The Long March

I stared down at the twinkle of city lights dotting the landscape below as the plane banked readying for a landing. I dreamily imagined it to be a million lamps lit up for a festive welcome. The touch down on terra firm and being back home after the last two weeks in Milan felt a relief.

I'd been on my feet for 9 hours on most of those days, manning a stall for a Textile Machinery exhibition. The evenings were spent with colleagues, drinking Grappa, Pastis and Perino while gorging on cheesy Penne, Pasta and Pizzas topped with ham and bacon. I'd grown thick in the midriff and my endurance must have plunged to a new low because I was unwilling to work off those dreadful calories  with early morning runs on Milan' freezing dark deserted roads.

The baggage retrieval and drive home took a while and by the time I'd unpacked and laid out the shopping for our eager beavers (and that includes our dear Daschund, who scampered excitedly from room to room), it was 2:30 am on a Saturday before I could grab some shut-eye. In barely 3 hrs the alarm went off and I had to get dressed for my stint at the NIKE RUN CLUB. It is in such an exhausted, torpid and sleep deprived state that I'd scheduled to run my first full marathon in 4 yrs the next morning. You know by now that I've lost all my marbles.

When the alarm went off at 3:30 am on Sunday I felt that familiar electric current coursing thru' the neural network in my temporal lobes. The warm shower brought some semblance of well-being to my world. I closed my eyes and let the needle spray dull my senses thinking, 'Dan, you ran a full marathon 4 yrs ago! Do you remember what those last horrendous 10 kms feel like? Are you out of your mind?' Maybe I am, I think.

And then I made the worst mistake I could as a coach; I felt hungry and so I ate a freakin' jam sandwich and munched on hazel nuts! I never eat before a race so WTF did I do that for! The first sign that something was not right came when I began burping at the race venue with the flavour of hazel nuts filling my senses. I wanted to bang my head on the pole holding the digital clock as punishment. I knew the race would come a cropper even as I took the first stride over the timing mat at the start.

I was assisting Punit, who along with Chittu Shetty had volunteered to be 5:30 hrs Pacers. I'd drawn up an elaborate pacing plan for us and we'd set up our Garmin watches accordingly. The first 10K saw us cruising at an average pace of 7:05 and I had to remind myself that our finish was planned for a 7:48 pace. So don't fuck it up Dan! Anyway, we slowed down for the next 10K and saw hordes of runners on the other side of the road, doing their half marathon and going in the opposite direction. The hooting, yelling, shouts and raised Hi-5s lasted for a while. It served as a chilling reminder to me that the we have two half marathons  to cover. The sandwich had now turned my gut into gassy wobbly knots and a Porta Potty pit stop would be bliss. But no such luck since the organizers probably found it distasteful to make contingency plans for runners wanting to take a crap. I trusted my sphincter to hold fort and trudged on with a grimace.

At the 29K mark I saw my heart rate edging up to the limit that my doc has allowed me. Heeding this advice I told the pacers at the 31K mark that I'd like to slow down as advised by my doc and that they were now well set to execute the rest of the race to perfection on their own. I began walking now and saw them eventually fade into the cloud of heat waves dancing on the concrete road. The sun shone bright and burned my shoulders. My lower extremities screamed for mercy even though I was doing a brisk walk now.

I thought of all those 28 full marathons that I'd finished without a walk break except for an aid station here and there. It saddened me that I was reduced to this state of a beginner doing their first marathon and having to walk the last 10K. I smiled thru' this ignominy and resolved that I had to somehow finish this race in under 6 hrs....much slower than the 4 hrs I used to finish in. Each mile passed inexorably and the pain had now numbed my mind and body. I provided encouragement to many strangers that were doing their first full marathon.

When the last km came up, my mouth felt woolly and my eyes were sunken. I stumbled across the timing mats that were being taken away and ensured it registered my 5:57:44 finish. Just like the other races, I'd dug deep and given my all in this one too. I needed water to slake my parched throat but I knew that I'd throw up since the sandwich, though digested by now, had left me queasy. I went to a spot away from the others and within a few gulps, the vomit spewed forth in a gush giving me instant relief. I thanked God for the gift of a safe and successful 29th full marathon..... although I must admit that attempting this one was probably a foolhardy venture.

“The fact is that in order to do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand shivering on the bank thinking of the cold and the danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can.” ― Sydney Smith, Dictionary of Burning Words of Brilliant Writers

The 2:45 Hyderabad Super Fast Express

When the alarm went off at 4am I felt the same searing headache I always do when being wrenched out of a deep slumber. My eyes adjusted to the faint light in my hotel room in Hyderabad and it was time to get ready for the race that I'd come to run. I set the electric kettle with water and padded barefoot to the bathroom for a long warm shower allowing the throb in my head to settle

This race was special, in that, I'd agreed to pace Avijit Sen, a close friend for a sub 2:45 finish in the Half Marathon. He needed this in order to register for a full marathon for the Mumbai Marathon coming up in Jan 2016. Before I fell ill I was doing a scorching 1:45 finish time and today I would move with runners that finish an hour later. One thing I learned in this long journey of falling down and picking myself up, is humility. Slow is relative and crossing that finish line is all that matters. I'd been a beginner a second time and a recent tryst with Hyperthyroidism had got me to do it a third time. 

