Lost & Found: The Joy of Running

As I sat reminiscing about what had brought me so close to quitting running; what was it that had changed, why did running – something that used to give me such unbridled joy – suddenly become so repulsive that I almost quit?

As I pondered, I looked at every aspect, even reading my own blog posts – past ones till the last one – to try and read between the lines, to try and see if there was some hidden meaning. I peeled away layer after layer to reach the core of the problem, so that the process of rectification and subsequent complete healing could begin from there. Things suddenly started to get clear. And as they got clear, they appeared more and more stark; and as they got starker, they hurt the eye and the soul more and more.

I realized my repulsion to running came from issues not related to running. Back in 2007-8, before I started running, I was your typical ‘young MBA with a career on the fast track’ type of a yuppie. Someone who took great pride in always being busy, not having a social life and generally trying to prove to the world and more importantly, to one’s peers and contemporaries, that I was ‘arriving’. I used to smoke. And it was vulgar smoking. I used to smoke because I enjoyed it. But I used to smoke Marlboro Lights because of the brand. And of course, one did need those pegs in the evening to round off the day.

I was living it up, life was good and I was truly running (pun unintended) the rat race. A not so pleasant side-effect of it was my waistline grew to 42” and the weight reached 97kgs and looked all set to cross a 100kgs. It was during this time that a friend was diagnosed with diabetes, high BP, cholesterol, heart trouble, the works. And I got scared, more by the restrictions it put on him.

The next day saw me at the gym. After the weight and measurements were taken, a workout schedule sent to be prepared, lecture on healthy eating and all that blah was done, the action began. I got close to the machines and was going to do that manly stuff like pumping iron et al. But me trying to do a benchpress (with the lowest weight possible with the svelte, sexy, PYT observing the oodles of fat rolling over and dangling off the edges of the bench did not for a pretty picture make. Sorry, understatement. It was downright obnoxious and nauseating. I saw the look on the PYT’s face so I know. For sure.

Thereafter, going to the gym was out. So what was the next best thing I could do? Swimming was out; I knew I’d look like a beached whale. Cycling was out too, and more out of pity for the poor cycle. After contemplating various other impossibilities like martial arts, gymnastics, etc. running was what it was. Fat people are seen on the road, so that was a comfort factor. No one had seen me walking/running before, so people wouldn’t recognize me. That was a comforting thought. I could run in an area where no one knew me, so that was good too. Actually in more ways than one, I did not start running for the right reasons. I started running because I had no other choice.

But as I ran, I began to slowly accept it. As 200 meters every two days increased to a 2k everyday and more, the compulsion became a choice, a choice I consciously made till it turned to love, till it became a passion.

Running offered me all that I wanted and all that I could want. It became my time alone with myself. Devoid of thoughts when the mind began to go blank around the 8k mark, I learnt to live with myself. I learnt how to, as a friend aptly put it during an email exchange, make partial sense of a nonsensical world. Running would be the answer to all my problems. It gave me all the time I wanted to think, it gave me an opportunity to unclutter my thoughts and more often than not, running would help me arrive at solutions related to non-running issues.

Running encouraged me to be free, to break away from the shackles of the regular, to break away from the bondages of habit. I was not restrained by space. I could run anywhere I wanted, whichever part of the city or out of it. I was not restricted by time. No one stopped me if I ran late in the mornings, early in the afternoons, late in the evenings or even in the dead of the night. I need not have had a fixed route. I could turn anywhere I wanted, run on a different route everyday or I could just pace up and down a particularly small stretch till I was done. Some days I would run slow, some days I would run fast. Some days I would run long and some days I would run far. Some days I would not run at all, I would just walk. And on some days I would run-walk. I could run on a beach, I could run up and down mountains and hills, I could run in the desert and if I ever gathered the guts to overcome the cold, I could run on snow too. I did not need to run only on the days I was working in town, I could run when I was on tour, I could run when I was on a holiday and I could run for all of the above reasons and circumstances as well as none of them.

Running offered me all the freedom that I chose to take. And the most important thing was that I was running for myself; I was not running for anyone or anything else.

So then, what happened that pushed me to the brink of quitting running? Exactly the same issues that had pushed me into running had begun to take root here and that was pushing me out of it. It was… no, it is getting all too technical and no one but no one seems to be running for themselves anymore. Everyone runs for just one inanimate, abstract concept – time. Pick up any account of running from the past year or so and chances are it’ll talk of just two things – distance and time and the various permutations and combinations thereof. One hears of all kinds of suffering that they have endured while running. There’s talk of dehydration, nausea, hitting the wall, ITBS, cramps, etc. etc. etc. or tough route, trails, tarmac, hills, sand, heat, humidity etc. Rarely, if ever, do I hear of anyone recounting what fun they had chasing their own shadows, no one talks of running faster than the plane flying overhead. No one speaks of the scenery that becomes visible as the sun rises. As the sun rises, all one hears are statements like, “Oh! Sun is up already, unless we cross kmX in the next 10 minutes, we’ll have to deal with hydration issues later.”

And no sooner does one cross the finish line than he gets to hear, “Shucks!! Missed a sub 4:30 by just 28 seconds!” “Cramps at the 26k mark screwed my chances of a sub 4:00.” “Man! I cannot believe I just did a sub 5:00.” No one but no one talks of how the run was. No one talks of what they saw. Because no one saw anything. Everyone was simply running for that inanimate, abstract concept called time. I can bet that almost no one who ran SCMM this year looked up at the building on the right (on the left when coming to the finish line) at Flora Fountain to see the heads looking down at us marathoners who were running not for themselves, but for time.

There are some amongst us who run to qualify, Boston or Comrades or what have you. But apart from those few, all of us essentially remain also-ran runners. And for a certain A to feel that G’s timing of 5:53:22 against T’s timing of  5:53:39 makes G a superior runner reminds me of an incident from my hostel days while in college. We would take a bath once a month because that was very convenient to us. A hostelmate used to consider himself more hygienic than us because his body used to get so itchy in 27 days that he had to have a bath.

I have been fortunate to also have done a 100-miler last year. And when I think of it, or when we who ran that run talk about it amongst ourselves, all we can think of is how we lay down bang in the middle of the trail for a nap at night, the sleepwalking, the lakes which looked beautiful with the rising sun, the dense green forests of the Aravalis, etc. Time just doesn’t figure, because we were running for ourselves, not for time.

And thus, it is a conscious decision to not run races anymore in a competitive spirit and try to be one-up among the last of the also-rans. I am not going to race. I am not going to be bothered about my timings. I am not going to keep a count of how many kilometers I ran. I am not going to have a set route to practice everyday, these, hills, those flyovers, those underpasses and that bridge. I am not going to look at training charts and do fartleks, hills, interval training and all that blah which makes running technical and takes the fun of running out of it. I am not going to run to be a part of yet another rat race. I got into running and was able to successfully get out of one rat race; I do not want to find myself trapped and running another.

I am going to run to enjoy myself. I am going to run because I want to run. I am going to run where I want, unshackled by space or locations. Regardless of whether or not I need to, I will not run to prove anything to anybody. As this friend of mine said yesterday during our email exchanges, “I love to run and I know I will not stop till I cannot go on any longer.”

As said earlier, it is a conscious decision to not run races anymore. Yes, I’ll be there for a few marathons – but those will mostly be to meet up with friends from all over that I have made while running. And maybe I’ll take another friend’s advice and start a ‘last minute bus’ at these races. Though I have serious doubts as to whether I will officially be allowed to be a ‘last minute bus’.

