Ramesh’s blog This is Me!!

Goodbye old Coyote!!

It was in my eight grade way
back in 1982 that I got my skateboard – a Grentec Coyote GT bright red
colour skateboard. Back then my parents had moved to Jakarta having picked up a
new job. My neighbours were mostly Indonesians with a few Indian families here
and there. There was one other boy – my namesake Ramesh Mishra who lived a
short distance away from where I lived. He was one year my senior in school and
his dad worked with mine. He had a light blue Grentec Coyote GT
skateboard. It was he who got me to learn the ropes of skateboarding – not that
I went on to become a skateboarder par excellence or anything of that sort.

For several years from then I had treasured my
skateboard as I did most of my toys. The skateboard if any was perhaps the only
piece that really connected me with the one wonderful year that I had spent in Jakarta.
It surely brought back memories of many a fall I have had on CempakaPutih Tenga lanes as I learnt to
skate and I can still remember that extremely painful bump that developed
almost instantaneously after one of those very nasty falls. So big and ugly it
looked that I remember my friend and I kept looking at it in complete
amazement. I can also remember holding onto Ramesh’s bicycle and being towed
along to either the nearest convenience store or across the length and breadth
of Cempakaputih Tenga colony.

From time to time all it needed was a wash and
a little greasing up and it was as good as new and it was not uncommon for
Ramesh and I to compete on who was going to give his skateboard the best
squeaky clean scrub. I remember I once got my hands on two long stickers from
one of the Kellogs corn flakes packet and I had stuck them on the skateboard
just to add extra colour to it. After all these years of extreme rough use on
practically every kind of terrain, I must admit the skateboard’s design was way
way ahead of its times.

Several years later , it was just last year when my
older son finally came up to the seventh grade, that I - with  mixed feeling of reluctance to part with and
pride that I had managed to take care of my skateboard so well all these years
-  gave it to him asking him to be
extremely careful. After all I had taken good care of it for the next
generation to use. My son seemed to be making reasonably good progress learning
to jump off the foot path and things like that. On weekends I too would take
time to try my hand at it. Sadly,this evening when I got back from my son (now
in the eight grade) sat there with a crestfallen look. It took a bit of asking
around the household to be told that he had lost the skateboard. I don’t know
if he was upset or if he was more worried at being yelled at by me. There is no
denying that I was upset but I told him that there was no point now in crying
over spilt milk. However, I made a point to tell him to learn from this
mistake.

As for my Coyote .. for the many miles of fun
and thrill and for the great memories you will always bring to me Thankyou !

09 Oct 11 - Just came back on to update this blog. The stolen skateboard has finally been recovered Phew !!

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Delhi Half Marathon – 21 at 42

Having moved into a new job at Delhi in March, as I was getting acquainted to the new City and the new pace of life, the buzz word and the anticipation was all around the Common Wealth Games (CWG) which was to follow a few months later. My colleagues at work were both the outdoor kind of people and naturally a fair share of the conversation at Office had to do with outdoor activities. Among all things,  more discussions took place sharing the experiences of the 21 Km Delhi Marathon run than of any other event because both of them had run it atleast twice before. With November merely a few months away, and with me being the newcomer on the block, I was also coaxed and cajoled into seriously considering running it this year.

I had run a whole marathon once but that was over two decades ago and the thought of running another one, albeit a half marathon suddenly seemed to make me look for excuses to wriggle away from the proposal.  By mid October I had found myself going on evening runs of 4 to 6 Kms on a regular basis.  Though hardly an effort  towards preparing for the 21 Km run, the recollection of guys in college – one year my junior- asking me if I was serious about running the 42Kms on not having seen me practice adequately and going on to complete the entire race, gave me a degree of confidence that I might pull this one off too.

Registration done, I got myself a Running number of 5136.  A sore throat that went neglected only went on to develop into severe chest congestion. To the doctors it seemed like Allergic Bronchitis and they prescribed me some heavy antibiotics. To me it seemed like a waste of valuable time that I otherwise  should have spent  practicing for my big run.  When the chest got no better after the first course of antibiotics and I had to be prescribed a second course, I was unsure if I would be able to run at all with the run being barely a few days away.

Fortunately, 5 days before the run, my chest seemed to have cleared up and I decided to push myself to doing a 15Km trial run simply to test my endurance. Though I achieved what I had set for myself as a goal for that cold evening, I found my left knee getting jammed by the time I had finished the run. I was not sure if it was the cold, the New Shoe or simply my age telling me to GO EASY. For the next four days my knees were sore and any plans to jog even small distances had to be shelved.

21 Nov 10. The early morning was nippy and by 0700 hrs I was at the starting point all set for the run. A slight tinge of doubt clung on to me in some corner of my mind but I didn’t allow it to consume me. At a distance I could hear a countdown go from five to one and I was on my way. It was like a huge carnival with over fifteen thousand people having assembled there. The first three kilometers were covered relatively easily before the first signs of a cramp on my left calf started to nag me. It was too early in the race and I was at that point in time unsure if I will be able to complete the race. Focusing on my running I continued but not without stopping from time to time to massage my muscles and then only to speed up trying to make up for the lost time. Seeing this one of the runners came beside me and said “Take it easy man”. By the time I reached the 8 Km mark, I saw the lot of the leading runners make their way back to the stadium. It was a treat to watch their long strides and the clock read 40 minutes.

 I tried counting down from a thousand and then counting up to a thousands in steps of hundred and every other possible game to distract myself from the nagging pain that was getting worse and now concentrating around my knee. At the 13 km mark I clocked 1: 39 or so by my watch and that was nearly the same as what I achieved during my practice. If only I could keep up this pace I will easily finish the race by 2:17 or so I knew. At the 16 kms mark, it was encouraging to hear one of the onlookers shout and cheer us “Come on just five more kilometers to go”. However by the time I reached the 18 kms mark , it was nearly 1:50 or so and my knee pain had gotten so bad that even walking had become excruciatingly painful.