I drank my cuppa, laced up, wore my race bib and went to the lobby to meet up with friends. Avi looked cheerful but he couldn't fool me with the lines of tension drawing that taut look on his face. His last two long runs were only about 16K and those had an average pace of 9:00 per km. To qualify today he would need to do 7:45 per km for 21.2K....on a course with inclines; a really horrendous task at hand. We'd both agreed to give it our best shot.

We reached the race venue and after hand shakes with runners and a few photo ops it was time. The jostling crowd of runners at the holding area with adrenaline shooting thru' the roof didn't serve to bolster our flagging spirits. The count down began with the crowd herding us to the start line timing mat. As we crossed it, I punched my POLAR GPS and muttered 'Show time Dan', just like old times.

I rubbed shoulders with Avi as we cruised thru' the first 4K keenly listening to Avi' breath. I relaxed when I saw that we were doing about 6:55 pace and he seemed to be taking it well. If you've run the Hyderabad HM you should know that the inclines begin around this mark and do not relent till you cross the finish line. I saw the first flyover coming up and whispered a prayer for Avi. We took the steady incline by dipping our pace. We passed a dead puppy that had been run over by a vehicle. My love for strays caused my heart to shed a tear for the poor doggie and I crossed myself. 

I'd made many pace calculations to aid my job as a pacer for Avi but I junked all of them and decided to play it by ear. The inclines were taking a toll on Avi and I was watching the 'Average Pace' that was 7:00 so far, creep up to 7:15. There was a reserve but it was just the 8K mark. There was a decline coming up now and I hit upon a strategy to make better time. I grasped Avi' hand with our fingers laced together and got him to run with me at a thrilling pace of 5;30! Yes, it was only my hand that held his that prevented Avi from going face down on the asphalt. Thru' pain tinged eyes Avi grinned at my lunacy. I saw that such measures moved the pace to a better looking 7:07 by the 12K mark. I cheered Avi by telling him that the remaining distance had now moved to single digits. This drew a bright smile from his pain lined face and his eyes brightened up as if I'd told him the finish line was close. There was so much work to do and we had a hard journey ahead of us. I needed to distract Avi from the fatigue that must now reach debilitating levels in his limbs. 

The steep and endless inclines had begun now and I assumed the roll of a drill Sergeant. I barked 'Walk!' to Avi every time I guessed his heart rate spike causing his jaw to drop; a sure sign of hyperventilation...an involuntary response for drawing deep breaths. After a walk that should settle his HR, I clapped loud with a 'Let's go, let's go, let's go guys!!!'. I could see that only sheer faith in what I was calling upon him to do would get this man, whose lower extremities were on fire, to respond and begin running despite an over-riding desire to just lay down by the roadside.

The average pace had now reached an alarming 7:40 and I saw that our measures of speeding down declines was just about keeping below the danger mark. And then came the worst of the inclines at 17K. Our 'walk!' lasted longer than the runs and a grim emotion gripped me as I saw that the average pace was now 7:52. We were losing the plot. Avi did not know what was happening as he grinned at me saying, "I'm just following your orders coach." Such faith in me got me to resolve that I would not fail him if I could help it.

With a little more than 4K to go, I drove the pace like a rider cracking a whip on the horse' rump. We raced down the smallest of inclines and did wincing shuffles on inclines. The final turn into the stadium came up and there was still a little less than a km to go. I saw 7:43 pace on my watch. You can see now that I never once looked at 'elapsed time' because I wanted to simply focus on our average pace; the rest would be taken care of itself.....and I was right! 

'It's going to be close Dan!!' I shouted to no one. I saw the look of relief and expectation on Avi' face as the last 600 m crept up and he was now at a canter. Avi and I entered the stadium and with about 150 m to go he must have seen the LED clock at the finish line at the same time I did. It showed 2:43:something ! For the umpteenth time I can vouch for Dr Tim Noakes' theory of the 'Central Governor' over-riding the pain barrier because I saw Avi dig deep and come out with an impossibly fluid stride zipping to cross the finish line in 2:44:06; elation and joy consuming him as he raised his arms heavenward in victory. He then suddenly turned around, came stumbling up to me and hugged me, sobbing inconsolably saying, 'Coach, thank you coach'. I held his hug firm and patted him on the back saying "We made it Avi. It's done. We did it." 

