When the Commanding Officer ran like a recruit

From National Defence Academy ‘innovations’ to battlefield fitness — lessons that stayed for life

By Brig Advitya Madan (retd)

There’s a certain kind of silence that descends on a parade ground before a 5 km run — a mix of dread, disbelief, and quiet bargaining with one’s calf muscles. On that blistering Abohar (Punjab) morning in 2004, the sun was already glaring down with the fury of an outraged drill Havildar when I stepped out of my gypsy in full Field Service Marching Order.

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My second-in-command’s jaw dropped so low it could have qualified for a separate parade. He had expected his Commanding Officer to show up in a comfortable PT dress, wave cheerfully from a shaded jeep, and deliver the ritual pep talk about “team spirit” and “exceeding limits.” Instead, there I was — strapped, loaded, and armed with a 9mm carbine, ready to run shoulder to shoulder with the men.

The Brigade staff, too, looked like they’d spotted a UFO. “Sir, you’re running the 5 km?” asked the Brigade Major, blinking furiously as if to reset his mental compass. To their collective horror (and mild admiration), I nodded.

You see, most officers of my vintage had perfected the art of supervising fitness from the comfort of an open gypsy. The vehicle would zip up and down the track, honking encouragement, while soldiers gasped their way to glory — or at least to the “Satisfactory” enclosure. But I had other plans.

Perhaps it was nostalgia from the National Defence Academy days — where we had invented our own “innovations” to shave seconds off the clock. We carried half-empty haversacks and hollow water bottles, convinced we were tactical geniuses (we weren’t). Now, as Commanding Officer, I decided to test the same tricks from the other side of the clipboard. So I ran with the men — full pack, full bottle — and then checked everyone’s load afterward. You could see the surprise on faces when their CO bent over to weigh a haversack or slosh a bottle. The shock was as good as an extra lap.

Even later, as Deputy Commander and then as NCC Group Commander, the habit stayed. Before one NCC test, my deputy pleaded, “Sir, this is NCC — someone may faint! The court of inquiry will eat us alive.” But discipline and fitness don’t wear different uniforms. So once again, I laced up, loaded up, and ran. Nobody fainted — except perhaps a few spectators in disbelief.

Years later, listening to the US Secretary of War exhort American generals to maintain battlefield fitness, I smiled. The Indian Army is now enforcing uniform physical standards across all ranks — from Agniveer to General. About time, I thought.

Because the lesson is simple: leadership is not shouting from the jeep. It’s sweating on the track.

Onward and upward — with full bottle and fuller spirit.

(The author is a retired Army officer)