Blue Winter

The faint glow of dawn
A crisp nip in the air
Glistening dew covers the earth
It is winter

I woke up from a soothing dream
An angel whispered "Please....continue your dream"
Will this be a long winter?
I hope not; I'm aching for summer already

Mon - 10K time trial! No! It should be a 21K time trial! Adjust the long run for 'training load'! Is the race plan right? Will he bonk? Is she jaded from over-training? Will she survive the distance?

A maelstrom of training schedules clutter my dream and flit across my mind like a ticker tape in a news channel on TV. A dream in which I run the SCMM strong; flanked by a fleet of smiling angels. I know nothing can go wrong. From the swirling mist comes a clutch of fear and I drift up from the calm and dark bottom of a lake to a restless surface. I lie in bed, staring in the dark. Did I skip a beat? Did my heart race? Is it because I fear being left in the lurch.....insecure? Is it because my faith is shattered?.....and I'm running scared and wild? Or, is it that trust is a utopian value? Will the Goan adage of 'when the patient is cured, the doctor can go to hell', ring true?

I realize I am in Guntur, on tour. I make out the dim outline of the spacious suite; a luxury affordable in the hinterland of South India. It is 3am and I am unable to sleep. I brood about the past few days. The Bangalore Ultra just went by and the excitement of completing a race, personal bests and podium finishes fills the air. Eulogies and approbation rant the air. Animated but foolhardy discussions on speed and distance. Pictures of beaming smiles and stoic resolve. Some making a statement. High fives and welcome hugs. They elicit a cynical smile on my countenance as I ponder the vanity amongst runners. I shoved aside the sheets and padded to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and lounged in the tub to soak myself in the warm spray, willing the flurry of troubling thoughts to subside.

Judgments, value judgments concerning life, for or against, can in the last resort never be true: they possess value only as symptoms, they come into consideration only as symptoms - in themselves such judgments are stupidities.
Friedrich Nietzsche

"Confirmation"

I've been off the running scene with the idea that a break will do me good. I have come to realize that I'm not really the runner that I used to be; in terms of my ability to race. I decided to stay away from racing for the moment. Also, the running fraternity and among them, a few runners that I've come to know, have revealed themselves to display personality traits varying from immature, subversive, and furtive, to plain diplomatic. Some have shown outright animosity and aggression. It is something that not only appalled and shocked me, but also left me saddened.

And so it was welcome relief from the pangs of longing to run and being unable when Bryan told me yesterday that I have to visit our church along with him, for mass. He has been going thru' intense catechism in preparation for his sacrament of "Confirmation". The church periodically wants that he should be present for a special mass along with a parent. And so I was delighted to accompany him to church. The 'community hall' was abuzz with teenagers greeting each other excitedly before mass. The parents all hovering around with benevolent smiles on their faces. Even as the priest delivered a homily on the 'Apostle' Creed', I retraced my reverie and thought of the years that have gone by. I recalled right from paying his fees at playschool and taking him to Goa on my lap by air as a three year old, right thru' to the years of teaching him studies and football and taking him on vacations. How he' grown now! I thought of my own father and Paul Anka' words came to mind from the song of yesteryear.

Ev'ry day my Papa would work to help to make ends meet,
To see that we would eat, keep those shoes upon my feet.

Ev'ry night my Papa would take and tuck me in my bed,
Kiss me on my head after all the pray'rs were said.

Growing up with him was easy, time just flew on by,
The years began to fly, he aged and so did I.

Mother of mine

My mother can be described as a feisty woman that has borne pain, sorrow, hardship and has withstood all the vicissitudes life threw at her. The nadir of despair that hit her in her twenties (she is seen in the pic above with my father and his mother), would have wrenched sanity from most women. It was the darkest day in her life. Both her children came down with small pox and while one died in the morning, and no sooner she had returned from burial services, the other one passed away…..the same day! I am not sure even the most stoic man will withstand such trauma. It is perhaps this tragic turn of events that compelled her to bring me into this world, to complete her wish for a family of six children: Leena, Lucy, Martha, Selve, Francis and Daniel

In 1955, when she conceived the idea to build a colonial bungalow in our village in Goa, her family and neighbours, green with envy sought to dissuade her with traditional ridicule, saying, “She doesn’t have enough children and she is planning such a big house!” The last three of the six children, including me were born long after the foundation stone was laid for the house.

Her foresight paid off and our large family was treated to some of the most exciting and fun-filled holidays during school vacations, in Goa providing dreamy nostalgia to us in the years that followed: the squeak of the brass pulley when you pulled on the rope to draw water from our well; earthen cooking ware and wood smoke that lent a special flavour to cooking; hen’ coop and pigs’ sties for ready-to-cook meat and eggs; a modest garden with papaya, mango, jack fruit and coconut trees bearing succulent and prodigious fruit; the aroma of pork, chicken, beef and fish in delectable recipes only my mother with her ‘par excellence’ culinary skills could concoct even as we all sat on floor mats to devour such a spread with gusto; exhausting football matches in meadows wherein Francis and I came home unrecognisable with red-brown mud streaks; mid-morning baths in sulphur springs followed by rice soup with marinated pork; fishing expeditions in streams around our village with the excited uproar and expletives on strategic gaffes in placing the nets; watching torrential downpours whilst reclining in chairs on the patio, eating roasted cashew nuts or steamed jack fruit seeds and the tearful farewells when it came time to go back to Bombay and resume school, to cite a few.

My mother cooked, washed clothes, cleaned, stocked larders, schooled and tended to her six children while my father toiled to provide the finances to support such a large family. In retrospect, with one or two children to personally tend to, we realise that it must have been back-breaking work for her. But she did it all without complaining and always with a cheerful smile when we got home from school. There were those times when she made a proposition (never a plea) that if we could only wash our own dishes, iron and fold our own clothes and stow our bed-sheets, she would be free to provide much more of all that she did for us. We willingly acceded to this request and today, we are wiser and can manage a lot of our own chores as if it were second-hand nature to us.

When I visited her on Thursday last week, my mother’ health had deteriorated but then a day later, Francis with whom she stayed, assured me, that she was well again. The end when it came makes one lend credence to the belief that our subconscious mind sees things before they happen. It is coincidental that my mother passed away just a few hours after receiving Holy Communion, in some way her final sacrament. Francis is convinced that mummy held her breath until Saturday; the day she would receive communion when the representative from the church came over regularly to offer this for ailing people in the parish. It is coincidental that I stepped out to go to church on Saturday, but turned back because of a sudden downpour, consoling that missing mass one weekend would not make it a sin. God had a plan that I would hear mass on Sunday; my mother’ funeral mass. It is coincidental that the night before her death, I discovered the ‘phone calls only’ mode on the volume status of my Black Berry; something I did not know existed and until then my BB was always ‘silent’ at night.

When I received the call at 3:52am my worst fears had come true. Lucy informed me that mummy had passed away. The full impact that she is no more in flesh and blood drained the blood from my head and I fell back on the pillow, sobbing like a baby. I drove frantically on a dark highway, a faint dawn peeking between dark clouds of rain; a sign of the sombre mood for my day. I arrived to a house that had wailing hysteria wafting down the corridor; Martha had got there before me. Francis and I worked thru’ the formalities for the burial in a daze. The funeral mass was a service that would make my mother proud. A full choir of twenty-something youth, friends of my nephew Ian, provided the melancholy but mellifluous quality to the hymns. The final burial with lowering the coffin into the grave done, we returned to an empty home and empty hearts.

I woke up this morning and while, yesterday I was numb with shock, today I was in deep despair with the full import of our loss sinking in. I realised that the only antidote I had was to wear my shoes and go out for a late morning run. I went to a deserted Aarey forest and ran an easy 15K. The breeze whistling thru’ the trees whispered to me and I felt the miles go by lulled by the priest’ reassuring prayer for my mother; in the lord’ own house shall I dwell, all the days of my life. Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life. I sobbed mid-run and shamelessly allowed the tears to flow down my face as I shuffled on. The occasional passing motorist unknowingly frowned and wondered why I flogged my body if the pain and fatigue brought tears. I returned home feeling solace in the relief that my tears had cleansed my soul and the baritone of Jim Reeves wafting thru’ my mind.


When my way grows drear precious Lord linger near
When my life is almost gone
Hear my cry, Hear my call
Hold my hand lest I fall
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, Let me stand
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

When the darkness appears and the night draws near
And the day is past and gone
At the river I stand, Guide my feet, Hold my hand
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRbP6scGmGE&feature=related

The One-Legged Marathon

The Mumbai running fraternity looks forward to the Borivali National Park (BNP) Half Marathon; an event being held in this evergreen forest and organized by Ram, Kaushik, Bharatbhai, Giles and Ashok, amongst several stalwarts. Amit planned to do his 8th Marathon in 8 months along with Dr Oak, at the invitation of the organizers, and I was there to keep him company part of the way. This account is a tribute to Amit’s grit and guts.