The stress of making all these pace calculations and driving us as a herd for close to 3 hrs had somehow exhausted me. I found a shaded area and lay down feeling my own heart settling down. What a 21 km journey it has been. I'm struck with disbelief every time I look at what we'd achieved. It seemed impossible but then someone wrote, 'Impossible is nothing'. It was time to head back to the hotel and slake my thirst on my favorite beverage; cool amber bubbly discovered eons ago by Ninkasi, a Sumerian goddess of brewing.

You're running on guts. On fumes. Your muscles twitch. You throw up. You're delirious. But you keep running because there's no way out of this hell you're in, because there's no way you're not crossing the finish line. It's a misery that non-runners don't understand.

Martine Costello (running quote on the New York Marathon)

New York New York

When AI Flight 491 finally took off after a delay of sixteen hours, I let out a sigh and leaned back in the plush seat. I hadn't slept for 35 hours and it was a blessing that in this 15 1/2 hour long flight to New York City, I'd have a chance to catch up on sleep in first class; an upgrade that was the kind courtesy of a runner friend. The tall glass of champagne chased with a Heineken, followed by prawns malabar with rice, did the trick to lull me into a 10 hr slumber.

I was on my way to the Nike Global Coaches' Summit to be part of a 105 strong contingent of coaches from all over the world. A rare honour that I'd somehow notched up with hard work in all these years, training runners and studying hard to get my certifications. My profile was just the one selected from 5 others in India. There were at least two coaches from all other cities but I was the lone ranger and at least 15 years older than the oldest coach out there. The only guy I could identify with was coach Chris Bennett who was leading the event. When in his lectures he made references to Paul McCartney and Cindy Lauper and mentioned that his favourite runner used to be Sebastian Coe, I felt a kinship with him.

The flight delay caused me to land at midnight in NYC and the taxi ride to Manhattan at that hour with a black taxi driver was not exactly comforting. The chap was a good soul though with his sing song lilt chatting me up. I didn't forget to tip him well for gently nudging me with a poignant glimpse into the travails of living a taxi driver' life in NYC. He helped get my bags together as I looked up at the swanky hotel they'd put me up in Manhattan where the charge was a whopping 350++ USD a night. The blast of rap music from the lobby with its long line of scantily clad women and men in 'Devil wears Prada' outfits, waiting to get to the night club on the roof top, caused me to wince yet smile. My casual attire purchased at Infinity Mall, Malad ensured the sleek suited bouncer discounted me as a possible customer. Welcome to Manhattan Dan!

The next six days were memorable with a dawn to dusk routine of group discussions and workouts at various places in NYC, including Central Park and Icahn Stadium. There were coaches from Australia, NZ, Japan, Taiwan, Korea, China, Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Dubai, Turkey, Algeria, Egypt, Berlin, Milan, London, Rio de Janiero, Toronto and of course Boston, Portland etc; a veritable United Colours of Benetton :) The NIKE RUN CLUB in NYC has a budget that allows them to hand out Power Bars, Gatorade and large towel napkins at every workout; and there are 6 workouts in a week!

Each workout has a set of pacers with the fastest pace being 04:00 / km and the slowest being 06:15 / km. With my blunted endurance from all the health set-backs I'd endured in the last 4 yrs, it was all I could do to hide my pain even in the slowest pacing group. The last day had us doing 200s, 300s, 400s at mile pace on a track at 12 noon in blazing sun, after which we had lunch. I was aghast when coach Bennett asked us to repeat that workout at 3 pm, warning us that throwing up our lunch of Tacos on the track turf was not an option and that we could do it on the grass :) And just when I'd thought I'd survived that one, he herded us into a bus where we got off in Brooklyn to do a 7K Tempo thru' the streets of the not-so-well-off neighbourhoods....Madre Mia!!...I was hurting!

On the final day I had some spare time which I used to shop for people back home and of course to indulge myself with all the dark Ales on display at the local bar. Toned, muscled and a spring to my step from all those workouts, I got into the Uber taxi finally heading for Newark airport and the long flight back home. I played in my mind the events of the last few days and rued that I'd probably be pacing in a faster group if I were well. How fast is faster pace Dan? And who do you want to prove anything to? Well ok, maybe I didn't want the women pacers to think of me as slow :)The humility that I've been imbued with in these years, trying to stumble back to running like a beginner, has made me realise that the pure pleasure of running again is enough to make me feel whole. If we did not have slow runners, how would others consider themselves fast?.....speed is relative. Einstein said that, not me.  I decided to close my eyes in a silent prayer of thanksgiving before the on board beverages dull my senses.

