Mumbai Marathon: People's support makes runners feel like heroes

This article was first published in DNA online on Monday 20 January 2014.

Mumbai Marathon 2014 runners on the Worli Sea Link on January 19. - Swapnil Sakhare/DNA

After having run a few marathons and half marathons around the world, I am quite convinced the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM) is one of the best events for the amateur runner. 

The SCMM is an annual event, usually held on the third Sunday in January. And it is the one day in the year when I actually applaud Mumbai’s otherwise stifling, suffocating crowds. On all other days, the throng can be intense, consuming and stressful. Everyone pushes and prods you, and appears to just want to get ahead of everyone else. 

However, every Mumbai Marathon I run – yesterday was my fourth – I look forward to running in the city even more, because the same crowds that jostle you every day, line the streets to cheer and encourage you to complete. For one day, the people of Mumbai make the runners feel like heroes. 

People, men and women, young and old, stand in a chain of humanity along the pavements from the end of the Worli Sea Link all the way to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST station). They applaud and yell encouragement which, I am convinced, sends enough adrenaline rushing through the runners to spur them on for at least the next two kilometres of their run. The feeling that rushes through you as you hear the support is like a drug. 

Unlike last year, I had trained well for my run on Sunday, January 19, 2014. In a weak moment in January last year, I had decided that I would run twelve half marathons in the following year; this was my 12th for the year, so I was well prepared.

The main cry from the sidelines until last year, “Run Mumbai Run”, was replaced this year by “Bhaag Milkha Bhaag”. Even the announcers exhorted the participating Milkhas to run harder and faster to the finish line. Many spectators even yelled “Ganpati Bappa Moriya”. The chants of “keep running, there’s not far to go” provided a constant tonic to my exhausted feet; they not only add to the atmosphere, but also relieve the pain of running. Though, I did wonder if “fire on the mountain, run, run, run!” was an entirely appropriate chant!

The entire course was littered with advertisements for products and services. Many runners wore T-Shirts advertising the company they worked for or the charity they were running for, others had tags with the same information pinned to their T-shirts. But the most wonderful message I saw was by a young lad. Except for two words patterned on the back of his head, he had tonsured the rest. His message simply read “donate blood”. I hugged him as I ran past and resolved to book myself in for a blood donation this week.

I spotted a wizened, wispy-grey-haired old gentleman seated in a plastic chair by the side of the road near Jaslok Hospital, the toughest segment of an otherwise easy course. He was probably about 80 years old and, as he applauded enthusiastically and continually, his family members handed out biscuits, lollies, orange peels and water to runners. A metre away, another family had set up a relief-station. They sprayed the weary calves and hamstrings of runners who wanted relief from pain. When I ran past, there were at least 15 discarded relief spray cans around them. Another family had set up an ice-pack station and applied ice cubes wrapped in plastic sachets to the calves of distressed runners. 

I was also constantly inspired by the runners around me. Somewhere close to the finish line, I saw a visually impaired young boy being led on his run by a helper. The sheer joy writ on the face of the boy made me simultaneously cheer and tear up. 

The banner holders, chanters, helpers and runners make the SCMM a truly amazing and wonderful run. 

The Mumbai Marathon is wonderfully organised, but there are a few things the runners and organisers need to look into.

Many runners just dropped their water bottles – or worse, their orange peels and lollies – on the road at their feet immediately after taking a few sips or finishing their drink or biting into their orange peel. This is just poor etiquette, in my view. First, you shouldn’t litter. Second, dropping juice, water and peels will make the road slippery, and the water bottles will act as needless obstacles for the runners, especially the elite runners who run at top speeds. It is best if the litter and half (or completely) empty bottles are dropped into bins or flung to one side of the road.

The SCMM has plenty of water stations, which is certainly a huge positive. The last thing you want as a distance runner is to worry about the non-availability of water. In the Mumbai Marathon, you can be confident you will never be too far from a water station while running. However, it should not be too hard to mark each water station clearly with a banner that makes it easily recognisable from at least 100m away. A blue dot that sticks out on a standee (say) 3m high will mark the station quite clearly and distinctly. Depending on which side of the road the banner is, runners who need the water can line up on that side of the road as they approach the station. The last thing you want is runners cutting across your path from one side of the road to the other the moment they realise they may be about to cross a water station.