SCMM, 2012: The Planned Funeral Of My Running (Part-II)

(concluding part…continued from the earlier post)

Just another 100 meters or so, a left turn adjoining the Shivaji Park ground and I would be out and away. Running, which gave me so much and yet seemed to have taken away so much more, was now going to be a part of history – a history preferably forgotten. A quick look back and I was relieved that neither Asha nor Gaurav were in sight. It also helped that there was no one else behind me whom I knew. One look ahead and the 5:30 bus lurched on, running, chatting, laughing and partying. They would not miss me.

I realized I was running on the right hand side of the road and needed to cross over and get to the left, then get out. The commotion behind me told that the elite athletes were on their way towards me. Escape is much easier in a commotion. This was going to be perfect. With everyone concentrating on the elite runners, I would go unnoticed. The crowd that had gathered at Shivaji Park had made my task of quitting look very daunting at first. Now with the elite runners approaching, I knew it wasn’t going to be difficult at all.

But then, life has its own ways throwing the unexpected at you.

As I was crossing the road, some words like ‘runner’, ‘marathon, ‘Shivaji Park’, ‘wow’, ‘clap’, ‘photo’, etc. reached my ears. Everyone was preparing for the elite runners. I crossed the road. And ran into a thunderous applause. The elites had reached and while undoubtedly the applause was for them, I couldn’t resist imagining that the applause was for me as I got ready to quit just 20 meters ahead. “Fantastic way to end my last run,” I thought.

The applause continued. The pictures began to get clicked on cameras of all makes, shapes and sizes. As the cameras continued to point at me, I knew the athletes were right behind me. A full minute passed and the cameras continued to point at me. I wondered why the elites had not crossed me till now. I looked back to see an empty road. The commotion of the approaching elite runners was still a little distance away. And then it struck me. The applause was for me. It was my pictures which were being clicked. The crowds were all cheering for me. The tee-shirt!! I was wearing a tee-shirt of the Shivaji Park Marathon Club and here I was at Shivaji Park. I was their hero!

All my meticulous planning came unstuck faster than a cheap imitation. Try as I might, I couldn’t get myself to quit. I had to keep these people’s faith in their heroes intact – however fleeting and momentary that faith might be. “Well, let me quit a little ahead. They’ll not get to know and what they do not know will not hurt them.” Since quitting had been postponed, I decided to pick up pace and rejoin the 5:30 bus. That bus was a party and I wanted to enjoy it till it lasted. Not much was left in any case. I crossed over to the other side of the road. There were spectators on that side of the road too.

Joining the 5:30 bus again, I started to run at their pace. Suddenly I felt my palm being opened and something being pressed into it. There was lady in her 60s, running along with me and she told me in chaste Marathi that she had given me some slices of oranges and some sugar crystals to give me energy right till the finish. And I was going to quit less than a kilometer away!! While that thought hurt, was a frail old lady’s kind gesture going to have any impact on my resolve? Absolutely none. “Too bad, Aunty.Your good deed has been wasted,” I thought, though the thought that she would never get to know did offer me some solace. My thoughts were broken by sudden loud sounds - the roar of the lead vehicle approaching. I saw the first of the elite runners zoom by. First the men, followed closely by the contingent of Indian elite who were followed by the women. All so fast, so graceful and so nimble on their feet yet with such giant strides, it was an absolute pleasure to watch them run. I realized I had stopped running and was rooted to the spot. Then I saw the elite runners had had the same effect on the entire 5:30 bus. All of us, I suppose, were imagining literally being in the elite athletes’ shoes, running their race. Once this cavalcade had passed, we resumed running. “Just a couple of hundred meters more,” I thought.

As I ran and started to get closer to the point where Vishwas the runner would die, my entire running life flashed before my eyes, just the way it happens in the movies. I recalled Kavitha’s emails, our telephone conversations. How she was trying to draw me out of the tragedy of BR-135. I recalled the communication with Brijesh and his quiet, unstinted support. When I said I would try till the last minute, even if it meant reaching the start line of BR-135 just a few seconds before the run began, Brijesh had said he that he would be there with me, crewing for me. I thought of Sabine’s promise that she’d be there to crew for BR-135 or any other race that I wanted to run. I recalled Tanvir’s advice that BR-135 not happening was not the end of the world. Anand’s enthusiasm and his exhorting me to prepare for other races flashed before my eyes. I recalled Natasha, Sunil Chainani, Yogesh, Kiran, Rahul, Gaurav, Amit, Sandeep, Danny and hordes of others who had expressed shock and anguish at my being unable to participate in BR-135 only for the paucity of a sponsor. I remembered Asha’s stark comment when I told her of my having to let go of BR-135. she had said, “Of course you couldn’t have gone; I couldn’t have been there to support you. Go next year and I’ll be there and complete the run good and proper.” I remembered the conversations with Sunil D’Souza, who offered me solace when my world came crashing down and has kept in touch since.

I went further back in time, remembering the list of marathons and ultra marathons that I had prepared with Sabine which we wanted to run. I recalled in vivid detail, the 100 miler at Bhati Lakes. I remember finishing KTM and thereafter, getting into some seedy watering hole at Mysore with Sandeep, drinking more draught beer than we could handle, swaggering out and swaying back to our respective hotel rooms. Beer since then has always been called a recovery drink and the walk back from a bar, the recovery run. I relived each step I had run at the Pedong Run. I remembered every run at Lonavla with Danny, Pradeep, Dilip Patil, Sushant, Satish and occasionally, Amit and Neepa.

Putting a brake on my thoughts, I looked around to see where I was so that I could quit. I realized I was alone. Rahul and the 5:30 bus had gone ahead. Tanvir and his 5:30 bus were just behind me; I slowed down further so that we could run a few steps together. Then he went off at his pace; he had the responsibility of getting his bus past the finish line withing 5:30. The place I was running in seemed familiar, but then, how could I have reached Worli so soon? How could I be headed towards INS Trata and on to Worli Seaface when just a couple of minutes back I was at Shivaji Park? Asha caught up with me here, said she wanted to try and catch Tanvir’s bus and went ahead. I too started running. At Worli Seaface, I was hit by the ‘big-toe-falling-off’ syndrome. I stopped to tape my toe and when I looked up, Gaurav was there, waiting for me to resume.

We started walking-running together. Frankly, I did not want Gaurav with me. It would make quitting tht much more difficult for me. I had planned to quit the moment we touched Dr. Annie Besant Road, not too far away. And I wanted that time alone, my last few moments of running for me to relive my life as a runner, to complete the thoughts that I had been thinking since Shivaji Park. Somehow, Gaurav simply refused to take any hints. I said that at our pace, we would miss the six hour deadline and asked him to go ahead. He only assured me that no such thing would happen. I told him to go ahead, he said he wanted to run with me. At Worli Seaface, I told Gaurav I wanted to take a nap and lay down on the grass on the road divider. At least now he would leave. Nothing of the sort happened. Gaurav was running backwards, stretching, relaxing his muscles and waiting for me to finish my nap. A couple of runners warned Gaurav against running backwards, stretching, etc. and instead concentrate on finishing. They very condescendingly told Gaurav that he still had a chance to finish within six hours. I raised my head and butting into the discussion they were having with Gaurav, told the guys that Gaurav was a 100-mile finisher. I thought this would lead to some sort of adulation, those guys wanting to run with Gaurav and would take Gaurav with them leaving me to think my thoughts and then, quit. But no, that did not happen. Gaurav wasn’t going anywhere, he was staying with me. And if Gaurav was with me, I had to kiss goodbye to all my chances of quitting this one.

