Tag Archives: Bombay

My First Marathon

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On 20 Jun 2007, on a dark rainy night in Bombay I met with a road accident. Driving my bike, I failed to sight a taut rope tied across the road, and hit it resulting in my trachea (wind pipe) being severed completely and oesophagus (food pipe) partially. Thanks to some immediate and excellent medical attention, I made it out of the surgery to the ICU, where I stayed for long.

In those long months on the hospital bed I went through a range of emotions, from despair to rage, hope, relief, frustration and – sadly sometimes – self pity. It was then that a very dear friend gifted me something very precious, which was to change my outlook forever. He (who will know if he is reading this) gave me the revered book “Its not about the bike” by Lance Armstrong. The book really impressed upon me that impossible is actually nothing (ironic coming from a Nike sponsored athlete).

In the next few days, on a small paper (that I still treasure), I jotted down a mini “bucket list” – and running in any capacity had NO place on it. In short, I wanted to see the world (a high target but never mind), change a few priorities in my life, and most importantly, not waste a moment in my future doing things that I didn’t like or with people to whom I didn’t matter.

I was discharged in early 2008 and even then on a tracheotomy tube. Many surgeries followed (12 in all), but steadily I recovered far better than initially expected. And as decided, I began to search for my “list.” But despite being out of the hospital, I wasn’t completely out of gloom. It was then that two friends told me to join them in their daily runs. I was extremely sceptic, but their insistence was too hard to deny.

Reluctantly I agreed to join them for short runs, and it proved to be the second best gift I ever received. Infact I can even go so far as to say that it was the best decision I ever took in my life. What running has given me since then is definitely intangible, but it couldn’t be more conspicuous. When I ran my first half marathon in 2010 (in Bombay), I wasn’t a complete convert yet, but the event decided it for me.

Never in my life had I seen so many people turn up for almost nil rewards. Hardly any of them could hope for any prize, no professional favours, but only toil and suffering for hours. And then were the thousands who turned up to cheer. Sorry, not just cheer, but to volunteer assistance of various kinds. It was just surreal, 1hr 52mins of being treated like a celebrity. I knew that day, that there was no turning back.

I returned in 2011 and had a horror of a race. My first reaction was that I had lost focus, but the fact was, the run was no longer a challenge it was the first time. The elements were all there as earlier, yet the passion was slightly diminished. I knew there was the “full” up the ladder, but it was quite scary, for the elites, and definitely not for an average runner like me. As ever friends came into the picture, one of whom had just completed his second “full” and by the time registrations opened for the 2012 edition, I was motivated enough to choose the harder option.

The first thing I realised was running a marathon is not just a “one day” event with a little practice beforehand, instead its a full-scale commitment for about half a year. The training regimen I followed was just short of it (20 weeks), but demanded serious dedication. There was no point in going under prepared and embarrassing oneself, especially with the aura built around the event. Of course in today’s chaotic life, it was impossible for me to follow the schedule to the hilt, but I was lucky to manage without missing much.

If anything, I made it a point not to miss the important long runs and hence ensured to squeeze in a race (the Delhi half marathon) and the mandatory 20 mile practice run. If anyone would question me now, I would say that these runs go a long way in preparing one mentally, apart from the obvious physical aspect. The internal battle you fight to miss a weekend party for next morning’s run, when you drag yourself out after a bad day, when you run despite the schedule getting on your nerves, that’s when the pillars are building in the head.

No amount of preparation though can prevent from the last day jitters. Have I overused my shoes? Did I do enough tempo runs? Have I carbo loaded adequately? These are few of the hundreds of doubts that keep arising till the gun is fired. So finally after this abstract, coming to the race day experience itself.

This marathon was my sole focus and pretty much the pivot of my life for past 5 months. So it says a lot about my planning abilities, that I reached the venue 8 minutes late, long after the race had begun and not a runner in sight of the start line. Thankfully the race organisers provide everyone with a personalised timing chip, hence each competitor is timed individually when he/she crosses the start. Nevertheless it was far from ideal, especially as one does panic and overdo the start to catch up with the bunch, and then zigzag through all the runners slower than him.

By the time I turned around Nariman point, I was well settled and starting to enjoy the experience. I crossed a few friends, saw smiling (but focussed) faces all round and the Queen’s necklace passed in a blur. I was so high at this point that I even raced up the dreaded (for me) climb up Peddar Road. Move on to the Worli sea face and there were more high-fives exchanged as I crossed familiar faces running the half-marathon from the opposite direction.