Also, as an increasing number of people run the SCMM each year, the finishing area gets more and more chaotic. This year, apart from the fact that mobile reception was incredibly poor (though marginally better than last year), the distribution of medals and refreshment packs for runners took too long. I waited nearly half an hour to collect my race completion medal and, frankly, I had half a mind to just give up and go home. It would be great to see better organisation and crowd dispersion management controls at the finish line. 

Like last year, this year too, I ran for a worthy cause: Vidya. They do some committed and wonderful work, and provide access to education to the underprivileged. My aim was to raise at least ₹1 lakh for them, and though I have more than achieved that aim (thank you to everyone who contributed), I am sure Vidya wouldn’t mind receiving more for the work they do.

But, for me, the Mumbai Marathon is about the people of Mumbai who line up the pavements from Worli to CST. These men, women and children have no reason to be out early on a cool January Sunday morning to enthusiastically encourage runners. But they are there, and I have never seen such heartfelt participation anywhere as I have in Mumbai. This, in my view, is what makes the SCMM one of the very best races in the world.

-- Mohan (@mohank)

Conquering Heart Break Hill

Running hills is a necessary part of endurance training. You just have to run hills if you want to run long distances. And like a lot of things in the activity itself, running hills is much more of a mental exercise. A runner has to instruct their body to propel themselves up a hill. I had read all the material on ‘attacking hills’. There is enough literature to suggest that a hill runner must look ahead 50 metres at least, that they must try and shorten their stride, manage their centre of gravity, activate their core muscles and lean into the hill. A friend of mine who loves running hills told me to continuously say to myself ‘I love you hill’ rather than moaning or saying ‘Damn you hill, this is hard work’ as I ran. I knew the theory, but failed in putting all of this into practice. As with most of my running itself, I learned this lesson the hard way on Heart Break Hill.

Running has been my religion for a long time, and nothing could stop me from engaging in it every day. Not the heat, dust, stench, the pain or my own inabilities; I just have to run. Every morning.

I am normally up every day at 4.45am – even on Sundays – and am out pounding the pavements soon after. I hate treadmills these days. I used to run on them almost always when I lived overseas, where I began my love affair with running. Not anymore, since my move to Mumbai. Counter intuitive, if you actually thought about it. First, the air quality is significantly worse in Mumbai than almost any other city in the world I have run in. Moreover, there are few pavements in Mumbai to run on; pavements are to runners what water is to swimmers. Most Mumbai roads come with potholes and debris, which is not at all good for runners. And if all of this wasn’t enough to make life hell for a runner, there are the smoke-billowing vehicles that vie with the other two hazards on Mumbai roads. Yet, I love running the roads of Mumbai. 

After my move to Mumbai, I identified and carefully mapped out several tracks around my home. I can be quite boringly meticulous. ‘You are definitely a four-letter word contained in analytical,’ my friends often tease me. I mapped out a three-km route, a five-km route, a six-km route, a seven-km route and a 10km route. Sometimes, especially on a Sunday, I would run the same route twice or add a few of the routes together to make up a longer run. Many of these routes would take in the smoke, the dust, the stench and the exciting life of Mumbai, a city that is interesting even at 5am. Occasionally, I would run past a park with the fresh morning wind blowing in my face. And sometimes I would run past pavement dwellers too. Many of them would be fitfully asleep, completely oblivious to the sound of traffic around them. Most had a simple, thin cloth protecting them from the dust, cold, rain and vehicle smoke. Some of them would be stirring and a few would just look and smile at the walkers and joggers who walked or ran past. Those who were up would often be laughing and joking amongst themselves as they ushered in a new day. 

I often ran with either Neha or Kapil, sometimes both of them. We are a good running group. I have always believed in running at a talking pace; not that the three of us talked a lot. For us, running was a time for either introspection or meditation, for focusing on the self, and for reflection.

