27th November, 2011..A date that will be etched in the sands of time (or, at least in my Pocahontas Diary). It was on this day, that a dream was realised, a desire fulfilled, inhibitions were shed, sweat glands were liberated, calves were numbed. It was the day I ran 'The Airtel Delhi Half Marathon' (echo).
It all began on a rather 'Lazy Sunday' (ironically enough). I don't remember the exact sequence of events, that led to the formulation of this ingenious plan. Perhaps, the smell of breadpakodas got me from my bed to the dinning table in record time. Perhaps, my narcissistic Punjabi genes were tugging at my egocentric frame of mind.
Whatever it was, it happened. The mistake was made. I enrolled myself for the marathon, about four weeks prior to the event.
I did realise (about 20 minutes later) that I had made a huge blunder. At the end of the day though, I couldn't be too hard on myself. Afterall, whether you choose to call it stupidity, naivety, misfortune or premature ejaculation; we all make mistakes
Next came the training (after about a week of living in denial). I decided to test the waters and set out on a trial run, to see the extent and depth of my stamina levels. Unfortunately, I lasted as long as Shakti Kapoor's self control in a room full of supermodels (Shakti Kapoor on viagra). However, aided by the 'Rocky IV Training Montage', and a lot of free time on my hands, I kept at it.
So, with 3 weeks of amateurish training, and a lifetime of weight related baggage, I decided to take the plunge.
Finally, the D day arrived. For the first time in my life I had seen the world at 5 A.M., on a Sunday morning (i.e. in a sober state). Before that day, I had been very curious to know, what a person thinks about, on the morning that he has to run 21kms. Whether he thinks of the divine powers/forces he believes in, his family/support system, or (at the risk of being a tad dramatic) does his entire life flash before him. And there it was...The Answer..."what does someone think about on the morning, he/she has to run a marathon"..The one thought that superseded all others -"Gosh, I really hope I'll be able to take a dump". As crass as it sounds, you don't want to be running on the streets of Delhi, alongside 9,000 people (and Bipasha Basu) with a 'turtlehead' (look up urban dictionary for the meaning).
Once at the startline, I started to scope out the competition/people who would be piggy-backing me to the nearest medical facility. There were people of all age-groups, different shapes & sizes, varied schools of fashion (from the ganji clad Sardar, to the honeymoon-saree with P.T shoes wearing mahilas). All of India's diversity had amalgamated at The JawaharLal Nehru Stadium.
It was a sea of people, with company banter flying back and forth "East or West, KPMG is the best" (not the most imaginative lot). You could smell an aura of anticipation in the air (mixed with body odour). Everyone got in line, waiting for that elusive gun-shot, to signal the start.
The shot was fired, and it trigerred a stampede. It was as if the race was going to be decided in the next six minutes, instead of sixty. You were, but merely a passive participant in a chaotic design. As I was nearing the 'Start' banner, I saw the people in front slowing down and/or coming to a hault altogether. Absurd as it may seem, that is the effect a 'Shahrukh Khan' has on us mere mortals. Half the people seemed to forget, that they were in a 'race', the other half didn't have the patience to remind them with a 'friendly tap on the shoulder'. Then ofcourse, there were the ones who got caught in between the two (no prizes for guessing where I was).
Once the dust settled and I checked whether I had all my limbs intact, I was almost at the '1km' mark.
The first few kilometres went by quite smoothly, with 'rock' bands and refreshment points at every nook and corner. The different bands' members looked so identical (long hair, goatee, t shirts with printed messages about how awesome 'grass' is, about 3 sizes too big for them), I actually thought I was running around in circles.
The refreshment counter attendants were obviously given a brief to egg on the runners. Hence, everytime you'd cross a refreshment point, you'd be ambushed by a barrage of people, chanting phrases of encouragement after giving you the fright of your life.
AND then on the 10th km my bladder gave in ........(watch this space for more)
It all began on a rather 'Lazy Sunday' (ironically enough). I don't remember the exact sequence of events, that led to the formulation of this ingenious plan. Perhaps, the smell of breadpakodas got me from my bed to the dinning table in record time. Perhaps, my narcissistic Punjabi genes were tugging at my egocentric frame of mind.
Whatever it was, it happened. The mistake was made. I enrolled myself for the marathon, about four weeks prior to the event.
I did realise (about 20 minutes later) that I had made a huge blunder. At the end of the day though, I couldn't be too hard on myself. Afterall, whether you choose to call it stupidity, naivety, misfortune or premature ejaculation; we all make mistakes
Next came the training (after about a week of living in denial). I decided to test the waters and set out on a trial run, to see the extent and depth of my stamina levels. Unfortunately, I lasted as long as Shakti Kapoor's self control in a room full of supermodels (Shakti Kapoor on viagra). However, aided by the 'Rocky IV Training Montage', and a lot of free time on my hands, I kept at it.
So, with 3 weeks of amateurish training, and a lifetime of weight related baggage, I decided to take the plunge.
Finally, the D day arrived. For the first time in my life I had seen the world at 5 A.M., on a Sunday morning (i.e. in a sober state). Before that day, I had been very curious to know, what a person thinks about, on the morning that he has to run 21kms. Whether he thinks of the divine powers/forces he believes in, his family/support system, or (at the risk of being a tad dramatic) does his entire life flash before him. And there it was...The Answer..."what does someone think about on the morning, he/she has to run a marathon"..The one thought that superseded all others -"Gosh, I really hope I'll be able to take a dump". As crass as it sounds, you don't want to be running on the streets of Delhi, alongside 9,000 people (and Bipasha Basu) with a 'turtlehead' (look up urban dictionary for the meaning).
Once at the startline, I started to scope out the competition/people who would be piggy-backing me to the nearest medical facility. There were people of all age-groups, different shapes & sizes, varied schools of fashion (from the ganji clad Sardar, to the honeymoon-saree with P.T shoes wearing mahilas). All of India's diversity had amalgamated at The JawaharLal Nehru Stadium.
It was a sea of people, with company banter flying back and forth "East or West, KPMG is the best" (not the most imaginative lot). You could smell an aura of anticipation in the air (mixed with body odour). Everyone got in line, waiting for that elusive gun-shot, to signal the start.
The shot was fired, and it trigerred a stampede. It was as if the race was going to be decided in the next six minutes, instead of sixty. You were, but merely a passive participant in a chaotic design. As I was nearing the 'Start' banner, I saw the people in front slowing down and/or coming to a hault altogether. Absurd as it may seem, that is the effect a 'Shahrukh Khan' has on us mere mortals. Half the people seemed to forget, that they were in a 'race', the other half didn't have the patience to remind them with a 'friendly tap on the shoulder'. Then ofcourse, there were the ones who got caught in between the two (no prizes for guessing where I was).
Once the dust settled and I checked whether I had all my limbs intact, I was almost at the '1km' mark.
The first few kilometres went by quite smoothly, with 'rock' bands and refreshment points at every nook and corner. The different bands' members looked so identical (long hair, goatee, t shirts with printed messages about how awesome 'grass' is, about 3 sizes too big for them), I actually thought I was running around in circles.
The refreshment counter attendants were obviously given a brief to egg on the runners. Hence, everytime you'd cross a refreshment point, you'd be ambushed by a barrage of people, chanting phrases of encouragement after giving you the fright of your life.
AND then on the 10th km my bladder gave in ........(watch this space for more)
