The vada pav stall outside my station does more business in two hours than some restaurants do all day. He isn't working harder. He's standing in a better place.

We keep the phone next to the pillow and then ask for discipline at six in the morning.

Somewhere along the way, you picked up a sentence about yourself.

– I'm not a morning person.
– I'm bad with money.

Slowly, it stops being a description and starts working as an instruction.

It was never a fact about you. It's a count. And counts can be changed.

You get home late and tired, and the run isn't happening. Fine.

The skip is never the problem. What follows it is.

So shrink it instead. Two minutes. One page. To the end of the lane and back.

It does nothing for your fitness, and that was never the point.

My first week in Mumbai, the 8:47 fast from Andheri felt impossible. The crowd would build and I'd stand there deciding. Usually I waited.

Months later I moved like the regulars did, and I couldn't tell you when it started. Nobody taught me. The mornings just added up.