As I ran, I would often reflect on the unresolved arguments I had left behind me (or run away from) or the challenges ahead of me. I would often ask myself difficult questions about my behaviours and responses. Was it right to be that intense? Should I have let go? Should I have argued as passionately as I did? Was I being too selfish? Did I understand fully at all? Did I understand enough? Should I be more accepting of people? Should I be less judgemental ? The questions swirled around. I did not have an agenda or a list of questions; they just arrived in my head as I ran and I confronted them without fear and mostly, with honesty. Or so, I thought. And although I ran with Neha and Kapil, this was exclusively my time.

Each of us would have only one ear plugged for music. The other ear was open to the occasional question or comment from the other two. Every now and then, one of us would say something and the others would contribute to a quick conversation. But mostly, we focused, introspected, listened to each other’s breathing and ran in silence.

Most of our conversations, when we did talk, revolved around pain. I had accepted pain as a way of life and loved the challenge of overcoming this pain. To my fellow running mates, I understand pain. Running has taught me that. Ten years ago, I would barely run 100 metres before collapsing in a heap from pain in my shins, or my calf muscles or in my lower back; sometimes, all three. On those days, I thought I would never be able to run again. I always wanted to. Badly.

I have gazed at runners with a mix of awe and respect. I loved and simultaneously envied the way runners could effortlessly glide across running tracks and cut through hard pavements. I loved to hear the sound of running shoe scratching bitumen. I loved the grace and the gait of a runner. But mostly, I enjoyed seeing runners tell the story of their running through their repeated and, perhaps, monotonous motion. Back in the day, when I could not run, I looked for that story in every runner. The story of the runner coping with their fatigue, or pain; of focusing on the process and not the destination; of the runner spraying water all over themselves to cope with heat; of the runner plugging away despite the exhaustion, or simply enjoying their run. I wanted to embrace the trail. To me, this was an unrealized dream. So I taught myself to accept and, slowly, overcome the pain of running. And slowly, I taught myself to run. Small distances at first, and then the longer distances invited me. Even today, I am not free from pain. My pain would always start in my shins in the first kilometre of my daily run and this pain would soon travel up to my glutes by the time I had clocked three kilometres. And that pain would often remain with me right through my run. I would merely block it.

Paddy, a running mentor of mine had once told me about the mind-body-intellect framework and I used that framework to overcome and block out my everyday pain. The physical pain is transmitted by the body, the vehicle. The mind would feel the pain immediately. But I had been taught to work on my rational intellect – in this mind-body-intellect nexus – and had taught it to be independent of the mind. I had conditioned the intellect to quietly observe, moderate, regulate and counsel the mind. The intellect won... mostly.

I woke up that particular morning; getting up was always the tough part. That day, it was made tougher because the previous day was a bad one for me. I had had a few unpleasant, hurtful, testy and unhelpfully fractious arguments. I felt the need to introspect deeply. I had to learn more about myself, my reactions, insecurities, discomfort, judgemental behaviours and my own needs. I was in a dark and somewhat uncomfortably unfamiliar space. And as I stretched in preparation for the run, I knew I had to run hard that morning. I knew that this would not be like any of my other runs.

I secretly hoped that Neha and Kapil would not run that day. Although they ran ‘alone’ even when we ran together, I wanted to be totally on my own that day. As if by magic, Neha and Kapil had both informed the watchman that they would not be running; one had a dodgy knee and the other had a cold. ‘This is perfect,’ I thought to myself as I stepped out into the cool morning.

I decided I would run 10 kilometres that morning and would also set off at a faster pace. I discarded all my carefully mapped out routes and, instead, ran towards the hill. The hill formed a picturesque backdrop to our apartment complex, dwarfing the tall, majestic buildings, giving them a sense of their own fragility. A few months earlier, I had driven towards the hill and mapped out a course on this reconnaissance drive. I wanted to accept the challenges the hill posed. But the path that I mapped out during my earlier reconnaissance was discarded by my running group. But things were different this particular morning. I was on my own.

So, this particular morning, I ran towards the hill at pace. I did not know what it was called. So, I named it Heart Break Hill. The Boston Marathon has a Heart Break Hill, a rise of approximately 30 metres over a 600 metre stretch; a gradient of about 5%. I had run ‘The Tan’ (short for Botanical Gardens) in Melbourne regularly. This track includes a killer stretch along Anderson Street; an incline of 27 metres over a 75 metre stretch. My own Heart Break Hill was an incline of 120m over a one and a half kilometre stretch; a gradient of about 8%. It was reasonably hard and I hadn’t run that hill before. That day, I was presented with the perfect opportunity.

