Man From Matunga

This would have been my 5^th con­tin­u­ous half-marathon. I am reg­is­tered, have a bib, but can’t run…I have a com­mit­ment in another city that is even more important!

If it was just another run (and there are so many of them these days), it wouldn’t have mattered…the Mum­bai Marathon has now mor­phed into some­thing big­ger than “just another race”.

It doesn’t mat­ter how many half-marathons or marathons you may have par­tic­i­pated in through­out the year in India. When you are part of a col­lec­tive whoosh like the Mum­bai event, the high that you get from just being part of the sea of peo­ple that makes its way from the start-point to the end, is worth all the effort…it doesn’t mat­ter whether you stum­ble, walk or run…the glow that envelopes you when you breast the fin­ish line, despite the pain and the mus­cle aches, lasts for a good few days more. It’s an endor­phin high that crack addicts inject them­selves daily for!

The run itself has its own rhythm. The start, when we are all fresh and enthu­si­as­tic, the mid­dle drudge por­tion when we pass Wil­son col­lege and then the final seg­ment that starts the moment we take a left turn from Marine Drive. That’s when we know, with just about a kilo­me­ter left, that we will make it, come what may. The count­down to the fin­ish starts when we take the next left turn onto D N Road…about 300 meters down the road looms the fin­ish line…people in front of us fin­ish with their arms held high, mak­ing sure the cam­eras cap­ture their bib numbers…and then dis­ap­pear into the crowd beyond.

As we approach the end and see the large clock timer, we try and speed up in the last 200 meters, hop­ing to bet­ter our time some­how in that short period, even if we are not focused on our pace…and then, it’s over!

Some peo­ple walk away imme­di­ately. I stay back, and try and stretch on the wall on the left and take in the energy. Every­one who fin­ishes has a look of accom­plish­ment …of hav­ing achieved some­thing big­ger than oneself…of hav­ing done some­thing dif­fer­ent that day. Peo­ple do jigs, hug each other, give high-fives and then hob­ble towards the med­ical tent or try and get inside the hold­ing area. When we finally walk away, we see oth­ers like us, still wear­ing their bibs…despite being total strangers there is an instant know­ing smile or gri­mace and an intu­itive acknowl­edge­ment that binds us together for that brief moment!

Run­ning on the SeaLink has also changed the run’s pro­file. The first year it was thrown open, it was amaz­ing to see the sun rise on our left…there were non-runners with cam­eras who had reg­is­tered just so that they could get to walk across the SeaLink and take pictures.

The first time I ran in Jan 2008, I man­aged an unpre­pared under-3 hours that left me stiff as a board for the next 3 days. The next year I ran a slow 3 hours and 15 min­utes, walk­ing most of the times…I had trained badly. For the next two runs, I was bet­ter pre­pared and the last one was my best…easy and smooth and accord­ing to plan. This year would have been even better!

Do your­self a favor! Be part of the event next Sun­day! You could still per­haps get a bib for char­ity. Or you can be on the side­lines, cheer­ing. One way or the other you will have the plea­sure of being part of a ter­rific col­lec­tive event that hap­pens but once a year in our city!