A new Personal Best and a Boston qualifying time!

Scenes imprinted within me from the trip:

The city of Berlin intertwined with the forest, as seen from the glass dome of the Reichstag Building. 

View of beautiful paris from the top of the Eiffel tower with my children. A moment I will always cherish. 

The ocean like, awe-inspiring Grand Lake Michigan on which Chicago is situated. 

The translucent veil created by the Cascades waterfall in Virginia, on another blue day. 

Walden’s Pond in its full glory- on that beautiful sunny day- with the blue sky and the pristine reflection of the trees – rich in texture and its warm colours of rust, yellows, reds, alongside the occasional purples. 

NYC skyline from Prospect park, watching it come to light from sunset to nightfall. 

Popping open that bottle of Champagne in the NYC pizzeria post-race, was possibly one of the most special evenings of my life. I was surrounded by warmth, love and years of friendship. 

Project Gold delivered much more than I had ever imagined.  6 weeks. 3 races. I experienced. I lived.  

I learned…

Love makes you brave 

Joy makes you live every moment 

Hope makes you resilient 

What I realized…

I’m tough 

I’m strong 

I love running the marathon distance. 

It has given me the resilience that I needed to live my life. 

I pushed the start button of my new Garmin watch (a gift to myself for Project Gold) and we were off- running the 51st TCS NY Marathon, over Verrazano Narrows bridge. It was a colourful sea of shoes on the road, and a plethora of phones in the blue sky, as the runners captured this historic moment -with selfies and videos, including some dramatic bird’s-eye-view shots as several adventurous runners climbed on top of the median. 

The party had begun!

Once we crested the bridge, the downhill with its light breeze was like a soothing balm. Don’t get too excited, I calmed myself, it is only the start. The 30 min 5km felt controlled. As we entered Brooklyn, the party picked up. The streets were lined with supporters – house parties were on in every block, with Djs, live bands and beer. Oh yeah-we had warmed up well, or had we heated up too much? 

Exercising caution, I controlled the effort and soldiered on, over the rolling roads- all streets of New York either sloped up or gently down- what a way to discover this! Around mile 8/9, I kept my eyes peeled for my cousin Sonal and her family along Bedford Ave in the riot of faces. And there they were- I had missed them, a little behind me so I had to double back.  We did a group hug, sharing gratitude and love, took 2 photos- (the second angle was better than the first, she said) and I carried on. 

Soon, the high become a low. 

By 10 miles I was fully drenched in sweat and fatigued by the cruel heat of the sharp sun. This is when the walking began, under the guise of a crowded water station. I consoled myself, that it was alright to take these walking breaks as long as they were ONLY at every alternate water station.  It was going to be a long road ahead- and not a very pleasant one. 

2.06 at the halfway mark, not bad I thought,  I could manage a sub 4.15 at this rate. 

We left Brooklyn to enter the dreaded Queensboro Bridge. 

Literally and figuratively the death zone. 

There were no supporters. 

An eerie silence prevailed. 

The hollowness was broken only by the rhythmic pounding of the runners’ feet, a dull heartbeat.

No one was talking.

It was a long steady climb, a struggle to barely survive it until the other end. 

My spirit was sinking to an all-time low and by chance, I glanced to my left and saw a splash of sunlight on the pavement. I stopped. Climbed up. Looked left to see the Brooklyn that I had left behind and turned to admire the iconic Manhattan skyline ready to welcome me, on my right. 

A few deep breaths and I climbed down-clumsily-yet smiling. Something had shifted and suddenly all was right with the world.

Gratitude re-entered my heart. I cheered on the runners and myself, and ran the rest of the dreadful tunnel with a spring in my step (it was also downhill!).

This brief positivity was sucked out by the short but steep 59^th street bridge. 

