The First Half-Marathon

Whenever I came across an advertisement of an upcoming marathon event, I ignored it with all my might. Surely, I didn't need this 'service' to inflict trauma on myself. But finally the day dawned (like it always does) when my thought changed. A hoarding, that caught my eyesight by the sheer number of its sponsors (and left me wondering if it was for a DJ party or a blood donation camp), appealed to my whim on each of the five days before the marathon event was scheduled.

When one is a whimsical being, one isn't really sure up to the last moment if the upcoming decision is one for the taking. Three days before the event, I had my eyes narrowed on the event's poorly made website. Since I run only about 7 (a carefully handpicked number) minutes a day before the workout, I relied on the event website to tell me how much distance I shall be running. To my utter astonishment, the age groups for the 3-km, 6-km, 10.5-km runs were 3, 6 and 10.5 years. May be I exaggerate but that's how I felt after I read about the age groups. There was no prize for a 31-year old for being among the top three in any of these races. Hopes were dashed before the actual dash. I was left with 21.1 km. Yes, my decision was based upon the assumption that I would be among the top three finishers.

Before I clicked on the 'route' for the race, I told myself that this is going to be the landscape of my ambitious journey. My eyes were ready for a map complete with small triangles for mountains, thick flows of rivers, and shaded areas for forests. Alas! It was 'the' click of disappointment that led me to 'Page cannot be displayed' error message. Turns out that the route image was just too big for my feeble internet connection speed. I tried to download it and managed to obtain a half-screen image of straight lines with arrows. Nothing exciting.

A day after the last day of registration and a day before the marathon, still undecided, I thought of paying a friendly visit to the kit-collection centre and check if the marathon is really interested in being run by me. It was. The organizer said that all forms are over but a special allotment was in store for me considering how enthused I looked (I was dressed in formals). I got myself registered and got a t-shirt and a bib in return. I was told that I could forget the t-shirt but not the bib because, "As you'd be knowing, the bib contains *dramatic pause* a chip."

With no trainer or training readily available, I invoked the good old internet gods to know about things to do/eat/drink/think/wear on the day before/of/after the marathon. Smart as they are, the internet gods blessed me with advice for things to be done/eaten/drunk/thought/worn years before a marathon. A very helpful website told me to wear extremely light clothes if the temperature is above 70 deg. Fah. I ventured out to buy some light clothes and was taken lightly by every shopkeeper who informed me that the region is experiencing winter. I also bought a sipper water-bottle so that I could save precious seconds on lifting my chin up to drink water.

The race was to be flagged off at 6 AM. Given that I needed 8 hours of sleep the night before the race, I went to bed at midnight and could manage to sleep 2 AM. From midnight to 1:45 AM, I kept thinking about how am I going to perform - I will run slowly but consistently, I will not wave at the crowd much, I will not look at the cameras while running, there's a slight niggle in the right knee but I'll balance myself in a way to make sure that the left one carries me through, and other such strategic thoughts one usually has before his first marathon. Around 1:45 AM, the only thought clouding my mind was that if I don't sleep now, I will not wake up before 10 AM.

As soon as I woke up, I loaded the phone with the Lord of the Rings audiobook. If there was one inspiration that was going to help me conquer the finishing line, this was it. A quick calculation told me that, even with the slowest version of me, I had overloaded the phone with around 40 hours of audio. Not one to be hassled by a slow phone, I had my energy potion (coffee!) and though the internet had told me to pile up carbohydrates in the body, I had no time to eat anything beyond an apple. My prime motive behind hurrying up was to find a decent parking spot close to the registration spot so that I don't end up tiring my legs reaching the starting line. Unrelated - I had to run about 6 times up and down the home to get everything that I had decided to carry.

I reached the registration spot at around 5:30 AM, parked as close to the gate as possible only to find out that the starting line was around a km away. I took my bike key, sipper water-bottle, napkin, phone and earphones. After about half a kilometre, I realized that nobody carried a water-bottle. My pockets were heavy in an awkward sort of a way and energy conservation told me that there was no going back to dump all the precious belongings. The 21.1-km runners were grouped right ahead of all the other runners. I couldn't decide whether this arrangement was to provide the rest of the runners with a feeling of inspiration or that of humour. While I was on the way to reach the group of 21.1-km runners, I asked people how the bib was to be stuck to the t-shirt. My query was answered in the form of plentiful congratulatory wishes. This reminded me of ill-wishers who congratulate you before an exam result knowing fully well that you are not going to pass. Anyway, the bib was to be pinned.