BNP was abuzz with runners strolling to the start point with bags and rucksacks slung over shoulders. Regular walkers looked on bemused with the bustle of activity. There was the canopy below which a volunteer was meticulously storing bags deposited by runners as if his life depended on it; long lost runners greeting each other excitedly with hugs and high-fives; across the road, at a table a few women peered at sheets as if reviewing forest census data; a table laden with water and electrolyte, caused a few bold walkers to ponder helping themselves, not sure if it were offered free to one and all; and, race officials ceremoniously waving notepads while shouting instructions.

Amit, Dr Oak and I embarked on our long haul to cheers and applause. Seldom do you get a hint in the first 30 minutes of a full marathon, that your run would go south: this was one of those days. Amit had a tooth extracted 2 days ago besides nursing an inflamed thigh muscle. Dr Oak confessed to having fasted since the last one month and raised his eyes heavenward, speculating on the outcome; while, I had done a full marathon at Amby Valley just two weeks ago, not sure whether my legs would hold up for another onslaught. Towards the end of the first lap, at 5K, we realised that our individual affliction was to be compounded with an unfair double-whammy: the weather, which seemed to have concocted a cocktail of what felt like a steam-bath and sauna, combined.

The route meandered thru’ thickly wooded brush, over spans below which ran streams, undulating with deceptive inclines that cause consternation when you are feeling beat and the sky vanished in some shaded parts. The surface itself was smooth asphalt, part of the way but transitioned to concrete that was marred by some treacherous stretches that were fractured. On our return lap, we waved out to runners that had started out the half marathon, cheering many by calling out their names. The first loop being uneventful, we started out for the second and along the way saw that Dr Oak’ exertions were causing him to slow down. Through a pain tinged grimace he gestured that we should move on. Amit was floundering in pain and the relief he got from the ‘reli-spray’ was short-lived. We both managed to do the second loop in a one piece.

Dr Oak was now glycogen-depleted and decided to take a break. I had somehow managed to hydrate well and felt fresh enough to take on the role of ‘drill-sergeant’ for the rest of the journey. I set a timer for 1 min walk - 4 mins run, but it all went awry as the inclines forced Amit to walk at odd intervals. He sat down at aid-stations massaging his leg; willing it to come to life from its benumbed state. I looked at him in reverent commiseration, yet admired his stoic resolve. He was not to be deterred by this temporarily blunted appendage. I barked, “Time up! Let’s move!” and he rose in response, with a limp, as if to a military camp command, and fell into a lop-sided rhythm with me.
You have a choice. You can throw in the towel, or you can use it to wipe the sweat off of your face. - Gatorade

I had set the pace now and he followed me tamely with an unseeing stare and slurring feet. I stated matter-of-fact style, “We finish this third loop and the last one is a given”. His subconscious mind saw my ruse on auto-suggestion. He must know that he blindly needs to nod ascent, which he did, despite the incredulous haze of heat and humidity that seemed to engulf us in a clammy embrace. My urgency had driven all tactical thought of run-walks from my mind. The next few kilometres went by in a hypnotic flow: Blurry recollections of a group of girls and boys flirting, soft strains of “Sheila ki Jawani”, monkeys on the wayside with a plaintive gaze, a car whizzing past, and its occupants waving a thums-up in mock admiration. I propelled us both to the end of the third loop where Amit staggered gratefully to a seat to eat a banana and drink up thirstily.

We saw promise of victory when Dr Oak offered to run the fourth loop with us since he felt recovered. After all he has done Comrades, and in jest it felt like Moses would lead us to the Promised Land. Amit and I were clutching at straws now. We set off for the final leg of this arduous and seemingly never-ending journey to “C’mon guys….do it!” It soon became plain and simple that the body had rejected running as an option. I set the timer for a 1 min walk-1 min run which seemed like an acceptable compromise to Amit’ battered body. The kilometres went by inexorably, every step feeling like a death march. Ashok and Ram drove past with their kind offer of placing the aid station where we’d need it.

The final lap had to have 2.2 kms to be added to make the full marathon of 42.2 kms, a credible claim. We took a side road that extended for 1.1K, at the end of which Amit looked up in bewilderment like he’d blundered into the wrong conference room at work, his pain-racked body refusing to move anymore. I could see agony writ large on his face as he listened keenly for the beeper that would allow him to walk. Dark clouds gathered and covered the trees in a kind of stale twilight, as if portending darker moments.

I glanced at the pallor of Amit’ racked cheeks and the tracks of pain that ran down them. His eyes had acquired a doleful look of submission to my soft murmur of, “Let’s go, let’s go!!” Between hysterical highs and lows of delirium stood the moderation of an even beat of sanity, as I joked that my job was to shore up Amit’ spirits, to which he jovially exclaimed, “Right now, I feel as if my spirit has left my body!” There was a thunderous cackle from all of us; painful convulsions that our hunched forms could ill-afford. Finally it was 500m to go, and we felt the warm clasp of victory in our hands. Amit’ eyes lit up as we increased pace, holding hands as Brothers in Arms, ready to collapse in a heap as we crossed the finish line with Dr Oak.

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.
--Theodore Roosevelt

We’d done just that; hung on! Amit had his 8/12 marathon in the bag; a marathon that was one-legged for the most part. And I’d notched two marathons in two weeks. Amen!

Down, but not out!

Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward.
Victor Kiam

We arrived at 7pm at Lal Chimney a bungalow in Lonavala, reminiscent of a colonial hunting lodge. Its dilapidated facade of red brick, dim illumination from flyblown bulbs and defunct fans hanging from wooden rafters on high ceilings, antique furniture that if burnished and varnished to a sheen, would fetch a kingly sum at "Sothebys" and a leaf strewn courtyard that hadn't seen a gardener for eons, gave it a dank musty ambience.
A maharashtrian caretaker beamed a smile as if I had arrived at The George Cinq:) The Parsi cook with her kindly heart but iron stare, answering your queries in a monotone made up for it all with her superlative culinary skills. I took the corner room, away from the excited chatter of runners that arrived a while later.


Venkat and Ashok brought on an atmosphere of a 'situation room' after a night raid by enemy bombers, with their discussion on logistics for the run next day. A delicious fare of chicken, vegetable curry, rice and bread, polished off with a jelly for dessert, saw the runners sufficiently carboloaded and ready to call it a day. I awoke to the muted sounds of Varun moving around in the room. I fixed myself an "English Breakfast" tea and pondered my fate for the day.

It was Sunday, 7th August; exactly one hundred days since I got discharged from hospital; a watershed event in my life: a near death experience and a resurrection of sorts. I had begun hesitantly about 60 days back, with a body that had been bludgeoned to extreme debility, but my bravado won me just 400m of run, after which I had to walk. I endured this walk-run sequence for 30 mins. A humbling experience for one that has completed 23 full marathons. I persisted though, and scripted my recovery with a training plan that allowed me to complete 22K in my last run, two weeks ago. How far would my body take me today?

For a gallant spirit there can never be defeat.

Wallis Simpson

We started at dawn with staggered starts for runners, from different points. I thought it prudent to stick with Roshni because I estimated her pace would most likely suit my blighted endurance. Our group comprised Roshni, Natasha, Rohit, Varun, Nikhil, Harbhajan and me. We started out from the bungalow and made steady progress in the early dawn light, crossing the bridge over a placid lake formed by the Tata Hydel plant and then past Bushy dam, which seemed serene sans the din and rowdy clamour that would engulf it later in the day. At the start of the climb leading to the Amby Valley road, I muttered warnings of steep ascents but the group coasted this hill with ease, having conquered a much challenging climb such as Rajmachi, just a week ago.

At the crest we saw the road level out into a vast breathtaking expanse of lush green landscape scarred by a smooth line of asphalt that seemed to extend into the distant horizon. Clouds engulfed us, billowing like smoke, revealing opaque revellers in a now-you-see-me-now-you-don't dance. SUVs sped past with excited picnicers hooting wry encouragement at what they surely thought, was a looney set of ascetics on an austere junket. Unfazed by the mocking catcalls, we trudged on to the first car placed as a make-shift aid station. This was the 10K mark and thankfully runners slaked thirst, refilled handheld bottles and helped themselves to dates, bananas and peanut ladoos. Roshni, in a self-deluded notion of glycogen depletion helped herself to more than a fair share:)


The cavalcade of runners made steady progress. A cool embrace of light wet breeze felt like bliss. We felt strong as we kept a steady pace, running past dense undergrowth on either side, trees dripping rain drops from leaves that glistened with beads of moisture. After another halt at the next aid station car, we'd done 18K and we were still warming up:) Further ahead we hailed Varun, Nikhil, Raj, Srinivas, Kingshuk, Kapasi and Vivek with some runners from Pune.


