Run, Rishi, Run!

There is an episode of the iconic sitcom Seinfeld, where Elaine (played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus) hosts a marathon runner named Jean Paul. Jean Paul is in New York to participate in the marathon, his first race in three years after the trauma of sleeping through his marathon event at the Olympics.

When Jerry (Seinfeld) finds out that Jean Paul’s undoing was a faulty alarm clock, he vows to leave no stone unturned in ensuring that the Trinidadian runner makes it to the race on time. Distrusting Elaine with such a huge responsibility, as well as the ‘wake-up call guy’ at the hotel, he brings Jean Paul back to his own apartment and sets him up on the couch with multiple alarms set to 6.50 A.M.

But as always, Jerry’s neighbour Kramer ruins everything. The first disaster occurs at 4.02 A.M when the new heat pump on his hot tub blows all the fuses in the building. As a result, Jerry and Jean Paul both wake up at 8.45 and are forced to rush like maniacs to the starting line.

In spite of starting over an hour late, Jean Paul produces a superhuman effort and emerges as race leader going into the final bend. With barely a hundred metres left for victory, it seems certain that he will beat all odds and banish the demons of his past.

Enter Kramer, yet again. Standing near the finish line with Jerry and Elaine, he is holding a cup of scalding hot tea that he hopes will bring his ‘core temperature’ back to normal after his hot tub-related woes. Mistaking the tea for a cup of water, Jean Paul grabs it on his way to a photo finish. The camera only shows Jerry, Elaine and Kramer grimace while a scream of pain is heard in the background, but I’m sure you can imagine the result…

I’m glad I didn’t watch that episode of Seinfeld before running the Delhi Half Marathon on Sunday, 30^th September 2012. I didn’t need faulty alarms and cups-of-tea-that-resemble-cups-of-water adding to my concerns that a) I hadn’t trained enough and b) I am too fat to run 21.097 kilometres at a stretch. 

Fortunately, unlike Jean Paul, I managed to wake up on time and get to the starting line by 6.55 A.M.

What follows is a somewhat detailed account of what was going on in my head as I ran:

1 km

I’m pumped up, raring to go. I can feel the excitement building as I begin a steady jog within the sea of fellow runners. I decide to pace myself, and tell my friend Varun not to slow down for me. A little ways ahead, I see some guy sprinting at full speed and then waiting for his buddies to catch up. “Good luck to you, sir,” I think as I smirk to myself. I plod along resiliently.

2km

I decide to walk for a kilometre. No, I’m not tired already. Really! I’m just conserving my energy. I swear. Oh screw it, you’re not going to believe me anyway. It’s true, though.

Somewhere between 3km and 4km

I’ve just resumed my steady jog, and am feeling pretty good about myself. Suddenly, I see a group of African men running in the opposite direction on the other side of the road, followed by a group of African women. I look at my watch – 7.25 A.M. “There’s probably been some mistake with their registrations so they’re rushing back,” I say to myself. I glance at the marker they’re running past on the other side, and that’s when it hits me: They’ve almost finished the race!

Great. And I was so pleased with myself five minutes ago. Sure, they’re professionals, but that makes it only slightly less demoralizing.

There are random bands at regular intervals on the sidewalk, playing popular numbers. I know it’s meant to get the runners in the mood, but unfortunately these bands aren’t very good. She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5 is not the best running song, and the guy singing Wolfmother’s Joker and the Thief is so bad that I feel like stopping my run just so I can go up to him and snatch the mike away.

Maybe these terrible renditions are part of a ploy by the organizers, to make us run faster just so we can escape the racket. If that‘s the case, then it’s working.

5 km

WATER. Sweet nectar of the Gods, there you are! I’ve missed you.

6 km

Find a nice view. Run behind her for a while, but she’s going too slowly so I’m forced to overtake her.

7km

I encounter the first timing mat. These are electronic carpets on the road, hooked up to monitors that recognize the RFID timing chip that I attached to my shoelaces before the race. Pretty neat!

The two beeps I hear as my timing is recorded are music to my ears. I look at my watch, where I’m running a timer of my own. About 55 minutes to finish one-third of the race. Not bad at all. I pick up the pace slightly.

Suddenly, I see it in front of me. India Gate. I’ve been in Delhi almost 6 months now, and still haven’t visited the iconic landmark. What a way to finally see it up close, eh? I stare at it as I run past, briefly glancing at the inscription on the top. I turn onto Rajpath, and my favourite stretch of the race begins.