Then came the main attraction of the day – running on the Bandra Worli Sea Link. This suspension bridge has become the new architectural face of Bombay, and while this was my third time to cover it on foot, each time the experience only grows richer. Maybe because this time I ran in the early morning glow, or since the breeze was much cooler, but I just could not stop grinning like an idiot as I jogged the 5 odd kms of tarmac hanging over the ocean.

The half point of the race arrived sooner than expected, and to my joy (which I would later realise was misleading) at a very comfortable effort. This dream continued as the route headed to Shivaji Park and the crowd began to get richer. It was probably my happiest stint of the day as little kids high-fived and people from all ages clapped, shouted and cheered. For a few moments I felt am going to sail through this.

But not for nothing is the marathon so feared and infamous. If it was such smooth sailing, it would never have attained the aura its associated with. At the 28km mark, I felt the first stings of trouble in my leg. As I reduced pace to shake it off, my head spun funny and within moments my dream world began crumbling manically. Approaching the revered Sidhivinayak Temple, the agnostic in me instantly converted to a devout and I duly tried pleasing higher powers.

Sigh they were not to be fooled! As kilometer 30 approached I was a total mess. The pain was getting unbearable, muscles aching, cramping, head spinning – in short it was all turning pear-shaped. I distinctly remember as I rounded the Worli loop, I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I wasn’t crying, it was just the pain, which was venting itself in this strange manner.

Even the dreaded thought of giving up or collapsing arose in my mind and continued for a good 10 odd minutes. But then as I looked around me, I saw grimacing faces, people struggling to put their feet ahead and it was obvious – I wasn’t alone. All these co-runners – many elder than me – were in the same boat, and if they could somehow keep going while suffering, so could I.

I also happened to exchange looks with a few runners in these moments. Looks that only fellow runners can understand. Looks where nothing is said, but two complete strangers fully understand what the other person means. We started pacing each other, one drafting ahead as the other weakened, duly looking back pulling the weaker runner on. Of course the ordered reversed with regularity.

And then there were the hundreds, who while not in the same suffering, were lining the route with pure support for each runner as one of their own kin. The most remarkable was a sikh family distributing water near the Worli dairy. Right from the octogenarian grand father to the 6-ish year old grand child, the entire joint family was out helping us runners – when that time could have been better spent elsewhere.

It’s with this faith that we (notice its no longer “I” now) approached the climb of Pedder Road once again. This approach is steeper and longer, which, added to the ailing limbs could spell disaster. Luckily this also happens to be the area where the crowds are the strongest and most vociferous. It’s just a wall of noise and appreciation that you pass through. Result – the gradient is as steep as ever, but the effort somehow diminished. And right from water, fruits, energy gels, biscuits, the crowd offers you all the supplements you could ask for.

The final phase is back on Marine Drive, albeit this time in bright sunlight. I have always found this to be the hardest part; not because it’s towards the end, but since its hot, and the other end is visible far away, somehow accentuating the task at hand. Even the support is marginalised by the “official” bands and corporate cheering squads. The innocence of the “sikh family” and purity of cheering is lost amid this electronic din.

However at this point you know that it’s just about survival. Keep plugging for a last few painful minutes and you are sure to reach the destination. That I did, just shy of 4hr 30 minutes – half an hour over my target time. Yet there was no disappointment. I also cannot say I was exultant or jubilant or ecstatic. They are just too extreme terms for the complete blankness I felt at the finish line. There was definitely a huge sense of relief and a feeling of “I really did this”, but you could not have realised that looking at my face.

It’s strange because after all the suffering and effort one should be jumping with delirious joy, but is conversely looking for peace. Its just a void, maybe it takes time to really hit what has just been accomplished. That’s the beauty of the event I guess, no matter who you are, no matter your time, no matter the number of times you have done it – the marathon will be a humbling experience. You realise that you do not conquer the marathon, you survive it. Just that few survive stronger than others.

I have never suffered so much in such a short duration, but I have never felt so alive either. This is an accomplishment no one can take away from me – ever, and I can proudly say hereon after, that I am a marathoner. And that one line makes up for all the pain.

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Wolfpack Roadtrip Day 2: Belgaum to Bangalore

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Yesterday’s late night “brainstorming” session meant that none of us could leave the bed at our agreed upon hour of 6am. The cold weather and late night Premiership matches also were partly to blame for our extended resting sessions, but even after waking up no one seemed to be in a hurry. Harsha went for a run, Bibin was staring at the TV – which was off, and I was writing yesterday’s post. Oh and Joe didn’t bother to leave the cozy confines of his blanket at all.