Misery settled in and that’s when the walking on the uphill began. Then I saw the sign that was probably the most important one of the entire race, “Last Damned Bridge!” it said and I laughed out loud, high-fived the guy holding it, felt a wave of relief pass over me. They say a million people come out to cheer the NYC marathon, making it the largest event in the world. At that moment it seemed that they were all around us. The screams of the crowds, just as we entered 1^st Ave was unbelievable. Yes, I had read about it, anticipated, but not prepared for the reality of it. I felt like a star! This euphoria, with the slight downhill gave me a sense(false) of power.  Feeling invincible, I shook out my shoulders and opened my stride. Don’t get carried away- I had read in all the blogs, but I was in Manhattan, living the dream! We flew along 1^st Ave, from 120^th St all the way to 65^th St, turning at onto 5^th Ave to approach the dreaded uphill of the Museum Mile. We would pass all the famous museums and landmarks – the end was near and I had gone “phoos” again. This race had gotten the better of me. After each walk I would decide to run either a full km or at least until the next water break- but I just could not keep up. My friends surprised me when they showed up at this late stage. 

I was thrilled. 

And in tears. 

The waterworks had started. 

The crowd was deafening, packed along the streets- 5 deep. Bells, whistles, screams, shouts, clapping, chanting, and music- the crowd was giving us all that they could. 

By then my brain was dead. I had lost track of which lap I was in – gel time or date time? It really didn’t matter. Nothing could save me.

In my dejected state, as I walked, a (very sweet!) man, I guess he thought that he was comforting me said, “Koi baat nahin beta, thoda sa chal lo!” Oh man, I lost my head, shot him a dirty look and broke into a run, smack in the middle of the uphill, in retaliation. But of course, this bravado was short-lived. 

Minutes and miles went by interminably. 

On the last stretch, the fag end, last 2km, in Central Park, with supporters in either side calling out my name, cheering me on, I trudged along. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice saying, “Parul, you can do this!” I looked up and it was my oldest friend, Amee waiting to give me a hug and ask me, “How are you?”

More tears. 

“I’m dead,” I replied.

The people surrounding us saw the exchange, heard us and encouraged me by clapping and calling out my name (there was a reason I had it printed on my t-shirt!). The crowd support was just electric.

After a short burst of renewed energy, my pace dropped again. I knew I wanted to complete this race running. It took all my resolve to do so. And I did it. 

Crossing this finish lane I felt a curious jumble of emotions- disbelief, relief and elation. 

It was over.

Project Gold was fulfilled. 

Tears. 

As the medal was put around my neck, I felt its weight and fingered the undulations of the cold metal representing this amazing city. How I had longed for this moment. (Of course, I had never imagined that I would be so finished finishing it!)

This race reminded me of how difficult marathons can be, reminiscent of all the Mumbai Marathons that I had run. Each one harder than the previous. 

That’s why we run marathons.

This is a race that humbles you. 

The person at the start line is never the same as the one who crosses the finish line. 

(…to be continued)

The first sound byte was the over-familiar riff of “Eye of the Tiger”, and my playlist revealed its age! It made me smile, bringing back a flood of memories- pre-race breakfasts with my boys at CCI on the Saturdays before all the Mumbai Marathons, that we had suffered together, moments of all the finish lines that we had crossed, some together, others separately. In the end, friendship always won. As I shuffled to the next song, it was the old classic—“Total Eclipse of the Heart” – and I wondered, what this song was doing in my running playlist? 

And Tears. 

Overcome with emotion,  I realized how far I had come in life, and with my running. 

Now, as a celebration I was about to embark on my dream project- Project Gold.  

New York: (one day before the race) 

I had bought new wired headphones (the Rs. 600 ones, as no other one was available-  I suppose everyone has moved to its cool city cousin!) I carefully untangled these and put them in my race kit, in anticipation of  the predicted hot race, the following day. I had not even thought of my Ipod in Berlin or Chicago, but the prospect of running a marathon in 25 degrees and the blazing sun at noon- was sufficiently  frightening. I was preparing for the worst. 

We were all dressed as if it was a June day- shorts, vests and a cap. Over 2000 of us, in various shapes and sizes, and a few (stupid- IMHO) sporting the official marathon t-shirt which was full-sleeved! (first timers, I thought, clueless, and I rolled my eyes in my head!). Amongst those around me was a father-daughter pair, it was the daughter’s first marathon ever. Expressing my delight for her first race, it took me back to mine, way back in 2012- oh the joy, the pain and the freedom of the first! I was overwhelmed with gratitude. We all shared a common sentiment, of how lucky we felt to be running this iconic race, today. 

And tears again. 