Bearing the burden of my unlived thoughts, lifting the weight of not being able to DNF when I wanted to and battling the guilt of enjoying a run that was more of a compulsion, Gaurav and I started the walk-run-chat routine. Within no time, we were at Haji Ali Junction. Peddar Road went off in a jiffy. Just after the Peddar Road Flyover, Sejal Sheth briefly joined us. She asked what time we were targeting and seemed quite disgusted when we said we were looking to finish in less than 6:00 – our time would be between 5:55 and 5:59:59. After some mental maths, she asked if we planned to sprint the last 4-5k. We said no, we planned to walk a lot, chat a lot, run a little and finish just under 6:00. We must have sounded either like complete losers or certified loonies, for Sejal gave us that look before speeding off.

We kept at what we were doing. As we crossed the 40k mark, both Gaurav and I agreed that we would run the distance from 41k to 42.2k non-stop. But the 41k mark never came. Just before Flora Fountain, there was a mark which said 1k to finish. Since this wasn’t the same thing as a 41k marker, we continued walking-chatting-running. With less than 500 meters to the finish line, I started running. Someone shouted out, “You’re looking good!” I stopped, said a loud thank you and had a hearty laugh as the poor soul looked on. This was supposed to be my funeral and my looking good took on quite a different meaning today.

I need not emphasize that I ran the remaining distance to finish in 5:57. Gaurav finished right behind me.

Later that evening, after the jokes about extracting full value for money by staying on the course for the entire duration had been laughed at, after Gaurav left for Delhi, after Yogesh and I finished our recovery drinks, after the glutton in me had been satiated, I decided to write to the Race Director of Brazil-135 and explain the situation as it was to him, ask him if he’d consider my participation for 2013 and leave it at that. When you have lost everything that was there, including hope, there is nothing much to lose anyways, and so drafting such a letter becomes easy. A couple of beers in the gut, a nice buzz in the brain makes it easier. Mail drafted, I wasted no time in sending it out.

I got a reply the very next afternoon. It was practically a one liner inviting me again, saying he would see me during Br-135 in 2013.

So end of it all, my running continues. Vishwas the runner is dead. But he has been reincarnated as Vishwas the ultra runner. (Thank goodness I believed in weird things like reincarnation when Vishwas the runner died.) This one will survive; he will thrive.

As for BR-135, the efforts to rope in sponsors are on and I will not be making the mistakes I made the last time around.

Before I end, I would like to thank all those who have shown concern and made life worth… well… running. Whether or not their name finds mention in this or the previous post does not in any way dim my gratitude towards them. I will not thank them for I know words will never be able to do justice to what I feel. Some things are better left unsaid.

Now coming to the various training runs that have been planned through the year to prepare me for BR-135 and beyond… no, wait. That is for another post. 

SCMM, 2012: The Planned Funeral Of My Running (Part-I)

On 16^th December, 2011, we started our Nilgiris Run. It ended on 18^th December, 2011. The distance, elevations, descents, difficulty, cold, clouds, fog, mist, scenery et al called for a post that would be the mother of all posts. I had planned it all and on the way back to Ahmedabad from Bangalore, had also mentally jotted down all the points that the post would cover. This was going to be significant post; after all, it was my last training long run before Brazil.

Back in Ahmedabad, work took over for the first few days. Then, I got down to working on tying up the loose ends and readying myself for the Brazil trip. BR-135, where I was the only Indian ever to have been invited to run. One meeting after another took place with my sponsor. Everything was falling into place, yet something was not quite right. As the days extended, the feeling of something having gone terribly wrong continued to build up.

The sense of impending doom only strengthened on seeing a funeral procession soon after I left home. My meeting with my sponsor was short and far from sweet. All the niceties were cut out and it was plainspeak at its best. “Mr. Bhamburkar, we had considered your proposal positively but subsequently, we have had a relook at sponsoring you for the race at Brazil. We must understand that in India, running is not cricket. And very frankly, Mr. Bhamburkar, you are no Tendulkar…and the economic situation…blah, blah, blah…” I had heard what mattered. And what I heard was shattering.

That evening, I informed my teammates – Kavitha, Sabine, Anand, Brijesh and Tanvir that the race at Brazil had all but ended for us. That the sole sponsor I had banked upon and who had agreed to sponsor the entire trip had backed out. But I wasn’t ready to go down without putting up a fight, making a last ditch effort; such abject surrender was simply not acceptable to me.

The next few days were a far cry from lofty ideals like putting up a fight, making a last ditch effort, etc. I was reduced to literally going down on my knees, begging before anyone who even remotely seemed like he might be inclined to help.

During this time, I kept receiving emails from the organizers of Brazil–135. my name kept getting mentioned in all the emails sent out everywhere, for the athletes to watch out for. And finally, an email from them about their estimate of the top 10 athletes’ in the race for this year had my name in it too.

All of this did not make me feel I had a better case to approach potential sponsors from a position of strength. On the contrary, it made me bend over backwards, wallow before people I thought would be my sponsors, kneel before them and rub my nose in the dust in front of their shoes in the hope that that would make them agree to sponsoring at least a part of my endeavour at Brazil. Desperation sometimes makes one speaks a very dirty language and this is a case in point.

It cost me my self respect and it caused me to fall in my own eyes. So blinded was I with BR-135 and thereafter the Badwater 2012 dream that I did not stop to think what I was doing to myself. I also seriously thought of sponsoring the whole trip myself, but the firm ‘NO’ from each and every teammate stemmed the scope for any further discussion on this.

Finally on 10^th January, 2012, as decided, I let my team know that the Brazil Dream was truly and completely over. Each one of them replied back almost immediately about how we would train harder for next year, how we would be better prepared, how the team would get a year to bond, how all of it would lead to a much better performance in future, etc. etc. All the replies had the stuff one would see in a letter offering condolences. None of the letters were superfluous, all of them were completely genuine; but I knew they wouldn’t amount to anything in real terms. After all, such chances did not come again and again. For one, this BR-135 is a ‘by invitation only’ event and I had been invited – by dropping off at such short notice, I knew I had blown my chances of getting invited again. Secondly, along with BR-135, my Badwater 2012 dreams also lay shattered. All my running had come to naught. That I was one of only seven 100-mile finishers in India suddenly did not matter anymore. That all of this training had help up my running by quite a few notches also did not matter anymore.

I wasn’t just depressed, I was on the verge of being suicidal. I had decided that this much of running was enough and that it was time to hang up my running shoes. But hanging up my running shoes couldn’t be so immediate. My mother runs 21.1k at SCMM and I would have to accompany her to Mumbai. Telling her that I wasn’t running would upset her. So my plan was to get to the start line, run up to Shivaji Park, quit there and go off home – an inglorious DNF to an inglorious running career – and that would be the last that anyone would hear of me in the context of running. My plan was fixed and nothing, but nothing was going to change it. SCMM 2012 was going to be the funeral of my running.

Then Kavitha sent me an email of the 100 miler at the Thar Desert Run. My mind wavered but I pushed back all thoughts of running. SCMM, 2012, as I had decided, was going to be my funeral. Vishwas, the runner was no more.

Reaching Mumbai on 13^th January, I met up with Yogesh Chavan in the evening. As soon as we met he handed me a packet which had yellow and green fabric in it. “Brazilian colours!” my mind raced. “Your tee-shirt,” Yogesh said. I said, “I’ll wear it on the day after.” BR-135, a Brazilian race I could not go to and because of which I was going to quit running forever. And at SCMM, my absolute last run ever, I was going to be wearing Brazilian colours. I unfolded the tee-shirt to see ‘Shivaji Park Marathon Club’ emblazoned on the back of the tee-shirt as well as on the top left corner in front. This had to be destiny. I would be wearing a tee-shirt which had printed on it, the name of the area where I would be quitting running forever. Perfect.

Yogesh took us, my mother, Brijesh, who was staying the night with us and I for dinner. He told us that Shivaji Park Marathon Club members would meet the next morning and asked if we would join them. Brijesh and I did. A small run, a photosession and plenty of chatting later, we were back home. Brijesh left almost immediately for his appointment with Bruce Hargreaves.

