Nepal, July 12 -- One Saturday morning, while the city still slept under a blanket of smog and silence, my friend Swastika dragged me out of bed to join her run club that she went to every week with the promise of post-run pastries and good company. I was sceptical. To me, running was a solo pilgrimage-a breathless, existential argument between my lungs and my will to live. And group runs? I only ever saw them in movies with boot camps and barking sergeants. I figured there was no space in that scene for someone like me. But that morning, something shifted. Maybe it was the cool air. Maybe it was trying something new and coming out of my comfort zone. Or then just maybe-it was the pastries.

By 6:30 am, I had officially become 'That Perso...