On the ferry, the Manhattan skyline receded in the distance, and Lady Liberty waved to us. A British runner (who had visited Mumbai several times) and I grumbled, if we wanted to run a warm, humid race we could have simply run TMM, why bother with the TCS NY marathon? And then the conversation stretched the limits of reality as we wished for rain! With hope in our hearts and a prayer on our lips for the weather gods, we got off the ferry and scrambled into the yellow school buses waiting to take us the Athletes Village.

No tears, only enthusiasm, as we followed the volunteers to the large holding area. 

Like an over-curious child, with glazed eyes and an over stimulated brain, I was almost giddy with excitement, soaking it all in. The green grass contrasted well against the brilliant blue sky. It was a gorgeous day. The air was laden with heat, weighed down with the stories of all 50,000 of us- each one with a unique journey, sprawled in the lawns of Fort Wadsworth, with water bottles strewn around, some sitting on newspapers, yoga mats and others on previous race blankets (I was showing off with my Berlin one!). Counters serving coffee, bagels, bananas, donuts – staple of all runners – were in abundance. And here we were, in the greatest city in the world- waiting to follow the one path marked out for us today, the 26.2 mile blue line across its 5 boroughs, over its 5 recognisable bridges. 

It was only 8:30 am and already feeling hot. What will happen? 

This fact should have brought me to tears- but I was too excited to care!

I was here and that was all that mattered. 

Resting under the shade of the tent, I staying hydrated, I tried to calm myself down. Suddenly, at 9 am, I heard a cannon go off and I ran to the other side. I waited with bated breath and after a couple of minutes, I saw the first group of amateurs on the Verrazano-Narrows bridge! Once they crossed it  they would be in Brooklyn!

Tears again. 

It had begun. The race had begun. 

The canon will be fired for me, too.

The next hour flew past, between seeing more starts, visits to the portaloo, runner-watching and a little pretentious stretching -it was too hot to warm up! And then I heard the announcement that I had been waiting for, “The gates for the Wave 3 start of all corrals will close in 15 minutes, please head to your corrals.” I jumped up, skipped, stumbled, almost tripped, as I made my way towards the Blue start. 

Just outside the tent, I came to a crossroad with possibly the world’s worst signage. I stared at it, perplexed, one arrow indicated blue corral on the right and another, blue corral to go straight. I simply could not tell which way to go. (I have a history of mixing up right/left, and getting lost, so I thought best to ask someone-I could not make a mistake here!) I asked some of the volunteers which direction to head in, but they seemed just as lost as me. One smart-ass, stroked his chin and said, “Maybe follow the people?” Panic was rising, slowly, but steadily. So ok. Deep breaths and I followed his (ill) advice. In a few 100m I was surrounded by a horde of green bibs. Yikes! WRONG! I retraced my steps back to the junction, to enquire with another volunteer (I was really feeling very dumb at that point!). Just then, thankfully, a blue bibbed runner crossed me- so I followed him (no time for any errors now).  “Blue corral gates closing in 5 minutes” we were warned, and my HR was reaching its max, but literally in the next 30 seconds I found myself surrounded by blue bibs! I was home- yay, yay, yay! Last minute race prep- a gel, with a swig of water, Fast and Up Activate and I was ready. 

We walked towards the bridge (the race had not even started and it felt like we had walked at least 4/5 km since morning). I looked up at the sky, it was a beautiful day, just 10 degrees warmer than my liking. 

I shook out my shoulders. 

Cap on. Smile on. We reached the start line. 

Lining up, in the distance, we could see the tensioned cables of the bridge gleaming in the sunshine. 

Strains of Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” filled the air. 

Tears again.

It was really happening. 

My previous races, my kids, my friends – all flashed in my head- jumbled up.

“THE. TCS. NY City. MARATHON. Is. About to begin. 3-2-1”

And boom-I was pulled out of my reverie with the canon shot and we were off,

our hearts filled with gratitude, we thanked the universe for making this day a reality. 

(to be continued…)

The main reason for me, back in December, to sign up for this race was that the entire gang from home had registered for it. So the only item on the agenda was to have fun – pre race, during race and of course post race, whatever the outcome!

As we joined the sea of runners walking, shuffling, slow jogging, doing high knees, stretching, all sorts of movements, I was skipping. My joy knew no bounds as I approached race 2.

