One more trail running this weekend

Okay, okay! I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that I am thinking of nothing else but running. Many of my blogs are about running. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong—though not entirely right either. Currently, many things are going on. Pre-festive office work and end-of-year deadlines have piled up with their own urgency. Feast and festivals arrive one after another, and the kids, with their homework and their deadlines, are priorities among the priorities.

And yet, somewhere between all of this, I managed to steal a few hours for myself, to have a long run on the weekend. This week, I chose to continue where I left last week, Tika Bhairav - Dakchankali route. 

I started running from home toward Tika Bhairav, and picking up the trail from where I had left it last time. By then, I had already covered about 11 kilometres. From there, I joined the trail running route of the Manjushree Valley Rim. Compared to last week, the hills felt gentler (or maybe I am stronger). The hills are different but equally majestic.

To my surprise, the valley rim remains far less spoiled than one would expect, considering Kathmandu’s so-called urban expansion. Up there, the city’s noise fades. I continue to hear the aeroplane sounds heading towards the airport. The air smelled fresh, the houses, cow shades and quiteness, the villageness lingered quietly along the route. But I can see, urban is arriving at lightning speed. The dirt road has penetrated the hills and farms.

As I run, the sun rose slowly from the east, evaporating the morning mist layer by layer, as if unveiling the landscape, which looks like an oil painting, the view I captured on my mobile phone. I stood there longer than I had planned, simply enjoying it. Some moments deserve more than a passing glance, even on a run.

Along the way, chautaris and bhangyans spoke of older settlements, places designed with pauses and talk to the neighbours. I am sure Facebook groups will soon take over the Chautari guff. I wish these Chautari live longer to continue human discussions and interactions. Stretches of forest sections on the way added an expected thrill and a bit of challenge, and fear while passing alone.

It feels like crossing a suspension bridge and a river is like turning a page of a book. There would surely be a newness in a new page. As I passed one of the bridges, the old town of Pharping began to appear, quietly, step by step. The uphill forced me to walk, and I took the opportunity to speak to the locals I met along the way.

“How far is Pharping?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes for you, now,” came the reply—measured not in kilometres, but in time.

I had maps on my phone, of course, but talking to people along the trail always feels more joyful. They were more than happy to guide me, often suggesting shortcuts that maps never reveal. Or they would ask me where I am from.

By the time I reached Dakshinkali, the distance I had run was almost 25 kilometres. My legs were tired, but my mind felt strangely light. I called and ended the day, and enjoyed a Khuwa Burger.

I took a Pathau ride on the way back. The driver was interesting. He was 57 years 57-year-old man with millions of stories on life and philosophy. I was taken by his view on life. His three kids are well settled. His one daughter was in Canada and his son was in Korea. The third kid was completing Nursing soon, and he was still working hard. He said not to earn more but to live more. He shared his life full of difficulties when he moved from his village to Kathmandu at the age of 14. At the end of the journey, I thanked him for the journey and his stories. Late afternoon, I picked up the two news books for December. Happy Reading.