Farewell Dojo

If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where you went Dojo

As I awoke this morning, I reached out and shut the alarm cause my legs ached from the fatigue built up over several days of running and sleep deprivation. I skipped my run today and snuggled back into a deep slumber. I finally stepped out of bed and saw you panting, my dearest friend. I thought it was the stifling heat and carried you into the air-conditioned bedroom. I feared then, my Dojo, I knew something was amiss. You looked at me with doleful eyes and refused to lie down. For if you had done so, I'd have worried. You knew I'd be alarmed dear Dojo; you just sauntered out with a slow gait that was telling on how weary you were. I told Minoti to take you to the vet and as I was leaving for work, you came out to see me and say goodbye. I felt the hair on my arms stand out as a dark thought flitted across my mind. I banished it and chided myself for morbid thoughts. You came out of the bedroom to say your final goodbye to me, Dojo. The vet said, your heart slowed down with each passing beat, that the oxygen mask was shaken off by you.........and that you drifted into a blissful and peaceful sleep forever. I have not felt grief like this before Dojo. I surprised friends and family with the way I wept. I will see you on the other side and we'll be together forever. After every run I came home to you. This entire blog speaks so much about how much I loved you. I dedicate my race on Sunday to you. And when tonight is done and the dawn breaks, I will read this poem and feel happy. Farewell my friend. 

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying. You found it hard to sleep.

I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea,
You were thinking of the many times your hands reached down to me.

I was with you at the shops today. Your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure you, that I’m not lying there.

I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said “It’s me.”

You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.

It’s possible for me to be so near you everyday.
To say to you with certainty, “I never went away.”

You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew…
in the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is over… I smile and watch you yawning
and say “Good-night, God bless, I’ll see you in the morning.”

And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet you and we’ll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out… then come home to be with me.

– Colleen Fitzsimmons

Running with Roshni

On new year' eve I prayed for divine assistance in my attempt to run the Mumbai Marathon (the  42 km distance) after five long years since being blighted by Leptospirosis. I'd asked Roshni to pace me; my first and most disciplined student who'd rapidly progressed from running her first half marathon to completing the gruelling 90 kms Comrades in South Africa in a span of four years. Roshni' pace suited my race plan as did her presence alongside since I still had concerns about my heart function.

The day before was exceptionally tiring with an early morning class at the Nike Run Club and then the India Running Summit as speaker on a panel. I reached home rather exhausted and lay down on the sofa with a cushion under my feet, apprehensive about what lay in store for me. Reckless as I am I poured a generous measure of Scotch to calm my anxiety and it seemed to bloody help.

For once the 3 am alarm nudged me gently and I felt a strange calm as I set about my daily ablutions before leaving for the race venue. It was teeming with runners; some lined up at the baggage counter, others greeting each other in nervous excitement and many displaying urgency  in long queues outside mobile toilets waiting to make that last pit stop. Thumping music sent sonic booms thru' a hyper-charged atmosphere.

Roshni called several times to inform that the Star Sports TV crew had lodged her right at the head of the start line. I was lost in the midst of a sea of bodies jostling each other, impatient for the race to start. Roshni was selected by Star Sports from five contenders that made a difference in the world around them. Her program Run with Roshni that seeks to reinforce the identity of the Nepali community as Indians and her bringing talented runners from Darjeeling to run in this marquee event earned her many kudos.

The race began on the dot at 5:40 with a roar from the runners and I soon saw Roshni and Premika her friend, waiting in the wings with a motorcycle escort and mounted TV crew. A Brit materialised from nowhere and ran alongside us while interviewing Roshni with a cordless mike. She was in her elements with her accented English spoken haltingly due to her exertions and her fair oriental looks, as she went LIVE on TV. Strangely at this point, runners alongside seemed to forget their race and instead nearly tripped me with their inane antics in trying to feature on TV. The interview was done in about 5 mins but the motorcycle escort was assigned to us for the entire duration of the 42 km race.

