The Hyderabad Half Marathon.. or how I learnt to stop worrying and catch the 2 hour pacer

The Hyderabad marathon happened this fine Sunday morning, with overcast skies looking down benevolently on a city whose running culture has taken off splendidly in the last 6 years or so. I had registered for the half marathon and decided to document my experience for posterity just as I have done with the Bangalore 10k runs here and here during my first two editions.

The Run Up

Nothing much happened by way of disciplined training for the marathon. In the last couple of years, when I haven't run in a competition, I kept myself fit by doing the occasional 10k workout. Specifically, for the Hyderabad Marathon, only two warm up runs are worth mentioning. The first among these was the L&T Serene County run, where I clocked a little under 3 hours on a 27 K circuit. Having never run more than 12 km, I decided to do this one on a lark. I paced myself rather slowly and conservatively, given the uncertainty and my lack of confidence. Finishing this run strong was a welcome revelation that  the 20 Km mark wasn't much of an impediment. The second event was the Historical Hyderabad Run, a great circuit that started at a monument called Taramati Baradari and wound around the foothills of the Golconda Fort before circling back. I timed myself well in the latter half of this run, thanks to a gentleman with a good running watch. I finished the 16K circuit in a little less than 90 minutes, leading me to target the 2 hour mark for the 21 Km half marathon. The icing on the cake with this run was a renowned historian, Anuradha Reddy of INTACH, giving us an enriching walking tour of the Taramati Baradari. This run was organised by Go Heritage Runs, a UNESCO funded initiative that organises runs at historical sites.

Apart from these two events, the only training I underwent was a 5K the day before the half marathon and football/cycling on the weekends to remind my muscles that they could still function.

The Course

The Hyderabad marathon is touted to be India's toughest city marathon owing to the many undulations that its course meanders to. The course passes through Banjara Hills, a locality that lives up to its name. The half marathon course comprises two flyover climbs with a total ascent of 508 m and a descent of 480 m. Needless to say, this was a course to reckon with, where pacing one's self posed significant challenges. Giving in to the bad habits I have picked up at the day job, here are two visuals to give you a better idea.

Race Day

The half marathon was scheduled to begin at 6 AM, with a request to report 45 minutes in advance. An unfortunate circumstance saw us arrive at the start line at a few minutes past 6 AM. While I was unperturbed that the timing chip would factor in the start time, little did I realise that I would miss the bus if I didn't start on time.

For the uninitiated, pacing buses are seasoned long distance runners who volunteer to finish a particular race in a stipulated time for the benefit of people running around them. Each volunteer carries a flag that specifies his expected finish time, and other runners latch on to them as a means of reference very similar to how pilot fish latch on to sharks. I had intended on using the 2 hour bus to set my pace for the course, which is a challenge thanks to the terrain of the course.

The run was to start near the Hussain Sagar Lake. I was hopeful of catching breathtaking glimpses of the lake: a sight that was to inspire me to start strong and to be sustained in my mind's eye as I passed through the more mundane innards of Hyderabad. Instead, all I got was to witness the sweaty backs of about a thousand runners who had started ahead of me owing to a better sense of punctuality. As for aquatic scenery, I had to make do with a gutter running alongside the lake, whose stench was determined to fight a winning battle against my pressing need to inhale deeply.

Exit gutter, enter flyovers. The first one was a breeze thanks to the fresh pair of legs and a general sense of enthusiasm. I made sure that I didn't go way below the 6 min/km mark in order to keep my date with the 2 hour mark. I slowly overtook the three 2:30 buses that were milling in the crowded mass of runners in this section. About 3 Km into the circuit, the crowd thinned out to a comfortable stream of rather evenly paced runners. As I overtook the two chatty 2:15 buses, I was privy to their conversation:

"I thought of locking up my family and coming to the run as they threatened to not let me go. The last time around, they didn't let me go and I had to relent because it was raining."

As we moved into more residential areas, we were met with enthusiastic cheering groups all along the way. There was this old couple who had arranged a couple of chairs outside their home in order to click a well coordinated photo with one of their successors, who spared a moment in the midst of his run. There were also budding rockstars lined up on the side of the road in small stalls, playing their stuff on guitars and such. Entirely heartwarming.

