The Perpetual Itch

It is that time of the year again. When the legs start to itch, when the heart trembles a bit more. It is my seventh Delhi Half Marathon (or ADHM). In the year 2010, a good friend (hereafter referred to as P or Pee, interchangeably) proposed that we participate in the half marathon. I don’t remember how much thought I put into it. I think I jumped right into it. That was a phase when I and Pee were looking for such challenges. Something that fell on the periphery of safe-play and still comfortably far from a real hard challenge. This was our kind of ‘adventure’. Nobody in our circle of sissies does this kind of thing. At the same time, we would have been laughing material for the real adrenaline junkies.

So we both dig in. ADHM is usually held in November and we had taken this call sometime in June. I had been a sporadic jogger since 2003. Now I had to start practising in earnest. I went to the nearest park and the warm-up began. Over the next few months, I worked like a machine, not missing any opportunity to hit-the-park. Day or night, I would be there. At that time, I had built up stamina to be able to jog for one hour continuously. However, my pace was slow, I wanted to build on sustainability and not speed. The logic was simple, if I can jog for 3 hours, the target is done. I was happy with my preparation. One day, I cranked it upto 72 minutes non-stop.

That was the first year of the ritual. The first task is the online registration. After successfully registering, one has to collect the running bib from a designated collection centre. That year, the bib was to be collected from Nehru Park, which was also the starting point. And Pee had warmed me to the idea of a real-treat of goodie bag which comes with the bib. While I was biting hard at the ADHM apple, P was kissed by New Monica. So after deliberations with the doctor, it was settled that he would not participate. That dented my confidence a bit, because he was the reason I was getting into it. Without him, the task looked more daunting given that it was the first time. But his exit opened an opportunity – to use his portable Sony Walkman. The appointed day of bib collection coincided with an ICRA event. Sachin and Siddharth from office joined me. First stop – Pee’s place. He gives me the Walkman and shows me the ropes. He also gives me his registration form. I make my usual poke at his misfortune of not being able to participate. Second stop – bib collection centre. The goodie bag was good. Numerous trivial items. Sachets of skin cream, energy jelly, shampoo, sun-screen, energy bar, small deo etc. Hardly anything was of much use. The more important stuff was the race day booklet. There was so much of information to take in. I read through it carefully. And the timing chip. At that time, it was small coin-like with two long hooks to tie it to the running shoes. Pretty cool.

Expectedly, I was pretty nervous the day before the race day. This year is my seventh and I can contrast how I feel now with what I used to feel then. I had so many questions. So many things to consider. What to wear? What to eat the day before? What to eat in the morning? What all to carry with me? How will I reach the venue? Will I get tired before the run began? How will the facilities be like? How will I come back? Will I survive the entire duration? Will I collapse? Should I gr for broke or give up if I my stamina gives away? I had made it known that I am participating. What if I make a hash of it? I tried to adhere to it all the suggestions/precautions to the best of my abilities. Pee, being as clued in as he usually is, kept giving tips.

My first marathon started from Nehru Park. And dad dropped me in the car. I have never slept well the night before the marathon, more so during my first one. I was very anxious. Doubting if at all I would complete. It was the performance pressure I had built-up, made no less by the loud and public announcement I had done. At the same time I kept thinking 'what the heck'. It is no life changing exam or job interview. Great if I do it, no damage if I do not. I was saying something to this effect to dad in the car on the way to the venue. And as I got off the car, he just asked me to stop and shouted from the open window “harsh, fight it out”. I had never seen him talk like that before and never since. Always the safety first approach. Somehow he said a different thing and that meant so much. I walked through the rush and crowd of entrants at the Nehru Park gate. Inside, the park had become a giant urinal. Guys standing every few meters in front of a bush. I finished my first one in 2.44, running constantly for more than an hour but suffering badly in the latter part. After completing, I collapsed on the Nehru Park ground. It hurt in equal measure whether you stand, sit or lie down. But the whole park was a celebration ground. People of all shades and tones united, by their common experience, by their common achievement. It felt like everybody knew everybody else, because there was one fact to link them all. So much of empathy and concern flows during these events. For me, it was amazing to hear 40+ guys completing in 2 hours.