We reached the 23K mark at the Amby Valley entrance gates where Roshni decided to take a few pics with her phone. I felt fatigue building up due to inadequate intake of fluids. I was tiring on the return leg and took walking breaks to not only allow my legs to recover but to also ingest some gel, with the hope that it would stave of 'the wall'. I struggled to keep up, with my exertions now an audible wheeze. We met up with Usha and Kingshuk struggling with their pace too. Srinivas joined us with his additional loop and it was his stacatto chatter in Tamil, to the driver, that ensured we got some additional aid-station stops from the guy....much to my relief. The timely fluid intake helped me recover to reach the 36K mark, and the final aid-station where we met up with Venkat, Ashok, Sejal and Jitendra.


I felt recovered enough to take on the final 5K steep descent like a man possessed. I quickened pace within shadow-distance of Srinivas and Raj, who were sprinting ahead. I reached the base at Bushy Dam and realised I did not have Rohit' garmin to tell me what distance I'd covered. I ran on for what I felt was an approx distance that would certainly mean the full marathon. I was completely spent but elated with my achievement. I looked heavenward and crossed myself in gratitude. I felt a sense of reincarnation: A new Dan; a new milestone.

Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I'm alive !!

I awoke to a dark sultry dawn and sat hunched on the side of the bed. I looked out at the sky and a silvery moon seemed to smile, reclining on a carpet of stars. I smiled back as if I acknowledged its tacit encouragement for my longest run since I took ill. The schedule, that I'd drawn up to script my recovery, showed a two hour run but I'd decided I'd slug this one out for 3 hrs. I had good ol' Amit for company as he'd promised to run alongside. I thought it was time I'd upped the ante on my training rather than submit to my flagging strength. Better to resist like a man than conform like a slave, Dan!

It was one of those days when a whole lot more runners turn up at Aarey. I accomplished my ritual of feeding the strays that lunged impatiently at the biscuits thrown to them. After this, greetings hailed and water bottles in tow, we set off. I strode with a pack that seemed to do a pace that was more than I would be able to handle. Thankfully, the pack broke off into two, with the slower one comprising Amit, Rohit and me. The first loop of 12.45K was accomplished with a few jokes and trivial banter on the recent attack by a Leopard that had sprung on the back of a park official somewhere in India. Amit remarked that his wife warned him that a similar fate would befall him soon at Aarey; her way of getting him to spend a little more quality time at home instead of indulging in a useless and enervating pastime like running:)

Back at our start point, I stopped to drink up in an effort to stave off dehydration, that I felt was setting in. I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me briefly warning me that the second loop may well be my undoing. The decision was made though, and I set off with Amit, a wee bit at a shuffle this time. We cruised down the Aarey hill when it became clear that this one was going to be tough. Not only was there no hint of rain, but the sun peeked briefly, as if mocking our wager on the second loop. Amit was listening keenly, I could see, to my breath coming on as a gentle wheez, an indication of my distress. He endeared himself to me even more when he whispered, 'Dan, let me know when we should walk'. I nodded silently, unable to speak as hyperventilation prevented me.

At the 17K mark, I relented to the soft cry of 'slow down Dan', in my subconscious. Instinctively, as if I'd spoken to him, Amit slowed to a walk. I realised then that it was my muttered 'shucks' exhaled in resignation, that was the signal for him to do so. We recovered and picked pace again to complete another 5K before we arrived at the hill, looming impossibly before me. I walked up the hill, completely spent with Amit for company, the heat sapping us completely. The last 1.5K brought excitement and I smiled as Amit, having completed his brotherly chore of hand holding me within pissing distance of home, set off at a gallop. It was then that I saw his larger sacrifice of pulling back the reins just for me. I speeded up the last 400m to reach our start point and sank to my knees to cross myself and thank the good lord for helping me accomplish this feat. It was the 23rd of August, a saturday, exactly three months since this very day when I'd touched the hand of God and he'd said, 'No Dan, its not your time now'. I rose to Hi-5 Amit and a few runners that were waiting for me to finish. The feeling was overwhelming as I remembered the words from "America".

When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain
And the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain
In the shadow of the forest though she may be old and worn
They will stare unbelieving at the last unicorn

When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing
And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising
And it seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn
In the distance hear the laughter of the last unicorn

I'm alive, I'm alive

Flight of fantasy

Recovery has been slow but sure. I can feel strength creeping into my body but the heart rate and lungs get that searing sting when I try to run long. I am still walking the hill at Aarey but I feel resigned to doing it. Besides, I have gotten wiser since I know that any foolhardy attempt at coasting it, could set me back a few months.

I stirred in my bed while it was dark as a grave outside. The faint ghostly blue glow on my wrist-watch showed 00:52. Today was even worse; my insomnia usually nudges me awake at 2:30am and I am only able to drift back at 4am. I tossed around and after a while Dojo came by to enquire about the ruckus I was creating with rustling bedsheets:) I gave him a cursory scratch under the chin and he wagged his tail with bored acknowledgement of my attention. I looked at the watch again and it said 3:15am; that is 2+hrs that I have been awake! I crawled out of bed and hobbled to the kitchen, the achy limbs reminding me of yesterday' run at Aarey. I fixed myself a hot cuppa 'Earl' Grey' and munched on a 'Pain au chocolat', an indulgence from the Theobroma Patisierie that we allow ourselves on weekends. The maid stirred in her sleep and gave me an incredulous look when she saw the tea cup.

The tea calmed me a bit and a blissful sleep took over until I was rudely awakened by my alarm going off at 6:30am. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, stepped into my shoes and entered my own world of wafting lonely as a clod:) over hills and vales at Aarey. There was a pleasant drizzle that made things exhilarating and yet, contained my exertions. There weren't too many walkers today and I had the forest to myself. I could hear the hiss of drizzle, the rumble of a BEST bus grinding gears and the clip-clop of my shoes skiming puddles. I needed a flight of fantasy. I wished I could join my guys for an x/12 in the near future to get back my dignity - damn! why am I making a big deal of all this? I decided to be ludicruous and make myself a promise and the only way I could remind myself was thru' SPANDAU BALLET;

http://www.sortmusic.com/_s/spandau-ballet-song,tiI%27ll%20Fly%20For%20You,len.html
Passion take the wind
and break me from this tie
we're mortals on the earth
oh but God's up in the sky
I haven't got a clue
I haven't got a thing
but what I give to you
is all that I could bring

I'll give you all my time
that's everything to me
you know my only crime
is this flight of fantasy

Chorus:
because I've nothing else here for you
and just because it's easier than the truth
oh if there's nothing else that I can do
I'll fly for you

Baby steps

It is now two months since I was discharged from hospital after being taken seriously ill. The recovery process has, as it should be, been slow. Afterall, my heart had taken a beating and well, it had almost stopped....beating! Upon discharge, the ventricular ejection-fraction was low and this meant that it was not pumping to full capacity. This is especially disheartening for me as a distance runner. It means there would not be enough blood to feed the muscles in my legs, should I choose to go for a jog.

This stunning realization hit me like a ten ton truck, when I tested my legs for my first group run this week. It was just as if I was a beginner; like all the people that I have trained at the NIKE RUN CLUB. My exertions came to a grinding halt within 400m of my jog and I had to be content shuffling like an old man! So here I was, Zico the marathoner, with 23 marathons to his name, struggling to run his first km:) How much more humbling can it get? I walked a while and having recovered, resumed my jog again. This walk-run process, a toddler' measure, that I prescribe to newbies, is what I got a taste of.

I have difficulty explaining to walkers at Aarey, that have looked up to me for years, as the epitome of health & fitness, as to why I seem to walk more than run nowadays. I smile sheepishly and often state that I have been away for long or that I am enjoying the rain. I have been walking up the hill that has defined me in all these years. When I was the lone runner at Aarey in 1999, walkers looked on with amazement as I coasted along at a gallop, on that incline. I prided in never walking that hill; but, today is a different story. It is precisely this that will spur me on to getting back to what I used to be - conquering that hill at least at a canter.