As I had different playlists for different days and different moods, I selected a playlist that included Springsteen, Sting, Pink Floyd, Tom Petty, Peter Gabriel, Talking Heads and U2. The lyrics did not matter. The rhythm did; all of the songs had to be at 80-85 beats per minute. I strapped on my heart rate monitor, pressed the start button on my Garmin and set off purposefully. I had to conquer that hill this morning.

It was three kilometres by the time I reached the bottom of Heart Break Hill. By then, my shin pain had already set in; it struck me a bit earlier on in the run that morning. I tried to block it out, but it was hard. My mind wasn’t entirely under my control that day. I reflected and tortured myself as I ran. I thought of my BMI guru: ‘the intellect always has to be independent’ was the voice that kept ringing in my ears. But the intellect was a slave to the mind that day; a mind that was focused totally on deep introspection in a dark and unfamiliar space. The intellect was no longer independent; it was hardly even present. The mind had taken over, felt the pain and the course and all of this coalesced with the confusions that emanated from an unfamiliar space. To make matters worse, just as I reached the bottom of the hill, my breathing shortened – an indication that my asthma was kicking in. Asthma is something I have been dealing with since I was five years old. I was so terribly unfocussed that morning that I had forgotten to puff on my Ventolin inhaler prior to my run. But I could not throw my hands up in the air and head back home. I focused immediately on regulating my breathing; three short exhalations and one long inhale. This was already tough work, even before I reached the hill that I was determined to conquer.

My breathing was short and raspy. My pain had intensified. Freddie Mercury sang ‘I want to break free’. Ironic. ‘Break free from what,’ I thought to myself. I continued to attack the hill mercilessly. One step at a time; one breath at a time. The stride shortened as did my breathing and I slowed down to a painful seven kmph. Half way up the hill I did encourage thoughts of giving up, although giving up was not why I ran. I did not know how to give up. I could not handle failures or disappointments through lack of trying and I had never run away from a battle. I had to know that I gave it my all; that I had tried my hardest to conquer, to understand, to comprehend. It mattered to me that I fought myself and warded off my own demons and limitations in a bid to understand myself better. The hill had to be defeated; it had to be conquered this morning.

The phrase ‘conquer’ rang in my mind constantly as I ran. I was three quarters of the way up the hill when cramps set in – in my calf-muscle. I had slowed down to 6.5 kmph and my heart rate monitor beeped alarmingly. My heart was going at a crazy 182 beats per minute, a good seven points above my suggested/theoretical max heart rate. I had never seen the dial reach 182 beats per min in all my years of running. I considered stopping and walking up the rest of the hill to the peak. But then I wasn’t about to give up. The hill just had to be conquered that morning.

Then, with 250m to go to the peak of that hill I suddenly remembered what Raju Martolia had said. Raju is this incredibly calm, very collected, supremely able and wonderfully fit Garhwali guide who had accompanied us on all of our Himalayan treks and climbing expeditions. Every day, after our trek had concluded, our trekking group would talk, mostly about other trekking and climbing experiences. One day after our day’s trek, as we relaxed around a camp fire, I asked Raju to tell us about the toughest mountain he had ever conquered. Raju’s face immediately registered a mix of shock and hurt. He was taken aback and said, “Sir, we Garhwali people do not conquer mountains. The mountain is a goddess for us. We take her permission to use her for our own benefit. I have never ever conquered any mountain.” He went on to explain this was why Garhwali guides would never place a flag at the very peak. A flag at the peak would suggest that the expedition had ‘conquered’ the mountain. “We always place the flag a few metres short of the peak. If we think we have conquered the mountain, our goddess has a way of teaching us unpleasant lessons on the way back,” he said.

I remembered those very words as I tried my own very unsuccessful hill conquer expedition.