“When every hope is gone, 'when helpers fail and comforts flee,' I find that help arrives somehow, from I know not where. Supplication, worship, prayer are no superstition; they are acts more real than the acts of eating, drinking, sitting or walking. It is no exaggeration to say that they alone are real, all else is unreal.” 
― Mahatma Gandhi, The Story of My Experiments With Truth

The Hills are alive with the sound of music

My heart wants to sing every song it hears....... Yes, my heart sang nostalgia; the song and its words playing in my mind, as I looked out the large window of the Panorama Tours bus lazily making its way thru' a mountainous landscape.

I gasped at Salzburg' panoramic beauty panning out before me. Green meadows encircled by thick coniferous trees, cosy cottages dotting the countryside, church spires with their unmistakeable patina, azure skies with wispy clouds, mountainous peaks and glistening lakes fed by glaciers. We got off to take a look at where it all happened. I lost myself in the majestic beauty of the Von Trapp mansion almost seeing Julie Andrews and Baron Von Trapp' children holding hands, dancing and singing. And how can you see the 'Pavilion' and not sing,

You are sixteen going on seventeen

Baby, it's time to think

Better beware, be canny and careful

Baby, you're on the brink

It was one of those memorable days soaking in the climate and bliss of one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places on earth.

Later in the afternoon we went to the Salt Mines in Berchtesgaden; an area blessed with a vast underground treasure of sea salt buried deep into the earth when the Alps rose in an upheaval of nature' forces eons ago and the ocean got sucked below it. We had an enthralling experience deep into the earth' cavity where the temperature was a brrrr 10 deg C, tracking mining technology and equipment right since it happened in 1541 to the present the day. The budding engineer in Bryan paid rapt attention to every word of the guide. He was especially incredulous when he saw the actual 14 ton bronze pump built in 1870 and which ran for 110 years without any breakdown!! We had a big laugh after a heart sinking ride down the wooden slide that took you to the depths of the mine in a jiffy.

We returned to our hotel room weary from the trips we'd done. At the evening dinner I stared into my tall glass of local lager with a heart warming realization that Bryan at 20 yrs of age still prefers to travel with his mum and dad. The alcohol dulled my senses as Maria' (Julie Andrews) favourite things from the Sound of Music, came floating to my head.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Long cold lonely winter

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6j4TGqVl5g

'Here comes the sun' but the ice is far from completely melting in the longest winter of my life. There have been brief moments when the sun has peaked out and I've felt its warm sunshine soothing my soul. One such moment has been when Bryan received his admission letter from VIT for a B. Tech in Mechanical Engg. When did the years go by? 

We stepped down to the lobby of the building with him all packed for his hostel stay. Monsoon hugged him and wept as it dawned on both of us that the house would be sans the typhoon that blew in and out every day; the untidy room with school books strewn on the study table, the football boots on the window sill, the stinking socks in the dustbin instead of the washing machine and the Man U jersey hanging from a drawing pin on the board meant for posting his school notes. I sat in silence next to him as the car pulled out of our society gate. He asked for a tissue to wipe a tear that rolled down his cheek. The enormity of the task at hand for the next four years of his life had struck him just then. 

I bought him a mattress, buckets, mugs, glasses, mops, dusters and all the other paraphernalia he'd need. He waltzed thru' these two years living in a hostel, washing his own underwear and muck filled T-shirts, eating food from non-negotiable menus at regulated times in the mess, waking up on his own and probably rushing late to his lectures. We celebrated his birthday yesterday with a quiet dinner at 'Le Pain Quotidien'. He is all of twenty now and I can see girls giving him not just second glances. We have a small birthday party scheduled for tonight with our friends that have seen him grow from a thumb suckling baby to the broad shouldered six foot frame that intimidates them now. 

Meanwhile, I had begun running hesitantly about a year ago and even completed a few half marathons at a bumbling pace, a far cry from the breezy gait I possessed. It didn't matter though because it felt good to run again and I clutched my finishing certificates with a prayer on my lips. You will surely find the exhilaration and joy on my face as I come in for the finish at SCMM 2015, refreshingly motivating I hope. My excitement with getting back on the road was short lived because the medication I've been taking since falling ill has caused me to develop an over-active Thyroid. I was punched to the ground once again because the hyper-metabolic state this condition brings on, does not allow even the slightest of exertions without bringing on palpitations; something I've learned to dread.

I've been blighted often in my life and each time I've picked myself up after remembering that to my parents, quitting was never an option. They trudged on like weary travelers on a rock strewn meandering and undulating road. Why should I then not attempt to make a lemonade from the lemons that life hands me? After running 20+ kms several times over the last 8 months, I'm now back to being able to run just 3 kms. Arms akimbo and my chest heaving after just 20 mins of jogging, I shake my head and grin at the vicissitudes in my running life. With that same grin I wag my finger and delude myself that some day after retirement I will run the Comrades :). But when I look at my aging body in the mirror, despair engulfs me with the realization that I'm over the hill and such a goal is surely 'A bridge too far'.

One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful - Sigmund Freud