Until then, I have to watch with longing as the guys doing their 12 marathons in 12 months keep their date with the run every month, their cheerleaders in tow. I have joined them for three of these runs. I realised that I am truly alone in nursing my health, emotions and bruised ego back to feeling respected and cared about with my runner friends and pupils. There are expressions of sympathy that are meant to alleviate some of the pain but real empathy that soothes the senses comes from a few good men and women. I feel lonesome, watching as they run past and I'm singing;

Lady Madonna, children at your feet
Wonder how you manage to make ends meet
Who finds the money when you pay the rent?
Did you think that money was heaven sent?

Friday night arrives without a suitcase
Sunday morning creeping like a nun
Monday's child has learned to tie his bootlegs
See how they run

Darkness at noon

It was 2:30am on Good Friday. I had promised myself I would practice abstinence from meat and alcohol and that I would completely skip a meal on this day to mourn the crucifixion of Christ. Little did I know that I would be compelled to do this and more - fast for the next 72 hours! As soon as I collected my thoughts, I felt my bowels lurch. I doubled over with a grimace as I got off the bed in my hotel room in Ludhiana where I was on business tour. I rushed to the toilet and felt a wave of relief and the deep satisfaction that suffuses you after a rather copious evacuation. This turned out to be short-lived as I then threw up and this alternate and periodic voiding of my innards went on and on and on. I was weakened and could barely stand now.

It was morning and about time too that I should warn my office colleagues of my condition. One look at me and they felt I had seen a ghost. With barely enough strength to dress and with unsteady bearing, we visited a local physician who advised that I be put on a drip. I looked up in alarm and shook my head, meekly admitting to the doctor that a grown man like me was petrified of needles. The smirk on his countenance would have me lecture him on the concept of phobia, should he be uninformed as such, and my momentary irritation would have him tagged a country bumpkin.

I suffered in silence periodically throwing up, even as my office colleagues, who had accompanied me on this tour, prayed for an improvement in my condition. Finally, and since my heart had begun palpitations on account of low blood volume and possible electrolyte imbalance, it became imperative that I go to a hospital. When I did arrive at the hospital at 11:15am the next day, I had to be swept into emergency services and the readout from the ECG that was strapped on me in a flurry, sent the medics into a tizzy. My heart needed the over-riding electrical impulse of an external pace-maker to subdue its runaway beats. Such cardiac intervention was alarming enough to warrant the spread, like wild-fire, of news that I had suffered a cardiac event. It caused shock and indignant denial from everyone that knows me and more so with Monsoon and Bryan, who reserved comment with stoic resolve until then reached the hospital.

I was in a daze and drifted in and out of consciousness; a brief journey to the nether world, a resurrection of sorts, is all I could recall, from the flurry of activity around me and my own intermittent blissful drift to a gamma wave sleep. My heart having attained a semblance of normalcy, I was shifted to ICU for further treatment and evaluation, as clinical parameters for my liver and renal function were still a cause for concern.

It was the brilliance of Dr Gautam Ahluwalia, who surmised that I might be afflicted with LEPTOSPIROSIS, that saved me a prolonged tenure at the hospital. I was put on a dose of Doxycycline and within 12 hours my condition had stabilized. Monsoon and Bryan reached me after an exhausting 8 hr road journey from Delhi to Ludhiana. They were informed enroute that I was fine and upon arriving at the ICU at 2am, I could sense their relief in seeing me smile.

I spent the next four days in the company of pretty nurses who exhibited a quiet efficiency and mellifluous intonation when periodically fussing over me with their pleasant ministrations. I felt reassured that I was in good hands. Such hospitality was perhaps accentuated by the delicious meals that were served me and the constant enquiry by the dietician on its sufficiency, quality and flavor. Soon I was grippped with boredom and an urgent desire to go home. After what seemed like an eternity, I was relieved to be discharged. We flew down to Mumbai and I came home to a glorious welcome from Dojo, who could not contain his excitement thru' his yelps while darting in and out of all rooms in the house.

I was blessed with good friends from the running community and felt the warm comfort and wishes of Madhu, Pramila, Ashok, Srinivas, Amit, Rohit and Ashwin, who visited my place. The chocolates and souvenirs that Madhu and Pramila gifted me from their vacation overseas, endeared them to me. A week later, I had follow up tests done to check the status of my heart and I received the news of its normalcy and function with relief and a quiet prayer to the Blessed Virgin. My friends, family and colleagues could breathe easy knowing that I had not suffered a cardiac event and that it was merely an inflammation of the cardiac muscle that had triggered complications that sent alarm bells ringing. Holy saturday at midday, the day I was admitted to hospital, brought a darkness at noon in my life; my darkest hour in a life that has otherwise been devoid of any major illness or medical emergency.

The lord is my shepherd
there is nothing I shall want
Fresh and green are the pastures
where he gives me repose

Near restful waters he leads me
to revive my drooping spirit
The lord is my shepherd
there is nothing I shall want.

Horse with no name

It seemed an exhausting journey at the end of it all. Amit and Srinivas had discovered a new trail in the Aarey forest. Yes, believe you me, in the concrete jungle that is Bombay, we live close to a veritable treasure trove of flora and fauna. It was decided that we meet up today for our weekend saturday run and they would show us the trail.

We started out at 6am and as we hit the trail, it seemed to be a rutted track in parts with dense stones strewn around, making it difficult to stride without the risk of an ankle twisting. To be fair, in parts it was dusty with the red mud and sharp inclines that tested the strength of your quads and achilles tendon. After a while it opened out into a table top that offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the city sky line, making you want to throw up at the pigeon hole apartments and the dense concrete structures. Of course the panorama was of a green valley with the rutted trail track we had traversed and a mist hanging over it like a cloud.

The trail run was exhasuting and some of the steep inclines forced most of us to walk and proceed. It would no doubt be a beautiful route to take in the monsoon on a mild rainy day with dark clouds and a drizzle to give you that blissful sting to your face upturned to the sky, like that of a wonderstruck child. I would do that run with a song in my heart; however, today, it sapped us. The loop back to the start point was done and there was that unspoken question as to whether we would do the 30K we were scheduled to do today. The inclines had drained everyone and there was one person that bit the dust; Ashwin, who had an ankle twist.

After hydrating, we set out for the second loop and this told its own story by the time we were half way thru'; we had to stop at the Gaundevi temple and drench ourselves with water from the cooler. The return journey, thru extreme heat and humidity took its toll on most by the time we had finished the second loop. Most thru' the towel into the ring and there was just Srinivas and I, heroically wanting to finish what we started:) We set out once again and it was halfway thru' this that I became delirious with fatigue.

Srinivas too was speculating on the lunacy in not heeding the other people' decision. Every step brought wincing pain in the calves and a burn in the throat that was parched to tinder. I remembered the song by America entitled above and the words rang true in my mind; in the desert you can't remember your name. This was my state for we both had our chins buried and like brothers in arms, we knew how much suffering we were enduring. When we staggered home we gave ourselves away by the way we leaned against the car and swayed as if on the verge of collapse. I guess, if I had eaten even one of the gels that Aravindan so kindly and thoughtfully offered me (a whole bunch actually - I must repay him in kind) later, I would have been able to stave off such mind numbing fatigue. Aravindan' sister gifted him the gels and he was selfless in sharing it with me and some other friends. Running has brought to me the more beautiful facet of human nature and true friendship. And now, I must share with you the song (altered to suit) that somehow seems it was meant for the trail and my exhausting junket.

On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound

I've been through the trail on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

Farenheit

It seemed the perfect way to wakeup. My eyes popped open and I lay breathing easy, looking out at a dark sky, wondering whether it was an unearthly hour or close to dawn. I reached for my digital watch. It glowed to show 4:27am; just 3 mins short of my wake up alarm. I also felt well rested and wondered about Venkat, our RFL member' theory, about sleep waves and that waking up in the gamma phase causes disorientation and headaches: there was none of this.

I had too many things to do before Srinivas picks me up at 5am. This included the wash up ritual, my cuppa java, getting blocks of ice set in utensils, out of them and into an ice-box and putting together the paraphernalia I need for running a full marathon. Yes, we were scheduled to do our fourth marathon in as many months. The heat and humidity made it a daunting prospect.

We began our run at 5:40am and the first 28K were a breeze, in that, we had cerebral discussions on training requirements for running an Ultra-marathon (Comrades), real estate and of course the banter involving jokes from Kavin' repertoire. We had our angels in Madhumita, Pramila and Puneet; they have been selflessly manning an aid station for 4 - 5 hours; and, besides the usual ministrations of serving us electrolyte, or energy bars or handing out ice-water, they encouraged us with applause and cheering for every loop of 7K that we did. This time there were others that joined in to help us. There was Natasha, Ashwin, Allen and Kavin.

