5:45 a.m. January 15, 2012. Sankranti and Pongal festivities for millions and the special annual celebration of the Mumbai Marathon for a few thousand enthusiasts who gather at VT and Mahim Causeway to kick off on their event of choice: the 42 and 21 km runs, respectively.
It’s a cool morning. The weather app on my berry says 21oC. Humidity is at the 50%ish mark. Weather is going to be a friend today. For some reason only they know, the organisers want every runner to go through three metal detector gates. Hmm. Long distance runner terrorists.
Anyway, we run the silly gauntlet and soon enough we are in the vast holding area at the far end of which is the starting gate. I hear more than one crib about how there’s nearly a kilometre we will run even before getting started. What did we expect? Squeeze 5000 people into a single starting row?
6:15 and we are off. A loud shout ripples its way through the crowd as the run begins. By the time I cross the gate, it is nearly 6:24 though, having been at the back end of the crowd. Some film stars that I can’t recognise are benevolently waving at the runners from their machan like perch at the left of the gate but the klieg lights are pointed at the runners and all we see are starry, unrecognisable silhouettes.
The first stage of the run, just over 5 kilometres, gets us across the Bandra Worli Sealink. While you will never notice it in a moving car, the drive up to the midpoint of the bridge is a steady uphill and already the challenge of running against the gradient is starting to separate the well trained from the less so. I see people dropping to a walk and wonder what their plan might be to deal with the 20+ km that lie before them. It is dark and cool and the breeze, if there’s any at all, is Northerly so it only pushes us on and soon we are below the soaring arches. Look up and there’s a beautiful Moon in her second quarter almost exactly atop the arches, almost like a golden beacon illuminating the path for the runners as they pass below. As we hit the gentle downhill towards Worli, there is a stretch where the path broadens out and leaves a space on the far left that affords some distance from the running throng. India’s male, being of an incontinent constitution, can't pass up the chance to add his salty effluvia to the sea below and a hundred sprinklers spring out of their restraints as soon as they are a vaguely decent distance away. I hear many female voices loudly complaining “It just isn’t fair”. I can offer little defence, ladies, beyond acknowledging that as a gender, we are evidently of coarser stock than you. Forgive us our uncouthness.
As we curve on to the Worli Seaface, the Eastern sky begins to assume a pale orange-pink complexion. Dawn is breaking over the city. While I never run with music pumping into the ears through wee white buds, the inner Winamp is playing the mellow strains of the Beatles’ “Here comes the Sun, it’s all right”. This is also about the time when the first of the full Marathoners start passing us heading in the opposite direction. I salute them as they go. Having never done a distance longer than 21 km, I can only applaud the will that powers these bravehearts to overcome a challenge just vastly bigger. No, 42 is not just twice as hard. Walk up a floor. Then the next. And the next. Is the 3rd floor as easy as the 1st was? See the point?
And though it is still only about 7 a.m. the enthusiasm of Mumbaikars’ support for the runners has already started bringing them out in long lines strung along the footpaths and road embankments, clapping and cheering us all on. We cross the first timing gate just before getting on to Annie Besant Road near the Old Passport Office and turn right to head towards Worli Naka. Almost a third of the run- 7 km, is over and the wind and weather are still acquitting themselves very honourably insofar as helping us with the run is concerned. Cool, dry and tailwind. SASMIRA having been passed on the right and Doordarshan Tower on the left, we are soon at Worli Naka where we turn right again to get back to the Seaface. The 8 km mark passes and my left foot needs some attending to as the toes are getting somewhat squeezed. I stop and sit and start to unfasten the shoe. Almost immediately, a runner pulls up to check if I need any help. I thank him and gratefully decline. He is off again. The fellowship of running is a beautiful thing!
We curve left and the Worli Dairy heaves into view. By now the sky is quite well lit but the Sun is still straining to get over the horizon. The fishermen’s colony marks the end of the Seaface and we dogleg left to head toward Mela Restaurant (or whatever it is called this week). Just before we turn back on to Annie Besant Road, I spot Vilas Kalgutkar. He has to be the Mumbai Media & Communications Fraternity’s favourite photographer. Everybody knows him. He has captured everyone, in candid shot or in pose, on his camera. His self-effacing, mild demeanour cannot hide the talent and meticulousness that he brings to the discipline. I wave at him, give him an opportunity to get the shot he wants (oh, the vanity) and run on.
The cutest sight on today’s run is waiting for us a few yards further just shy of the Atria Mall: a group of five or six street kids who constitute a mini cheering squad. The Sun is starting to come up behind them and they are already there to add their spirit to the run. I am running today for Child Rights & You (www.cry.org) and the kids are a stark reminder of why we need to do all we can to ensure a childhood for every child. Fate dealt them a rotten hand but couldn’t steal the indefatigable ebullience of childhood.