As soon as I recollected Raju’s words, I realized I was doing it all wrong. I slowed down and sought permission from Heart Break Hill instead. I wasn’t angry anymore. I wasn’t confused anymore. My rational intellect was suddenly freed. I had nothing to prove. I wasn’t fighting myself anymore. I could give up if I wanted to. I could let go. This wasn’t a fight to a facile victory. This was me trying to understand myself more, be accepting of my own limitations, boundaries and shortcomings. I knew what I was; who I was and I was comfortable with that. Suddenly, I wasn’t attacking the hill anymore. All of this meant that I immediately felt more relaxed and observed a change in my stride. It was now easier and smoother. Even the breathing appeared more regulated. The asthma vanished too and with it, the pain. Or maybe the pain and the laboured breathing were both made irrelevant. Suddenly, there was clarity too. I cruised up the remainder of Heart Break Hill and reached the top. I hadn’t conquered the hill. Instead, I felt that Heart Break Hill had taught me an important lesson that morning.

And as I ran down the other side of the hill, I looked back at where I had run from. Heart Break Hill still stood where she always was. She wasn’t moving. She wasn't going to move either. But she appeared to bid me good bye benignly and compassionately. She hadn’t been conquered. Forget conquered; I wasn’t close to even understanding the mystery she was. That morning, she had merely provided me with permission to run and enabled me to overcome my own insecurities, anxieties, inadequacies and irrational fears...

-- Mohan (@mohank)

Mumbai Marathon: A few suggestions

There is something unique and wonderful about running the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM). The event has grown in size steadily over the last 10 years to become a premier event in the world running calendar. The large numbers of people that line up the streets do make it an expressive carnival that Mumbaikars take immense pride in. And the event has grown in terms of the numbers of participants that run the various races that make up the SCMM. These are only a part of what makes the event a riot of colour, noise, participation and an expression of togetherness. 

Since the addition of the Bandra-Worli Sealink the course is also quite wonderful. The many extended flat segments, the 4km Sealink, the run along Queen's Necklace and the gentle inclines make it quite a nice course to run without being either too difficult or too challenging. The good parts more than make up for the stench that a runner is hit with along a few segments of the run. The entire course is closed to traffic and that is a definite plus. The volunteers and organizers are extremely polite and highly focused. 

Although it is a serious run for many people, there is much fun to be had. It is definitely one of the better organised races in India; perhaps even the best. I wrote a blogpost on my own experiences running the SCMM2013 earlier today.

Yet, I do believe that the event must be better organised. Here are a few suggestions I have for the organisers and runners.

Portaloos at the start point:

Five portable toilets (portaloos) for men and five for women at the starting point is just not enough please. There were a few more portaloos along the course as soon as we started the half marathon run, but most runners gather at the start point at least half an hour in advance and do not want to hold their stuff in them for longer than is necessary. The loo queue was way too long in my view. I hate writing this and I'd hate to be the reader of what I am about to write, but after waiting in queue for 15 minutes, the loo I went in to was filled with unpleasant stuff. Why? Because there was no water for the guy(s) that had used the loo before me. So the lack of enough portaloos and the lack of water makes it a massive double fail in my books. Why can't we get this aspect of hygiene right? Ever?

Water station at the start point:

Runners spend nearly half an hour in the holding bay at the start. Few runners got water with them. A water station at the holding bay will not go awry. Runners preparing to move towards the start line need to hydrate properly.

Mark the water stations please:

The Mumbai marathon has plenty of water stations and this is a big plus. However, as a runner I do not know when the next one is going to come up. It should not be too much of a hassle to mark our the water stations clearly with a banner that makes it easily recognisable from at least 100m out. A blue dot that sticks out (say) 3m high will mark the water station out distinctly. Depending on which side of the road the banner is, runners who need the water can then line themselves up to either on the right or the left side of the road as they approach the station. The last thing you want to see is runners cutting across your path from right to left (or the other way) the moment they realise they may just be about to cross a water station.

Crowd management at the finish line:

The finish line has always been chaos central in the SCMM and this keeps getting more and more chaotic with each passing year; simply because the numbers keep increasing. It would be great to see better organisation and better crowd dispersion management controls at the finish line. The absence of portaloos at the finish line was a source of severe disappointment. After having consumed copious amounts of liquid -- a mixture of water and isotonic drinks -- I was hopping around after my finish -- not from pain but from a distinct desire to not have an embarrassing accident. 