I was on a high post my Berlin run, and here I looked forward to running with my friends Ashima and Saroosh, at least for the initial few kilometres. As we walked to our corrals, the music got louder and the adrenaline started flowing. Our hearts pumped faster. Gel in, with a swig of water. I tightened my laces, one last time. Final huddle, we hi-fived one other and – Let’s Goooooo!!

Our first 2 km were slow, as all 3 of us were warming up, but the chatter had already started. 

As we passed some lovely parks- we rued the lack of these back home. Coming down La Salle street, the banking and financial district, we joked how SD should buy a few of these imposing buildings. It would be a good investment, we laughed! We high fived the kids along the pavement- I embarrassed him just being my boisterous self! 

Having already lost Ashima after the first 5km, by 15km SD fell back as well. I looked back, waved him a sad good bye. Then I turned around shook out my arms, loosed my shoulders. And I looked up, smiled, the sky was blue, the air was yet cool, stretched my arms out a-la-Kipchoge and shouted “Go- Chiiii-caaaaa-go!” And the crowd roared back, “Go Parooooool!” 

Oh yeah, let the party begin! I found an all-girl band where I stopped for a few seconds and did some weird dance. China town, old town, we were covering the distance swiftly. My 5k laps were surprisingly consistent. 27/28 mins each. Wow!

I passed another band, singing Lionel Ritchie, “Come on and sing along” so I replied – “All night long!” Yes, I had the attention of the singer! 

Half way – 1:59. OMG! how did this happen? Feeling upbeat, I drew energy from the crowds. This euphoria was unfortunately, short lived. By km 24 I could feel fatigue catching up with me.

My rational self finally woke up and berated my excited self. Don’t expend your energy on all this drama. Conserve. Okay- I told myself. No stupidity. No heroics. Just keep going like this. One step in front of the other. You are running a Marathon. Respect the distance. All my wild waving and cheering, well chastised, tempered down to demure waving and smiling. 

The “josh” had dissipated and I was now in “dig deep” mode. 

I smiled, made eye contact and they clapped. Called out my name. My smile was my strength.

Various thoughts flooded my mind. This second race was the tricky one, with only a 2-week recovery period. But here I was- in the last quarter of the race and all was fine. I thought of Savio’s wisdom- who had told me- “Don’t worry, take it one race at a time”. Truly, no one knew how this one would pan out. I was grateful for all my well wishers- especially those who expressed concern over my slightly far-fetched 3 race plan. 

3:59 it was. 

And I hugged Ashima as we finished within seconds of each other. 

This is the best part of running a race with people we know. Sharing the tears of joy and of relief. The finish line is an explosion of emotions.

A celebration that marks the end of shared suffering. An acknowledgment of hard months of training that we have all done.  For me, this scene is always larger than life. The music is loud, colours are more vivid, the sky is bluer and the smiles are wider. As life plays out in slow motion each moment remains imprinted in my mind. Standing across Grant Park I felt truly lucky and grateful. For everything. And everyone.  

Per aspera ad astra (latin) : Through hardships to the stars

(Project Gold was my plan to run 3 world major marathons in 6 weeks- Berlin, Chicago, NYC)

I ran my last 10k with Savio, an easy breezy one along Marine Drive. After he had grumbled about my outrageous plan- Project Gold, his final words were, “But don’t worry. Run relaxed. One race at a time. And remember to keep your shoulders relaxed.” Ask any runner from the group, they will reiterate, that Savio’s advice to run a race, has remained unchanged. The first time he told me this, was in 2016, when I was attempting my first sub 2-hour Half Marathon in Delhi. As I mulled over it on the flight there, its real meaning eluded me. Upon completing the race, 1.55 it was, the wisdom dawned upon me- Don’t stress about the time, listen to your body, and the first half of the run should never feel hard. I understood effort. 

7 years have passed since, and a lot has changed. I have raced more, read and learnt more. 

“The advantage champions have, does not lie in having more, but being able to give more of what they have.” Etc etc. etc. The notes on my phone and my diary are filled with these words of wisdom. 

Berlin: I looked inward to find my race strategy, trying to draw from my racing experience to no avail.