On nearing the 8K mark I hit the wonderful equilibrium that every long distance runner knows so well (what I like to term the indefatigable rhythm). There is something about running together that takes one's body to a whole new level of fitness on the race day. The same pace that hurts like hell and causes muscles in the chest to painfully squirm poses no problems. This effect is compounded by finding a running companion with whom one can mutually pace, leading me to acknowledge that in the long run, it's mostly a mind game (Pardon the cheap pun).

I had settled in on a steady cadence. I usually run without my own music in order to save my equanimity from having to meddle with ill fitting earphones.In order to keep my cadence, I have found that playing a song in my head and using my thumping feet to keep rhythm is very effective. This time around, I was aided by Bombay Jayashree's beautiful OST to The Life of Pi, whose slow 7 beat rhythm is absolutely delightful. Together, the running companion and I set off to find the 2 hour bus.

Steady progress saw me pass through the workplace, after which the surroundings and landmark assumed a sense of welcome familiarity. However, with this familiarity also came the daunting realisation that the last leg of the marathon would be the toughest, as it was a steady climb of about 5 kilometers, with one god forsaken flyover. Having whizzed past these areas on mostly petrol fueled conveyances, running this stretch was extremely draining. To make matters worse, the sun began to peek out of the clouds and the 2 hour bus was nowhere in sight. The silver lining was that I found a companion for this stretch from Nagpur, who was about 15 years my senior. Nothing inspires one better than these fantastic people.

While the last stretch was hard, my running companions had helped me push on and I was poised to finish on the right side of the two hour mark. The circuit finished at the relatively flat whereabouts of the Gachibowli stadium, and I had finished in a little under 2 hours (1:56:52). I never managed to catch the 2 hour pacer, mostly owing to my delayed start, but I'm guessing that it worked to my advantage.


Ironically, I seem most inspired to run after an event like this and not before, when all that training would actually come in handy. I would look to target the 1:45:00 mark, while mulling on whether to run a full marathon this year. I was happy that I had progressed in performance from my two training runs. This would be ensued by the challenge to keep running harder to finish stronger in subsequent events by hopefully sticking to a training schedule.

The TCS 10K, Bangalore rerun

Since I was stuck in Namma Bengaluru for yet another year, I decided to give the TCS 10K run another shot. I'll cease to call it a marathon because while a marathon is a mammoth 42.2 km, this run is barely 10. Here's my take on last year's event.

Frequent e-mail reminders ensured that I registered on time and also convinced a friend or two to join. The registration this time around was smooth and didn't remind me of passport applications. The goody bag pick-up, which was strategically located in the midst of a promotional exhibition (again!) went on smoothly as well. This edition's goody bag, while retaining its share of men's cosmetics, wasn't as much of a punching bag. It had a 7 day pass to Gold's Gym! (which I just noticed). The organisers had learnt. They offered to sell me a pass to park at UB city, which I brushed aside, thinking it was unnecessary trouble.

The run up 

Unlike last time, I actually trained for this year's run. I ran for about 20 days of the 40 days that counted down to the race. I could spare only half an hour in the wee hours of the morning for the training and ended up running 5 kilometres on most of these days. I touched the 10 km mark on two consecutive days of a weekend. I didn't measure my time on any of these occasions too seriously but I thought I always clocked in under 50 minutes. My running tracks were more undulating than the race's track which led me to think that I'd do better on the latter. I also happened to read Lance Armstrong’s amazing biography in the days leading up to the run. His biography, titled “It’s not about the bike”, reads really well. It celebrates endurance sport in a manner that is truly inspirational, among other things.

Race day!

I was determined to reach the venue early so that I avoid getting slowed down by the crowding at the start line. I reached the vicinity of Kanteerava stadium half an hour early, but just when I could see the indoor stadium's strange looking dome, our lane was abruptly halted by a cop. An assortment of vehicles, of which I was an integral part, waited patiently for the traffic police to signal it through. Seconds turned into minutes and quiet waiting gave way to the blaring of impatient horns, which the traffic cop handled nonchalantly, seeing as how his profession involves the cultivation of a skin that is at least as thick as that of a well fed water-buffalo. Most faces around sported a look of bewilderment laced with disbelief at their 7:30 AM Sunday drive being so rudely interrupted with no sign of resumption. Only when somebody walked up to the cop did we realise that we had to wait for a political convoy to pass. On realising this, most people resigned to their fate and stopped honking. Everyone in our country is forced to grow water-buffalo skins one way or the other.

