Dearest Reader,

If you thought the toughest marathon challenge was conquering Heartbreak Hill, gasping up the flyovers of Delhi, or surviving the hydration station bananas, allow me to enlighten you. The real endurance test isn’t on asphalt at all. It’s on WhatsApp.

Yes, the true Ultra doesn’t involve GU gels and pace charts, but emojis, pinned messages, and the occasional “leftover slots” comment that lands harder than a hamstring cramp.

The Innocent Beginning

It started, as all dramas do, with the most harmless of intentions: a cheerful post-run lunch invite. Simple, right? Share carbs, clink glasses, maybe trade notes on sore calves and Garmin tantrums. But ah, dear reader, nothing is ever simple when you mix runners, groups, and that most volatile element of all — perceived exclusivity.

One harmless invite spiraled faster than a 100m sprint final. Suddenly, it wasn’t about lunch at all. It was about who was invited, who wasn’t, and who had to wait for “leftovers.” You’d think we were rationing wedding laddoos in 1975.

Group Politics: The Deluxe Edition

Some groups pride themselves on their exclusivity: Bib histories checked, medals weighed, PB Noted, gate passes stamped and in our case, familiarity and references. Others are open house carnivals where everyone — from the Runner to the Runner’s Cat — can share their Sunday long run story.

Both work. Both have their charms. Until, of course, someone feels slighted. And then we are no longer talking about biryani. We are talking about principle. Or at least, WhatsApp’s version of it.

The Admins’ Tightrope Walk

Spare a thought for the admins. Once simple keepers of the peace, they suddenly found themselves refereeing a gully cricket match with no rulebook.

“It’s not exclusion, it’s logistics,” they explained.
“We did a poll, we booked a venue, please eat your carbs in peace,” they begged.

But once the sentiment of injustice seeps into a chat, no pasta bowl is big enough to absorb it.

The Sulkers & The Spectators

And then there are the sulkers — every family function has one. The guest who sits in the corner, sighing dramatically, certain the samosas taste better at the other table.

Around them, the spectators thrive. Those clever souls who never break a sweat but always have a popcorn emoji ready. (Admins are marking a few with Yellow right now, soon will be changed to Red).. They keep the pot simmering with an “LOL 😂” here and a “Well said 👏” there, all while secretly plotting their weekend LSD.

Discount Codes & Diplomacy

As if lunches weren’t enough, soon discount codes and registration forms entered the fray. Who got the first link? Who got the bigger cashback? Why did the XL tee sell out before the M?

Suddenly the admin desk looked less like a runners’ group and more like a railway booking counter in May.

Closing Stride

And so, dear reader, another chapter in the grand soap opera of runners’ groups comes to a close. No podiums here, no medals either — just bruised egos, sore thumbs, and a suspiciously soggy bread roll someone swore was artisan focaccia.

In the end, what unites us isn’t the invite list, the admin polls, or the mysterious leftover slots. It’s the run itself. The laughter at 5 AM start lines. The chai after (Jalebi most often in Allahabad). The FRunner group tee that sometimes fits badly but still gets proudly worn.

So here’s your reminder:

“Let the sulkers sulk, the admins explain, and the emojis fly. For as long as the road stretches ahead, the spirit of the run — and the post-run carbs — will always matter more than who got the last of the tipsy pudding.”

Until the next delicious episode of Runners of Our Lives, keep your bibs safe, your sense of humour sharper than your pace, and your WhatsApp notifications firmly on mute (especially post 2000 hrs).

P.S. If this made you chuckle, do the runner’s duty — pass it along to your running buddies outside the Group too. After all, laughter is the only PR worth chasing. the whatsapp share button is just below.