Once I reached my co-runners, I immediately found a place to sit and closed my eyes for I was advised not to indulge in freebies like chocolates, juices or energy bars. I realized a few moments later that the only freebies were the safety pins to attach the bibs. Inedible and, hence, harmless. As the sun rose, I could see people warming up. They were wearing very short shorts. They were hi-five-ing each other for some reason (couldn't possibly for celebrating shorts!).

The moment of 6 AM arrived. Sunlight was taking over darkness. The chirping of birds had the usual irritation that animal sounds carry when humans are around. People were still warming up and hi-five-ing. Around 6:30 AM, everybody suddenly started to run. I had chosen to be among the last ones to start. Why should one get in way of the faster ones when my strategy was to start slow and beat them in the last lap. I found myself walking after the initial few hops. My best estimate puts my first dash distance at around 10 metres. While I adopted my strategy to walk, I saw that the people who were standing among the first ones were running away in the distance. Little did I know that I was not to see them again. I started listening to the LOTR audiobook. I also had Stephen King's The Long Walk at the back of my mind when I began the race. Pretty dire but encouragement finds its way to sneak in.

Even before the 1-km mark was breached, I realized that my right knee was fine but the left one was acting up. Great day to throw up a surprise, left knee!

Around 3-km mark, I realized that I was walking with an 80-something person who walked a bit and then ran a bit and then walked again while I kept walking. He had a certain aura about him. I noticed that his firm resolve was making his bald head shine more than the usual. "And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at," the audiobook narrator said. 

Meanwhile, my left ankle had joined my left knee in the conspiracy against my victory. My right leg was up to the task while my left knee was dragged like a leg of a pair of shallow torn trousers. "(the Gaffer) was growing old and stiff in the joints...," the audiobook narrator said.

While I ran in 10-second blasts followed by half an hour long walks, the deeper meaning of the race started to permeate within me. I found myself appreciating bigger comforts like motorbikes, engines, chairs, beds, and everything else that doesn't make one use his legs. I also realized that one is not supposed to take things like this marathon for granted. I realized that the city is extremely dirty where people don't mind piling garbage every few metres. My concentration was taken off the course in deserted areas when some movement in the shrubs caught my eyesight. I wondered if it was due to a wild animal but was relieved to see that it was due to my competitors relieving themselves in the shrubs. I also remember a couple of places where a group of dogs were eagerly flirting with members of the opposite gender. The dogs made me wander from one side of the road to another even as the organizers kept assuring that they won't bite. When I ran through a slum area, I came across people who were brushing their teeth standing along the road and spitting on the road while reading important things on their mobile phones. "The road goes ever on and on...," the audiobook  narrator sang.

I could see a popular samosa stall just a few steps away from the route. A few competitors were gorging themselves on samosas. It was not a happy sight. They were not running but were eating a samosa. "Must be the 3-km runners," I mused. Justice? I looked at them but my attempt to get noticed went futile. "Frodo did not offer her tea," the audiobook narrator said.

There were helpful direction boards at junctions. I passed through the busiest part of the city where the organizers stopped the traffic for me to pass. I raised my eyes off the ground to acknowledge the cheers, only to realize that the people at the cross were not really cheering but were cross at being stopped for a lone runner. Somewhere along the road, a couple of policemen on an early morning patrol egged me on to run instead of walking. I acknowledged their encouragement with a couple of hops. "...and Pippin began to lag behind," the audiobook narrator said.

A couple of times, the organizers came up to me in their cars and on their scooters and asked if I needed a lift till the ending point. "We are asking only because you are limping," they said. "I always walk like this," I lied. I likened them to the Ringwraiths. The third time I spotted an organizer, the desire to slip on the ring was extremely strong. "The advice of Gandalf seemed absurd. Bilbo had used the Ring," said the audiobook narrator.