Finally when we did manage to leave the hotel, sun was high in the sky and the watches were just past that classic Titan advertisement figure of 10:10 am. We had 520 kms (approx) ahead of us, though by all indications the roads were supposed to be a treat. To make best of our freshened up state, we decided to postpone breakfast for later and immediately hit the road with renewed zest.

A big advantage of staying close to the highway meant we were out of the city traffic in a jiffy and nipping close to 100 km/hr within minutes. The roads were indeed as good as suggested and therefore spirits were high to aim for an early dinner at Bangalore. Before dinner though, our tummies were calling out for breakfast and we  stopped at a little hotel off the road. The place was almost out of breakfast but we were fortunate to get some rather simple idli, dosa and uthapam. I feel it’s the best breakfast before driving being light enough not to make one feel dozy.

I took the wheel for the first part of the day and as we started the GPS unit displayed ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) as 2315 hrs. But with the near perfect roads and minimal traffic, by 1315 hrs the ETA suggestion had come down to 2202 hrs. For once the GPS unit could not keep up pace with Indian highways!

Rest three of my companions were blissfully hanging their heads supported by their window mirrors, sleeping as if there were no tomorrow. It’s both funny and a little irritating when someone deep in sleep suddenly wakes up for a moment and gives you “suggestions” as if he was awake all along. “Abe thoda right mein rakh/ brake aaram se maar, mein dekh raha hu kuch time se, not sleeping.” And immediately after this pearl of wisdom the great man is back into “meditation mode.”

The roads were absolutely flawless, and as I wrote earlier, traffic minimal. It was a rolling landscape though, devoid of any natural treats worth photographing. Surrounded by mounds of red sand and boulders aka Sholey, one could almost feel a dacoits jumping out on a horse. If that would have happened, the poor guy would have been in a fix what with the traffic zipping at 120 km/hr and even more. Best part of the route though, was the absence of diversions/ towns to interrupt the flow of speed. Service roads were well clear and all u-turns were in the form of under passes.

When everyone did wake up it was time to change drivers and my turn to meditate. However as I took back seat there started a heated debated whether the snoring of one of us (I shall not name him here for fear of being showered by abuses) was the reason behind everyone’s lack of sleep. It was hotly refuted by the accused and even hours later there was no final decision, deferred for tonight with video evidence coming into play.

We stopped at 1600 hrs for lunch, which was the simple affair called meals, ubiquitous in this part of the country. It consisted of simple dry vegetable, chatni, pickle, dal and extra-large rotis. Simple yet effective. From here we passed through a windmill farm, though except for the huge towers, there were no flushing meadows with lazy cows that one pictureises by default. There were lots of sugeracane and banana farms along the road, but they quite don’t make vistas like the paddy fields in Kerala.

Again though, what Karnataka countryside could not offer in visual appeal, they’ve more than made up with their roads which are eons ahead of anything found in Kerala. I am mentioning this for the third time in this post because they are that good. And all this when on most part of the road there is widening (to six lane from the existing four lanes) work under progress. Yet not a single diversion/ blocking of the existing tarmac. By the time we hit outskirts of Bangalore, with 20 kms remaining to our destination we were looking at reaching home by 1900 hrs!

And then Murphy struck. I always thought that Ahmedabad had the worst traffic anywhere…till yesterday. Yes I had heard horror stories about Bangalore traffic, but not till I witnessed it first hand yesterday did I realise how mind numbingly bad it is. The roads are super narrow, traffic endless, add to it Metro construction works and you have a perfect dish of chaos garnished with lots of fumes.

Bangalorians are supposed to be gentle and law-abiding people – and while I have no doubts they are – someone certainly forgot to tell them this while on road. It was raving war out there. Two wheelers zipping from every direction, buses and rickshaws squeezing into non-existent spaces. It all reminded me of Aryton Senna’s famous quote after he rammed into Alain Prost at Suzuka in 1990, “ If you no longer go for a gap, you no longer a racing driver.” Timeshift to Bangalore in 2011, and it seems, “If you no longer go for a gap, you no longer fit to drive in Bangalore.”

Thankfully after much frustration and swearing we managed to reach our destination with all parts of my beloved car intact. We were staying at cousin’s place at the Air Force officer’s colony behind the old airport, and it was a welcome delight to walk into a quiet, warm and clean home after the past two hours of madness. God only knows what would have happened to us if we had to hotel hunt in this craziness.