Shivasagar Estate having been crossed, we are now past the 12th kilometre and on to the sweeping crescent at Haji Ali. Random diversion: Did you know that this is causeway that actually connects islands of the Mumbai Archipelago and it was originally called Hornby Vellard after William Hornby, a Governor of Bombay for the East India Company, back in 1782?
The dome of the Haji Ali Dargah and the shikhar of the Mahalaxmi Temple just beyond it are beautifully illuminated in the early morning light. We run past the Race Course and the Haji Ali corssroads and the demon climb on to Peddar Road stares us in the face. Supporters are now out in near endless lines and several ministering angels are handing out Glucose biscuits to provide a boost of nourishment to the tiring runners. I pick a biscuit off a 4 or 5 year old who barely comes to my mid thigh. She has been hustled out of bed early on Sunday morning but is gamely joining the celebrations. The Asian Heart Institute has a tent near the Chhagan Mitha Petrol Pump that many gravitate toward to get a quick spritz of muscle relaxant on their thighs or shins or calves or ankles or whatever else that has started to declare mutiny against the incessant pavement pounding. Remember that we are nearly at the 2 hour mark by now and many of the best amateur runners will already have crossed the finish line at VT even as mere mortals like us are plodding up the slope.
I abandon all pretence of running and switch to a walk. No point in burning out the scant reserves of stamina all in a blaze of heroic glory only to crash and burn at the top, would you agree? We crest just past Jaslok and across the road from Sterling Apartments, a motley group of 30-something ladies are making quite a lusty commotion with their police whistles. I can't help but turn to them and acknowledge my deep gratitude for being whistled at by young ladies. Adds fuel to their fire and I have cheery wolf whistles at my back as I start the run downhill to the Kemps Corner Bridge. The Sun has surely come up by now but the uninterrupted row of buildings at Peddar and Hughes (to be pronounced Huges, if you are a Mumbaikar) Roads ensure it doesn’t hassle the runners. Slight dogleg right on to Babulnath Temple Road and then the hairpin left puts us on the sweeping curve of Chowpatty and Marine Drive. We are down to the last 5 kilometres but at this stage it seems tougher than the 16 that have been accounted for. Also, the shade afforded by buildings will now last only ‘til Wilson College and then the Sun will be out to do his thing.
Every few hundred metres there’s an entertainment stage with people singing and dancing. Even the stout defenders of our seas, the Indian Navy has its band belting out a Belafonte set. I pass just as an old favourite, Jamaican Farewell is being reprised. The mind drifts back to parties of a gentler past. And while it is so engrossed, another few hundred metres melt away. The flagging spirits of runners all around me are now counting off hundred of metres and that isn’t a bad thing because it also speaks of the clenched-teeth determination to get the job done.
We take the left at Veer Nariman Road and the crowd keeps getting thicker. Also in evidence are many half Marathoners who, having finished the run are now making their way back home. Just as we turn at Flora Fountain and have less that a kilometre to go, loud sirens atop a pilot vehicle group signal the imminent arrival of the Elite Group finishers. They kicked off at 7:15. It is now about 9:25 and they have already put 41+ kilometres behind them. I stop and get on to the median to watch these perfectly toned and immaculately tuned bodies gallop past showing not the slightest strain from their massive exertions. I’ve said this before and I will repeat myself. I feel like a smoke-chugging, rattling banger of a 1980s Premier Padmini being effortlessly overtaken by a fleet of Pagani Zondas and Lamborghini Aventadors. It is a beautiful sight. If there’s nothing else that will convince you to come out and cheer the runners, think about what you are missing. The perfect human body in perfect, rhythmic motion.
Khadi Gramodyog and we are at the final 500 metres mark. The legs that have thus far held up, with only minor complaints, seem to figure out that there’s not a lot left to go and promptly decide to throw in the towel. The higher authority sitting in the brain is having a tough time keeping its recalcitrant members in order and a battle ensues. 100 metres and it seems the legs will have their way with a cramp abruptly starting to spring up in the left thigh. More gritting of teeth and a few groans, mostly drowned out by the noisome crowd and the finish gate has been reached. And crossed. The Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2012 has been bested. Oh, ok, not bested, just gooded then?
All that remains to be said is it wouldn’t have been possible without your support. Really. It became a troth as soon as the first supporter committed to my cause (which happens to be Aai, my mother) and those cannot be lightly broken. Can they?
Thank you all, ever so much!
