Oxygen, Organisers & The Omnipresent Runners’ Spirit

If there’s one thing we’ve learned from Indian running groups, it’s this: oxygen may run out at altitude, but opinions? They have infinite supply and zero cut-off.

This week, a high altitude run event lit up social media like a misplaced headlamp at midnight, Like a bad gel at 35 km—runners collapsing, a few rushed to hospitals post event, a few claiming medical support was as elusive as a PR on a headwind day. But amidst the chaos, there's also the pure elation of those who conquered the challenge, their photos radiating victory. It's a classic race-day paradox: for every story of struggle, there's another of triumph. The online conversation has been as entertaining as any race-day meme, reminding us all that in a high-altitude race, the only thing you can truly count on is your own two feet, and maybe a well-placed aid station—fingers crossed.

But let’s not get distracted. This wasn’t just another race report. It was a perfect reminder of that holy trinity of long-distance running:
👉 Organisers who want the prestige without the protocols.
👉 Runners who want the medal without the mileage.
👉 Social media that wants the drama without the disclaimers.

🫁 Altitude Isn’t Instagram

Running at 11,000+ feet is not the same as running your Sunday 10K in Lodhi Garden followed by poha-jalebi. Yet, many arrived at a high altitude place with more selfie sticks than salt sticks. Acclimatization became equal to “check in early, post a reel with clouds, tag #BreathlessButBeautiful.”

One post even mentioned: “Acclimatization ke liye I reached three days early.” Bro, three days early works for a Goa bachelor party, not for 21 km at 11,500 ft.

And here’s the kicker: some of these very runners, who waltz in unprepared, later shout from rooftops about “poor medical facilities” and “organiser incompetence.” Yes, valid concerns. But when you start your HAA prep with shopping for matching gaiters instead of a proper medical check, you’ve already flouted rule one of the sport.

🚑 Organisers: Prestige ≠ Preparation

Let’s also not spare the organisers. A race of this prestige needs protocols stricter than an army mess dinner. Ambulances, oxygen stations, trained staff—these aren’t luxuries. They’re bare minimum.

Instead, we had stories of “volunteers offering water but not knowing how to help when someone collapsed.”

Dear organisers, medals and banners can wait. The most important thing at altitude is not the finisher’s medal. It’s the finisher.

🏃 Runners’ Spirit or Runners’ Shortcut?

Now, onto the sacred cow of running groups: “Runners’ Spirit.”

Ah, the magical excuse that covers every loophole. Share a bib? “Runners’ spirit.” Get pacing from a friend on a scooty? “Runners’ spirit.” Get pushed 200 meters to the finish line, and then post a long emotional write-up about camaraderie? “Pure runners’ spirit.”

Case in point: a lady in a past ultra who not only accepted outside help to the finish but then had the audacity to brag about her podium. That too, with hashtags celebrating “grit” and “resilience.”

Irony died a slow, wheezing death that day. Because the real grit would’ve been to say: “I was helped, I don’t deserve this podium, let’s give the award to the rightful runner.”

But no. Social media gold > running ethics.

💸 Discount Hunters Anonymous

The other hot potato in our group chat: discounts.

FRunners are among the fittest, most disciplined, most decorated set of runners you’ll meet. Top 1% of the country, easily. Yet, the begging for discount codes before every event makes them look like they’re shopping in Sarojini Nagar.

“Any discount code?” appears more often in running chats than “Where’s the hydration station?”

One wise soul quipped: “FRunners top 1% in fitness, but bottom 1% in jugaad.” We rest our case.

⚖️ Rules for Some, Privileges for Others

Here’s the part no one likes to admit. In certain fraternities, runners are given special privileges—no medical certificate? No problem. Missed the trial run? Arre, chalta hai, “in-house runner” hai. Need a late bib entry? “Connection” hai.

But the same folks are the first to throw shade at organisers when chaos unfolds: “Rules should be stricter! Medical checks compulsory! Organisers careless!”

Hello, pot? Kettle calling.

You can’t demand world-class protocols while sneaking in through side doors. Either respect the rules for yourself, or stop quoting them for others.

📱 Social Media: Medal > Morals

At the heart of this circus is the social media compulsion. Every medal must be flaunted, every PB must be written about, and every setback must be turned into a TED Talk.

A runner collapses, gets external help, and then—poof!—two hours later, it’s an Instagram post with words like “community,” “courage,” and “indomitable spirit.”

Call it what you want, but sometimes, it’s less about “indomitable spirit” and more about “indomitable Wi-Fi.”

🎯 Closing Stride

Marathons are tough. High Altitude Marathon is tougher. But perhaps the toughest challenge of all is to run with integrity when nobody’s watching, and to post with humility when everybody is.

So here’s the takeaway:

• Organisers, prep like lives depend on it—because they do.

• Runners, respect altitude more than Instagram.

• And for heaven’s sake, let’s stop stretching the definition of “runners’ spirit” to cover shortcuts, outside help, and shameless bragging.

And in the end, at 11,500 feet, oxygen may run low — but opinions, discounts, and drama? They always run high

And that, dear runners, is the only altitude sickness no one wants to cure. 🏃♂️💨😎

Because Medals are shiny, yes. But Ethics? They Sparkle Longer.