November announced itself with a bang this Sunday. Quite literally!
Bringing with it an unmistakable nip, and of course the arrival of the Delhi Half Marathon - an event I had signed up for like a true zealot. To seal the deal, in case I did decide to look the other way, and sleep through the deliciously cool Sunday morning, I had also registered Daddy Dearest - an avid runner.
There really was no looking back.
Saturday noon – the day I collected the marathon goodie bag from a swish mall - was the day when it really dawned upon me that I would be joining the likes of 20,000 other runners by rubbing shoulders with them the next day.
TOOMA scoffed (quite a bit), did the Santa Ho Ho Ho chuckle, much to my indignation, and put it this way that I was running merely to scratch off at least one item off from my (very long and dismay-inducing) list of New Year Resolutions. Uhmm, maybe...But then, sitting 45 hours every week in a controlled work environment doesn't really let me know what physical endurance I am capable of, so there - I DO have another less-harsh reason for having run it...
I know for one that Daddy Dearest ran, not because of the sense of accomplishment it elicits, but because he wanted to assess his level of fitness. He needn't have worried - he crossed the 7-km line within an enviable 30 minutes, beating his own daughter, yours truly, rather hollow (shamefaced grin)...
Each runner probably has a different reason for running a marathon...
So while some people run for a cause, some do it for the smug 'Oh-yes,-I-ran-in-the-Marathon' routine, some for the adrenaline pumping, pushing oneself against limits that it entails.
Of course - there are also those who claim it is a change from their otherwise dreary, monotonous routine, those in the throes of midlife crises, those battling personal / professional strife, and then there are those who, instead of exercising their limbs at the run, exercise their vocal chords instead and scream their lungs out as soon as they spot their favorite celebrity who has flown in to show a thumbs-up sign at them.
Which was the case with many participants who set their eyes on the reigning superstar of the country - a recent convert to six pack abs and a walking mannequin of Armani suits. They stopped right in their tracks (pun intended), shouting his name in crescendo, while the State Chief Minister and the white-clothing favourer talk show lady host – our very own answer to Oprah Winfrey - looked on, half-amused expressions all too obvious at the blatant adulation on mass display. Chaos was rampant – and the star had to be handed a mic to remind and urge the people that they were there to run, and promising them that he would be there to greet, meet and treat them at the finish line.
I, on the other hand, was happy to have spoken with the not-so tall former rugby union player turned actor, known for his penchant for offbeat films and dedication for charitable work.
And then – it was time to run...a la Forrest Gump...
All around me, people ran enthusiastically, slowing down to hear the two bands belting out popular soft rock and pop numbers at strategic corners. All around me – feet pounded into the asphalt road. Even those people who would normally have driven to a 500-meter away grocery store – ran. Running shoes of all makes and kinds were united in one long sprint. Volunteers handed out bottled water to the avid runners. While for some it was a struggle to run, and who were clearly out of breath, the more energetic ones chanted peppy slogans, jingles and anthems. Smiles and names were exchanged, high-fives did the rounds especially from those wearing quirky headgears and neon wigs. Associating charity partners and corporates, complete with banners, flags and posters, ran hand in hand.
While some did not make it to the finish line, opting out after the survival shuffle failed them, others were luckier. Tired but victorious smiles were exchanged, and I guess most of them went back with a sense of accomplishment, pride, participation and oneness.
While some like me, hobble painfully - even two days after - swollen footed, a permanent grimace on their face, dipping their feet in bath salts added hot water at every opportunity they get...
Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen crooned.
Let’s put it this way – it definitely isn’t my favourite number for right now!
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