Since then, I have participated in 5 consecutive ADHM (Pee has participated in 3 out of these 4 – he missed out one year due to ligament tear in the knee – my usual high ground and poke at his fragility). The routine is now drilled and comes easily. The mock seriousness of running each weekend, increasing the tempo as the D-day approaches. And that ‘taking it easy’ during the week before the event. And of course – cutting toe nails, buying snickers for the run, usual eating stuff – banana, orange juice, energy bar etc., planning to reach the venue, checking the shoes, the attire, metro card with some currency banded together, pinning the bib, charging the Walkman (there was an year when I worked hard to download a list of jogging song tracks), serious working-out just before the start (many people have the demeanour of monk-like concentration), feeling of condescension over joggers of lower category than you. And throughout the run, you keep calculating what and how much you eat and drink. Do I go for the energy drink at this junction or next one? Should I go for the next bite of snickers? Should I slow down because I may burn out too fast? Or am I saving too much? You keep trying to hear what your body is saying. Leg cramps, please don’t start. What is the right time for the first stop? There is always the anxiety that you are not going to complete in time. Did you notice the starting time correctly? Are the time runners correct? I keep running the time-speed-distance calculations in my head. Ah, it is all fun!

The biggest fun though is having so many co-runners around. Most of them going through what I am going through. Only these people here would understand the challenge, the pain, the planning etc. You feel you are in one big family – co-passengers in a arduous, pious journey. You feel sympathetic to one who has stopped as you pass him by and you feel challenged by one who has overtaken you or is ahead of you on the other side of the road (there are some who are so far ahead, and you feel ruefully – if only I could). In addition, I feel genuine pleasure to see so many people turn up early morning in Delhi winters just to cheer the runners. Most I believe are there because somebody they know is running. Nevertheless, they cheer everybody relentlessly, and its great to see such compassion. Similar thoughts go for the volunteers or organisers. In India, one is used to seeing someone not doing his job unless there are checks and punishment measures in place. But when I see these volunteers, I wonder why do they serve water/energy drinks/orange, apply pain-relieving spray so tirelessly? I cannot think of any incentive at play apart from enthusiasm and willingness to serve those who are going through an ordeal. (yes, I make it sound like a battle. But then, I and Pee call that stiff/laboured walking in the days after the marathon as our badge of honour, war-wound if you may). All these are the key differences between running alone in preparations and not being able to do more than 5-6 kms and completing those 21 kms. I and Pee have always had the rule of not jogging together – to each his own.

ADHM is like a Diwali. One goes through days of preparation and routine just for a few hours of the final event. But nobody can understand it apart from those who actually participate in it. Not the family – spouse, parents, friends. I am sure my parents think why do I have to go through all this trouble. I have done it a few times. Now move on. But it has become a ritual. One target that is still there. In fact as of now, the only target. In a growing mid-life crisis, it is possibly the only source of sanity.

Over the years, my performance has been stable, something I am proud of, given that I have only got older and un-healthier all this while. However, there have been ups and downs. 2nd and 3rd ones were tough, when during the run, I felt why do I have to do this every year? Not anymore. But the 4th one was the best. When it felt so easy, so effortless. And that was my fastest too. Post- completion routine is also set. You limp around, looking for a vacant patch of grass. Not to rest. Oh no! You exercise, because the warming down routine is important not to have cramps or long term aches. So you do all sort of stretches and squats. Why not – it is well earned. While collecting the medal, I can never help feeling that the volunteers should treat us royally (they do say congrats or well done to each participant). We are like the guests of honour. The refreshment bag, which one consumes slowly. The return journey is always fun. When one returns by metro, it is usually filled with fellow participants. And other riders look at us curiously. You are in shorts in this winter. You are stinking, your face is visibly dirty, layer of dried salt on your forehead and you have this thing pasted on your tee shirt. All the time, you are smirking, beaming inside and saying to yourself ‘stare all you want, but you can never achieve what I have today’, or ‘it is not your cup of tea uncle’.

ADHM has become a parallel existence for me. Throughout the year, I look forward to it. In constantly changing beliefs, allegiances, hobbies, thoughts, targets, ADHM has thus far stood firm. Pee has a big part to play in this. While we have drifted quite a bit since the first ADHM, this point of connection between us has been firm. Possibly the firmest point of connection.

Over the years, I have read a lot on running and on marathons. I have talked to many people about the half marathon. Tried to pass on my wisdom, persuade them (It is not tough at all. Just a bit of preparation. And that you enjoy the preparation), though unsuccessfully. Pee has been more successful in convincing people around him. Almost every year there are new guys from his office participating. And when one sees first-timers do so much better than you, the ego gets pricked a bit. But no, having completed yet another ADHM is an exhilarating feeling. Nothing feels better than those 5 minutes post the finishing line. At that time one feels like everything is achievable. Why not try for full marathon next year? Why not set a bigger target? Of course it is doable.