To find a way out of my tangled brain, I wrote on Friday at breakfast. Wishes. Reasons. Logical. Illogical.

Some rather harsh emotions came out. And I wrote on Saturday at breakfast.

Marathoners of all shapes and sizes were milling about, sporting finisher t-shirts, smiling as if acknowledging the other’s journey to have made it to this start line. It created a warm, motivating atmosphere. We were all in it together. The power of camaraderie. I wrote some more. But the fugue only intensified.

Training had gone well and the race conditions were prime for a fast race. I struggled with basics. To enjoy the Beer in Berlin or not? To have the delicious smelling coffee in the hotel just stick to my Reload? Should I keep the pre-race discipline that I always had – or let it go as this was only the first of 3 races?  My mind oscillated wildly. 

And then Savio’s words came to me.

Don’t worry about the time. So I let that go – released myself from a goal. 

Run relaxed. Yes, I would not look at the pace, but just “go with the flow”.

3 races are bigger than one. 

I will enjoy this course and the crowd support. 

Yes coffee. No sugar. Yes rice. No pasta. 

I had the answer. It had been staring at me the whole time – the tagline of the Berlin Marathon: “Run for Joy”. 

And that Saturday night, 12 hours before the race start, I wrote again.

I questioned myself, “What does Joy mean to me?” Joy is Lightness, to be free, wholly and fully in the moment. 

Further, “What does the Berlin Marathon mean to me?”. I am very grateful to have reached here. During the race I will count my blessings. This race is a celebration. Let Kipchoge attempt breaking 2, I will just enjoy the vibe and do my thing!

The Race – what actually happened

Start – 5km: Too fast, too fast too fast. But I am not able to slow down. I have lost it. But I was good rhythm. So I let it go. Smiled. Cheered. Waved. C’mon, let’s do this!

5km- 10km: Feeling good, and still unable to slow down. Trying, trying! And no sign of my son- Arnav. Where is he wandering?

10km-15km: Already 2 laps(5km each) down- wow- the countdown begins – 4 to go! (Pretty dumb logic, if I think about it now!)

15km-20km: The 17^th km selfie stop with Arnav, finally! Embarrassed him, I know it! I was on a roll.

HM: 1:55 and still feeling good!

20km-25km: The pack that had started from corral F was still together. I drew strength from them. My spirit was still intact.

Friday:

I was to go to the funeral of family friend who had passed away yesterday- whose name eluded me. I thought and thought and thought. How can I not remember? I was just discussing him with my sister-in-law. Thank god for the over smart whstapp that stores all this info for me. Bharatbhai it was. Such a simple name. And I like the man. I knew him well. There was no excuse for not remembering it. My brain is shutting down.

Saturday: 

I had to google the Japanese shoe brand to remember “Onitsuka”. 

Fatigue is getting to me. 

Yash texted me last week. He had reached state of permanent fatigue. I replied- that I would take a week more, since  I was a week behind him in the training cycle. 

And sure enough. I texted him yesterday. Fatigue has moved in. Along with his inept partner- clumsiness. In 2 days, I’ve spilt coffee, ruined a coaster, and dropped a 20 year old corelle plate that cracked yes!), amongst other minor mishaps. I wonder if it’s related? Any thoughts? 

It’s been a good week mileage wise. 55km done so far. And 25/27 tomo to close the week. 

The following down week will be a relief. Whilst doing drills this morning after our 10km Rahul and I pondered on the greatest mystery of life- “Why are we doing this to ourselves?”

Sunday:

Yay yay yay. Finally a long run in the run. So fun that we did 2 extra km after 27 just “coz it’s raining and how can we not?”

And it’s a wrap! 

ps: I am watching the show ‘Shogun’ on Disney while I stretch/foam roll

And for motivation- just started American olympian marathoner’s Clayton Young’s 16 part docuseries on YouTube. All goose bumpy and real. https://www.youtube.com/@_Clayton_Young_

From the luminous gilded hot air balloon hovering in the Tuileries, centrally framed through the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, the arched entrance to the Louvre, to the clever logo that is a unity of three iconic symbols: the gold medal, the flame, and Marianne – a symbol of the revolution and the people of France. 