We started for the last but one loop and there was animated discussion about how we could do the same before 11am, which was 2 hrs away. Amit was like, 'Do gante mein aaram se ho sakta hai boss' and I replied, 'Amit, the game suddenly changes'. That became the catch phrase for all later; "the game changes":). We were still fine as we had done just 28K and since I am convinced that physiologically, the wall really does not disappear, I was the lone cynic. Then it happened: Srinivas' legs buckled at 30K and he announced, 'Dan, I'm plastered man. Don't know how I'm gonna finish this one!'

At 34K I felt as if lead was being pumped into the blood vessels in my legs. This was the cold and icy clutch of fatigue gripping me. A sense of impending doom made me feel desolate, as I still had a long way to go. At 35K, with one last loop to go and feeling a bit faint, I decided to tank up on electrolyte fearing cramps. It seems to have reached a part of my innards where it mattered most, as I felt a brief spell of freshness. Then at 38K, I felt my legs buckle, but the very thought that there were just 4K to go, allowed me to hang on to Amit (who felt the strain too and was also slowing down now), so that I could finish with him. When we had 400m to go, Mahesh was ahead, but turned around and came back to run alongside me saying, 'Sir, ke saath finish karna hai.' Courtesy, humility and simplicity are the terms of endearment that define these true friends of mine.

We staggered to the finish and had our angels give us a thumping welcome. My relief was ineffable but clearly evident from the way I hobbled and sat on a nearby bench:) A while later, I felt as good as new:) There was ample post run carboloading comprising a delectable selection of fruit, sandwiches, a box of turkish delights that were aptly called Harem' Delight and a sinful looking chocolate cake; the later being a celebration, both belated and advance, for Madhu', Puneet' and Supriya' birthdays. The classic finish to the whole event was the ice cold can of TUBORG and KINGFISHER DRAUGHT, thoughtfully cooled to perfection by our angels, who leave no stone unturned to spoil us:). The 4/12 was done and in the bag, but it was one hell of a run in rising mercury. I felt the faint strains Phil Collins' song in my heart;

I call out to the woman on the street
She can see I've been crying
I've got blisters on the soles of my feet
Can't walk but I'm trying

Oh think twice, it's another day for me in paradise
Oh think twice, it's just another day for you and me in paradise

Dotage

I set the coffee pot on the gas burner to simmer and waited for the thick liquor to ooze and set free those wonderful aromatic flavors that rouse you from your sleep. I looked out at the aarey forest from my window and saw the misty haze hover like gun smoke on the trees. I never fail to marvel at how much of a difference forest cover makes to weather, just a hop, step and jump away from my concrete abode. My mind wandered to the visit our widowed neighbour paid me last evening.

She had come to hand over some Swiss chocolates and a gift as gratitude for our looking after her and her home, when she is away visiting her daughter. She was rather embarassingly effusive in her gratefulness. I could understand her feelings only when she briefly broke down, in mid-conversation, her voice catching as she said, 'loneliness is the worst scourge of old age, Daniel. And I thank God that you people are there for me. It is for this reason I have handed over our house keys to you; so that you can open the door some day - in case something happens to me!' I reassured her, as she was leaving, that we would always be there for her and that she needn't worry. As I watched her hunched and wan countenance drift past the corridor, I realised the full import and truth in her admiting the evitability of our existence.

I was feeling strong this morning and so I decided I'd go and blast my muscles a wee bit. They say you lose 1% muscle mass for every year you are over forty and I was focused on a way to preserve mine. There is this workout I learned from the US Navy Seals Physical Fitness Handbook (a treasure trove of workouts), in which the major muscle groups can be better worked using a 5 Rep max. It enthused me enough to prepare a chart of the sets, reps and weights I'd add to the bar. A different approach to working the muscles always serves to shock them into renewed hypertrophy. It seemed to work its magic; at least that' what it seemed in the bathroom mirror whilst taking a shower on reaching home. Vanity is not the sole preserve of women:) Lets hope, by God' grace, it lasts and I may humor myself with a quote:)

I complain that the years fly past, but then I look in a mirror and see that very few of them actually got past. ~Robert Brault

Let it be

I am making the sacrifice and I will not dwell on the outcome, even if it doesn't work out. Two weeks and two job offers with not only a possible tripling of my current income; but, also a change in my profile to the big corporate league. I decided - I will have none of it! It means a locational change to a city not too far away; but, with Bryan needing me now more than ever, I cannot even ponder it. We discussed my coming home on weekends but it won't work out: my boy needs me, period. The Head-Hunter cannot understand my decision. I seek solace in words below, that formed a part of the life of St Francis Xavier. After all, my parents named me Vaz Daniel Richard Francis ( I do happen to like the fact that the Goa birth certifcate says, "Ricardo":))

"I was dazzled by the glitter of wealth; I was deceived by the promises of the world." The inexorable Judge will answer, "I warned you against these. Did I not say?"
What doth it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and suffers the loss of his own soul? (Matt. 16:26) - Ven. Louis of Granada - The Sinner's Guide

I went to the Gym today and worked out this aging body of mine and felt proud it responded well. There was this barrel-chested college student that did a Dead-lift with 150 lbs and dropped the bar with a thud. I had just walked in and seeing that the Bench-Press was occupied, paused to look at the bar and in a fit of lunacy, lifted it to do 8 reps of Dead-lift. The college student walked away bewildered. I worked on all the sets in my workout sheet, possessed with a frenzy that got me thru' the routine with a burn and a heaving chest, and maybe it had something to do with my own frustration.

I have taken time off to teach Bryan Physics, Chemistry and Biology, and so far, we seem to be doing well. The next two years are crucial and my sacrificing my own career will tell me whether my sacrifice is worth it. Worth be damned because I first need to sow the seeds well, if I want to harvest a good crop. God will provide the rest of the ingredients and the other inputs that are currently unpredictable (like rain) - I read recently about "deterministic unpredictability" and maybe my subconcious will work out a solution to this uncertainty and make it certain. Meanwhile, I have to let it be.....( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdopMqrftXs)

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Seemed like old times

It was probably 4am but I'm just guessing. I stirred drowsily and felt the ache that' been in my hips since the long run on Saturday. It was a nice 22K (and another 3K of walk for me) with Amit and Ashwin, at a pace, conversational enough to permit exchange of several jokes. I wondered if it was just muscle soreness or a specific strain. It was clear that I would not be able to run this morning and so I reached out and put off the alarm. When I woke up next, it was bright and late for a run, so I decided I'd head to the Gym.

I gathered my towel and mused about my strength training over the last few years. I thought of the good ol' days when I trained with Nihal and Mainthan. There was this one occasion when Nihal and I worked out in the Gym for 4 hrs, much to the chagrin of the owner and the wonderment of fellow "spotters". The three of us were broad chested with well formed legs and biceps, and there used to be many that would want to train with us because of our aggressive, focused and heavy-set training. I felt a touch of nostalgia and melancholy about it all. Mainthan still trains in Australia and has won a few body-building competitions, while Nihal still retains a natural physique with his propensity to burn fat, as a certified "ectomorph":)

I reached the Gym with my workout schedule written on a paper, something that I have found useful. Charged with the enthusiasm of my recent thoughts on training, I set about meticulously arranging the Barbell and weights. It helped that the Gym was not too crowded and that I had enough time on hand. I focused on each set and racked up the weights to blast my pecs, traps and delts to a burn. It wasn't long before I felt the Tee tighten around my back and chest. I smiled a faint smile as I realised that I could still have blood pump up my muscles in a few sets, a benediction afforded to few. I chose to do three sets for each muscle group, something I had not done in years and I wondered as to why I had neglected my musculature when it paid me rich dividends for very little investment in time.

When I was through with military presses, by which time my muscles were fatigued but my Tee was taut around my chest, I breathed deep and went out into the garden outside the Gym. There were a few walkers and joggers still doing the 400m loop, as I hooked my feet under the parallel bars, while wide-eyed 20 somethings saw me do "roman situps". It is one exercise that really blasts your abs. I then went on to do box jumps at a rapid pace that got a guy and a girl, as well as the trainer teaching them to do leg raises, to pause and watch me. The trainer gave me a knowing smile (he knows me since the last 10 yrs) as he realised that such plyometric strength in the achilles tendon is unusual...except in a few (possibly runners), even as he whispered in marathi, "Thoe marathon runner aahe!".