After about 18-km, I realized that I was the only one walking. None of the competitors were to be seen either in front or even behind me. The last few kilometres were uneventful except the junction where there were no directions for the 21.1-km runners. Confused, I stopped and asked the people smoking at the paan shop for directions. The bib made me anxious. Will the chip know if I stop at a paan shop? Those helpful people directed me to the finishing line. "Warning! Warning 2158!", I heard the imaginary soldier from The Long Walk call out and scampered off.

I took a turn and could see the finishing line to be about 500-m from my position. There was hardly anybody there. Had everybody left? Was Frodo about to reach Mordor only to find that Mount Doom itself has vanished? Thankfully, there was a person with a laptop to whom I had to announce my arrival. She unconvincingly scrabbled down my timing with a pencil. That certainly didn't feel like winning (though if there had been a category for runners carrying the most useless things...). There were none of the legendary fireworks of Gandalf. I asked for my finishing medal and was told to walk back a kilometre on the route where I had come from and reach the bib-collection-centre. "Where are those people who offered to bring me to the finishing line while I was runni...walki... limping?" I asked. Presumably, they had left. Just when I was about to resume my journey back, I heard a couple of people who finished the 10-km race after me. Irrespective of their timing, they didn't seem like they'd have journeyed while crawling. "Ask them to go to hell, I am not walking back to the bib-collection-centre," I heard one of them say. They hailed an auto and pulled me in.

At the bib-collection-centre, I reached the 21.1-km, medal collection stall, where I got the medal, a scribble of a signature on my bib and was told that the certificate will be in my inbox. An organizer apologized me for running out of refreshments. "But then you were very late. As there are no refreshments left, I can instead use your phone to click a few complimentary pictures of you with the medal." He clicked three photos and I said that it was enough as I was full.

By evening, my ankle was in tremendous pain. Internet told me that this was to be expected and an ice bath was to be had. Unable to find a vessel large enough to hold me, I took a cold water shower and was blessed with a runny nose, sneezes, and fever to accompany the sore legs by the end of the day. As I collapsed to sleep, I could hear my body begging me to train before the next marathon while the audiobook narrator said, "...and he threw himself upon a bed and fell at once into a dreamless slumber."

Reading Steve Waugh's "Out of My Comfort Zone"

During one of my conversations about books with a friend, he happened to recommend Steve Waugh's autobiography (oddly) titled "Out of My Comfort Zone" as a must-read (chat history says this happened in 2013). Though he also mentioned that the book is not available in India and can only be bought as an import which makes the book priced at about Rupees out-of-a-normal-person's-reach. A chance encounter with another school friend last year happened and while we talked about what a disappointment Sachin's autobiography has turned out to be, I mentioned in passing that I have heard that Steve Waugh's is an impressive one. Now this friend said that he had that book with him and it's serving in his bookshelf as a mere dust gatherer. Quite unexpectedly, he gave the book to me and this is how the best book that I have read in the past year or so came into my possession.

I don't have a huge liking for autobiographies (they're too realistic!) and quite frankly, the only ones that I have read are Gandhi's, Sachin's and now Waugh's. Before I started reading it, I was apprehensive about how repetitive a cricketer's autobiography is. It's like reading a record-book of his cricketing achievements interspersed with a few anecdotes, injuries, struggles to get into the team and his pain of retirement. My reference for this apprehension was of course the hugely anticipated autobiography of Sachin. Of course, Steve's was broadly arranged on these lines too but it made for a far superior reading experience. A big curiosity regarding this book was how Steve's relationship was with his twin Mark who was a bigger favourite for me back in the day.

The best part about this book was how Steve shows his all-too-human side and while doing so (perhaps unknowingly) brings forth a few precious guiding lessons which seem applicable in all walks of life. His occasional struggles with the bat and the frustrations around an eluding century bring forth the honest endeavour of opening himself up to the world. Whenever he had his mind made up about how he'd play out the next ball, the next day's play, the next series or the next session, he'd end up failing. He mentions quite a few times that it bogged him down and that the game (cricket? life?) is all about how to keep calm without getting to far ahead of the time. He talks about how he had many dismal performances and was shown the team door after being in the team for a long long time. While he was sulking on the inside, he couldn't do show the full extent of his sadness to his family because his place in the team was awarded to none other than his brother, Mark. While he himself worked hard to get back into the team, he gives many examples of people who just faded out once they were dropped. Here he brings forth how a string of failures can bog one down and the only way to rise is to believe that one can do it. Sounds like a usual pep-talk but this one doesn't fail to make a connection.