On finding a parking space at the Bangalore City Corporation Office, which was strangely empty, my decision to not buy that parking chit was completely vindicated (or so I thought). I jogged to the nearest gate of the stadium while dodging traffic to find a volunteer keenly scrutinising our running bibs. He looked at mine and pointed to a tiny little ‘B’ written in the corner. “Kindly go to Gate-B near Mallya hospital. You’re already late,” he informed. I finally made my way to Gate-B having run a kilometre already! On the bright side, this exercise served as warm up.

The gates were opened in an orderly fashion this time. Luckily for me, gate B opened rather early. In spite of the organisers limiting registration this year, the start line ended up reminding me of an Indian pilgrimage site. The funnel design for the running track was still in vogue and people did end up walking barely 100m after the start line because of crowding. The first kilometre of my race saw me rushing ahead, pushing hard just so that I can get past the sizable mass, which had assembled there that morning just to wave at the television cameras. I kept telling myself that an initial push would serve me well just so that I can get past this chaotic mass, replete with abrupt collisions that some scientist watching overhead could have used to model Brownian motion.

A board nearby announced that I had crossed one kilometre and I could see pockets of space opening up. I was now left running with all the people who had surged past the crowd and were now leading the race. I then proceeded to continue, keeping pace with those around me. I gulped down a glass of Gatorade, which wasn’t mixed properly. I ran alongside this person wearing a T-shirt that claimed he was from the Territorial Army. After a while, he slowed down a little and I surged ahead, looking for other people to run alongside with. I thought I was doing great!

The 4.5 kilometre mark was past and I suddenly started wearing. I pushed on for half a kilometre more and halted at a water point. I drank a little off the bottle and slowed down. There was a niggling pain in my chest that had never been so assertive during my training. The worst part about this pain is that even if I slowed down, it increased, until I had to walk a few paces. Mr Territorial Army man and a host of others I had swaggered past caught up with me and left me far behind. My head was a filled with a sense of bewilderment and disappointment. I thought I’d finish far behind last year’s time, after training so much more. I had done the unthinkable in a long distance race, twice! I walked. The water that I drank earlier was churning in my stomach, sending up burps to rudely interrupt my panting. I had bonked out as Lance Armstrong would call it. 

I convinced myself to salvage whatever I could from the race and slowly pushed on. I started jogging and building up my rhythm, while analysing what could’ve gone wrong. Was it because of the sun’s presence? Was it because I pushed too hard while keeping up with much fitter people? The kilometres ticked away very slowly. I just crossed a board saying 7 km were up.

When I proceeded to the 8^th kilometre, my rhythm was back and my chest pain was gone. A flood of reason came rushing in. I had tired so quickly because of all those 5 km training runs. My body automatically slipped into a pace where I’d be exhausted at the end of 5 km. This, coupled with the other factors that I mentioned before, did me in just after the 5 km mark. After a brief period of rest, I was fine. It was time to finish this race strong. There were people all along the race track cheering runners on with banners like: “After the pain goes away, only the pride remains.” Each time we runners thanked these people, they cheered a little louder, giving us much needed encouragement and little bursts of adrenalin. After the 9 km mark, I picked up pace steadily. With 500 m left, I was sprinting ahead, screaming to myself to get the adrenalin pumping. I finished the last bit of the race strong and checked my watch. I had finished in about 49 min (49:09), which was a huge relief. I missed the quarter of an hour mark by a really long shot, but was better than last year’s 51:44. Any endurance competition is a race against your own self, and every minute gained counts. I finished the race a full 500 m ahead of last year's performance, considering average speed.

The aftermath

On the other side of the finish line, I saw all the people who had done better than me. A man who looked at least 60 years old had finished in 45 min! I respectfully shook his hand, humbled thoroughly. I also congratulated Mr Territorial Army man. Finishing among the front runners (if I could call them that) is a much more humbling experience than it would appear. After the pain goes away, you are left with something much more valuable than pride: humility.   

I slowly ambled back to my two wheeler which I presumed was safely inside the Corporation Office. To my dismay, I saw that it was a little too safe! All the gates to that building were closed, locked and manned by security guards. I asked one of them how I could get out. He told me to try the other gate, though he was wholly pessimistic of my chances. I almost regretted not having purchased that parking pass. I slowly rode to the other gate and on seeing me, the guard manning it saluted. I duly saluted back, which brought upon his face a big smile that reminded me of a child whose relative had just given him a bagful of foreign chocolates! He swung the gate open and I was off. 