Telephone capacity:

This is less to do with the organisers and more to do with the telephone carriers. All runners were desperately trying to contact their family or friends to let them know they were fine; that they had completed. Many of them may have wanted to organise their ride home. Few phones worked. The fact that the telephone companies could not organise additional capacity on the day was a major fail in my books. 

Runner etiquette:

Apart from the BO index (especially near the start line) being insanely high, the main problem I had with my fellow runners was that they'd drop their water bottles in the middle of the road after finishing with it. If you can't find a bin, do fling the bottle to the side of the road and against the pavement. Two reasons mainly. Firstly, this makes it easier for the cleanup operation. But more importantly, it makes for a clearer path for the the slower runners and the elite marathoners who would trod the track later. However, I found many a half-finished water bottle, a half finished orange or assorted rubbish on the road. This was somewhat disappointing behaviour from a cohort that was generally excellently aware, organised and prepared.

Overall, the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2013 was excellently organised. I will certainly run more SCMMs in the future. If a few jagged edges are ironed out, I am sure SCMM will be a much better event than it already is.

-- Mohan (@mohank)

The 34k Mark

I've learned the most when I've been pushed to the edge, cornered.

I was reminded of this the other day when Arathi (@miffalicious) said on Twitter: "Your true strength is identified when you soldier through immense difficulties despite how vulnerable you feel." 

I don’t quite know why, but that statement immediately reminded me of the first full marathon that I attempted; The Melbourne Marathon. This was several years ago. I had trained intensely for this race. In the lead up, I had read every single online ‘marathon training for beginners’ guide and built my own specialized program. I don’t know what I was trying to prove and to whom. However, I knew I always wanted to run, but couldn't. I would only be able to run 100m before collapsing in a heap due to acute shin splints. Yet, I never lost the desire to run. 

So I learned how to run. I learned to blot out pain. I strengthened my shins. I sought the advice of experts. I visited and started a relationship of utter trust and dependence with Jane, my physiotherapist. And then I started to run long distances. At first, I didn't care about distances. I would run songs. I’d run one song, then two, then three, then four. Soon, I was running 10 songs. I needed to fill my iPod shuffle with more and more songs. The songs had to all be between 80 and 85 beats per minute. I could not run to any other beat. The rhythm was more important than the melody. The songs were as much a drug as the endorphins produced in long distance runners that gave me the 'runner's high'.

A few years later, I was able to run 25 songs and I completed several half marathons.

But that wasn't enough. I wanted to run 50 songs. I wanted to run the Melbourne Marathon. I signed up for it, and devised a training program for myself. I got a colleague, a veteran marathoner, to look at the program I had devised. I commenced my training only after he gave it the seal of approval. I had all my gear ready right at the start: the shoes I’d train in; the shoes I’d ‘wear in’ a few weeks before race day; a new heart-rate monitor; a new watch; 'skins' for recovery; energy gels; magnesium tablets; and more. I was prepared. I then embarked on a substantially rigorous 16-week training program. 

I was meticulous in my training and did everything possible to ensure that I was in the best shape I could be to attempt this goal. I don’t remember missing even a day’s training due to lack of motivation or lethargy. If I missed a day’s training it was only because I was unwell. Even when I traveled inter-state for work in those 16 weeks, I would carry out the training that was scheduled for the day.

It was grueling, but fun. I always undertook my long runs on Sundays with my running buddies. I remember some incredibly tough and unpleasant long runs that I undertook and some of the more pleasant ones too. A week before the race, when we were meant to complete a 38 kilometre run – my longest ever run up until then – we encountered terrible weather. It was windy, gusty and presently it started to rain as well. We were two kilometers into the start of our training when we stood at a traffic light, hopping from one leg to the other in order to keep ourselves warm. We waited to cross the road on to Beach Road in Melbourne. That day, were to run along the Esplanade and then along Beach Road for 12 kilometers before turning back. A cyclist had stopped by our side and asked, “Long way to go?” We had just started our long run for the day. I said, “Yeah, 38 today, 36 left,” to which he asked, “Minutes?” I replied: “No kilometers!” The expression on his face is one I will never forget. He mumbled, “In this weather? You guys are mad,” and cycled off at great speed. But we completed our training that day and tapered off for the rest of the week before the big day.