The autobiography talks to an outsider about though the game is all about one's own performance and in the end, that's all there's to it, it doesn't happen without support of one's friends and well-wishers. Steve's journey is dotted with people who cheered him up, asked him not to think about the failures, told him that he's got to believe that he's got what it takes and in the end he's thankful to all of them. He comes across as an introvert (may be because I don't remember seeing him agitated), but it's quite impossible to walk the long distance without these frequent pats on the back. Family and friends are your deal of a lifetime. He talks about how fitness experts approached him and suggested him unusual though helpful regimens and diets that helped him play for a long time. I guess one has to trust some strangers on the way and witness them becoming an unforgettable part of the journey. Of course, luck plays a part in making you meet with these people.

He talks about how learning is a constant process. His efforts to keenly listen to past greats and even top sportspersons playing sports besides cricket bring forth his keenness to learn about attitude and mental makeup. There are many occasions on which he has talked about how it's more about attitude and less about the skill. An interesting incident that he has mentioned is about why he wanted the best Australian cricket team to represent them in the Commonwealth Games when many other countries sent their second-best team considering it to be a worthless event. It is wonderful how Steve considered it to be a chance to mingle with other sportspersons rather than just another taxing tour.

For a cricket lover, the autobiography has special hidden gems. It's superb to read descriptions about what goes on in a fielder's mind before a catch is taken, how a few players have certain idiosyncrasies (e.g. Steve's own red rag piece, Hayden wanting to be 'one' with the pitch, tying a particular shoe lace first, Jayasuriya touching his pads thrice then undoing and sticking up his gloves, Mackenzie taping up his bat to the ceiling, etc.), the on-field banter, and the best of the lot - how the Australian players went out of the way to break some rules. The funniest incident is again about how during the Commonwealth Games, the Australian cricketers didn't have the tickets to the swimming competition but in order to witness it, gelled their hair back and identified themselves to the authorities as being competing swimmers.

The way Steve has penned it deserves a special mention. He has kept the language extremely simple but the writing style speaks of someone who is extremely well-read and has a great sense of humour. The metaphors are definite winners and make the book a real page-turner.

As for his relationship with Mark, as in his public life, he doesn't talk much except that he was rather close to him during his childhood, spending a lot of time playing with him. However, over a period of time, the competitive streak between them got the better of the twins' communication.

The autobiography has a few points of departure from the ordinary from an Indian's point of view. It's about an outsider's view of India - how many stadiums didn't even have an acceptable ground, how the abject poverty (read: person cleaning strangers' ears to make ends meet, beggars carrying babies whose state of being alive or dead is unknown, and so on) shocks him to the extent that whatever be his state of life, he thinks himself lucky to not be living like this. Steve impresses upon the fact that so many aspects of life are taken for granted for which one should be immensely thankful to the unknown forces.

At around a thousand pages, it might turn out to be a tiresome read for someone who's not deep into cricket. A review by a cricket journalist says that Steve considers writing this book as part of his endeavour to play a long innings and hence, the length of the book makes it as tiring to read as it is to hold it in your hands. I suggest that one should ignore all such doubts, embrace this book tightly and not let go until it's read end to end.

The Shining (book) vs. The Shining (movie)

I have taken a huge liking for Stephen King even though I'd be the first citizen of a nation carved out for the most easily scared people on the planet. His writing is extremely immersing. The characters seem very life-like and have all the traits that you'd encounter in a person of flesh and blood. Sadly (or may be not), he writes mostly horror plots. It's absolutely unbelievable how a well-written book affects you.

So I recently read The Shining and though it is not as tightly woven as Salem's Lot or Carrie (the only other Stephen King books which I have read), it did the job. The lives and thoughts of the three Torrances - Jack, Wendy and their son Danny - are penned out quite exhaustively throughout the first four hundred pages. 