The friendly volunteers and police, happy to guide us as we walked from the metro stations to the stadia (yes, the French do know English!) and the Olympic tourists, made it a whole new Paris- its usual joie de vivre now infused with a unique camaraderie for all lovers of sport who had gathered in the city of Love, to celebrate “The Games”. 

Over all these years I followed the Olympics- and of course the rise of India, but in a very limited way. I only followed the medals tally and read about some athletes- athletics, gymnastics and swimming. But this year, as I was to be there in the thick of the action, I made an effort to familiarise myself with the athletes and the events. Prior to reaching Paris, I read the profiles of the Indian regiment, their stories, training regime, mindset, as well as their overall attitude and got goosebumps. All of them were inspiring in their own way, the common sentiment though, was their discipline and sacrifice. Through social media and thanks to Russa, I also learned about many international athletes to watch out for, the story of these champions being fairly consistent – they started young had dedicated their lives to achieve this level of excellence through their college years and after, with grit and of course, inherent talent. 

It was an experience of a lifetime. 

As an amateur athlete in my own limited way, it was humbling to be breathing the same air as the Olympians. It was a dazzling display of French ingenuity as they designed the entire city as a huge sports arena to showcase world class athletes. It was really special to be close enough to actually see the joy and the tears, to feel their victory and disappointment, to see them hug their team members to rejoice and console. 

Watching the hockey match where India won the bronze medal was such a proud moment and I teared up when they played the national anthem at the start of the game. Indians from France had shown up in large numbers and the game was exciting, with our “India—Indiiaaa” cheers- loud and enthusiastic.

I was in Stade de France to see the fifteen girls applauding Tara Davis-Woodhall, as she won the gold medal in long jump and hugged her Paralympian husband, Hunter Woodhall. It was then that we saw the javelin leave the powerful arm of Arshad Nadeem, a winning throw from that very second!  

The most special for me, however, was watching the Men and Women’s marathons. I followed them everywhere, from the start line at Hotel de Ville, to the 5k mark near the Louvre to the finish line near the Invalides. Amazing how these iconic French monuments were now nothing more than a km marking for me- with the ostentatious Palace of Versailles transformed into merely, a turnaround point! Seeing Kipchoge and Kipruto in flesh, learning who Tola is, were moments to be cherished forever. 

But for me, the real star was Sifan Hassan- the treble winner of 5000m, 10,000m and the marathon. In our heart of hearts, we all hoped that she would win, but no one imagined that she could pull it off! 

I was at the 42km mark, when the 3 leading women ran in a huddle, drenched in sweat and I could see the gruelling miles on their faces, thinking, how had they run this arduous race under this treacherous sun and unforgiving climbs, when I needed shade to just stand on the side and cheer? Really touching moment. It could have been anyone’s race at that point. 

Sifan, winning with that sprint at the end that must have taken everything, said in an article from NYT:  “Every single moment I regretted that I ran the five and 10,000m.” This showed her human side, like all of us, to doubt yourself during a race, when we look back and question ourselves about the decisions we made and the path that we chose. ‘“What have I done? What is wrong with me?” she said of the inner monologue that had echoed in her head during the final miles of the marathon.’

The eternal question!

Victory and Loss, two sides of a coin for us, life-changing for these stars.

Olympians reach this pinnacle of success with the support of many- families, schools, coaches, federations and most importantly, their home countries. They sacrifice their lives to make their nation shine, make their flag fly high, dominating the sky and fill the hearts of their fellow citizens with pride. 

For us in India, it is just the opposite. Athletes are left to find their own means to train, to compete. If they win India is quick to claim them as their own, but in the time of need- there is just none or very little support. A few organisations have been working, but the real power still remains vested with the so-called federations that are a farce.  Reality emerges as a few brave athletes, put their lives on the line, by calling out the corrupt politicians and molesters. It is a grim picture. 

As amateur athletes we know how hard we work, the various factors we consider while planning a race, from the training strategies, balancing work and life, to seemingly small things like race day attire and pre-race fueling. But I feel nothing is small. It all contributes to a successful race. Nutrition. Strength training. Mental training. Recovery. Physio. ALL!! If my third gel- salted date combination timing is so crucial to my inconsequential race, how much planning, funding and support would world class racing require for an event that comes once in 4 years, an opportunity the athlete gets a chance to represent their country at best one or two times, and in a few exceptional cases three?