On race day, I was completely focused and felt I was really well prepared. As we walked up to the start point just outside the MCG and as we were flagged off, I was confident this would be a good day for me. As we ran along Lakeside Drive, where the Melbourne Formula 1 race is conducted every year, I was humming; perhaps even 'motoring' along quite nicely! I remained confident and collected for much of that part of the run. I remembered the simple tips I had picked up in the preceding months: ‘Do not go out too fast’, ‘Hydrate regularly’, 'Expel bad air from the lungs regularly'. I was doing just fine. At the half-marathon mark, I had achieved my personal best time for a half-marathon. At that point, I even had dreams of a sub-four-hour full marathon finish time, which would have been just great.

And then the weather turned nasty as we ran back up Beach Road, after the half way point. The previous weeks’ training run along this road was a walk in the park in comparison. On the day, it was hot, windy and dusty. At one point, I had dust in my mouth and occasionally, a leaf would slap me in the face with a force that simultaneously stung and woke me up.

‘But all that training that I had put in will come good,’ I said to myself as I maintained my pace as we headed along the lovely Beach Road. I had the choppy blue ocean on my left and the lovely, expensive $1m houses of Beach Road lining the road on my right. But I had eyes only for the road ahead. The scenery could wait. The rich folk who stood on their glass-edged balconies and waved the runners along as they sipped their morning coffees could also wait.

Around the 34k mark, just as I had run up Fitzroy Street, I turned left onto St Kilda Road. I remember telling myself ‘All I need to do now is plod along this lovely tree-lined street for a few kilometers, head off right down Birrarung Marr and into the grounds of the MCG before completing the marathon with a lap inside the MCG.’ 

You see, the Melbourne Marathon concludes inside the MCG. It concludes with a lap of The ‘G’. For a cricket tragic like me, there can be no better joy than the completion of a long and exhausting run inside what must rank as the finest sporting Colosseum in the world. The grass had played host to the shoes and the soles of heroes of mine from the cricketing world like Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Mark Taylor, Sunil Gavaskar, Alan Border, Steve Waugh, David Gower, Richard Hadlee, Imran Khan, Kapil Dev, Saurav Ganguly, The West Indies Team from the 1970s and more. I would have an opportunity to run on that turf too.

In a bit. In a bit.

But that wasn’t on my mind as I trudged up the nasty Fitzroy Street incline, and reached the 34k mark in the race. Mind you, the incline is not really 'nasty'. But after having run nearly 33km in hot, dusty and terribly windy conditions, even a gradual and kind 10-meter gain over the one kilometre that Fitzroy Street represents can be quite an experience.

As I turned right from Beach Road the coffee and breakfast smells of the cafes the lined Fitzroy Street hit me. The chairs that decorated the pavement were filled with people who applauded the marathoners that ran, or walked, or trudged or labored up the gentle incline. Some of the morning breakfast-goers clapped. Some of them offered a word of encouragement. All of them sipped coffee or bit into their wholemeal fruit bread toast on this Sunday morning.

I was hurting. I could barely feel my feet. My thighs were burning. I think I had a rash of sorts under my left armpit. My back hurt. My calf muscles twitched. I was in pain and was digging deep to try and blot it all out.

And that is when I told myself for the first time, “Why am I doing this really?”

For me, that was immediately a sign of trouble. All through my training, I had never questioned the goal. I just accepted it, embraced it and did everything I needed to do in order to ensure success. And here I was, laboring up Fitzroy Street, questioning why I was putting myself through what I was doing. It is then that I knew I had to dig deep. The months of training would have to pay off. I had to find that inner strength that would enable me to "soldier through immense difficulties despite how vulnerable" I felt. 

At the top of Fitzroy Street, I remember fondly that I was passed by ‘Digger’. Now, Bruce ‘Digger’ Hargreaves is one of the Spartan Legends of the Melbourne Marathon; an exclusive club of marathoners who have completed over 10 Melbourne Marathons. Digger is also a part of the '100 Marathon Club', a collection of runners who have clocked more than 100 marathons around the world. On that day Digger crossed me as part of the 4 hr 30 min ‘pacing bus’. In fact, he was the pacing bus.

