"If you want to win something, run 100 meters; if you want to experience something, run a marathon." - Emil Zatopek
Last year, I had participated in the 10K marathon, which is conducted every year in Hyderabad. The spirit of Hyderabad was showing itself even before sunrise. At 5:30 on a Sunday morning, when the only place one would like to be is his bed, there was virtually no place to stand on the Necklace road. People of both the sexes and all ages had covered every inch of the road. The mood was festive and refreshing, and the atmosphere was enthusiastic - as it would probably have been on the 15th August, 1947.
I had completed that run without any problem. In fact, I completed that run with a sprint in the end. When I do that, I feel that the conquest was comprehensive.
This year, last Sunday, I participated in the half-marathon - 21.1 kms.
Like last year, I had made my own set of rules for the run - no water, no walk, and no rest in between. It might sound rather arrogant, but it was not so. Though I concede that it was a little ambitious. In any case, I kept my rules only to myself. To make this all possible, I allowed myself a little leniency - I chose to overlook my speed, or the lack of it. I decided to run, nay jog, slowly. In long distance run, I tactically maintain such a speed that I may not run out of breath. And in doing so, I allow others, including old men and women, to run past me. I don't take hurt usually. I don't feel defeated. In unusual times, I find a ready consolation in the severity of my rules.
As a matter of principle, I would rather keep competition away from the marathon track. Not because I am not competitive enough, which may or may not be relevant to the point, but because I believe that the nature of marathon is primarily introspective, in which the presence of others is merely incidental. Besides, unless I am excited, I do not put too much premium on winning anyway. Especially in marathon, in my opinion, speed shouldn't matter much. All that should matter is running with the spirit of marathon, and taking the pain in the marathon way.
Why do I run? As far as I am concerned, I run because I enjoy running. I love to sweat. If that doesn't sound literary enough, then I have alternative explanation - I run to soothe my curiosity. I run to seek an answer, to probe my perseverance in an optional crisis. I run to try my will and test my endurance - my response to pain, as it were.
As I have mentioned earlier, running is introspective in nature - like praying, or preening. It involves an interview with self. As far as others are concerned, if I ever feel anything for them, I feel a sense of pride. I feel proud of them because I witness each of them fighting his/her case hard against his/her own private prosecutor. At the same time I feel a sympathy for them because I look at them in terms of their pain, and their response to their pain. With fellow sufferers, there can be no rivalry.
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The event started at 5.30 sharp from KBR park main gate, and I started with my tried and tested plan. Just a matter of time, I assured myself. The sun was still behind the bushes. Though the sky was clear, and clouds were playing truant, it was a timely and therefore an auspicious start. I was not afraid of getting tired, but I was bit wary of getting bored. So I plugged my ears and played on the music. Don't crib and don't cry, I told my body as I pressed the play button, for I won't be able to listen to you. The finishing line beckoned me. Today was my day.
I jogged slowly through the Jubilee Hills area, without water, without walk, and without rest of course. Many lesser runners ran past me, and I forgave them thinking "Life is a Marathon" and hoping to set the records straight in the last laps with my "eye-opener" sprint. Apart from my plan, I found solace in my imagination.
I imagined myself as an unsung tail-ender who walked to the pitch with a will to save a test. He batted bravely, in an empty stadium, for a lost cause, with an intensity so unfamiliar that it seemed rather grotesque to the onlookers. But he was well aware of his rights, and he had willed to make them wait. He had willed to surprise the dressing room. This day was his day, a hero was about to be made.
Keep watching, people. Keep running, hero.
No matter how ridiculous it was, I was serious about it. I wanted her to be present at the finishing line to behold my post 21.1 kms sprint with eyes opened wide with awe and surprise. However, there was a little problem with that prospect. I didn't want to wake her up. And she had no means to know when she should reach there, unless she was called up and told. But I was determined not to stop for any call, any reason, any excuse, any temptation. "Keep Running", her sms had said.
Unlike last year, there were no rock bands flanking the track, and drumming and singing to boost our morale. But it was still a special event. The policemen were everywhere and the traffic was made to wait for us. On both sides of the road, as I passed the HiTech City, I saw people watching us with amused eyes, unless they got something to ogle at. And there was something to ogle at. I heard that people from many places, especially Bangalore and Bombay, had come only to take part in this event. There were vans and wagons passing by, carrying banners and cheering the runners. There was never so much fun in the run. I was delighted to get so much matter for my next post. Little did I know then that matter was no less tyrannical and no less rapacious than man. It could eat a man alive. I was running dangerously.
"Marathoning is like cutting yourself unexpectedly. You dip into the pain so gradually that the damage is done before you are aware of it. Unfortunately, when awareness comes, it is excruciating." - John Farrington
I wish I knew that earlier. But life is not known to offer any crash couse. In fact, it has a reputation of a strict teacher who tests first and teaches later. After 12+ kms of test, by the time I neared Novotel, I was able to listen to the cries of my knees despite the music plugged into my ears. I chastised myself for the hectic yesterday followed by the half-slept yesternight. To buoy up my spirit, I suspected that it was the crape-bandage that needed to be redone. I slowed but that didn't help me much. I had to stop. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't ignore it, and I couldn't respond to it in any other way. As I sat down to untie my bandage, my oath was broken.
Relax, every rule has its exception, I tried to rationalize. I untied the crape and tied it again, hoping change would make things better. But things were to be worsened further. My private prosecutor was hostile and his arguments were cogent. I could not refute my 5 years old ligament tear, which had returned to implicate me right in the middle of my half-marathon. My knees had kneeled me down.
I obeyed Khalil Gibran, rested a while in reason, and after having the situation reassessed, I was ready to compromise. I was anxious to negotiate a deal, but nobody answered the door when I knocked. My body denied ears to my cries. I could hardly walk, and I could not walk without a limp. The finishing line seemed too far to beckon me anymore. In 10-20 minutes, my case was lost.
Thankfully, though I had lost it, I was not looking like a loser to others. I was one of them, dawdling along with pedestrian expectations. However, when I looked into the mirror of my mind, I saw a miles long walk towards the pavilion. The tail-ender had failed again. The hero was spanked, lined up, and was made to wear his underwear over his trousers. It was humiliating. And it was surreal - neither tired, nor bored, and still not running. The despair, weighing heavy on my mind, demanded its logical conclusion; and the wise idea of giving it up crossed my mind. I called her up and confessed - I am walking.
Disappointed with the mirror, I looked elsewhere. And as it happens, the indiscriminate fell on the immediate - a woman who looked in her late thirties. With thick glasses over her eyes and a water-bottle in her right hand, she was a spectacle struggling her way despite all problems possible. "Only for ladies and handicapped", I reflected with a bitter cynicism. Real men were nowhere to be seen. Even the unreal ones had moved on. Only housewives and handicapped men like me were hanging around. I wasn't proud of my company anymore.
As I passed close to Whitefields, my home, I saw the marathon staff and policemen standing there and giving direction to the johnny walkers. I half wanted to leave, but couldn't gather enough shamelessness to break the line, run away and go home. Had I turned anywhere, I would have turned traitor. I had to walk straight. I could not fail my fellow sufferers. I had lost my pride, but I had to save my dignity, and others' too. The lady reminded me - the marathon was still on, and I couldn't fail its spirit. Even in my crippled capacity, I still had to do my best. There was no other choice. This was life. "Life is a Marathon" - I was beginning to understand it.