As a former alcoholic, Jack's struggle to stay away from alcohol is brought out through his thoughts every time he goes through an extreme emotion. The struggle is intense with his urge on one hand and his family's well-being on the other. He keeps denying to himself that he never had an alcohol problem though history witnesses otherwise. As a school teacher, he has been unfair and even abusive to one of his students. He has even hurt his son in a bout of rage. He keeps thinking that Wendy hasn't forgiven him for this and that her mother keeps conspiring against him. 

Wendy is trying to strike a balance and has married Jack against her mother's wishes. She knows that Jack has a problem but has a doubt inclining towards Jack's well-being. 

I didn't really like Danny's character. He's got an imaginary friend - Tony - who pops up and shows him weird things. Some of them are from the future while the rest of them are too weird. He keeps hallucinating and I felt like turning the pages when he kept having his stupid visions. 

The family moves to a secluded hotel on a mountain top as Jack is appointed to be the caretaker of the hotel during its close-down period of extreme winter. As it happens, the hotel is haunted because of the crimes (Knife-slashing murders! Bath tub drownings!) that have occurred there in the past. The hotel ghosts (collectively called "it") choose Jack to be their weapon of choice and corrupt his mind to the extent of edging him towards killing his family. 

The movie adaptation of The Shining is directed by Stanley Kubrick who is hailed to be one of the greatest movie makers of all time. I tried watching the movie before but the sound and the shock factor was too scary for me to go beyond the first five minutes. 

Having read the book, I mustered up the required courage and watched it all. Though having known the plot spoils a thrilling movie, I think it gave a me an edge over the shock factor and allowed me to sit through even the scariest of scenes instead of watching it with my eyes closed for nine-tenths of the run-time. 

While all movies suffer from the time constraint, one can't help but compare them with the books on which they're based. The Shining (movie) doesn't quite explore the depths of the characters as the background stories are never really brought forward. For example, Jack hitting a school student, subsequently losing his job and being at the mercy of the person who gets him the new job become key shapers of his character. Even the past crimes in the hotel (besides the previous caretaker killing his family) should have been given some screen time. 

Jack Nicholson's delivery of dialogue seems a bit different than the ordinary. There seems to be too much of a dramatic effect imbibed in the way he played the angry scenes. Too many neck movements, too many pauses or too many emphasized words. Something's amiss. I felt that his character was edging towards being a victim of "it" in the book while in the movie it seems like he brought all the badness to himself. A crucial tool for this was how another character (Hallorann) almost gets possessed by "it" but shakes himself out of it. (This is also where the book seems to be a wonderful ode to one of my favourites Edgar Allan Poe taking a leaf out of his The Tell-Tale Heart, The Black Cat and The Masque of the Red Death while the book does not)

Shelley Duvall did a perfect Wendy. She reportedly had an extremely tough time while shooting the movie thanks to Kubrick's eccentricities but the outcome seems just perfect. Her anorexic physique and her weak/confused character is an excellent portrayal of Wendy trying to fight through the circumstances and keep things going. 

I thought Danny in the movie was more irritating than the Danny in the book what with his imaginary friend taking over his body and talking in a funny voice with a dancing finger. I read that the finger dancing bit was thought by the kid himself but all it does is impart a comic sense to the imaginary friend. Can't really blame the kid since this was his first acting stint. 

As expected, there are a few variations from the book and the best one is the hedge maze replacing the hedge animals outside the book. In the book, the hedge animals approaching the characters and the characters getting extremely scared is sort of funny and lowered the scare factor. On the other hand, the hedge maze in the movie had a great effect with the characters running madly through it during the climax. The twin sisters appearing out of nowhere in the movie and asking Danny to play with them are extremely scary! 

I guess heavy music was a characteristic of Kubrick's movies (have seen only one other movie of his - A Clockwork Orange) and it had the necessary effect. The background music while the family rides through the mountains and while the kid's tricycles around are eerie. 

Overall, the movie did a great job of capturing most of the parts of the book. It wins in scaring the watcher but loses out in leaving a lasting impact.