Four rode out

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speedy Gonzales

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Run out!

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

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

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

Road to perdition

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

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

If you fail to prepare, prepare to fail!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Injury

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

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

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

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

Hi Ashok,

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

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

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

All the best

Dan

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

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