What’s going on… your running a 55k

 “So you wake in the morning and step outside 

And you take a deep breath 

And you get real high

And scream on top of your lungs…

What’s going on?”

.. to which you hear yourself saying, “you’re running yet another 55 kms!”

You are no longer questioning your life choices. You are no longer asking your self why. After doing your third 50 (plus) km this year, life has more or less given up on your craziness or asking why, knowing you’ll do it all again.

But there’s still one thing you won’t do. You won’t call or acknowledge yourself an ultra runner, cause no matter how many ultras you may run you’ll never get to that crazy level of mileage as that of an ultra runner. You just love to run, mo matter the distance.

So there you find yourself at yet another start line, all set and raring to go. But before that you need to start all your apps and watch and sign yourself (after all you are catholic boy) as it’s customary for you to do.

You feel rested and ready to face the challenge ahead thanks to fact you are staying at the resort which is also the start line. 

So you wake up and dress up at ease and step down from your hotel and onto the start line, greeting your friends and fellow runners who are busy warming up while you are being your usual social butterfly.

As the clock strikes 4, it’s off you go, but not before starting all your apps and watch, and of course signing yourself.

You try not to think about the “S” word as you hadn’t had either hot water or black coffee.

You steadily run, keeping a slow and steady pace, cheering your fellow runners as you join them.

The air feels nice crisp against your skin. You do feel a chill but not a biting cold. At the  back of your mind you feel you are under dressed. Where others are in tees and shorts on top of compression shorts, not to forget the compression sleeves, you are in your shortest of shorts and a running singlet with just your hydration bag to keep your warm. But then you are not quite bothered by this thought cause you know you can pull it off with style and not just the justification that if you got it you flaunt it.

You steadily run past darkened houses with their occupants fast asleep, with none stirring, not even a mouse!  The only sound you hear is the bark of a few agitated canines who seem to be complaining about the sound of the patter of feet that seem to have disturbed their sleep.

You are  not worried about them, after all, as the saying goes, barking dogs seldom bite!

So you continue down the road, following the ones ahead, switching your head lamp on and off as pass through dark patches, shielding your eyes from the glare of the headlights of the on coming vehicles.

You make your past Pune’s version of Chowpatty (or so you’ve been told) admiring the waters that’s glistening in the reflection of the night sky (actually not the night sky but an early morning one). 

You run past the NDA and the remnant of a battle tank that may or may not have seen battle but now just a showpiece for the academy.

Just when you give thanks for the race being uneventful so far, you hear a crack of glass and with it comes a fellow runner, tumbling next to you.

You stop to give him a helping hand and check if he’s doing fine and not cut (after all you did hear crack of glass).

Once he tells you (and the other runners who stopped to check on him) that he’s ok, you are once again off on your way trying to stay focused on the road so that you don’t trip and fall knowing what a distracted soul that you are.

Although you keep your eyes on the road trying not to be the next one falling over (knowing how distracted you are, it wouldn’t be a great surprise) but there’s something about the night (or early morn, in this case) that fascinates you. The night is indeed dark, but it isn’t filled with terror.

You are enveloped in this inky darkness, but there’s nothing fearful about it (maybe all those early morning runs have gotten you over the fear of the dark). There’s this hum in the air, the sound of pumps slowly coming to life, machinery being switched on, cattle stirring from their slumbers. You take it all in , a core memory that’s going to live with you forever.

And just when you think that’s all’s good in the world, ok make that the run, you hear a thud, and you have a runner come tumbling down. He’s the one who tumbled earlier. As you check on him, with other runners, and help him to his feet. You figure out why he had a fall, he’s not wearing a head lamp and his shoes have almost lived their running life and somehow his running gait is such that any pothole and speed bump easily become a trip hazard.

Once you ensure he’s alright, you are once again off on your run, running steadily but cautiously, hoping that like Jesus he doesn’t fall the third time! You wonder if this thought would be constituted as blasphemous!

You’re running steadily, constantly checking if all parts are functioning properly. 

For most part it’s just us runners and no one else, after all who would want to be out and about on the road at this ungodly hour and that to when its cold and the bed seems like a nice and warm place to be snuggled in. But you do have a few uncles who have come out for their morning walk, all wrapped in their warm clothing. Next to them you feel quite underdressed, considering your short-shorts and your vest. They give you look as if to say who’s this prick in his chaddi-banyan running on our roads. 

You don’t mind them, in fact you welcome their presence, after all it’s good to see someone else other than runners on roads.