Almost as soon as Brijesh left, Gaurav Madan called up. There had been some goof-up with the arrangements for his stay and he was wondering about the alternatives. My house was there, so there was no question of any alternative. A short while later, the three of us were off to World Trade Center at Cuffe Parade to collect our Running Number Bibs. We met Piyush Shah and Bhupendrasing Rajput at the entrance. As soon as we entered, Sandeep Shrivastava from Delhi was waiting. He had been waiting for quite some time to meet me. Bijay Nair, Sameer Sakpal and Mohammad Rafi Shaik were inside. It is always a pleasure to meet online friends in person. I suddenly remembered I had clean forgotten to order my finisher’s tee-shirt.”Might as well not have it,” I thought. “Tomorrow, in any case, is going to be the last run of my life and I have no intentions of finishing.” A little bit of chatting, a few pictures and we collected our Running Number Bibs and Goodie Bags. Sandeep Shrivastava patiently waited through all of this. Then we met Rajesh Vetcha, Sunil Menon and other Hyderabad Runners. While chatting with Sandeep Shrivastava, I mentioned about my flat, how it would be a fantastic idea to have as many outstation runners as the house can accommodate to be staying together next year and having a ball. I would be lying if I say I was unaffected. All these runners and I would be the only non-runner. Wouldn’t the bond that drew all of us runners close, not be slackened and wouldn’t I be an outsider amongst them? Something was tugging at my heartstrings and that tugging only grew stronger when Sandeep agreed that we all stay together next time.

After that, all of us split. Sandeep went back to his hotel. Gaurav wanted ‘honey’ (I don’t know if that was a pun. As they say, sometimes, ignorance is bliss.) As had been decided, Mom and I again met Yogesh who took us to meet Kiran Solanki and the four of us stuffed ourselves silly. Sorry, Kiran only sat, the three of us stuffed ourselves silly. Back home, an early dinner, good night and an early good morning.

On the way to Matunga Road Railway Station where Yogesh was waiting for Gaurav and I, I checked off the to do list for the day. Go to holding area, meet runners for one last time, start the run, run upto Shivaji Park and quit there. Look at the road one last time before walking away into oblivion.

The usual suspects were there in the holding area. Natasha Ramrathnam said hi, so did Roshni Rai. I met Sunil Chainani who was going to run 5k and then decide whether to run or quit, Rahul Verghese, Asha Arora, Tanvir Kazmi and Suresh Sheshadri. I met a lot of others, but my mind was such a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, everything is a blur.

We started off. Gaurav and I had planned to run together but I lost him somewhere in the holding area itself. Then I caught up with Tanvir. Asha was running with him. As Asha and I began to pick up pace, we left Tanvir’s 5:30 bus behind. We continued to pick up pace and at Marine Drive, caught up with Gaurav. As the three of us continued to run, we caught up with Princy Bhatnagar near Chowpatty. He was going faster than us. I kept up with Princy’s pace while Asha and Gaurav lagged behind and caught up with Sharma Uncle, Mandar and another runner from Shivaji Park Marathon Club. I continued my incessant chatter, something probably not appreciated by these serious runners. At Haji Ali Seaface, I caught up with Vinay and another runner from Hyderabad Runners. The phaltu jokes continued. By the time I reached Worli Seaface, I was alone. As I got on to the Bandra Worli Sea Link, I saw my mother coming in the opposite direction at the fag end of the half marathoners. Stopped, shook her hand and continued. One the Sea Link, I first met Sumedha Mahajan. She obviously wasn’t herself. The way she was running, something was wrong. Plus, she was doing a walk-run, something I had never seen her doing. I asked her and she said she was injured in a fall from the train while getting to the start. She was obviously in massive pain. I told her it would be wise of her to quit and not let ego aggravate her injury; an unsolicited advice I think she took. A little further on the sea link, I met Bhaveen Trivedi, a runner from Ahmedabad. We were walking, chatting and taking photographs. Asha caught up with us at that point. We walked a bit and chatted a bit when out of the blue, Asha said, “Race you till that point” indicating towards something about 200 meters away. I swear our speed would have given Usain Bolt a complex. Then we continued walking and chatting and not running till the end of the Sea Link. There, Rahul Verghese’s 5:30 bus caught up with us. They seemed to be having one big party and so we joined them. Gong at their pace meant upping our speed. A small deviation here. Last year during SCMM 2011, Asha, Rahul and I had finished together. Rahul had, in the course of that run gien me almonds soaked in water. We had discussed that the almonds would be good for my brain and would prevent me from undertaking insanities like running marathons. I graduated to ultramarathons in 2011 and even completed a 100-miler. Coming back to the present run, I kept pulling Rahul’s leg about how the disease (of brain suggesting insane things like distance running) had aggravated after eating the almonds he had given me last year.

I realized I was enjoying the run. Running gave me happiness. It brought positive thoughts to the fore. This was my last run and a run I had been forced into at that. I don’t know why I was happy running when I shouldn’t have been. Maybe stopping running wasn’t such a good idea after all. What am I saying??!! My decision to stop running was non-negotiable. Pushing such questions which might weaken my resolve firmly to te back of my mind, I continued to run.

As the bus kept moving forward, I kept pace. We were slowly approaching Shivaji Park. The end was near. I slowed down, let the bus go ahead so that I would, as planned, quit at Shivaji Park and slink away into oblivion.

(To be Continued…)

What's the Point?

About a week before the Bangalore Ultra, I called up Kavitha Kanaparthi at Bangalore to tell her that since the 100 miler at Bhati Lakes two weeks prior, I wasn't feeling motivated and did not really feel like doing the Bangalore Ultra. After all, the distance wasn't a challenge. Course wise, Bhati Lakes was much, much tougher, its own animal, so that was dampening my enthusiasm. Undoubtedly, with just 13 hours given to complete the 100k run, it was a tough call, but something in me had changed post the 100 miler. While earlier I used to think of and train towards a sub 4:00:00 finish at a marathon, wanting to qualify for Boston at least once in my life (and knowing it was beyond the realms of my capabilities, getting depressed about it), I am today absolutely comfortable in my own running style, my own pace and I understand that I could easily outrun most, if not all, Boston Marathoners in terms of distance. For me today, those who look for a 3:10 - 3:20 finish at a marathon to even register are just elitist jerks, speed freaks. And I am absolutely alright with the compliment being returned. (I too might be an elitist jerk, a distance freak.) I have my own space as do the faster runners. To each, his own. As I ended my rant, all that Kavitha said was, "Vishwas, if you do not feel like running the Bangalore Ultra, don't bother. If you're not feeling upto it, obviously your body is telling you something and in such a situation, pushing your body could result in the one thing that all of us want to avoid at any cost - an injury. Right now, our only focus has to be Brazil 135 and anything that we do or don't do has to be with Brazil in mind." Perfectly logical. And coming as it did from Kavitha (she's Chief of my crew so I am a little less obstinate with her) also did help to drive the point home.

Kavitha is someone whose name had been recommended to me and I was told that I should ask her to crew for me at Brazil. That she herself was a 100-mile finisher, that she had crewed for Arun Bharadwaj at Badwater, that she had crewing experience, that she would know exactly what to do etc. etc. I spoke to Kavitha, requested her, she agreed to crew for me and before we knew it, Kavitha was Chief of Crew, a friend, philosopher and guide for everything related to running and insofar as running was concerned, my Agony Aunt as well. So when Kavitha told me that it was okay if I did not run at the Bangalore Ultra, I immediately made the cancellations in my head and went to bed. I slept peacefully.