Our plan was to finish in about 5hr 15 mins but we seemed to be quite comfortable running a faster pace. The crowd refused to thin out even at the 3K mark and we had to bear with runners weaving left and right across our paths seemingly impatient to reach a finish line that they somehow forgot was a good five hours away. At one point our strides were set to the rhythm of Bollywood numbers as girls dressed like cheerleaders urged us on and at another, a group dancing Bhangra got a runner to stop and do a Balle Balle step. One runner made a sheepish attempt at humour by asking our motorcycle escort, "Oye Enfield, Kitna deti hai?". We cruised past Babul Nath and I murmured a word of caution to shorten stride as we hit the Peddar Road hill.

The first of the elite runners in the half marathon were seen blazing past in the opposite direction. The two women in tow with me shouted encouragement to a few of their own. From Haji Ali and all along the Worli seaface we saw other runners in hordes and waved out to some that we recognized. Before we turned to enter the Sealink I saw Neeta who had worked hard training for her first half marathon. Her face showed lines of fatigue and the pace seemed to be a struggle. I caused a few heads to turn as I boomed, "Neeta!!! finishing is everything!!!" A runner smiled and said, "Sir, those words will remain with her till the finish."

The trio of us glided smoothly on the Sealink, a golden sunrise greeting us against a misty skyline; the city was slowly stirring to life this Sabbath day. Our pace periodically increased and it was Roshni that often pulled the reins on me joking, "Coach, I can see your strides are getting longer, which means we are running fast." :) A gentle descent next got us to Mahim where a crowd thronged the sidelines, handing out candy, Perk bars, oranges, water, and children gleefully begging Hi-5s from us while older men jokingly poked us with, "Bhago, bhago nahi toh African jeetega!"

Past the Siddhivinayak temple at the 25K mark I gasped as a pack of about 15 elite Kenyans and Ethiopians glided past with the effortless and sinuous grace of black Stallions in slow motion; a sight that mesmerizes me every time I see it. Our pace was steady but it was shocking to see almost half the runners reduced to a walk now. Premika stopped a few times to get volunteers to spray Volini.

We turned again into the Worli seaface and did a long snaking loop wherein we could now see runners that were ahead of us. The effort was telling on most; the grim look, bowed head, drooping shoulders and feet barely coming off the ground. I saw Dr Oak struggling and barked, "Doc, you're doing good. Not far now!" He grinned and waved back. We neared the 32K mark and I braced for that dreaded feeling when the body' reserves ebb at this point and your pace can drop to an old man' shuffle.

A blazing sun burned us on the Haji Ali stretch. I called to Roshni and Premika asking, "All good?" and they grinned back with a fresh look and bright eyes that told me we were doing a super strong race this time. The most difficult part of the route, the 35K mark Pedder Road climb came up and residents encouraged us with, "Superb! Superb! You will do it". At this point the TV crew surfaced again and began televising our run and in response runners from all around crowded us, eager to somehow get their mug into the frame. I could hear their feet slapping on the asphalt as though they were wearing Scuba Diver' fins on their feet, as they huddled in a tight heap behind us, hoping the camera pans towards them

At the 38K mark the TV crew told us that we would be going LIVE and asked us to ensure we run faster! Faster?? Are you kidding me? I laughed at their ignorance that the deep set fatigue at this point in a full marathon is debilitating with an over-powering desire to stop and lay down by the wayside. Not this time though; we were on a roll and we dug a bit deep to respond with a strong stride for our viewers. A large group of  Dream Runners that were walking next to the Marine Drive flyover paused to wonder who were the celebrities that were being filmed....har har har :)))

Round the Pizzeria turn and the finish line came up soon with boards announcing 1000m, 800m and 500m to the finish spurring us into a gallop. We waved out to runner friends on the sidelines before crossing that timing mat in a state of bliss. I looked at my Garmin, elation and joy lighting up my face for the strongest marathon I'd executed. It showed 4hrs 58 mins! I crossed myself in thanksgiving to God, shuffling slowly towards the finish enclosure, misty eyed from flash backs of the last five years.

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome." ― Anne Bradstreet, The Works of Anne Bradstreet

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

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