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

Goan holiday

They all made it - finally; despite the snow storms and flight delays. They arrived in Goa as planned and that was a relief. "They" are Monsoon' cousins; Juri, Atanu, Baakhor and Latu, their spouses, kids and her Aunt (Pehi) & Uncle (Peha), from the UK - quite a bunch as you can see in the pic:-). While they stayed at Anjuna at a resort with cosy cottages, we stayed at our regular abode, Santiago, at Calangute - although the signs in russian, splashed all over the place, seemed to get to me. The most stressful, but ultimately hilarious part, was that I had to drive around in an SUV without power-steering! I finally realized that I had to steer using my shoulders instead of wrist and forearm:-)

Our stay had the hallmark of the "Susegaad" goan life: we just ate good food, drank a variety of beverages (till we got a "buzz") and slept till 9:30am. There was enough time "to stand beneath the boughs, and stare as long as sheep and cows". For once, I did could keep office work at bay, an effort that was well-planned and turned out fine for office and me. I loved the late morning beer sessions followed by the afternoon siestas (you must be kidding, right? After waking up at 9:30am!) and then the evening tot (well more like a "one over the eight") of scotch. The Palm Fenny I had at "Infantaria" was disappointing. Shame on goans! They make it seem like an achievement when they got "geographical status" for Fenny (much like "Tequila" is to Mexico) and they cannot provide good-value-for-money fenny in bars and liquor stores. The stuff produced in my village should be valued at 20 Euro, if the "Kirsch" in Germany costs that much. It seems sad that it is priced at only 0.5 Euro in my village - and they make a profit too!

We loved talking and travelling around and laughing and yes, sharing gifts. Afterall it was christmas season. Bryan found sufficient but sometimes worrying (for us) encouragement from Baakhor, who taught him how to ride the Yamaha RX 100. Now I have to brace myself for spending a princely sum on sprucing up my RX 100, that is lying unused and close to decrepit:-) Well, thank God Bryan is only fifteen and I can argue (and buy time and bank interest) that he cannot get a licence till he is eighteen. Bryan was also offered a Bacardi Breezer with the subtle encouragement that the legal age for drinking in the UK is sixteen and that he is "almost" old enough.

Well, the holiday was over for us about two days earlier than the gang and we said frantic goodbyes before zooming off in our "truck":-) The goodbyes were just for a while because we all met up on new year' eve at another cousins place, Ronju, and got thoroughly plastered well beyond midnight. Thereafter, we feasted on a large dinner in the swanky restaurant at the Sheraton in Parel - before they departed for snow bound UK, realizing what a good thing we have going in India - despite the pollution and filth (not in Goa though).

'Tis the season to rejoice

I felt a strange sense of elation as soon as we entered the month of December. I have had a tough year with difficulties in training, stress of Bryan being in his final year and paucity of time to cope with it all. I have had some small successes too in doing a 4:00:43 marathon in Germany and being able to handle things well at work. The excitement of christmas round the corner is a programmed response since childhood; but, it remains so, as long as you have near and dear ones to share it with.

Russell and Lana came down from Seattle with their kids, Aysel and Rhys and so did Malcolm, after his brief voyage (I envy the guy for his 3 months on, 3 months off routine). There was this grand celebration Malcolm had, at his place for the even grander renovation he had done to their home. Besides, Russell and family, there was Ryan and family and our own "Khali", Bamoo:-) The "Glenlivet" added to the temperature of house warming, as we regaled each other with childhood jokes and golden oldies from "Lorna' songs". A delectable lunch of pork, beef and chicken was wolfed down at 4:30pm, by which time we couldn't distinguish any of the stuff we were eating:-)

As I prayed in church, over the weekend, I saw some old and lonely and single people and I felt a melancholy grip me as I realized that it is indeed depressing to have no one to share christmas season with. I was suddenly afraid of growing old and having Bryan growing big enough to marry and leave. I remembered the song that I often listened to at Russell' place when we were in college and the lyrics made me feel sad.

This is for all the lonely people
Thinkin' that life has passed them by
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
Ride that highway in the sky

This is for all the single people
Thinkin' life has left them dry
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
You'll never know until you try

'Cause, I'm on my way, yes, I'm on my way
Yeah, I'm on my way back home

This is for all the lonely people
Thinkin' that life has passed them by
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
She'll never take you down or give you up
You'll never know until you try

Change

It is the close of another year in my life and as I look back there have been so many "occurrences" that make me desire that some things change in the new year. For one, my training has been at its most dismal, but surprisingly, I have run more races in this one year; four full marathons and a 50K! I have come to understand my true well-wishers in the course of my work and personal life. I have been able to hold the fort at work and have performed quite commendably. This, I do not want to see change.

I have been distraught with the death of a runner. He died of a heart attack under sad and tragic circumstances; mid-race and with no one to care for him while his heart was giving up on him - perhaps slowly. I have a small running fraternity that shares its views on a page created by me. I was anguished by the content that I read today. To top it all I got brickbats and insults when I tried to analyze the reasons for this runner' death. I had to post a rejoinder to disabuse people that might be in agreement on the issue. I know not who agreed and who didn't, with these views. Perhaps, it is difficult to take sides in a spat like this. But, it left me numb.

