Just Put a Tick on the Calendar

A few months ago, I discovered that running a hundred steps could be surprisingly difficult.

Not a hundred meters. Not a kilometer. Just a hundred steps.

I would run a hundred steps, walk until my breathing settled, and then run another hundred. It wasn't much of a running programme, and to be honest, I wasn't much of a runner either.

I had put on weight and was badly out of shape. The previous year had taken its toll on me. A demanding stint at Amazon had been followed by my move into the space sector—an exciting transition, but one that placed me back at the bottom of a very steep learning curve. Professionally, everything was new. Personally, I wasn't handling it particularly well.

Whisky had become a little too regular a companion. It was easy to tell myself I was unwinding after a stressful day, when in reality I was often trying to numb the pressure. Along with that came something I have always been rather good at—judging myself harshly.

Had I made the right decision leaving the Air Force?

Was I good enough for this new role?

Was I simply an imposter who had somehow wandered into rooms where I didn't belong?

Those questions have a habit of becoming louder after forty.

I knew I couldn't answer all of them overnight. But I could answer one very simple question every morning.

Can I put on my shoes and step outside?

The first few mornings were miserable.

Getting out of bed felt strangely familiar. It reminded me of RIMC and NDA, where early mornings weren't optional. Someone else decided you were getting up. Decades later, nobody cared whether I ran or stayed in bed. Oddly enough, that freedom made it harder.

So I lowered the standard.

I wasn't trying to become a good runner.

I was simply trying to become a shameless runner.

I could run slowly. I could walk. I could look thoroughly unimpressive trotting through the darkness while half the city slept. None of that mattered.

Just go out.

Some mornings I managed only a few hundred running steps. Other mornings I felt surprisingly light. I stopped trying to predict which morning it would be.

And somewhere during those runs, I realised I had survived something difficult before using the same approach.

Years earlier, while preparing for the GMAT, I was already on the other side of forty and still flying operationally. Study time was never available in neat two-hour blocks. It came in stolen hours—before work, after flying, between commitments.

The GMAT was tougher than I had bargained for.

Quant had Problem Solving and Data Sufficiency. Verbal had Sentence Correction, Critical Reasoning and Reading Comprehension. Every subject seemed to demand attention at the same time.

The bigger problem, however, wasn't the syllabus.

It was me.

Every evening I judged the quality of my study.

Did I study enough today?

Was this session productive?

Should I have done another chapter?

The exam had quietly become a daily report card on my self-worth.

One evening, more out of frustration than wisdom, I made a calendar and stuck it on my wall.

I wrote the subjects down against each day.

Problem Solving.

Data Sufficiency.

Sentence Correction.

Critical Reasoning.

Reading Comprehension.

And one line for physical exercise.

If I touched a subject that day, I put a tick against it.

That was it.

No color coding. No productivity app. No streak counter.

Just a pen and a calendar.

The calendar asked me only one question:

Did you show up today?

If the answer was yes, I earned a tick.

Slowly the blank spaces disappeared.

The wall filled with ticks.

Looking at that calendar did something unexpected. The pressure reduced. I stopped demanding that every day had to be an excellent day.

Could I have studied better?

Of course I could have.

There were days when that tick was probably a generous assessment of my efforts.

But did the ticking help me?

Without a doubt.

Years passed.

There was ISB. Then Amazon. Then another career transition into the space industry. Somewhere in all that movement, the calendar disappeared from my life.

Until, without realising it, I recreated it.

Only this time there wasn't a calendar on the wall.

The tick became getting out of the door.

Went outside? Tick.

Ran a hundred steps and walked? Tick.

Had a terrible run but still completed it? Tick.

Didn't feel like running at all but went anyway? Perhaps that was the most valuable tick of all.

It has been around three months now.

I haven't transformed into a marathon champion. I still have weight to lose. I still have mornings when the first kilometer makes me wonder why I ever thought running was a sensible hobby.

But something has changed.

The hundred steps that once felt impossible don't feel impossible anymore.

Recently, almost on impulse, I registered for the Hyderabad Half Marathon.

Forty days to prepare.

Will I finish under three hours? I don't know.

Will I end up walking more than I expect? Quite possibly.

Will I regret registering somewhere around kilometers
sixteen? I suspect I will.

And strangely, I'm okay with that.

Because I don't think this story is about a half marathon.

I used to believe that calendar helped me prepare for the GMAT.

Looking back, I think it taught me something much more useful.

There are seasons in life when we can chase excellence—better grades, faster times, bigger roles, promotions and personal bests.

And then there are seasons when life becomes heavy. Career transitions. Self-doubt. Weight gain. Stress. Days when simply getting out of bed feels like work.

During those seasons, constantly asking "Was I good enough today?" becomes another form of punishment.

Maybe the better question is much smaller.

Did I show up?

If the answer is yes, put a tick on the calendar.

Tomorrow, do it again.

This morning I ran my hundred steps.

I walked until I got my breath back.

Then I started running again.

Tick.