So you carry on with your run. As it’s dark and the only light is that of your lamp, you run by feel, and in the moment you begin to feel the route take an upward trajectory, which means it’s time for some brisk walk.

As you steadily walk up you stare at the city and the dam below. You notice two glistening diamond like orbs staring at you. You wonder, is it possible that the furry one from the park decided to keep an eye on you? But then you realise it’s not the furry one but just a miniature version of it, something that you know that your burgers and fries would be fascinated by. You smile at this thought and continue on your way.

You marvel at the glistening lake below, all inky blue, reflecting the colour of the sky above. The houses dotted like fireflies around the lake.

You take it all in, the part of the experience of running on routes less taken. So you go where the road takes you, or in this case the route designed by organisers.

As you continue on your way, nature begins to lighten up as dawn slowly breaks, banishing away the darkness that enveloped you. And although the sun is slowly rising in the sky, its light still doesn’t cut through the mist that still hangs in the air, which mean the the glare that you had put on  goes back cause your breath been fogging up the glass making the road ahead less visible.

You don’t mind the light fog, as long it doesn’t feel like the Mumba smog.

You finally catch a glimpse your burgers and fries running ahead of you. You slowly make your way to her and as always you check on her. You know what this run means to her and to her alone and no one else. You know struggles she’s been through and you are proud to see her pushing through despite the conditions being tough on her. You are proud of her.

After checking on her and knowing that she has company, you continue on your way.

So you go where the road leads, where the set course takes you. Through the twists and turns and rise and falls and the climbs and descend. You run on kaccha roads, with fields on either sides, on bridges that’s on stream that have been dried up.

Over time the sunlight has managed to cut through the fog lifting the curtain on that which was hidden, making visible that was hidden behind the fog. A sight that takes your breath away.

For most of the time you have the company of few runners, some of who have over taken you, a few who you have overtaken. But then there comes a point where there’s no one for company, and for most part you are running by yourself, with just the sun, in all its glory, for company, which has now found its light and has begun to shine bright.

There are points where you do cross a few runners  but most time it’s just you and the road and Taylor Swift crooning Opalite, and Chappell Rowan singing Good luck babe, and Adele, and so on, to keep you company.

You make it a point to stop at each water station and thank the volunteers manning them, after all they have been on duty from the earliest of morning for the runners running greater mileage. And they have been taking good care of every runner. This is one thing that makes races organised by runners standout from big time marquee races.

After what felt for the longest time, you being your own company, you begin to see a few runners who have been running the 35 and 25k. 

From being mostly unfamiliar, the route now seems to be more familiar after having done a 25k the previous year. 

You are no longer all by yourself, you begin passing villagers who begun going about their day. You have buses and tempos zipping by, people hanging around ready to start their day.

You breathe a bit easy knowing you are close to the finish line, just a few more kms to go. But then those few more kms include an uphill. And even though you walk up it feels like it’s just going on and on with the descent not coming anytime soon.

This is your very own Everest that you need to surmount. And if that wasn’t all you begin to feel your muscles tighten making the progress even more slow. 

You pass by variety of shops that are now full swing catering to those who have come to buy what they have to offer. You pass by street vendors and cattle and dogs who are all set to greet you. You even pass a group of bathing the mortal remains preparing it for its final journey. You sign yourself and mutter a pray as you continue on.

When you finally begin to descend you try to run cautiously as you begin to feel the onsets of cramps, so you progress is slow and steady.

You finally reach a point where you see the volunteers ask you to take the lane on the right, after water station.

So you make your way up a kaccha road while a few kids begin to cheer you on and ask for hi fives.

Once again you try to run cautiously as you don’t want to trip and fall or twist your ankle.

By this point you feel the weariness and the fatigue that has already set in. Your body, especially your feet seem to be yelling, wanting to just give up, but you tell yourself that you didn’t come this far to give. So you just keep running.

You take one final turn and you know you are close to the finish line. You dig deep and give it your all, that one final push. You can see the resort, your finish line. You break into quick stride, and make it over that finish line.

And just like that you’ve run your longest distance. You punch the air and let out a squeal of delight. 

From being a reluctant full marathoner to running your third 50km of the year, you’ve come a long way, but you still don’t think of yourself an ultra runner.

You hobble over to the medal counter to collect your personalised medal from the youngest volunteer.

And with that you have an another race under your belt, a feather in your cap. Though this was a really tough one, a challenging one, you know you’ll be back once again, to accept this challenge and run this route once again.

You smile at this thought and head down the route to help bring your burgers and fries across the finish line.