Let’s accept it, that we don’t have what it takes to create Olympic champions, as we cannot compete with the world on level ground. Not because we don’t have talent, but because we don’t know how to create an environment that nurtures it. Champions, as we know, are born with talent, but created, on the ground, in gyms, rinks, arenas, ranges, rings, on an athletic track, in a 50m Olympic sized pool. We don’t have these facilities freely and easily accessible. Worse, we don’t have any willingness to create this. As Indians, we find glamour in saying that our champions train in fields, on muddy tracks, bare feet, ill equipped, starved, exploited. 

I am bereft of all words. I am ashamed to say this is our India. 

From this Saturday’s heartbreaking article on Vinesh Phogat, from Mint Lounge, A girl called Courage. Despite facing all the difficulties that she did, she wishes for hope, still appealing to men in an extremely patriarchal Haryana.  

‘At closing of her felicitation ceremony in her village, Balali, around 2am she would find the words for a lovely little speech, hoping that every home in this village produced a girl who would beat her records, beseeching the elders in the audience, which even here was 95% male, to “please support my sisters, they can achieve a great deal, they only need your help, your hopes, your belief”, soon thereafter tell the press that “The fight of life is very long.”’

Her struggle is real. 

It is a fight for mere survival. 

A fight for all athletes. 

A fight for all women.

It shows me how privileged I am to be writing this. 

Preface: 11 days have passed since my toe fracture and I have been a-ok for most part. Never really dwelled on Raceday -I just imagined that something will happen and I will run fine- maybe a tad slower but without any major stress.
Until…
Part A: The Pall of Gloom

6 am: It is more than a hairline fracture, and it has just begun to heal. A fracture needs 6 weeks and it will only be 3! What if I dislocate it again!!??
7 am: During the usual strength session bechara Lokesh felt my wrath, “No, I will not do the chest press. No upper body. It’s useless! We do core!! ” Poor guy- didn’t stand a chance- had to acquiesce.
8.30 am: The Beginning: What if I cannot complete the race? What if I damage my toe further? These doubts marked the loss of faith in myself and the healing process.
12 noon: I was in the Abyss of Despair, and decided to sit with my sadness and grieve the loss of my sub-4 marathon training, a sub-par race and welcome the prospect of a DNF.
4 pm: The Realisation (?) : It is an ego game a I am being foolish. It doesn’t matter to anyone except for me and I should let it go.
But, I couldn’t. I continued to wallow, expressing my frustration with all who were willing (or unwilling and were bullied) to listen, feeling the futility of doing “cardio”
9 pm: The Rebellion: I finally consoled myself by having a large piece of cake while watching a terrible TV (breaking my no sugar-until-race rule!)
My spirit was at its lowest and the darkness only grew.

Sunday 6.30 am: What would have been my brightest Sunday morn, was a grey haze. A dark cloud, deepening and widening.

A recollection of the nightmare multiplied the despair, that I was late for my race, that I had forgotten my nutrition belt and that I could not find the start line. Doomsday is upon me.

Part B: The Slap

7 am: The Conversation with Sukhpreet
Me: (in a whiny voice) Even going to the gym seems pointless. I am going to run slowly, so what difference does any work make now?
She: (a little irritated) What is wrong with you?
Me: (continuing) I am sick of this dumb “cardio”- I just want to run.
She: (yet in a gentle voice) But cardio is important na…
Me: But how will help me in race? Nothing I do now can repair my toe!
She: (pissed off) Race! Race! Race! You are obsessing about that one day…but think about your Journey. You’ve had a superb training block, a lot of fun with your boys and see how fit you’ve become! Your blood work is great and you are complaining!!?
Me: (Stunned silence)
She: What about all your gyaan about enjoying the process and blah blah?
Me: (sheepishly): Hmmmm
She: (same mom-tone) And your holiday after the race? 15 days vs the one raceday!!
Me: (Small voice): Ya
She: (Relentless): And then? Will there be other races or not? Or it is Doomsday? the world is ending?
Me: Arre but
She: (full impact now) Are what but? Worse things have happened na? You have to only run a little slower, that’s all- it can’t be that bad! If the pain comes then DNF or walk and enjoy London- what is the big deal? You have a 15-day vacation after! Look at the trip in its entirety.
Me: Ya, true that.
She: (softening, finally): Of course you are upset. But it is ok na. This is an accident. It can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. You missed Bombay marathon last year, but you ran it this year na, so you can run London again if it means so much to you. Where is going?
Me: (waking up, finally): Yes, I have been really really lucky. Racing until now without any major mishaps has been a privilege. I should be grateful.