But as I woke up the next morning, I was as illogical as runners are wont to be when it came to running. I decided I was going to Bangalore. Only to collect the t-shirt, I reasoned with myself. Umm, well, maybe after doing that I would take a call about how I felt and then decide the future course of action. Of course, I reached Bangalore. Of course, I got the t-shirt. And then I thought, "Of course, I need to be there at the start line. It wasn't necessary, maybe I shouldn't... but what the heck, I'll be there anyways." And once there, maybe, just maybe, if the temptation to run overcame me, I definitely and most certainly wouldn't run more than one loop which would come to 12.5k. Absolutely firm in my resolve.

Come race day, Tanvir and I woke up, began to get ready. For the first time ever, I wasn't ready at 3:15am, the time to leave for Hasergatta. Maybe I should shave, I thought, as if that was going to matter as I ran. Maybe I should get into my other shorts, the ones with the orange trims instead of the ones I was wearing. Oh! If only I had got my headphones along, I could have downloaded some music along the way to Hasergatta and listened to it on the run. Damn!!! (It is a different story that I have never ever listened to music while running, but on Sunday, 13th November, 2011, it was a "Damn!!!" type of a situation.)

As Tanvir prodded me telling me that we were dangerously close to me missing my start time (he was to start an hour after I did), I urgently needed to use the loo. It did occur to me that I should ask Tanvir to go ahead and I should go back to sleep. What was the point in doing this, after all? The course, as compared to Bhati Lakes, was a cakewalk. The distance did not enthuse, there was no challenge. And to go all the way right across town to run a 12.5k, if at all? What was the point, I really did not understand.

I recalled a conversation with Sabine not too long ago. In the freewheeling chat that we had, I had told her that I would be there to ensure that she crossed the finish line at 50k. I had told her that we'd do a run-walk, that there would be no time targets, that we'd enjoy the scenery, bitch about why we were taking part in the ordeal, chit chat about anything and everything  under the sun and generally enjoy ourselves. If we ran out of topics to talk about, or if we stopped enjoying what we were doing, we would stop right there, the DNF notwithstanding. It was imperative that we enjoyed what we were doing. It would also help us address and overcome the issues that were affecting the runs and that were discussed in course of our chat... but wait, why is this finding a mention in this post?

Cutting back to the original topic, because I had promised Sabine, I was there at the start line. Reaching there I did a final check to realize how unprepared I was. The round band-aids were in place, but little else. I had forgotten to apply vaseline at the strategic places. It was dark and my headlamp was in the bag and the bag was checked in at the baggage counter. With less than a minute left for the start, there was no way I could retrieve it before the race began. Why was I running this? What was the point?

As we began running, Aparna and I were together, sharing her torch to cut through the darkness. We ran together for about 4k. Then I took off in the overconfidence that my eyes were accustomed to the darkness and I could see things very clearly without needing a light. At that very moment, the trail offered me an opportunity to be Superman; an opportunity I grabbed with both hands. Tripping over something, I flew through the air both hands stretched out ahead of me, only to, a few seconds later, land and bite the dust, literally. Happens, I thought, as I got up, dusted myself and began running again. Two minutes later as I got the confidence that it was a one-off case, I again tripped over something, flew through the air with both hands outstretched and a few seconds later landed to again bite the dust.

Wiser counsel prevailed thereafter and I was back to running with Aparna with her torch again illuminating the way. Friends with a philosophical bent of mind have told me that often one needs more than just a torch to illuminate the way that is dark (and I have laughed in their faces). I was going to see that for myself shortly.

As we turned the 6.25k mark, and began the lap back to the start/finish line, Aparna suddenly screamed, "Ouch!!! Awww!!!! Shucks!!!! *&^%&^%!!!! ^%^%$%$%$#@!!!!! &*^%#$#%!!!!! (and another 8-10 pages of similar unprintable words). She was limping. "Did you fall?" I asked. "F&^%#!!!" was the answer. "Did you hurt yourself?" "F@#&!!!" "Did you twist your ankle?" "F@#$!!!" Aparna took another step forward, let out another string of explecitives, then sat down, took her shoe off, put her hand in the shoe and said that there was a thorn that had gone in from the top of her shoe, through the uppers and pricked her toe. After a fair amoutn of wrestling to get it out, the humble safety pin from the Running Bib came in handy and the ummm, well, the little prick (pun unintended) was out. Shoe back on, Aparna and I embarked upon the journey once again.

At the 12.5k mark, the start/finish line, I forgot I had to stop, so I continued running with Aparna. We ran most of the way till the 18.75k mark, the turn-arund point and walked back in parts till a little before the 25k mark, where Aparna continued with her running. I met Aparna right there at the baggage counter as she was starting her third lap. She asked me to join her, saying she was walking and would continue walking till I joined her. I decided to walk the third round; what was the point in waiting at the start/finish line? Of course, Aparna did not wait for me to join her. The third round was a walk in a park. So slow, it would give the pace of 'a walk in the park' a serious complex and establish new standards for the phrase. This was the absolute last round. I was bored to death and I did not know why I was doing this round. What was the point?

Somewhere near the 4k mark, there was a tar road. Putting the experience gained at Bhati Lakes to good use, I lay down bang on the road itself and pulled my cap over my eyes. A couple of minutes later, I heard voices, muffled and sounding like they were discussing a medical emergency. I pulled the cap off to see a group gathered around me asking me if i was okay. Damn!! I don't even get to sleep on the road while running an ultra!! What's the point in doing this? Not wanting these onlookers and fellow participants to go into a panic, I got up and began shuffling along, trying to set newer standards for the 'walk in the park' pace.

Reaching the turn-around point, I began walking back. Sabine met me shortly thereafter, asking me to wait for her till she returned. Some thirty meters away was a shaded patch. I walked there with great effort and plonked right there on the trail itself. Everyone passing by looked at me, tempted to join me, but continuing nevertheless. They had targets to meet; I did not see the point. Then one person thought aloud if he too had the guts to be as shameless. The answer must have been a yes because he promptly turned around, and parked himself next to me.

Sabine joined, and we continued walking. The marathon had turned into a walkathon and our ilk was growing by the minute. We walked on, chatting away as we had decided. Talking about cycling, talking about swimming, scuba diving, fish curry, chutneys, pickles, psychological problems, translations, mentoring newer runners, methods of garbage collection, the German obsession with perfection and whatever else. The only topic we probably did not discuss was neuclear physics and that too because I did not know how much Sabine knew about the topic and I did not want to make a complete fool of myself in case she knew anything at all. Having completed 37.5k, Sabine turned back for her last lap which would complete her 50k. I turned back too; we had not yet run out of topics to discuss, we were still enjoying what we were doing, and with the agreement that we had, it said we had to go on. Reaching the turn-around point, Sabine suddenly felt a new energy coursing through her veins, and the chance of a podium finish in her category. She asked me if we could run. I tried, but it did not make any sense to me. What was the point in running the last 6.25k? I asked Sabine to go ahead as I dropped my pace to 'a walk in the park'.

I met Arvind of RFL, whose answer to a 'How are you?' was, 'Screwed!'. Chatting along, we walked on. We met Aparna on her fifth loop. Again sitting down on the trail, the three of us chatted for a while. Arvind told me that I would be eligible for a finisher's medal and a certificate on completing the 50k, even if I had registered for a 100k.

I walked on, crossed the finish line, got the medal around my neck. A DNF which wasn't, after all. I was also told that everyone who did a 12.5k got the medal. Then, all the more, what was the point, after all?

Joining the 100-Mile Club

No sooner had I reached home on Monday than I rechecked the certificate, admired the medal once again, saw the pictures posted by Kavitha and had a chat with Gaurav... Now I know for sure it wasn't hallucinations and I officially am a Finisher ay GR Bhati Lakes and a member of the 100 mile club.