Satisfied with my whole body strength and isometric workout, I went for a "spin" into aarey with my driver, who was parked outside the Gym. I watched the last few walkers hurrying home even as the heat was out and the strays had disappeared. I cruised down the hill and looked out, and I was reminded of the strains of "Danny boy", from the CD that was recently purchased for that very reason (it figures my name:)) and which I had played last night. I leaned back and sang the song even though it seemed narcissistic to do so:), but felt reassured that I was in a position to get back some semblance of my physique; even if it meant sacrificing my runs a bit.

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow'
Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

Way to go.

There is no exclamation mark in the title as it is neither a shout of encouragement nor a congratulatory note. It just means there is still a while before the bubbly can be uncorked. I am refering to the 3rd full marathon in a series of 12 in 12 months planned by Amit, that was scheduled yesterday.

Due to my own foolhardy nature, I bit on more than I could chew. I did a 20 miler about 10 days after the last FM. This seemed more than I could handle, given the other stressors in my life. I came down with a throat infection and a fever, about a week ago. Hoping for the best, I popped a few capsules of antibiotic and felt about 95% recovered by Thursday. I did not dissuade Amit from postponing the event and played it by ear. I popped my last antibiotic on Thursday night, realizing that doing it a day before would surely affect my performance.

When the alarm beeped at 5am, I woke up with a lingering lung congestion, a blocked nose and a low grade fever. I shook my head at the insanity that grips me at such times. I inhaled steam, blew my nose, showered in warm water and drank a hot cuppa java. I felt better and then reached for the rucksack loaded with 6 bottles of electrolyte, meant for my run. I whispered a prayer and stepped out the door.

The run was a loop of 7K to be done 6 times. This time our angels handling the aid station were Pramila and Puneet. Roshni joined us for 21K and then assisted them, while Madhu took the trouble of preparing Idlis for us; the perfect post-run carboloading snack. Every loop completed, earned us an applause from these four angels.

The first two loops went off like a breeze. During the third loop I felt the strain of inhaling air thru' phlegm lined bronchioles. Rohit, who joined us for 28K, kidded me about always thinking like an Engineer when I complained that "gas exchange" was affected. The 4th loop brought along fatigue that caused me to trail Amit, Raj and Dr Oak, by about 50m. I soon caught up with them, or maybe they slowed down for me. I was now focusing on drawing air deep thru' deliberate diaphragmatic breathing.

On the 5th loop, Raj, who had started about 30 mins earlier with the intention of doing 50K, sped ahead since he found our pace "easy":) He also wanted to add about 3K more, inorder to reach that target and hence his haste:) Amit, Dr Oak and I contented ourselves with a steady pace that would surely bring us in, in about 5 hrs. My fatigue had not gotten worse but I dreaded the 6th loop.

The blazing sun sapped us and it is only the frequent aid stations, which were placed such that we could drink up once every 25 mins, that saved us from severe dehydration. I found Amit and Dr Oak were still maintaining pace but I was particularly fatigued and distressed by now. Not wanting to have people wait for me to finish, I forced the pace on myself and realized that Amit gave me a sidelong glance, concerned at my labored breathing.

The final 2K was all that was left and I hung in there. I have often opined that people reveal their true nature thru' small events, words or attitude. Suffice it to say that I again appreciated Amit' selfless offer to "finish together", whereas he could easily have paced Dr Oak, who had zipped ahead. The run was done and I high-fived Amit for getting this one too in the bag.

The post run carboloading was taken up with gusto and excited banter on the whole event. Meanwhile, Raj came in and had his "touch down" for an easy 51K. He deserved all the plaudits that were heaped on him. His commitment, dedication and hardwork had paid off and his endurance has shot thru' the roof. As for lesser mortals and an "also ran" like me, I felt a sense of relief for having managed to finish a FM with a less than perfect condition. That' three in the bag and....well...way to go! At least I can pat myself on the back:)

Late Sunday evening, Amit, Raj, Srinivas and I shared a bottle of Talisker that was tabled by Srinivas as a token of gratitude for my having helped him in a small way towards his fantastic sub 4 in the HK marathon. The three of them seemed to focus on what they alluded to as my latent potential for better times in the FM. "Maybe," I said as I shrugged, hoping that I would get the time to train for it some day soon, and prove them right.

Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.
Friedrich Nietzsche

Imagine

I woke up early this morning and the eerie illuminated dial of my digital watch told me it was 4:18am. Try as I could, I was unable to go back to sleep. I stared like an owl into the darkness outside my bedroom window and soon heard the distant call for "Aazaan" at a nearby mosque. My immediate reaction was a flood of thoughts on the tense and precarious situation in the middle-east, with governments being overthrown and the global economic climate bracing for another salvo of fiscal mayhem.

I went back a few decades in time and remembered the Iran revolution and the rise of Khomeini. I was at St Xaviers College then and my very best friend Haji Ghulam Reza (I was impressed that he shared the same last name as the over-thrown Shah of iran) was concerned for his friends and family back in Tehran. My nostalgia of our puerile antics in college and the blatant flirting episodes, was interrupted by the soft-footed trot of Dojo' paws as he came over for a snuggle. I hugged him with relief realizing that there are but a few things in life that are immutable; and one of them is the love exuded by a pet, especially a dog, like our adorable Daschund.

My alarm went off and I rose quickly to set the coffee maker for my very own concoction of "Cafe Mocha". I felt the caffeine kick in and kick out the last vestige of sleep-deficit-filled fatigue. It is amazing how someone stumbled upon coffee and beer, two ambrosias that are part of a large spectrum of cannabinoids. I pulled on my running shoes and went out to meet up with a rather small group that was turning up for our weekend run. These are runs that provide spice and solace to an otherwise stressful and bland existence.

The run itself was very refreshing and it was one of those days when I finished feeling "comfortably tired" as Arthur Lydiard puts it in his training manual. However, for good measure and since I had a half hour in hand I went off on my own to skirt a loop around a dried up pond. It was on this brief sojourn that I remembered John Lennon and how utopian his dream was, when he put together the words of "Imagine";

Imagine there's no countries,
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You...you may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You...you may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will live as one

What a wonderful world

I have been slacking on my runs and taking it too easy since the last few weeks (baring the recent full marathon run). I seem to enjoy lying in bed long after my alarm has gone off; and surprisingly, I am able to go back to sleep! I told myself last night, that I've about had it with this tryst with sloth and that I need to call on my "other self"; the Sergeant (Pepper) that barks at dawn saying, "Wake ye, wake ye, you good for nothin' bums - and line up for parade with your shoes shined enough, to reflect your clean shaven face!"

And so it happened that my alarm beeped this morning and got me rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, still contemplating some ridiculous excuse such as "tomorrow I'll run twice as long!". I sighed and dragged myself to the kitchen, wondering whether age was catching up with me. The aroma of coffee, as always awakened my senses, and it was while sipping the scalding java that I thought of a plan to re-ignite my senses to the power of my inner GPS (my "Rating of Perceived Exertion") and do a run that would last as long as I want it to, with nary a physiological indication of distress.

I started out hesistantly with nothing more than a shuffle, ready to walk in case my ventilatory threshold went over the brink. But lo and behold, I had soon made the transition to a canter and then I had to hold my horses, or I would have galloped:). It must be the two days of high quality plyometrics, I thought. What else could be the reason for my being able to float and glide along so easily in the rich green forest that I had now entered. For once, I was not looking at the road blurring past, but up at a beautiful sunrise, blue skies, wispy white clouds and dense undergrowth of tree branches dried to tinder. I felt happy that I had dispersed the clouds of slumber, in whose comfort I had been sinking for a while. I felt the rich guttural strains of Louis Armstrongs' classic fill my senses, even as a beatific smile graced my countenance.

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Four rode out

My father was not an educated man, couldn't speak a word of English and understood very little. Despite this, he used to take my brother and me out for English movies. He wanted us to learn and understand the ways of the world beyond our tiny abode in Dhobitalao, South Bombay. I remember him sitting in the cinema hall watching the images flash on the screen, trying to work out some logic to the audio-visual. I felt close to him at such moments and I guess this is why I spend more time teaching Bryan about life. "Four rode out" was one such movie that my father took me to and it revolved around four cowboys that rode out into the desert and suffered fatigue and dehydration.

When Amit proposed that we do 12 marathons in 12 months and the second of this series was scheduled last Saturday, I thought I was gripped by a wave of lunacy to agree to it. I woke up at 4:50am to a quiet, dark and wintry (yes, it is still quite cold) dawn. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee pervaded the room seeping its opiate into a sluggish brain, unwilling to address the exhausting task awaiting me. I savored every sip of the hot java, while I brooded on how best to tackle the full monty - a distance of 42.195 kms.