Being a fauji’s house, there was another welcome delight – Old Monk, and we sated our thirsts discussing all and sundry with our hostess. No one seemed to be particularly hungry but when my sister-in-law ordered two huge chicken Biryanis, all of it was devoured in a flash. I don’t want to contemplate the situation had the boys been hungry!

So came to end a successful second day on a positive note again. Tomorrow we head to the Nilgiris through Sathyamangalam Tiger reserve. It promises some scintillating scenery and an engaging drive in the mountains, with hair pin turns galore. It’s going to be cold though, and a nice filter coffee at a little roadside place should be just what the doctor ordered. This was our main focus while planning the trip and naturally excitement levels are high. Hence the next post should finally be accompanied with some nice pictures. Till tomorrow then…

Wolfpack Roadtrip Day 1: Bombay to Belgaum

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Four best bros, one car, ten days. It might sound like a movie script, but this was a little dream of ours that was realised today as we cast off from Bombay, albeit much later than planned. Having witnessed and been part of a scintillating President’s Fleet Review on 19 and 20 Oct, this was a much awaited and relieving break.

Our focus areas for this trip were a drive in the Nilgiris with a stay at the revered ‘Defense Services Staff College’, Welington and the annual pilgrimage to Goa (hopefully with a couple of days at the Sunburn festival). En-route we were to halt at Belgaum, Bangalore and Chikmagalur before returning in time to Bombay for the New Years.

Get, set, go....

...uh oh, wait for lunch first :P

As is always the case with a gang of reckless boys, our start was delayed. Well that maybe an understatement considering we were still in Bombay when we had lunch at 1330hrs. But with enough drivers aboard and good roads expected ahead of us, we were not too worried. Our vehicle of choice was my humble yet comfortable Hyundai i20. It took four and their luggage in comfort, and at least after day 1 I can say with confidence that it stays stable on the highway with ABS providing an enormous peace of mind (I believe it came in use more than a couple of times).

Till Pune was the familiar terrain of Lonavla, driving on the Mumbai-Pune Expressway. Thereafter we joined NH-4 which heads towards Bangalore (to all those who would have noticed my usage of the ‘older’ names for cities, I strongly despise this renaming-for-cheap-publicity epidemic). The next 50 kms were a mixed bag of roads, from smooth to jarred, but what really slowed the pace was the incessant local traffic and commercial spaces along the highway.

I had stayed at Lonavla from 2000-04, and since then the changes to the exterior of Pune were dramatic. It has become far more chaotic and the construction is seemingly endless with hardly any break in the prosaic cement structures. Even the once famous “Pancard Clubs” logo, which many quoted as a landmark, was now hidden from view, pushed into insignificance by the grotesque blocks of concrete.

Sadly there was nothing of mention to write about along the entire route except that the roads are a pleasure to drive on. We could safely sustain speeds in excess of 100 km/hr, except for stretches where errant two-wheeler traffic with their unpredictable changes of directions made the smooth roads a bit pointless. However even the good roads in Mahrashtra were better the moment we crossed over into Karnataka, with the tarmac status upgraded to ‘super-smooth.’

Despite our late start, all these positive factors contributed in us reaching Belgaum just a shade before 2100 hrs. Now started hunt for accommodation and while our first choice would have been the army detachment, however it was at the other end of the town, hence we decided to avoid the extra time that we would have to spend driving through city traffic. We found the PWD guest house right next to the highway, which seemed comfy and clean. Sadly it was booked for the night, and the amiable staff directed us to a decent hotel.

Redirected from there too, we were shown to Hotel Keerthi which had an AC room for us for Rs 1,500/- (with extra mattresses for the two additional occupants). The room itself turned out to be huge, clean and surprisingly comfortable for its cost. But the pleasant surprises did not end here, and the hotel’s bar served an array of drinks, with a 60ml peg of Old Monk available for a princely sum of Rs 60!!!

Nothing could have ensured a better end to the day than couple of drinks with great friends reminiscing old days and making plans for the future. Plans that ranged from the absurd to crazy, yet plans only we could manifest. Detailed strategies were also discussed for the modus operandi at Goa, and wingmen were designated with an oath to help their respective bros find a pretty new friend. On those hopeful (and utterly hopeless) thoughts we called it a day and hence shall I end this recount of events. Till tomorrow then…