Before I embark on the narrative that led to this, I shall quote two separate incidents which would add a different dimension to the story.

I had read my friend, Amit Sheth's account of how, when leaving for what would be their first successful run at Comrades in 2010, his wife Neepa encountered the sole of her shoe falling off. 'Oh yeah!!' the cynic in me had smirked, 'Spice it up. Romanticize it. It'll add up to the magic of the ending. And if the ending is on an unpleasant note, this'll be the reason.'

The second incident took place a little after I got invited for Brazil 135 in June, 2011. I told a few of my ultramarathoner friends whose advice I had been taking to graduate from Marathons to Ultras, that I planned to do a couple of 100 milers before BR-135. "Be careful," one and all advised. "You'll need to prepare." 'Oh really?! I had thought I would step out do do a short and easy 5k but impulsively decide that the weather looked perfect for a 100-miler so I would end up runing 100 miles instead of a short and easy 5k.' "But you misunderstand," they had all said, "Preparing to run is the easy part. Being prepared to deal with other people is  what is really, really difficult." And no doubt, this did not make any sense whatsoever, so I went about preparing to run. Other preparations, I did not understand, so I did not deem them necessary.

As I began packing to leave for Delhi on Thursday, 20th October, I packed my shoes, the pair I used regularly. But then, one would find it difficult to run 100 miles in just one pair of shoes, so the other, semi-retired pair of shoes needed to be packed as well. As I got that pair out, the sole looked a little different than  what I remembered it to be. I seemed to be definitely crooked. Holding and twisting it a little would get it straight, I thought. As I grabbed the sole and applied a little pressure to it, the sole came off. (Neepa, now I am wiser.) As my jaw dropped to the floor, the sole too slipped from my hand and joined my jaw. I now had just one pair of shoes for a 100 mile run. Not acceptable. The second pair was unusable by any yardstick.

A few franctic calls to my runner friends resulted in their laughing their heads off. The situation might have been humourous, but at that time I did not see anything even remotely funny about it.

Finally Kavitha came to my rescue and suggested that I buy the same brand, same model and same size of shoes that I was currently using so as to make the breaking in easier. That the same model, same size shoes of Nike fit me differently speaks volumes of their quality as they claim it to be. (But that is another matter - let me not digress.)

Shoes bought, I wore them almost continuously for two days so as to break them in for whatever it was worth. And there I was, ready for the run, by Friday evening. Friday in Delhi was spent in doing nothing in particular and in the evening, after collecting the runner's kit, Piyush and I were in the room when it was suggested that a beer to soothe our nerves might be a good idea. I'd like you all to know that for me, beer is never the answer to anything. Beer is the question and yes is the answer!

A beer and huge helpings of butter chicken later, Piyush and I were in bed at about 8:15pm. It remained unsaid but only Piyush crewing me for the entire time was making me jittery. Pushing all negative thoughts away, I drifted off to sleep. I was woken up at 12:30am. Piyush tends to get very nervous before a race and since he couldn't sleep, he woke me up as well. I protested and tried going back to sleep but it was an exercise in futility. Finally at 1:00am, I started to get ready. That done, we left for Surajkund at 3:00am, picking up Bhupendrasing Rajput along the way.

As I reached the start line at Kant Enclave, I was pleasantly surprised to see a proper paved road. I instantly knew that Gaurav had taken all of us for a ride by posting pictures of a dusty, rocky, muddy trail that seemed, for want of a better word, horrendous. Running 100 miles on a paved road was going to be a smooth (pun intended) affair.

For the next hour and a half or so, the seven of us 100 miler participants, Aparna, Raj, Milind, Aditya, Gaurav, Bhupendrasing and I cracked jokes which were devoid of both, intelligence and humor. Nervousness manifests itself in many forms and this was one of them.

Sometime during this, Tanvir, my teammate who was going to be  crewing for a very short while since he had prior plans to go out of town, told me that he wanted to pace me right at the start.

As we started, Aparna, Aditya, Bhupendrasing and Gaurav took off. I followed, with Tanvir pacing me and Milind and Raj just behind us. Tanvir and I were doing an easy pace, chatting as we went along. Tanvir was telling me how it might be a good strategy to walk the ups and run the downs when we suddenly heard Milind scream, 'Kya hai yeh?' ('What the F$@# is this?') The paved road had ended. Loose metal was lying on what was supposed to be a road. Forget running, even walking on it was fraught with dangers. Fortunately this patch was for just about a hundred meters or so. Unfortunately, it got worse thereafter. The trail began. The rocky, muddy, trail snaked up and snaked down upto about 6k.It was somewhere here that we saw a fabulous sunrise. Tanvir, Milind, Raj and I got ourselves photographed against this. The photograph, 'captured in Tanvir's and Raj's mobile phone, remains captive. Once it is released, maybe I would post it. Then it got worse. Did it say "Then it got worse" earlier? That was not the place for it. Then it got worse, here onwards. The thorny bushes had benefitted from the abundant rainfall and had overgrown the trail. We delicately moved the bushes aside and moved forward taking care to ensure that the thorns did not hurt us. Only to face another thorny bush, only to repeat the same action. After doing this a third time, we decided it would be better to run through the thorns and take whatever happens in our stride. And that is what we did for the next about a kilometer and a half. Then it got worse. No, really. This is the point where the "Then it got worse." belongs. The trail from here on turned in to a sand track with rocks, a few shallow gorges and even denser thorny bushes. This trail continued till the 10k mark, albeit with lesser sand. As the thorns cut through our skin, we continued running. Finally crossing a shallow gorge and passing between two boulders, we reached the 10k mark. Water, some energy drink and a lemonade later, off we were again. And then it got worse. No, really. I really, really mean it. The statement belongs here. It really got worse from here onwards. 10k was the turnaround point and we needed to traverse all that terrain back to the start line. About 2 - 2.5k from the turnaround point, some 7-8 of us including 30 milers and 50 milers, briefly got lost. Every trail looked the same and every path seemed like we had come from there. Fortunately the correct way was found and we were off again. For the record, the mistake was on our part, we had not seen the sign properly.

At this point, I told Tanvir that I wanted to go faster than what he was pacing me me for. Amit, my friend from Ahmedabad who was running his first ultra, had joined us by then. His pace was more in line with what I was looking for. Both of us, keeping a steady pace, ran from there till the start line.

At the start line, a quick change of shoes (since I had a new pair, the breaking them in was happening over smaller distances), something to munch and off we were towards the 10k mark. Amit was doing a much higher pace than what I had planned. Even though this was not in the original scheme of things, I decided to keep pace with Amit as it would help me cover more miles while still fresh.

Reaching the 10k mark and turning around, we continued running. A couple of kilometers later, I felt a burning sensation under my t-shirt. I lifted my tee to check and sure enough, the tape which worked as a nipple guard had fallen off. The one on the right was intact. Even though it looked quite vulgar, I tried running with my tee pinched away from my chest, but the thorny bushes, sand track, rocks, etc. would have none of it. Amit and I shifted over to walking/running. We had a hearty laugh about how kinky it would sound to a non-runner if he was told that I covered my nipples with medicated tape without having an injury, that the tape had to specifically be round, made of cloth and had to fit to size.