I have consistently painted a rosy picture of this event’s organisation thus far. However, when I returned that afternoon to have lunch in the whereabouts of the running track, I noticed that there was a lot of trash left behind on the streets. This was extremely disappointing. Even while organising such enriching events, the corporate world doesn’t think twice before taking its dump on the city’s already weak civic infrastructure. May our buffalo skins grow ever thicker.

I have realised that running is something I should practice around the year rather than the month before these events. When you run at an optimal speed, your body expends as much energy as it can continuously produce, letting you run on and on without tiring. I like to call this wonderful phenomenon The Indefatigable Rhythm. I never feel more alive than when I hit this rhythm. Running in the mornings also ensures that one stays amazingly vital for the remainder of the day. I was also untouched by the usual bouts of sneezing or the running nose that Bangalore keeps giving me. I have decided to intersperse running, cycling and yoga into an exercise schedule that I should follow. Let us see how that shapes up.

  

World 10K Bangalore

All the hype and hoopla that surrounded the street marathon named, "TCS World 10-K, Bangalore" seems to have come and gone already by the time I type this out. I'll put my thoughts on virtual paper before they vanish into the oblivious recesses of my memory.

Firstly, the name itself is a piece of work. It somehow reminds me of the saying, "World famous in Bangalore."

The registration procedure involved filling a form on-line that would have passport applications pale in comparison to its length. After wrestling with several pages, one has to deal with the agony of server malfunctions and Captcha stubbornness until your lucky stars finally see you through.

Prior to the run, we were to pick up our running numbers and goody bags from the National Games Village in Koramangala. The organisers had strategically located in the middle of an exhibition that sold expensive merchandise tweaked a little to be passed off as sporty. They deliberately placed the counters quite deep inside this customer-trapping maze with its twists, turns and pretty sales girls.

The powers had hired a bunch of Bengaluru youngsters to deal with the registration. It seemed to me that they were instructed to reply in English no matter what. After repeated attempts at trying to enquire in Kannada, I settled for broken English replies.

The face to face registration process, contrary to its on-line prelude, was extremely well organised. We got out to receive our "goody bags" less than 10 minutes after our entering the auditorium.

The term "goody bag" is placed in quotes for a reason. I'd expected at least a use and throw T-shirt. Instead I was met with the following items. I've tried to put them in the ascending order of their awesomeness.

1. Volini pain relief cream sachets (Very logical)

2. Quaker Oats Porridge mix (This truly was No 2)

3. Revitalate Protein ( "PDCAAS Score of 1.0" it says)

3. Tetley Tea Satchet (Tied for 3rd position)

5. Sugar Free Gold (Its all downhill from here folks!)

6. Hippo Round Round Cheese Munchies (To maintain the Calorie Balance)

7. Itchmosol Anti Itch Cream ( An itch in time saves nine seconds)

8. GoodKnight Mosquito Repellant ( With moisturising protein pearls)

9. Gatsby Water Gloss hair gel (Heading the list of male targeted cosmetics)

10. EverYuth Menz Oxy Active Face Wash

11. EverYuth Menz Face Scrub (Extra Skin Care for Men) *Flinches*

12. Polycrol Xpress Relief Antacid

13. Revital Senior (Whoa!)

14. Revital Women (As if No 13 wasn't bad enough)

15. A bag full of Piramal Healthcare medicines

16. VLCC Fairness Facewash for Men (Racists! The worst product by a mile, 10km rather)

They probably expected a predominantly male population with the average age of 65 to participate. Moreover, after they have the fairer sex eating off their hands, these cosmetic honchos are after our virility. I rest my case.

Anyway, the run happened on the morning of last Sunday. The relevant enthusiastic junta skipped their Sunday morning slumber to turn up at the Kanteerava stadium in hordes. I thought that the crowd was managed pretty decently.

But that illusion only lasted until it was time to start. When that hour was nigh, the seemingly civilised, docile folks of Bangalore unleashed the beasts within. All manners of acrobatics were employed in scaling the chain link fences that separated them from the start line and before you knew it, the whole stadium's inhabitants flooded the running track. Open defiance of baffled security guards ensued. There was also the friendly pat administered with police lathis on unsuspecting, well endowed bottoms whose owners had overestimated their ability to scale chain link fences in the spur of that exciting moment.

The aforementioned flood burst out of the gates of the Kanteerava stadium, like a river in spate, after the start whistle was blown. Unfortunately, the track seemed to narrow into a bottleneck during the first hundred metres or so and most of us were left standing behind the inching horde, the clock ticking mercilessly away.