Part C:
London Marathon 2024
A Goal: Complete the Race
B Goal: DNF, when the pain begins.

A quote that we all know:
“The miracle is not that I finished, but that I had the courage to start.”

~ John Bingham, 1999

Thank you all for support, encouragement, admonishments and love!

5.15 am

I want to be in cross maidan with all my people similarly dressed in too bright running shoes and shorts and tights and set off toward CST, hoping that maybe we might run a little faster that day — and that we would be cheered at the end whether we met that goal or not. All of us nameless crazies, who meet on the road, whose identity is the distance we run and our gait, who meet at races, smiling and suffering, complaining and celebrating.

This Sunday should have been the Tata Mumbai Marathon. I’ve tried coming up with an eloquent way to say how I feel, but I can’t think of anything better than this: It’s a huge bummer.

I’ve run the TMM/SCMM every year since 2005, 7 HMS and 8FMS. It is an important a date on our calendar, as life is lived around that (all trips, parties with wining and dining are postponed until after the race). It is a day that pulls together everything that running means to me: the satisfaction of a goal met (whether I run well or not), the camaraderie of the sport, and a celebration of running with those who also rise up to meet the challenge, along with the crowds who gather to cheer us on.

This event has brought us together as a city and as a nation. The pain and the shared suffering binds the running community. Cheers to my running family it was wonderful to see everyone out on the street commemorating this special day.
I miss racing.
I miss TMM.

ps: Last year has practically been a washout for racing and training for most of us, but all and sundry have used the phrase…”Covid-19 is like running a marathon!” (dude-eyeroll!)

 I miss pre-race jitters. I miss the chaos of the start lines — because we would always meet the usual race junkies, the speed ones at ADHM and the suckers for pain at AHM, and  oh yes,  the humidity lovers in Chennai and Cochin. Bangalore was a sweet in between…

I miss trying to pass anyone who seems vaguely annoying to me that day. I especially miss post-race spirit of exuberance.  The smell of sweat and adrenaline. The talk about those 3 seconds, the extra distance you ran, the PB you got or missed, or just enjoyed the feeling of being a part of something bigger than you! We all know the magic of races, the drama of pinning on a bib which proclaims that yes, you are putting yourself out there. 

Of course, I know that, but we are all allowed to be disappointed when these things happen because it’s disruption on top of a year of setbacks, bad news, frustration and grief. 

We are those who live for our dreams…big or small…

We are those who live for our dreams…big or small…

That first 5k.

The 5k PB.

That bronze at Comrades 95^th anniversary downhill run. 

That world major which you didn’t run last year because of some silly reason (NYC 2020 it was to be for me!). 

That sub-4 (which was mine for 2021 TMM…now buried!)

That sub-2 

That first race. 10k, a half or a full. 

That BQ race. 

That chase…where you demolish your inner demons, one by one.

Any dream which made us challenge our boundary and pushed our perceived limits. 

Yes, most of us are back on the road. And I realized how big a part of my life these anonymous faces were when I started running on the road, post lockdown. These runners whose names I did not know, but I could identify them from afar, by their gait, their stoop and their arm swing. I was happy was back amongst “my people”. 

Grateful again for Sunday mornings. 

For winter running.

And for all those who are motivated enough to be in full training mode, having embraced the new virtual format of races. As I see them whizzing past me I think of my days which seem like to have been in another lifetime

I have a lot of work to do.

 I am happy to chug along now. Lets see when the simmering flame gets ignited.

Thank you all for the joy.

Only when you don’t have something you realise its worth. 

This Pandemic continues to reiterate that in all encompassing manner.

Our ONE life. Lets live it well. We have now lived to understand :

“Kal kare so aaj kar, aaj kare so ab, pal mein pralay hoegi, bahuri karogi kab?”

Kabir in 15th cent.