As we were taking this conversation further - on the repurcussions that such a conversation with a non-runner would have on our social lives, we heard some runner running quite heavily behind us. I looked back and to my horror, it was a bull who seemed to have taken umbrage at our dirty little conversation and was charging for us. The way Amit and I took off at this point, I can assure you we could have taught Usain Bolt a thing or two about sprinting, we could have taught Patrick Makau a thing or two about running a sub-2:00:00 marathon. And I swear I'm being modest. Fortunately for us, the bull decided he'd had enough of scaring us and took a turn while we continued going straight. Amit did mention that till now it was dogs who did not like the competition posed by me and maybe it now time to expand the list and include bulls in it. Something gives me the feeling that this is not the last I have heard of this.

returning back to the Aid Station at the Start/Finish line, I ate some more in line with what Kavitha had recommended and set off again towards the 10k Aid Station. At the 4k mark, Amit turned around and headed back to the Finish line to complete his 30 miler. I continued ahead. As I picked up pace to complete as many miles as I could before it got dark, I suddenly felt queasy and there was this urge to throw up. Eating and running do not go together for me. (I had run 150k a couple of weeks ago on all of 3 bananas and litle else.) My body was now protesting being fed. The third loop was completed with a lot of walking, some attempts at running and hope that the nausea would subside. Thankfully, it did. At the end of the third loop, I was placed exactly in the middle. Bhupendrasing, Aparna and Raj, in that order were ahead of me. Gaurav, Milind and Aditya were trailing.

At this point, Piyush began pacing me. The loop was also shortened to 10k owing to safety concerns. Fresh legs and a fresh pacer helped immensely. At the end of the first loop, I was in second place and gaining on the lead with every loop. After a comfortable 10k lead had been established between the second and third places, I wanted to slow down a bit; let my body relax and rejuvenate.

It was here that the clash between the interests of the runner and the pacer's ambitions took place. And led to the repurcussions that something like this would have. And something that I, as the runner and the participant in the race would have to bear.

I was not paying attention to my intake since i was confident that my team was looking after that. When I began cramping massively between the 110 and 120k marks, I realized that I had not consumed ANY salt during the last 60k. Also, being pushed to move ahead at a much higher pace than what my body could take had led to a ligament pull in my right hip.

I still had 40k to go and the pain from the ligament pull was at best allowing me to drag my leg after me. Arun stepped in to pace me here. A new person, a different brain, a different mindset and different topics of discussion all led to lifting my spirits. What helped even more was Arun being ready to move at my pace without putting any pressure on me. During the earlier loops, knowing how close i had come to quitting on more than one occassion, not because I couldn't do it but because I couldn't take the pressure from my pacer, I cannot describe how liberating it was to not be on a tight leash. I cannot thank Arun enough for letting me be myself for a little while.

The remaining 30k went by with huge dollops of massage at the Aid Station, dragging my leg for 10k and another huge dollop of massage. The credit for my finish goes to Mr. Shukla of Artemis Hospital, who patiently massaged the pain away from the pulled ligament after every 10k. The 30k took about 9 hours, but at the end of it, 100 miles had been done. My target of 28-29 hours had gone for a toss; the reasons for this will be debated amongst the team and hopefully the next such run will see quantum changes in terms of strategy. I am sure a lot of improvements too will be in place.

For now, I am happy at being a finisher at GR Bhati Lakes 100. And having come in second does make things sweeter.

The only jarring noise comes from people who either haven't attempted running ultras at all or if they have, not any really long ultras for sure. But they are the ones who will give various logics to undermine what I have done. And these attacks are not direct. Usually, these attacks do not even refer to running, but would be directed more at a personal level.

Maybe, as my other ultra-runner friends had said, one needs to prepare when one runs a 100 miler or more. Prepare to deal with people thereafter.

A Few Facts Unknown, Letting Go Of Some Things And An Account Squared.

Thankfully, this post did not get uploaded to the blog on time. If it did, a lot of the essence of this post would have been lost. One of those rare instances where the delay was advantageous.

Sunday before last, I missed meeting Piyush and and went on to do a 35k solo, taking a different route, but covering the points he visits on his runs. I later spoke to him and fixed a time for last Tuesday telling him that he should not begin running till I reached, even if I got late. As decided, I reached the designated spot at the designated time. Piyush was already there and we began our 25k run on a route which was different from the usual course.

I had read that running through the city acquaints one very closely with its various facets. The city, opens itself up to the runner and reveals unknown or lesser known facts that an ordinary resident or a tourist would never know. My early steps into the world of Marathon running were also my first steps into the world of road running. In earlier days, I used to run all over the city discovering things about my own city that I never knew. The more I ran, the more I discovered. I discovered a temple whose deity was called 'Highway Hanuman' because the highway at that time passed right in front of the temple. I discovered this daily wager who manned a crossroad in the morning and evening hours because the traffic got unruly and resulted in
frequent traffic jams. And he did this without getting paid for it. I discovered (and made friends) with this person who went to the Sabarmati Ashram every morning, spun the 'charkha' and cycled all over the city playing Gandhiji's bhajans. The city opened itself up to me and told me things about itself that I never knew and had I lived the life I did before I got into the world of marathoning. I would have known the layout of the city but for sure, I would not have known my city.

Also, running through the city gave me its share of laughter. Suppressed understanding, caused by lack of blood supply to the brain gave a completely different meaning to various things I read. Two that are unforgettable: The McDonalds advertisement hoarding which read 'Food, Finger, Fun' sounded quite different when I read it towards the end of a long run. The food part was fine, but 'finger' and 'fun' didn't quite go with the image that I had about McDonalds!!

The other incident happened when I was passing by a theatre screening a Gujarati film. The poster and the timing of the show were put very close together making it seem like one sentence. I read it and had to stop my run and sit on the footpath and laugh my guts out. The sentence translated into, "The daughter-in-law of the reputed family is quite a flirt - shows 3 times daily - 3:00pm, 6:00pm, 9:00pm" (Bade Ghar ki Bahu - Chaalu Hai - Roz ke 3 khel, 3:00pm, 6:00pm, 9:00pm)

As time went by, I also discovered that the city was full of dogs and not all dogs liked road runners. It probably seemed to them that I was running after cars - something they treated as their monopoly - and were in turn hostile towards me for attempting to step into what was till then their fiefdom.

Slowly, other mundane and more worldly important things took over: the pace, the timing, hill training, speed training, reverse splits, fartlek etc. etc. etc. Convenience and compromise took me back into the grind (albeit a different one) something I had gained freedom from when I started running. I was back to running for a better time, back to running to gain strength, so the hill training, back to running to be able to do this, to be able to do that. That I had begun and continued to run because I enjoyed it had been lost somewhere. That when I ran I discovered more about my surroundings no longer held true. That my run led to pure, unadulterated joy was no longer the case. All my runs were stripped down to the basics and analyzed shred by finer shred. The stride mattered more now, the cadence had its importance, the gait analysis showed I leaned to the left and put more weight in front than was necessary, pronation, suppination, shin splints.... %$#@*&!!!!!!!

Okay, I have digressed. Coming back, as I began to run with Piyush last Tuesday, we ran on a different route. I have said umpteen number of times that Ahmedabad is flat as a pan, but this course had mildly undulating contours which made the course tough. On the way back, I was surprised to see a handcart with an idol on it, bang in the middle of the road. Music was blaring from a loudspeaker on it, an 'arti' being performed in a makeshift temple. Finally I had discovered something new about my city. A makeshift temple where an arti is performed in the middle of the road and then the temple disappears, probably till the next session. This one was going onto my blog for sure.

It was during the run the next day that I actually paid a little more attention to the songs blaring from the loudspeaker and the things written on the handcart. What caught my attention first was the tricolour - the national flag. A temple and thereby its Hindu connotations should have ensured saffron and the tricolour seemed out of place. Then I read what was written below the idol. It said, "Bharat Mata ki Jai." It suddenly dawned on me that the bhajans were making sense even to me, an atheist. Because they were not bhajans. They were patriotic songs and this was a prayer to Mother India. A ritual performed every morning!! Which city in which country in the world could boast of something which would even come close? A prayer to the country every single morning. No tourist book would mention this, and I doubt how many residents of Ahmedabad would be able to tell you this, simply because, how many would know? This Definitely, DEFINITELY was coming onto my blog as soon as I returned from the Hyderabad Heritage Marathon.