This traffic jam of human bodies continued to affect spirited runners. There was no clear running path for two whole kilometres owing to walkers, standers and other undesirables. It is a frustrating sight where people who register to run 10 whole kilometres start walking after a mere 100 metres or so, just outside the stadium.

Two kilometres saw the horde diffuse away and the roads open up for people to run at their desired pace. Frequent water points with tiny bottles were present at regular intervals. However, they had dustbins right beside the serving table. It was beyond the organisers' fertile imagination to think that some people might want to continue running with bottles in their hands. Hence, there were no dustbins to be seen till the next water point was at hand. The most irritating sight, however, was that of some people who defiantly chucked their finished water bottles far away, giving themselves the arrogant air of superior beings wholly indifferent to the lesser folks who have to clean up later.

On the brighter side, there were a couple of percussion crews drumming up support for the runners passing by. There were some people on the streets who selflessly cheered the runners on. Having thought that the country sorely lacked the ability to encourage anything to do with the appreciation of true sport, I was not as disappointed as I thought I'd be.

The running itself progresses through various degrees of panting. It starts of with normal nasal breathing and progresses to panting with increasing frequency until it hits a saturation rate. This state of equilibrium took about 4 km to reach and stayed with me for the rest of the race. After about 7 km, the body falls into such a wonderful rhythm that it seems to be able to run in that pace forever while your mind screams out, "Bring it on!"

Somewhere around the 7 km mark, while passing alongside the Chinnaswamy stadium, I happened to run past this yellow shirted guy with shades who quite resembled Rahul Bose. Any doubts that the instinct threw up as to his true identity was mercilessly crushed by the rationale which reasoned that Rahul Bose was much fitter than I was and he'd never give me the opportunity to outrun him. I'd half-a-mind to scream out "Rahul Bose lookalike" at the man in question, but nothing of that sort happened.

Running through the Cubbon Park and Vidhana Soudha on this cloudy morning whose weather was all but perfect for the activity, one couldn't help but think how beautiful Bangalore really is without its bustling traffic. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't seen it in the proper light. This image, however, was continuously dented by each of the plastic bottles that some uncouth being threw away to litter the beautiful lawns of Cubbon Park. So much for it having been The World Environment Day.

Finally, it was 1 km to the finish. I had vaguely remembered that the finish line was inside the Kantaeerava Stadium's running track. I pushed on in the final kilometre and was surprised to see quite a few people sprinting past me even before the stadium's entrance was in sight. The road then turned into the stadium. Surprise! Staring at me, hidden from view by the turn, was the finish line. I was only around 10 m away and was aghast as I'd stored some energy for the final sprint. I finished the race in 51 mins and 44 seconds, feeling a little foolish that I didn't sprint the last part. The people in charge could've done well to give us boards that announced, "200m left" and, "100m left" etc. instead of this sudden termination.

The aftermath saw me navigate through a small line and pick up a few refreshments along with a neat little medal that was given to everyone that finished. I then roamed around, seeking Chinmaya who'd come along with me on that glorious morning. On reuniting, we proceeded to rest and kill time for a while, criticising the lack of drinking water after the finish line. When I decided that it was time to go, I asked him if he'd collected his medal. On his claiming absolute ignorance in the matter, I showed him my medal. It turns out that the aforementioned small line had swelled to a huge size by now. After finishing the race in about an hour, I ended up waiting for another so that he could collect his black painted trinket. The passage of this hour was made easier by finding some old friends leading me to bask in the petty glory of knowing a significant number of people in this random sample of Bangalore's fitness frenzied.

On returning home, I was met with a family that had had glued its eyes to the television diligently in hopes of sighting the spirited youngster of their household. Instead, they were given a huge dose of this film actor called Rahul and his foreign reporter friend. I casually asked if this Rahul happened to wear a yellow shirt to which my mother replied in the affirmative. The memory of having seen a freaky haired foreigner for whom Rahul Bose's lookalike had seemed to be waiting for, put to rest a lot of unanswered questions.

I'd initially thought that I'd be able to pull the feat off in forty five minutes. I'd planned to give the event one week's training until I managed to sleep through every morning in the hopes of starting the next, until the big day dawned. Next time, I'll look to train and keep my three quarters of an hour hopes up while keeping goody bag content hopes down.