The rehabilitation process was proving to be just as challenging mentally as it was physically. Each day brought a mix of progress and setbacks, moments of hope followed by flashes of frustration. Rohan had learned to manage the physical pain—his body was slowly adapting to the exercises, his hamstring gradually loosening and strengthening—but the mental strain was a different beast altogether.
One afternoon, Rohan sat in the rehab center after a particularly difficult session. His leg felt heavy, and his muscles were sore from the day's exercises. He had been working on increasing the range of motion in his leg, and while Rajiv had assured him that he was making progress, it didn't feel like it. The pace of recovery was agonizingly slow, and Rohan's patience was wearing thin.
"You're doing well, Rohan," Rajiv said as he massaged Rohan's leg, working out the tightness in his muscles. "Don't get discouraged. These things take time."
Rohan clenched his jaw, fighting back the frustration that had been building inside him. "I know. But it feels like I'm not moving forward fast enough. Like I'm stuck."
Rajiv paused, still massaging Rohan's leg, and looked up at him thoughtfully. "You're not stuck, Rohan. You're healing. There's a difference. Your body's doing exactly what it's supposed to do—recovering at its own pace. This isn't about speed. It's about making sure you recover properly so you don't risk reinjury."
Rohan sighed, leaning back on the padded table. He knew Rajiv was right, but the frustration still gnawed at him. The idea of not being able to control his progress was something he struggled with every day. Running had always been about pushing himself, about digging deep to find that extra gear. But this was different—this was about patience and discipline, two things Rohan had never been great at.
"What if I don't get back to where I was?" Rohan muttered, more to himself than to Rajiv. It was the fear that had been lurking at the back of his mind since the injury—the fear that no matter how hard he worked, he might never return to the level of performance he had before.
Rajiv straightened up, looking Rohan in the eye. "You will get back to running, Rohan. But it's important to understand that you might not be the same runner you were before—because you'll be a different runner. You'll be stronger, smarter, and more aware of your body. The key isn't to try and go back to who you were. It's about moving forward to become who you can be."
Rohan frowned, mulling over Rajiv's words. He had never thought of it that way before. All along, he had been trying to return to the runner he had been before the injury—the one who could fly down the track without a second thought. But maybe Rajiv was right. Maybe this was about becoming someone new, someone who could run with a deeper understanding of his limits and strengths.
"Focus on the small victories," Rajiv continued. "That's how you'll get through this. Every time you gain a little more flexibility, every time you're able to push a bit harder without pain—that's progress. It's not about the big leaps. It's about the small steps."
Rohan nodded, though the tightness in his chest didn't fully ease. He wanted to believe Rajiv, wanted to trust the process. But the doubts still lingered, a constant whisper in the back of his mind.
After the session, Rohan limped to the locker room, the soreness in his leg reminding him of how far he still had to go. He sat on the bench, staring at his reflection in the mirror across the room. His face was gaunt, shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights spent worrying about his future. He barely recognized the person looking back at him.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. Rohan glanced at the screen and saw a message from Ms. Mehra:
**"Keep your chin up. I've got something for you tomorrow that might help. Don't give up."**
Rohan felt a flicker of curiosity. Ms. Mehra had always been one to push him harder than anyone else, but she also knew when to offer the right encouragement at the right time. Whatever she had planned, Rohan hoped it would give him the boost he desperately needed.
---
The next morning, Rohan met Ms. Mehra at a café near the rehabilitation center. It was a small, quiet place, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city—a far cry from the high-energy environment he had been used to as an elite athlete.
Ms. Mehra was already seated when Rohan arrived, a cup of tea in front of her. She looked up as he approached, offering him a small nod of acknowledgment.
"You look better today," she observed as Rohan sat down across from her.
"I'm trying," Rohan admitted, though the heaviness still clung to him. "Rajiv's been helping me stay focused, but it's hard to keep going when everything feels so slow."
Ms. Mehra took a sip of her tea, her sharp eyes studying him. "I know it's tough, Rohan. But the process is just as important as the outcome. You've always been focused on results, but this is different. You're building yourself back up from the ground. That takes time, but it's also where you'll find your strength."
Rohan nodded, though he didn't say anything. Ms. Mehra had a way of cutting through his excuses and defenses, getting to the heart of what was really holding him back.
"I brought something for you," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small, worn book. She placed it on the table in front of him, her expression unreadable.
Rohan picked up the book and turned it over in his hands. The title caught his eye immediately: *The Race of My Life*—Milkha Singh's autobiography.
Rohan looked up at her in surprise. "You've mentioned Milkha Singh before, but…"
Ms. Mehra nodded. "I think you need to read this. Milkha Singh faced setbacks you can hardly imagine, Rohan. He lost everything—his family, his home—and still, he found a way to become one of the greatest athletes India has ever known. His story isn't just about winning races. It's about resilience, about fighting for every inch, and about finding your way through the darkness."
Rohan flipped through the pages, seeing the faded photographs of a young Milkha Singh and the stories of his early struggles. He had known about Milkha Singh's legendary status in Indian athletics, but he had never taken the time to fully understand the depth of what the man had gone through.
"He didn't have the best coaches or facilities," Ms. Mehra continued. "He didn't even have the support system that you have. But what he had was an unbreakable will to succeed. To him, running was about more than just winning. It was about survival."
Rohan felt a lump form in his throat as he thought about the comparison. His own struggles suddenly seemed so small in the grand scheme of things. Milkha Singh had overcome unimaginable odds, and yet here Rohan was, letting his injury make him question his entire existence as an athlete.
Ms. Mehra leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "This injury doesn't define you, Rohan. It's what you do with it that will define you. You're not the first athlete to go through this, and you won't be the last. But how you handle it—that's what will set you apart."
Rohan nodded, feeling a surge of emotion. He had spent so much time feeling sorry for himself, thinking that his injury had stolen his future. But maybe, just maybe, it was giving him a new path—a way to rebuild himself stronger than before.
"Read the book," Ms. Mehra said, her voice soft but firm. "Take your time with it. And remember that you're not alone in this."
Rohan slipped the book into his bag, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. As he left the café and made his way back to the rehabilitation center, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn't just about getting back to where he had been before the injury. It was about finding a new version of himself—one who could overcome even the toughest obstacles.
That evening, Rohan opened the book and began to read. He was immediately drawn into Milkha Singh's story, the raw honesty of his struggles, the way he had fought for every opportunity, every victory. As Rohan read about the hardships Milkha had endured, he felt a growing sense of connection—a shared understanding of what it meant to face seemingly insurmountable challenges and still find a way to keep going.
By the time Rohan finished reading the first few chapters, he felt something shift inside him. The weight of his injury didn't seem quite as heavy anymore. Yes, it was still there, and yes, the road ahead would be long and difficult. But he wasn't the first person to face adversity, and he wouldn't be the last.
Rohan set the book down on his bedside table, a small smile playing on his lips. He wasn't finished yet. Not even close.