I see Rashtrapati Bhavan – the office of the President of India – in front of me. It is quite majestic, with its impressive structure and imposing façade.  As I’m running towards it, I imagine Pranab Mukherjee running a marathon in a vest and tiny shorts. I then imagine his predecessor Pratibha Patil running with him, and wonder who would win that race. My immature mind also adds Manmohan Singh to that hypothetical test of athletic prowess. I chuckle to myself and keep running.

8 km

Stop to pee. Lose a precious couple of minutes, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

As I run forward, I see Kshiti, another friend of mine. She started a little before me, so I’m quite pleased that I’ve caught up with her. Her cry of “Holy s**t, you’re here already!” as I run past her, makes me smile.

I take a right in front of Rashtrapati Bhavan and see the Central Secretariat metro station. Maybe I could take a metro to the finish line. Hmmmmm.

I see something called a cooling tunnel. It’s a sort of long canopy that has sprays of water that are supposed to refresh you. I run through it, but don’t feel anything. Whatever. Keep running.

10 km

Beep beep. Yay.

11 km

I run past ‘Transport Bhavan’. I know there’s a word for transport in Hindi, but can’t remember it. Why wouldn’t they use that? Transport Bhavan sounds pretty weird.

Beep beep. I’ve officially finished half the race. There’s a U-turn here, sending us back the way we came. I’m feeling pretty good. I run on.  

13 km

I’m feeling quite refreshed after having the orange handed to me by one of the volunteers. I see yet another timing mat in front of me as I turn back towards India Gate at Rashtrapati Bhavan, at the 13km mark. Clearly the organizers aren’t superstitious. Neither am I. Oh well. Beep beep.

Catch a glimpse of Miss Niceview again, this time she’s running towards me. She’s still on her way to the halfway mark; thank God I stopped following her.

14 km

As I’m running away from the Rashtrapati Bhavan, I imagine Manmohan Singh running again, except this time he’s trying to escape Mamata Banerjee, who is chasing him with a rolling pin. Chuckle, chuckle. Run, run. 

A slight detour from Rajpath leads me to the Le Meridien. As I take another U-turn in front of the hotel, I see the Ferrari showroom on my left. I resist the urge to stand and ogle the cars, get inspired, pick up the pace. Two-thirds of the race done! Beep beep.

I pass a couple of cops on the side of the road, deep in conversation. I overhear one of them say “Itni daru pee rakhi thi usne”, and begin to wonder what would happen if the volunteers handed out bottles of beer instead of bottles of water. Last man standing wins. Would make the marathon so much more interesting, don’t you think?

15km

This is where the trouble starts. I begin to cramp up, and stop on the side to stretch a little bit. Try to run, twist my ankle, then throw up.

In my current state, I don’t think it’s wise to go on any longer. I really wanted to finish my first marathon, but to be fair I didn’t train well enough. I call it quits. My race is over.

I do feel disappointed, obviously, but I’m proud of myself for running fifteen kilometres! Guess I’ll do better next time, maybe even finish the race!

Just kidding, I finished. Had you going for a bit there, didn’t I?

16 km

I slow down a bit when I reach India Gate again. Unfortunately, this is when the marathon photographer decides to take my pictures. So there isn’t a single one of me running. I swear I did, though. Really!

Another orange stand. I grab one, try to run, give up. I think I’ll walk for a bit. Just five kilometres to go.

19 km

I decide it’s time to go all out. I start running, pushing myself for the final stretch. By my calculations, I should reach just barely within the three-hour target I set myself at the beginning of the race.

Unfortunately, the 6-km Great Delhi Run has also started, and dodging people at full tilt when you’re that tired is rather difficult. I maintain as steady a pace as I can, and my anticipation rises as I near the finish line.

The final stretch

“Only 500 metres to go!” reads a big sign. Faster.

Only 400 metres to go! Come on, just a little bit more.

Only 300 metres to go! No coffee mugs. Thank God.  

Only 200 metres to go! A huge smile breaks out on my face.

Only 100 metres to go! SPRINT BABY SPRINT! I break into a mad run, zig-zagging through the throng of people that are now ambling towards the Nehru Stadium.

I stop a couple of steps short of the finish line, and as a tribute to that wonderful Youtube K-pop phenomenon that I am addicted to, I ‘Gangnam Style’ across the finish line. I hope the TV cameras caught it!

Holy crap, I actually did it. Wow. 21.097 kilometres. I look around in disbelief, waiting for someone to bump into me so that I can wake up from this crazy dream. Doesn’t happen. I really did it.

I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait for my next marathon! Maybe Mumbai? I haven’t been on the Bandra-Worli Sea Link yet, and another run might be the best way to see it.