Re-Run

So the much publicised marathon (on my blog) is over and I need to find a new reason to carry on with life. It was every bit as exhausting as I had imagined it to be, and every bit as exhilarating. My blogging obligations also ensured that while people were running, walking, hobbling, I apart from participating was also observing.

Asked to report at 7.30 in the morning, a dutiful and very well behaved Bangalore crowd reached the precincts at 7.15. I can’t imagine any other city in India where a crowd – after meeting more of its kind – doesn’t become a mob. Tempered individuality is the hallmark of Bangalore. At risk of sounding anarchic, I do accept that the mob has its own charms and something I miss in Bangalore.

So the crowd poured in. Official estimates in the TOI (The Hindu was disappointingly frugal in its coverage) put the attendance to 22, 000. The morning was overcast and a cool breeze was blowing. As if the Gods above had tuned the morning frequency to suit the marathoners. Entry for the 10 km open run was from gate no. 5 & 6. Upon entering, seeing the camaraderie among the people I really felt my convincing skills suck. If I couldn’t cajole/ coerce/ persuade/ pester one friend to come along. Imagine not having even one known face in a crowd of 22,000 in a city you live; it’s that sinking feeling.

At 8 am, when the race was supposed to start, we realized that the enclosure where we were kept in doesn’t have an opening to take us to the starting point. For that we had to climb another set of walls. So people started clambering the wiry mesh, in order to get an early start. And lo, out of nowhere, came a police constable (looking so out of place) swiveling wildly a desi lathi and started thwacking people indiscriminately. Carefully below the neck, and firmly below the waist. I received one on my elbow.

We were thus blooded in the marathon in a violent manner. There was a great increase in the number of people from the last time I ran. This was very heartening but for the fact that Bangalore’s inadequate infrastructure showed. The roads seemed clogged by the sheer number of human beings and there was much lateral movement to be done to stay interested in the marathon as linear.

There was colour, character, chutzpah, cliques, courtesy, collision, carefree, cool. There was no bar; age, sex, nationality, region, language, religion, even the absence of limbs was not an impediment as the wheelchair bound would show. There were slogans; “donate: eyes, blood, heart, money,” John Lennon quotes from Imagine. Corporate presence was overwhelming, people running with “We are hiring!” T-shirts on, Ernst & Young “I run, they learn,” KPMG “Every step matters.” However, I didn’t find anything that was truly imaginative. The closest I got to was “If my wife can run… why can’t I?”

This was another very apparent and uplifting motif in the marathon. The participation of a large number of women. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I wrote that below the age of 25, there were a large number of women participants, perhaps more than men. The collective egos of a lot of men would have been quashed when a lithe and very fit girl/ women would breeze past them with careless ease and elegance, as they huffed and puffed and debated in their mind if they should continue running or start walking. Thrill in the chase? The thrill was all hers.

Of course there was a large number of old/er men running. That’s because running of all things is uppermost a very good stress buster. And there were a lot of grey, balding, stressed out men groping at the last promises of a “high” that life had flung at them. It showed in their approach too. While women ran with freedom, abandon and competed with their own selves, many men were seen in the aftermath of the race comparing their finishing time. That running should be so crudely confined beats the basic purpose it espouses: liberation.

A word on the cheerleaders. Perhaps this time there was a dearth because that kind of weather on a Sunday morning was ideal for sleeping. Still, it was good to have people (and if they happened to be pretty women, even better) cheering you on. May be its satisfactory to see others slog while you get to clap and shout. Still one could detect a sincerity in them that was gratifying. I’d have acknowledged it, had I not been gasping for breath all along.

I won’t spend too many words on the fact that I completed it.

However, little did we know that the real marathon lay ahead. It took me a little under 1 hour to finish the marathon. But the counter that was giving out the refreshments and a finish medal had a long queue. Now, no self-respecting Indian would run 10 kms, pay 600 bucks and come back empty handed. So I waited for another 1 ½  hour in the queue so that I could collect the refreshments (1 apple + 1 bun + 1 packet of glucose biscuit + 1 bottle of orange juice). And so did the rest. Let’s not even get into the contentious topic of Indians and queues. But just the doggedness about the refreshments was indicative that we are a nation built for marathons.

So register for the next marathon in town. If we can stand in a queue for 1 ½ hours for refreshments, there must be something in our DNA.

The road is open and calling.