Clearly, my pace had slipped considerably. I was now being crossed by the 4:30 pacing bus. From entertaining thoughts, however briefly, of a sub-four-hour completion, I was now looking at a completion time of at least 4 hours and 30 mins, if not more. I looked up at the sign that Digger carried on his back (to indicate his pacing bus) in a somewhat forlorn manner. I felt myself disintegrating at that point. Perhaps Digger sensed this too, for as he turned into St Kilda Road, he looked back at me and said, “Keep going, mate. I have run several marathons. And these are the very worst conditions I have encountered. You complete it today, all right?” I nodded and touched his extended hand. It was a hand of encouragement; a hand that talked to kindness and empathy. And I had touched and felt a running legend.

I told myself as I looked at the looming 34k marker that I would make it to the finish line. I convinced myself that my questioning of the ‘goal’ was a momentary lapse of reason. I was determined to finish. I convinced myself that I would complete that lap around the MCG. I had to take my shoes off at the finish line and feel the grass that Tendulkar, Dravid, Taylor, Border, Waugh, Gower, Dev, Khan, Viv, Hadlee, Ganguly and others had walked on. I had to savor the feel of that grass under my feet, however bruised they were.

And then I then blanked out.

I remember nothing much of the race along the lovely, tree-lined St Kilda Road. The trees that used to once offer shelter from sun and rain to passers-by, now shed leaves, unable to withstand the force of the winds that morning. The breeze swirled around. Leaves dislodged from branches and flew around. There was much dust in the air. It was a horrible day for walking; but a whole lot of us were running towards the MCG.

Apparently, Girija was there although I do not remember seeing her as I ran. She said later she was concerned at the pain I was going through; pain that marked my face. My face was already white with streaks of dried sweat salt. She told me later that she would see me, jog along with me for a few meters, hop on a tram to the next stop along St Kilda Road and wait for me to catch up. She said she did this till I reached Birrarung Marr, where I was told I was met by a few of my friends who were there to encourage me on to the finish line. Apparently one of them ran along with me from the top of Birrarung Marr to the ‘G’.

I came to my own as I entered The ‘G’ and came to my senses again. I did not know how I got there. Then again, when Girija told me, later, that she was there on St Kilda Road from the 35k mark onwards, I was able to recall it. When my friends told me, later, that they had waited for me at the corner of Birrarung Marr, which marked the 40k mark in the race, I seemed to remember it. Although I have no recollection of nearly 8 kilometres of the run, I was able to piece it all together later on.

Maybe I had hit the ‘wall’ at the 34k mark. And maybe from that point on, in the remaining seven kilometres, I was able to cut out many other thoughts from my mind. The ‘wall’ is something many long-distance runners experience. Dick Beardsley, one of USA’s best marathoners, said this of the ‘wall’ he encountered in the second marathon he ever ran: "It felt like an elephant had jumped out of a tree onto my shoulders and was making me carry it the rest of the way in.” He overcame that, learned from it and went on to run several more marathons. He made history by finishing two seconds behind Alberto Salazar in the 1982 Boston Marathon.

When I hit my own ‘wall’, I was focused merely on my own processes. Left leg. Right leg. Left. Right. It was as though I had blotted everything out of my mind and wanted to train all my mental thought processes just on completing the race.

In that sense, I had always compared my long distance running with a research scholar going through a PhD degree. It is a thoroughly lonely process. You sometimes do ask yourself, “Why am I doing this really?" You need to train really hard and ensure that your background, preparation and methodology are just right. But, your training, background and ability can only take you that far. In the end, when we hit a ‘wall’ (or a dead-end in your work), what one needs is intense focus, will-power and determination. Focus is as much cutting out needless things as it is training your mind on the very thing(s) that needs to be accomplished.

And so I focused hard and completed the race that day. And as I ran through the welcoming corridor and into the 'G', I saw myself on the big screen. I waved. The big screen waved back at me. I was on it for a full eight seconds! And then I ran a lap inside the ‘G’. It was my own lap of honor. After completing the run, and as my legs gave way, I slumped to the turf. I felt and kissed the grass that many of my cricketing heroes had played in.

Today, whenever I hit a difficult phase in my own life I say to myself that as long as the preparation has been good, and as long as the processes in the lead-up have been honest and sound, this is nothing but the 34k mark in a tough race...

-- Mohan (@mohank)