Thankfully, I came back and the pending work prevented me from posting my blog and my two runs thereafter got me more information on this. Apparently, the idol of Mother India on the cart leaves 'home' at 5:30 every morning and goes around the locality through every lane and bylane; all the time with patriotic songs being played. At about 6:30, the handcart is brought to the main road and this arti is performed as it has been performed all these years in the presence of a small group of 15-20 people.

Which brings me to the Hyderabad Heritage Marathon. Nothing much to write about the run, but so much to talk about the event. For me, the fun began a little before Piyush and I reached the place for collecting my running number bib and goodies. Yogesh and Kiran were there from the Shivaji Park Marathon Club along with another 5-6 members. Bhupendrasing was going to be reaching in about an hour. We went, collected our running numbers, the goodie bags, asked a few questions about the busses to the start line and all of that. Thereafter time was spent catching up with others I had met at various events, the Hyderabad Marathon in August, KTM etc... and it was time for lunch and I left.

Piyush and I couldn't sleep that night. Piyush had been tense. He was attempting his 100 consecutive Half Marathons and was worried sick that if he tanked for any reason, he would have to hang his head in shame for the rest of his life and there would be no redemption. No amount of my telling him made any sense and ultimately both of us stayed up the whole night dying a death that had not yet come. And a death we were unsure of to begin with. At midnight, we decided there was no point in trying to sleep. We got up, got ready, left our room and reached Chowmahalla Palace at 2:00 am, some 3 hours before the scheduled start of the race.

After generally roaming around the area like vagabonds (though I am sure we looked more like ragpickers) we entered Chowmahalla Palace. The place was all lit up and given the dress I and other runners were in, it did seem like home. After all, no one wears shorts and a tee if one were to go to a formal place like a palace. As we were lounging around, I suddenly heard my name being called. As I looked in the direction of the voice, I heard, "F#@&!!! You here?? I hadn't expected you to be here." It was Anand,a  runner, a friend and more importantly, my crew member for BR-135. He was running the Marathon. We chatted while Bhupendrasing joined us as did the group from Shivaji Park Marathon Club. Then Milind Soman walked past and Anand called out to him. One topic after another in quick successing and soon we were discussing the 100 miler coming up at Bhati Lakes. Bhupendrasing, Milind and I - 3 of the (till then) 6 participants were there at Hyderabad. There was some confusion about the start and we started late. As we started to run, I realized Milind was next to me and we were going at the same pace. We began chatting once again. I mentioned Brazil 135 to him and out of the blue, he asked me if he could crew for me at the race. Glamour apart, Milind is a fantabulous runner, a sub 3:50 marathoner, ultra-runner and he would definitely be an asset to have. As luck would have it, I was still one person short in my crew. I agreed. He's asked me to email him the dates which I have; lets see what ultimately happens.

We continued running, and chatting along the way. Bala from Chennai joined us. He was looking to achieve his first sub-5:00 marathon and thought our bus would take him through. The three of us continued running, chatting as we ran. At Hussain Sagar Lake, there were idols of Durga waiting in line to be immersed and the three of us danced to the beats of the drums and dhakis as we ran. The run otherwise was quite uneventful. We ran through traffic, fighting a mental game (and sometimes, almost a physical battle) with the Hyderabadis on vehicles who wanted to reclaim their road, usurped by this uncouth breed called runners who did not know that roads belonged to vehicles.

From about the 27k mark, the three of us adopted a walk run strategy, which basically meant that Milind and I ran leaving Bala far, far behind. Then the two of us used to walk till Bala caught up with us, usually out of breath. We let Bala catch his breath and then Milind and I used to run off again till Bala was out of sight and then, begin to walk. This went on till about the 34k mark. Then Milind and I decided to walk. Timing be damned; we would finish. Period. Here in a true hare and the tortiose race, Bala caught up, overtook us and continued ahead, and finished the race. Milind and I were still walking, far, far behind. We admired the Golconda Fort then Taramati Biradari, then Golconda Fort again, laughed at the absolutely loony jokes that we were cracking, cursed the course, cursed the elevation, cursed the twists and turns, cursed the volunteers  who kept saying 600 meters to the finish regardless of where we asked them. Finally as we walked to the gate of the park housing the Qutb Shahi Tombs, Kiran of the Shivaji Park Marathon Club was limping. Blisters on his feet caused him to change his gait while walking and that let to cramps. But no way was he giving up! Another 600 meters (as we were told), and we walked past the finish line. No, sorry, we jogged the last 25 meters!!

Back in Ahmedabad, I tried getting back with Piyush's running 100 Half Marathons on consecutive days. My evolution as a runner, an ongoing process with all of us, seemed to have accelerated in the past year or so. I had begun to understand, and more importantly, accept that I am a back of the pack runner, someone who runs slow, but can run far. Ultras was what really clicked with me. And more importantly, what I was beginning to get back was the joy of running, the freedom that running afforded me and the realization that the important part of the run was the pleasure that it gave me. Piyush on the other hand, back in Ahmedabad with a second rank in the veteran's category, wanted to run faster. And to do that, he was willing to start running earlier, at 4:00am if not 3:30am, so that there would be no people on the roads, the cool air would facilitate running and would help him return a better timing. So while both of us were running in the same direction, our goals were different. As we were running down the Shreyas overbridge last morning, I slowed down to enjoy the rays of the rising sun reflecting off the scattered clouds. Piyush asked me to speed up. I told him to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise. He said we were running as a part of a workout, not to enjoy ourselves. And it suddenly dawned on me. That is what I have been doing these past few years and that is what has been my undoing. I have been running to achieve targets and have been enjoying those targets. When I should have been running to enjoy myself and if I achieved something along the way, that would be a bonus.

And I told Piyush that it would be better if we, keeping our separate goals in mind, ran separately. He agreed, and has assured me that he'll be back to running with me the day after his goal of 100 Half Marathons in 100 consecutive days is over. I've heard it being said that it takes a lot to persevere but no, it takes a lot more to let go, to be yourself. And that is what I am going to be. Medals? Awards? Events? The at least one sub-4:00 marathon that I know I have in me? Que sera sera.

First post-150k run

After a hiatus of a week taken to rejuvenate and recover, I decided to restart running this morning. I had a nice, long, 25k+ run planned. As I began to run, the ground did not shake. There was no flash of lightning. No thunder. No nothing. At the other end of the spectrum, my legs did not feel heavy. Nor was there any pain from the blisters. The ankle too wasn't sore; it too seemed to have healed.

I was expecting something, anything, whatever, to happen on this run. I had, after all, done a 150k just last Sunday and I am sure that expecting some effect(s) of that endeavor to show on the first run was not expecting too much. Nothing, but nothing had changed. It was the 11th day Piyush's self imposed challenge of a 100 half marathons in as many days. I had to meet Piyush, but I got delayed by a few minutes and by the time I reached the designated spot, Piyush had left. I noticed the roads were the same, the weather was exactly how the Ahmedabad weather is at this time of the year and I was running the way I would run a 20-25k training run. Since I was running after one full week and enjoying it so very much I decided to prolong my joy and I increased the distance a little more. I ended having completed some 34-35k. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

If there has been any change in perception, this post should take care of that as well.

That would bring me to the end of this post.

But it is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. I shall leave you with a few pictures I have downloaded about Brazil-135. The challenge, apart from the ascents, the descents, the mud, the rains, the temperature variations and every other what-have-you, is to overcome the temptation to stop and admire the beauty of the place and continue moving.

But before you get to see the beauty of the place, some technical details:

This is the elevation profile of the route. If it scares you, you must be really, really brave, because frankly, I'm terrified.