My only concern was not being able to go past the finish line before the three hour period ran out. With the pain I experienced and the pace I was limping at, it seemed very much possible. The last three kilometers were the most frustrating of them all for all those I had over taken in my early stage of the run, were now going past me at good speeds. And all I could do was watch helplessly.  With 12 minutes to spare I finally limped across the finish line at 2:48 – taking nearly an hour to finish the last three kilometers. Yes I had completed the 21 at 42 but  it felt like no achievement at all.

I am not sure what problems my knees will cause me in the days ahead but I am hopeful of returning to the Delhi Marathon in 2011 only to better my timing.

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The Marathon I ran

Background: Many years ago around 1990 (I think it was) I ran a full marathon. Recently I read a Blog by Jaya Raj and I was reminded of my own experience and I am tempted to put it down here (like many of my recent entries for posterity)

Lonavala is a beautiful place not far from Pune. Those who have been to Lonavala in the monsoons would surely want to revisit again the following year. In the monsoons the hill stations simply turns green and the numerous waterfalls turn into romantic spots for young lovers to not only get wet but also indulge in sharing some quality time and cementing relationships.

Come summer and the place turns brown and really hot and dry and you would want to curse the fact that you were staying in such a God forsaken place. Well if you are a tourist, chances are you would not be there in summer. I was no tourist and I was there for four long years as I did my engineering there. Only after four summers, four wet winters and having eaten loads of Chikki did I move out of there.

During those years I have spent many a Sunday running the ups and downs of the Lonavalan Terrain covering distance ranging anywhere between 7 to 14 Kms. Purely attributable to my age, I think it was, and not to the fact that I was a good runner, I could run a 14 Km cross country in about 65 to 80 minutes. With practice and mastery over the terrain I guess one gets to know exactly when to speed up and when to conserve your energy and when to relax and when to lean forward as you run up a slope. As weeks went by, what initially seemed as mission impossible gradually became possible and from possible it became relatively easy to a point where it -like I mentioned - became the done thing of every weekend.

Then there were times when we would go out for a run just like that because there was no better games to play or nothing better to do. The runs in the monsoons were definitely easier and less exhausting. Now when I look back I realise that more than the weather, getting a chance to look at the pretty damsels from colleges in Bombay and Pune playing under a waterfall in colourful dresses was what worked its magic on us.

Then in 1990 came the annual sports meet and running the marathon was undoubtedly the toughest event of them all. To this day, I do not know what got into me when I decided to forward my name for the full marathon of 42 kilometers (or 23 miles if it looks any lesser). The regular runners started with their daily practices in the earnest. To them winning a medal was a important I guess. On the other hand I had told myself that I would be happy if I could only complete the run. Timing or the final position did not really matter - just finishing did. I continued with my regular runs of 10 to 14 Kms but nothing more than that. One thing I knew about myself was that once I got running I could keep going like a Duracell Bunny albeit at a much slower pace. That thought alone filled me with the required confidence. I also remember some of the guys a year junior ask me as the day of the race drew closer in a rather sarcastic tone "…you are also taking part in the marathon?” …” why are you not practicing …”? I just let them be.

Finally the day of the run dawned. For convenience the authorities had decided that the race would be within the campus itself. This, while it worked to be convenient for them from a logistics point of view, it meant I would be running on unfamiliar turf. Automatically all that know-how of when to speed up or when to slow down etc. etc. all went out of the window. It was decided we would run a little over 9 laps and that would be equal to 42 Kms. Having run 14 Kms so often the first 3 laps went by very quickly. 4th, 5th and 6th too went by and I felt ok at the end of it.

From then on every step I took I was surprising myself. Its always easier to run a distance if you had a partner who ran in step with you. In step - thats the key word. If he lags behind he tires you if he is even a shade faster he demoralises you…so its a delicate balance between the will to go on and the urge to give up.

By the end of the seventh lap my partner didn’t lag…he completely gave up. God! The thought of having to go alone from there on was so taxing. By then my legs were tired and I was beginning to look forward to one of the three refreshment points. I had seen it on TV during the Olympics but never really understood why the long distance runners poured water all over their heads and face instead of drinking it. No sooner than I made it to the refreshment point I grabbed a glass from the helper who ran a short distance along with me and I took one small sip and poured the rest. I immediately knew exactly why the Olympics runners did that. It was so refreshing and for a few seconds I felt like I could go on forever. But that magic lasted only for a few seconds.

I noticed it becoming more difficult to stay focused and I just wanted to give up. My sight grew dim and the only respite was the next refreshment point. Eight laps down and by now even the cheering of the guys by the side of the road grew softer. I guess the brain has a way of blocking out all senses one by one when you are exhausted. The amazing thing however was that I had all my senses back for a few seconds when I poured yet another glass of water.

The final lap was a test of sheer will power. The will to complete it … the will to go on and to put it in Rudyard Kiplings words “hold on when there is nothing left in you except the will which says to them HOLD ON" Some guys even ran the last kilometer with me just to pep me up. Finally the end was near and knowing that was so psychologically uplifting. I still remember I put in all I had and I sprinted the last 100 meters to the finish line… I had done it!

Not only was it so satisfying but also I had proved a lot of my juniors wrong in their estimation of me and perhaps their own abilities too. But perhaps most important of all I had surprised myself.

Present Day: I am nearing my 39th Bday soon and I still run 3 to 5 kilometers even now. I want to have a go at the LA half marathon this year if things work out.

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