Amit and I began at 6:30 even while runners were arriving, some of them with an objective of calorie surplus (not deficit) because they were going to gorge on a veritable breakfast buffet laid out by Roshni, it being her birthday. After about 3K, we were joined by Raj and Mahesh, the eager beavers that can reel out a marathon, at the drop of a hat. We did a loop of another 10K and by then there were about 30 runners that were assembled for the grand celebration. The cake cut, an off key rendition of "Happy Birthday", wishes, a slice of eggless cake (Roshni is our very own PETA fundamentalist:)) and we were off - to taste the sweat from our brow.

A centrally located aid station by way of a car with water, Gatorade and biscuits was manned by two angels; Madhumita and Puneet. So selfless was their sacrifice on a Saturday, that they hung around for 5 hrs waiting for us to complete, while taking our pics and handing out electrolyte to us - instead of spending quality time with their own family. The sun came out with its usual vengeance dispersing the last traces of the cool caress of breeze. The four of us ran as a group, tacitly acknowledging the laboured breathing of each, as the miles swept by. The pace was deliberately nudged up by me to ensure there was no slack for comfort zones. I can be deliberate in eliciting pain in a venture such as the full monty, once I am in my elements; and I certainly was. The faint fatigue on waking up was long forgotten and I wondered as to why in God' name, I was even contemplating doing less than the scheduled distance.

There was a pipeline that had burst and it was spewing cool water at high pressure into a rutted grass filled furrow. It was not something we were going to ignore. The child in us surfaced as we stuck out a foot on the torrent spurting from the burst mains and sent the ice cold spray all over each other. The shock of cold water revived us enough to race along at a pace that is considered "killer" by us. We finished 38K and staggered to the aid station with hope and anticipation writ large on our face. Amit and I set out to bag this one and while were at it, I must admit that we were reduced to a shuffle. I was wheezing and in the last 800m I felt my calves seizing up in a cramp. I was reduced to a painful hobble and felt camaraderie with Amit as he announced to me, "We are going to finish this together". I respected him for that remark. And finish it we did, heaving a sigh of relief and diving into the spray of water, my tee off and my cap used as a "Lowta" to pour water on my head.

Post run hydrating and carbo-loading was underway for both of us, as Raj and Mahesh came in for their own finish. A can of beer was opened as we took grateful but token sips to mark the occasion. There were lots of idlis and cake remaining for us and having just completed a full monty we were famished and thirsty. The idlis and chutney seemed to be fast disappearing as we wolfed them down gratefully. The 2 out of 12 marathon was done and in the bag; 10 more to go guys!

Speedy Gonzales

A while before the alarm beep went off, I was roused from my sleep by a disturbing dream. I had lost my Laptop while on a bus and had lost everything: my credit card, my cheque books, driving licence, Pan Card - the whole lot. Even as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I was cheered by the sight of the faint outline of my Laptop sitting on the table. So, I hadn't lost any of it afterall! But the dream had set the tone for my gloom.

I sat in the dark, looking out at a dark sky, waiting for the grey glimmer of dawn to show up. Finally, I stirred myself to prepare the most delicious capuccino that I have gotten used to whipping up for myself since the last 2 months. The aroma of fresh arabica coffee wafts thru' the house getting Dojo' canine nose to twitch and Minoti to stir as if Dojo' olfactory response is somehow wired to her own. I sit and brood over my coffee and realize that somehow, in the blink of an eye, 11 years have gone by and Bryan is now giving his 10th Std prelims. I went over memories of standing in the queue to pay up his fees at kindergarten, while he went wandering around, squeezing himself past people' legs, looking out for strays - his favorite pastime then. And then I was humming Don Maclean' tune as if to give identity to my pensive reflection.

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

The coffee dregs drained to the last drop, I slapped my thighs and said, "Show time, Dan", as if to pep myself for the blitzkrieg of a tempo run I was scheduled to unleash by way of a catharsis for my solitude. My running shoes tied up, I stepped out on the road for a gradual warm up (something I'd recently learned in my course on fitness, is essential). I reached my favorite point for doing speedwork loops. There were two other walkers on a bench close by, that nodded greeting. I set my beeper on the watch and took off in the first light of dawn, the ground a blur as I felt my feet ploughing thru the asphalt, willing my heels to reach my butt, which in turn would get me to stride faster. Soon my exertions sent a buzz in my ears but I was not to be detered from cleansing my melancholy soul with a rush of endorphins. Thru' the wheezing and burning lungs, I sighted Mahesh in a haze and felt elation. I waved him to join me and motioned the loop. Delighted, he rushed and was soon alongside me but the pace was merely a canter for him.

Mahesh looked at my grim features and knew it was serious speedwork time. He asked, "Kya pace karna hai" and I could barely manage, "four - - fifty - - two" between breaths. We hit the first loop at 4:49 and as we coasted thru' 4 loops, I could see Mahesh focussed on ensuring that blood lactate was building up to give me the burn I needed to incinerate my fears. On the 5th loop, I was singing Speedy Gonzales, the exhilaration of hitting the pace was clearing showing;

La - la.....la - la - la....
Your doggy's gonna have a puppy
And we're runnin' outta coke
No enchiladas in the icebox
And the television's broke
I saw some lipstick on your sweatshirt
I smelled some perfume in your ear
Well if you're gonna keep on messin'
Don't bring your business back a-here

Mmm, Speedy Gonzales, why dontcha come home?
Speedy Gonzales, how come ya leave me all alone?

Some people create with words, or with music, or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run.

Run out!

Thats right; I've been run out - I mean literally. I have spent the entire year in shoring up flagging spirits of runners, advising them, posting articles on motivation and training, answering queries on injuries, organizing group runs,drawing up programs on training and making race plans for many. All of this obviously involves a substantial investment of my time. But then I do this as a passion and as a running evangelist. Everyone has been having a fine time on RFL.

A bright idea was proposed; that we hand out awards to BEST RUNNER OF THE YEAR MALE & FEMALE at a "Runners' bash". I was of the opinion that if we do this, we ought to draw up criteria for such an award, so that people are guided to vote for their choice. The idea was to encourage newbies with such an award. Such a suggestion did not find merit and maybe there were "foregone conclusions" on the winners and I was perhaps blissfully unaware of it all. The choice was announced and guess what, I just about made it to that list! Or did you Dan? - not that I wanted to or expected it. Some consolation that! I am to share third place! What is worse is that even my close friends didn't seem to think I was handed a raw deal - which is too bad. It doesn't feel nice to be hit below the belt.

Look at the bright side. I have several runners that genuinely come up to me and thank me for having touched their lives. Then there is their recent success in tackling the race at SCMM and the effusive gratitude for my help, posted by many on our page. There is the National Park group that bought me a Gym bag as a token of their gratitude for taking their running level to new heights; and most recently, there is dear Francis, who could not run even 500m a while back, and at age 61, has creamed the half marathon at SCMM. Francis handed me a beautiful hand crafted bag filled with some of the most delicious home-made chocolates. I do remember him telling me his sister made the bag and the chocolates. My eyes welled up as I accepted this beautiful "award". What more can I ask for?

Road to perdition

As yuletide turned the corner, I dug out the Jim Reeves album from a dusty trunk, to play my favourite Christmas carols. Soothed by the baritone strains of, “Dear Senor Santa Claus, I think I’ll tell you what; I would like for Christmas and I hope you won’t forgot,...,” I embraced a dream, in which, thru’ entreaty or intimidation, I am not sure which, Santa brings me an elixir. One that, when consumed at the start of the marathon, brings me a Boston qualifier even as I wave to the crowds like an Olympic champion skirting the stadium, gracefully levitating with every stride The warm glow from the single malt, in sharp contrast to the dim flicker from the solitary wan lamp by the sofa, nudged me to cut to the chase. The Mumbai Marathon had crept up even as I tried desperately to give some semblance of shape to my training. I have, perhaps had the worst year in terms of mileage, even though my running groups seemed to have stepped up theirs. I was really at my wits end as to what I ought to do about this race. My girth, over the last few months, seemed to be growing faster than the stock market. It was then that I hit upon a plan to work on my weight which had inched up because of the good life; though they say it makes me look good

I embraced abstinence with a fervour I never seemed capable. I viewed it as my only saviour. Christmas season and my trip to Goa, where a “Susegaad” style frowns on such resolutions, made things more challenging. God knows how I managed to bring my weight down by three kilos; but, it was enough to give me hope. I based my strategy on a simple technical fact. VO2max (a clinical indicator of how much oxygen the muscles consume) is measured in ml of oxygen per kg per min. If weight is in the denominator, it stands to reason that reducing it, would spike this parameter and elevate a blighted fitness base. I had to contend with being discounted as a ‘has been’ guy now, by my runner friends. I meekly accept this because the runners in the group have been clocking great times in training and racing, besides averaging humongous mileages. Not many would wager on my doing a good race.

