My attempts to incorporate some (any) form of physical activity in my life have ranged from the strangely optimistic (I once bought a gym membership for an entire year) to the vaguely absurd (I once signed up for a sport that involved catching hen).

I've finally found something I like doing. Running.

I can barely believe this myself, but I really do enjoy it. The reasons are many.

I chanced upon a great site, Lifemojo, that had a series of articles on how to run, how not to run and how to look good while doing it.

Two things got me started. One, I learnt that I didn't have to run fast. Apparently, it was most appropriate to run at a speed that could allow conversation. I liked that thumbrule. Two, I realised that I didn't have to run a lot, at a stretch. Small bursts of activity (at least to start off with) were recommended. I liked that even more.

Incidentally, I also found my schedule become less arbitrary, and that lent itself well to a 30-min slot being free almost every day. Better still, this slot was in the evening. That meant no early morning wake up struggles. More importantly, there was the cloak of darkness to hide that flab bouncing around, a garden that is practically free of humanity after sundown and a cool, gentle breeze for company almost unfailingly.

What I like most about running, though, is that my mind practically goes blank. I find myself unable to hold on to any train of thought, mostly because I am trying to concentrate on doing what I am doing right. As a beginner runner (not even that actually), I try and ensure that I am breathing right, running at the right pace, stepping in the right place and that my track pants are not falling off. I am like a newbie driver who has to look out for a hundred things while driving, and hence finds himself/herself unable to let the mind drift around.

I have been reading up a little bit on Vipassana, and I found what I experience to be somewhat in line with what they say one must experience when one is meditating. I find myself concentrating on my breathing, and I find emotions come and go without reacting (or being able to react) to them. That can't be such a bad thing.

The 30-minutes of blankness, then, are like a different form of meditation, and that goes well with a life that is unpredictable at best, and absurd at worst.