I hope the new year brings in a breath of fresh air with change. I need to revitalize my training and focus on my work. I have selflessly given a lot of my time to my small circle of runners. It is time to move on, as it is consuming me. I can take solace in my runs and the personal interaction with my runners at the NIKE RUN CLUB. Christmas is coming and brings good tidings and cheer and friends and family. It is the well deserved break that I need from a rather stressful month. There is of course Dojo' birthday to add to the excitement. And so, in the new year, I am even more aware that.....

Everything must change
Nothing stays the same
Everyone must change
No one stays the same

The young become the old
And mysteries do unfold
Cause that's the way of time
Nothing and no one goes unchanged

There are not many things in life
You can be sure of
Except rain comes from the clouds
Sun lights up the sky
And hummingbirds do fly

Winter turns to spring
A wounded heart will heal
But never much too soon
Yes everything must change

"Lille" lost and missing everyone

It was a trip filled with nostalgia and also one which made me miss my family since they were not accompanying me this time. We have been taking vacations combined with my marathons, overseas and I have relished the lazy wake up calls that Monsoon and Bryan snooze thru' and the long hours Bryan spends in the hotel room shower and the shouts they get from me to hurry up, before they close the buffet of sumptuous European breakfasts that are a feature of bed-n-breakfast hotels. This trip to Switzerland and France was a business trip and my 7th (or is it my 8th?) visit to Basel, a city I know better than any other European city; and, that is why the nostalgia.

Thann and Lille where I spent the first 2 days were so much like the small towns you see in the french countryside. Thann was especially interesting for its wine growing status and the "wine route" was so scenic and reminded me of all the world war II movies I'd seen. I could imagine the clip clop of the Wehrmacht' boots on the cobble stones and the daring missions of women and men from the french resistance as they went about their furtive business. I remembered Bryan everytime I went to the local deli or cafe to buy myself a croissant or "Pain au chocolat". I choked as I ate cause I couldn't enjoy these things without him. I remembered Dojo for the poignant look on his face when I was packing my suitcase. He somehow knows its going to be a long trip when he see me leave after 10pm.

Basel has the best of three worlds; it shares a border with France, Germany and Switzerland. The city has its towering commercial spaces that display its being the focal point for the pharmaceutical industry as well as the trams which take you to the countryside. I enjoyed and experienced the true meaning of "fine dining" when my ex-boss took me out to dinner to sample the finest cuisine in Basel. I took time out to spend 3 hrs at the super market to buy things for people back home, including Dojo.

The grey skies, freezing rain and sub-zero chill made me even more home sick. I did feel a little cheer when I saw the first snowfall of the season and I visited the christmas market that signals the arrival of festive season in Europe. I bought a small crib with baby Jesus, that is hand crafted by village artisans; something I have been looking out for, since a long time. I, of course, had to hand carry it all the way because of its fragile structure. My arrival at home was announced none too silently by Dojo, who needlessly sped from one room to the other barking aloud. In fact, I am told that he had barked non-stop ever since his ears cocked up upon Monsoon receiving a call from me that I had landed at Mumbai airport. I know he truly missed me and I was happy to have his warm form snuggling against my side as I slid into a slumber.

Practice makes perfect

The past few days were disheartening for me. This despite the fact that I had reason to be cheerful after my podium finish at the Bangalore Ultra 50K, held on Sunday. There were spoilsports for me and I have relegated the experience to the garbage dump, where it has always belonged. There is one good reason to smile though:-) And that is that Bryan was able to pass the IITian Pace entrance test. This brought a lot of relief to Monsoon who agonizes a lot over Bryan' carefree attitude. I can immodestly state that his success is attributable to yours truly:-)

Bryan has a home tutor for Math, a mistake we made, thinking that he would do better if he did not attend tuition classes. Well, he has been displaying a lackadaisical attitude to his studies and the result was a mediocre performance in his first terminal exams in Xth std. The panic button was now pressed and we had to move quickly. If he has to attend classes next year, it had better be a reputed one. IITian Pace is one of the elite ones and realizing his math knowledge was less than average, thanks to his tutor (or maybe Bryan is more to blame), I had to spend several evenings pacing up and down the living room, with a stern expression while he worked furiously on a tough question set I had specially purchased. It worked! He was able to tackle difficult problems on trignometry, co-ordinate geometry, P & L, linear equations etc, with elan.

On the day he gave his test, I was running the Bangalore Ultra. When he finished his test he told me it was good but he was afraid about his being in the list of selected students. I told him that he had practiced enough and that this is all that was required to succeed. I drew out an analogy and told him that I wake up at dawn just to wear my shoes and go out for a run while most people are asleep. He understood that this had brought me several successful marathon finishes. He got his answer that practice makes perfect, when he was informed the result of his selection by IITan Pace. He was so happy, he ordered Chinese food with his own allowance and promised Dojo a full chicken. Unfortunately, he has not kept his promise to Dojo and when I reminded him last night about it, he said, "Arey yaar, I said it in my excitement"!!! I have now to teach him that promises such as these are not made to be broken. Dojo, poor chap is clueless about all the excitement but he is happy when Bryan is happy because he is the first to be at teh receiving end of Bryan' ire, should Bryan be in a foul mood.