revealed my training plans to my family as we sat down for dinner a short while later, omitting the inspiration behind my newfound desire to jog through the tired streets of Wood Green.
‘You? Run?’ Malik started laughing so hard that he almost choked on his mango lassi. It was Pakistani food that day: spicy and creamy butter chicken with homemade naan and a sweet and tangy chickpea chaat on the side. Baba picked up some fresh shingaras from Ambala – the pyramid-shaped ones with the flaky pastry stuffed with spiced potatoes and peas. Along with the mango lassis that I made when I was helping Ma earlier, it was a bit of a feast for a Thursday.
‘You could do with joining me,’ I replied smoothly as he reached for his umpteenth naan. ‘Since we’re bride hunting for you and all that.’
‘I’ll be hunting you in a minute if you carry on like that!’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Ma interrupted before the bickering became a full-blown row. ‘We could all do with getting fitter. When are you going to start, jaan?’
‘Five thirty a.m. tomorrow, so I have enough time to get back, shower and get ready for work.’
‘Five thirty?’ Ma looked queasy. ‘I think I’ll join you when you go at a more decent hour.’
Baba grunted and reached for more butter chicken. I didn’t think he was up for it either.
I spent most of the evening ploughing through Ulysses instead of chilling with my usual Netflix shows and although it was tedious, sometimes sending me to sleep, I still felt a massive sense of accomplishment when I hit the 700-page mark.
I didn’t feel quite as enthusiastic about my upcoming run when my alarm went off the following morning. My eyes heavy with sleep, I snoozed it a couple of times and eventually managed to drag myself out of bed the third time.
‘Bloody Noah and his bloody list,’ I muttered to myself, not for the first time, as I staggered to the bathroom down the hall and splashed cold water on my face. ‘Bloody Lucy and her bloody ideas.’
Somehow managing to stuff my lethargic legs into my tatty leggings with a hole in the knee and pulling a faded hoodie over a crumpled T-shirt, I stumbled down the stairs and almost tripped over a figure sitting on the bottom step.
‘What the hell?’ I croaked, grabbing hold of the banister to prevent the fall. ‘Malik? Is that you?’
‘Who else is it going to be?’ Malik grumbled, standing up and stretching. ‘I could do with improving my fitness so I thought I’d join you on your runs.’
‘Wow, OK. At least now I don’t have to worry about getting mugged, stabbed or raped while I run around in the dark,’ I replied, trying to see the positive side of my brother – my endless teaser and tormentor – witnessing my attempts at moving my legs fast enough to constitute ‘running’. This was London after all and the semi-grimy side. Anything was possible.
We ventured outside the house, closing the front door gently behind us so as not to disturb our parents. The sun had yet to rise and the sky was still dark. Our street was completely still, but it was quiet most of the time anyway. Malik began to do stretches and gestured for me to copy him, so I half-heartedly followed suit, trying to ignore the fact that he could comfortably reach his toes whereas my fingers could barely pass my knees.
‘So, I was planning to do Couch to 5K,’ I admitted to Malik when he was finished showing off his elastic-band moves.
‘Wow, you really are a total beginner, aren’t you?’ he teased. ‘I’m going to jog and listen to music. Shall we take a brisk walk to Ducketts Common and then we can do our own thing there?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Pulling my hoodie tighter around my body, I followed Malik as he all but ran to the common. I don’t know how someone with such short legs (he’s only five-seven, which is on the tall side for a Bengali guy, but short for the UK average) could walk so fast. I’m short myself, at five-four and almost broke into a jog trying to keep up with him.
‘Slow down,’ I panted as we approached the common. ‘What’s wrong with strolling leisurely?’
‘I thought you wanted a proper workout?’
‘I don’t! I want to learn how to run so I can participate in Race for Life!’