If you fail to prepare, prepare to fail!

Race morning had the usual surcharged atmosphere at the venue, with runners greeting each other in nervous excitement. There were many doing their first marathon, caught in an unscripted quaver of fear; sure they were likely to groan more than groove. Others that had trained hard saved their swagger for the finish, unsure of a personal best; hoping to hit the jack-pot, and not the “wall”. I was content with indulging in auto-suggestion; doing the first half in 1:58, which would give me a shot at a sub-4 hr finish. In the runners’ enclosure, as we were herded to the gate for the start, I developed a bursting bladder and nowhere to go; a folly of delaying a visit to the loo.

The race was flagged off and I felt my urine sloshing around, bringing unbearable discomfort. Finally, after about two kms, near the Trident, I shot off to the bushes and needed a whole minute to find relief. By then, most of our group had gone off and I was left way behind. I picked up pace and the first 5K had me tailing Rajesh and Ashwin but they soon surged ahead and were lost in the distance. I reached the 10K mark in 55:16 and if I discount the minute lost in the pit-stop, I was doing a remarkable pace. I felt a sudden and inexplicable fatigue hit me at the 15K mark and the cold tremor of a race going south. It is at this point that I felt that I just might finish in 5 hrs! Twenty marathons have taught me that such early signs of distress and the premonitions accompanying them are for real.

I began counting my strides to keep them even, something I had never done. I chewed on a “Snicker” and felt a spike in energy. Before I knew it, I had conquered the cause for my fatigue and soon found, to my relief that I had crossed the half way mark, near Mahim church, in – you guessed it, 1:58:40! The sea-link was coming up now and the sun beat down on me. I kept drinking water at every aid-station without realizing that I had not had even a drop of “Lucozade”, because I somehow didn’t see it being offered. I was told later, that one had to ask for it - strange!

I decided that I would look at my watch only at the 32K mark because I could feel fatigue setting in again, and I could do without any dampening of spirits. I felt like I was staggering now as my body struggled to lean forward into a rhythmic stride. It worried me that I was actually fighting to hold my pace. The interminable blazing hot stretch of the sea-link was finally done and I reached the 32K mark in 3:03:12. This is when I felt that if I could just do the last 10.2K in 56:45, I had a ghost of a chance of finishing in 3:59:59.

The pilot car with flashing lights and LED clock display went by with the elite black panthers in tow. They were soon lost in the distance and I shrugged with envious resignation, “Genetic advantage!” By the 34K mark the damage was done and I didn’t realize it! The lack of intake of electrolyte had set me up for cramps. I could feel the micro-spasms in my calves and they travelled up my spine as a tremor, portending a road to perdition ahead. It is at this point that my manly pride was bruised when this prissy (my biased mind thought - though her athletic well-formed lower extremities would certainly elicit whistles) woman in translucent tee and black sports-bra, that accentuated her frame, went past me in languid strides, seemingly fresh as a daisy. Irked by this display of comparatively better endurance, I contemplated, matching this damsel (who wasn’t distressed one bit) stride for stride. I abandoned such misplaced bravado, for surely I would invite upon myself, a coronary incident.

I shuffled on, sulking inwardly, my pace faltering now as I found the going tough. The children at Pedder Road handing out wicker baskets of sweets and fruit, calling out, “C’mon, c’mon, well done!” got my eyes to well up. Those tiny soft hands held out for a hi-5 made me reach out in a silent promise that said, yes, I will go on – swift! – my pain be damned. No sooner did I crest the hill, my resolve was put to the test as I felt the first seizure in my calves. I winced and knew that if I stopped to ease the cramp, I would not finish this race.

To give anything less than your best, is to sacrifice the gift.

I rounded the Babulnath corner and now, the black gazelles raced by in bikinis for race attire that barely contained their tight buns. I began losing about a minute for every km now and with 7 kms to go, I lost 6 mins. I hung in there as I felt every jarring step wreck my limbs to jelly. The agony of this final stretch seemed the worst in all the marathons I have completed. At the 38K mark, I caught up once again with “golden girl”, who had surprisingly and to my sheer pleasure, slowed down. I wanted to shout out with unrestrained glee, “Hitting the wall now, are we?” However, I realized that such utterance would surely limit my ambitions to the wheel-chair event in SCMM 2012. I chided myself for thinking like a foggy old man on his third gin and tonic, and meekly gathered myself to focus on my own exertions, which had reached a distressing crescendo.

Before I rounded the corner of Pizzeria, Neha from the Nike Run Club, called out, “Dan Sir!” and waved out. I responded with a feeble wave as my body felt lifeless. A while later, my head jerked up as an English guy caught up and said, “Almost there now!” My catholic upbringing interpreted his sudden appearance as divine and as God’ own angel. Perhaps he saw the grimace on my face and wanted to lend a helping hand. This subconscious but spiritual nudge lent a zip to my stride and the shadowy “Dream-run” crowd which screamed encouragement was now a blur. Barricades narrowing to a pathway to the finish, shimmering asphalt, khaki uniforms restraining crowds, a roar in my ears akin to a train approaching a subway station……and I race, with clenched teeth, looking up to see the clock showing 4:06:22 as I crossed the finish line. I had nothing left to give as I allowed my self to be led away; the race had taken a lot out of me.

Besides Monsoon and Bryan waiting for me at the finish line, there was Pravin (who, with Hirva, have always been waiting for me in earlier editions of this race) and Madhu, with her selfless sacrifice in turning up to cheer all her runner friends, despite an injury that forced her to pull out of India’ most popular race. I had made it in a time that I didn’t think possible, with my training base. I paused to ponder on the bed in the medical tent, even though the ministrations of the female nurses in attendance distracted my thoughts, with their gentle kneading of my calves, as to how it would have turned out, had I managed to drink “Lucozade” on the course. I owe sincere gratitude to Rajesh, for sticking around and monitoring my condition. Every race has its lesson and I had learned something, in this one. I rued this as I mingled with runner friends at the Barista lounge, thoughtfully provided by NIKE.

Tomorrow is another day, and there will be another battle! --Sebastian Coe

Injury

Injuries are a part of running, as they are in any sport. They come about either due to over-training or pure bad luck. This year has seen a spike in the training regimen of runners from Mumbai. They train believing in the efficacy of their own training schedule or that of their coach. All of this training culminates in that one race that runners wait for, year round; Mumbai Marathon. There are scores of runners this year that have gotten injured in the last few weeks before the race. Some have been able to and have been lucky enough to recup and rehab, to be able to make to the start line. Others have not been so fortunate.

"Having true faith is the most difficult thing in the world. Many will try to take it from you."

I have had the privilege to work with and advise two such runners: Madhu has been battling an injury since July and despite her best efforts to have it clinically evaluated, it was intractable until this week. The exact cause of the injury is a mystery and will perhaps reveal itself sometime. She suffers more, emotionally than physically, because she had to go thru' the heart rending process of giving away her bib to another runner. Her rehab and treatment will require her to stay off running for about 12 weeks; but, I am sure, given her determination and passion, she will come back a winner.

Ashok, is another guy that has suddenly come down with a back problem which incapacitates his running gait and causes him pain while running. He recently wrote to me that his rehab will take a while and that he will go to the start line in any case. If the pain gets unbearable during the race, he would drop out. I could understand his feelings and wrote to him with plain empathy the following;

Hi Ashok,

I can understand your disappointment and anguish having trained for the better part of the year. If it is of any help I can empathize with you: I ran SCMM 2009 but had a DNF! DID NOT FINISH!!

I had a groin pull while doing speedwork, in Nov 2008 and kept hoping the injury would heal. By early Jan 2009, I knew I was in deep trouble because I used to get excrutiating pain by the 30K mark. When I met up with my guys Raj, Mahesh and Pankaj, the day before the race, I expressed that my race may not be the best. They saw the haunted look on my face and understood. I was hoping to complete in whatever time. I dropped out of the race at the 29K mark. I was in deep emotional pain for days after that because my wife and son were waiting at the finish line.

I want you to know that even if you do drop out on race day, there is life after the event and your pain, both physical and emotional will heal. I have run 8 marathons since then. You are not alone; a guy like me that has been training for the last 15 years has had a DNF. Don't be afraid to go to the start line if your doc has not stopped you from running.

All the best

Dan

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
-- Confucius