The desire to play

In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play. - Friedrich Nietzsche

I look at Bryan going out every evening, lobbing the football with its thumping "Dhup, Dhup, Dhup.." and I am transported to a time when I was in the lane. I used to do the same, arriving at 4:30pm in the hot afternoon sun, waiting for the guys to turn up for a passionate game of football. There were those frustrating moments when some SOBs used to take afternoon siestas and their moms were loathe to wake them up. I used to wonder, "How can these guys sleep when they know we have a match to play and its going to be sun-down soon??" Well, they probably did not share the same passion for football as I did.

I can understand why that game of football is so important to Bryan, even though his exams are round the corner. I know that its his release, his passion, his life! I know that if I stop him, he'd probably go crazy sitting in the house and may even lose his ability for retention and recall:-)) I am in a reverie now and I can see my exertions, my sweat, the grin as we get back and meet the girls who probably found us macho (wink); and, yes the clink of glasses at the local "cold-drinkwalla" where we pooled money for the sherbets. I remember my, now fat, friend Bamoo joking with one of the guys that never paid up, saying, "What will you drink?" and the guys goes, "I'll have a Rush" (an aerated drink in my time) and Bamoo says, "Please rush home":-)))) I am chukling now and the maid is wondering if my overseas tipple has caused me to lose my marbles:-) So much for memories. Time to pour a small one and dream a lil' more. Dojo comes trotting and curls up as he realizes my mood is mellow.

An unusual government

I was informed by an elderly gentleman at the Acropolis ruins in Athens, that the Greek Government cares for its strays. That answered my question about the number of dogs that I saw on the streets of Athens. All of them would wag their tails and turn over on to their back for a tickle in the belly:-) I noticed that the people that walked by were careful not to step on them. The most stiring sight of all was a poor old man that shared his food with one of the strays. The dog seemed to jump up and paw him, as if thanking and acknowledging him for his unselfishness. The man was patiently tearing open, what seemed like a quiche, and offering the contents for the dog. I wish every government would learn to be so kind hearted to animals.

Istanbul Calling

The Istanbul Marathon had all of 7000 runners in the marathon and it began without too much fan-fare. The run begins with crossing the Bosphorus which is so very breath-taking in its vast expanse of a calm but mighty river and tiny houses nestling on its banks. There are up-hills for the first 5K during which I kept a watch on my heart rate. There were no km markers and I was lost as to what pace I was running. I finally saw a km marker a while later and it said “7.5 kms”. I checked my watch and realized I was too fast. From here on there were km markers every 2.5K and I reached 10K in 54:16 – too fast Dan! I found my RPE was just about 6 and there was no need to panic. I then decided that I’d see how things turn out if I aimed for sub 4 hrs. I had no target time in mind when I came for this marathon and decided I’d play this one by ear. I had a horrendous travel schedule during my two week taper and I had one of the most unconventional tapers – with no runs for 7 continuous days, I ran a 29K on the Sunday before the race!

The rest of the course was flat and I ran strong enough to predict a 3:54 – if I could hold, what I think was a scorching and suicidal pace. I was running alongside side an elderly woman who was dragging her feet with a rustling noise and was surprisingly swift, despite it. I reached the half marathon mark in 1:57:26 – very impressive Dan! As you can see, if I double it, I’d get a 3:55; a slow down of only 1 min.

At the 29K mark, as we ran across the chip mats, a Parisian asked the volunteer as to what km point it was and the guy replied, “25 kms”. I laughed and told the Parisian that the guy didn’t know what he was talking about. The Parisian was surprised that I had traveled all the way from India for this marathon. He seemed to be running strong and surged ahead with a, “I wish you good luck”.

The first realization that the pace was taking its toll came at the 30K mark which I reached in 2:49 instead of 2:45. I was hitting the “wall” now because I reached 32.5K in 3:04 – the first sign that a sub 4 hr finish was slipping from my hands. It would be a tall order to do the balance 9.7K in 55 mins; not with my condition. My breath was raspy now and my calves screamed for me to slow down. Well slow down, I did because I was now doing 5:55/km as I reached 37.5kms in 3:35. It was depressing at this juncture to see scores of runners reduced to a walk. It was tempting indeed to join them because I was now wheezing and using my arms to drive my pace. The pain in my legs made me wince and screw up my eyes. Every runner alongside could be heard gasping for breath. We were still 4K away from the finish; an eternity at this juncture in the race.

The Parisian was now way ahead and I rued about the fact that this part of the race was a telling story indeed – about the ones that grooved and those (like me) that gasped. The 39K mark made me look up in consternation as I saw a huge climb and runners were now reduced to a shuffle. I was aware, from the elevation chart that this climb would do me in; however, it was enough to shift the balance and make 90% of the runners walk. I shuffled on with my chin buried into my chest and saw that my chances of even a 4:02 were evaporating. I trudged up the unending climb and cursed the organizers for this cruel joke. I reached a sign that said “500m to the finish” and I found a new strength to my stride. I saw Monsoon and Bryan and waved out; I’d not failed them after all. I crossed the finish line in 4:07:23. A memorable race in the lessons it taught me. I limped and hobbled around reveling in the aches that seized my limbs. They were nothing compared to the challenge I’d endured in the last 7K. It was time for some beers, the Turkish aperitif “Raki” that I’d taken a predilection for and a delectable spread of meats with pita bread. Well, I wouldn’t mind a Turkish bath followed by a look see at some belly dance:-)

The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win. - Sir Roger Bannister