2:03:13.30

Marine drive was beautiful, the balmy sea breeze blowing across the wide promenade with the shining sequined blanket of the Arabian sea winking like the Aldis lamps of old...wishing luck. In hindsight large parts of the half marathon route were spectacular in their majesty and scenery: Marine Drive, passing the tomb of Haji Ali, past Brabourne Stadium and the Hilton Oberoi, not to mention some of the fellow runners who were present.

One of two incredible sights were that of a physically disabled man on crutches walking the half marathon! Courage. The second sight was the one straight out of the Standard Chartered TV advertisement where two men are running a distance run through a desert...one of them is completely blind (wearing dark shades) and being led by his partner. They are running at a fair clip too. Those same two guys were there...running the half marathon with us. When I was on my 7th kilometre, they were going past the 14 km mark on the other side of the track....if ever there was a sight that made you feel awe, then whisper to yourself, "damn..." or something to that effect, this was it. I was beginning to feel my legs just a little then so I couldn't divert enough of my attention to fully absorbing that spectacular scene. However, its something that will remain with me for a long time.

But going back to the start, everything in the build up to the run was near perfect. I got a decent night's rest, ate the right things the previous day, woke up at just the right time (thanks Mom for the wake up call!), felt good when I put on my clothes, reached the start point nicely warmed up and lose and I could "feel" the glide in my step as the holding area opened to let us through. When I say "feel" I mean just that: its an indescribable yet all to familiar sensation that most sports people would have encountered: you walk on to the course and as you push your tee in, you can feel that today is going to be good, the captain throws you the ball and you instinctively grip it to see what it feels like and you say "yeah..." its that simple and that important. I've felt that way a few times before and it was pure head rush stuff to feel that way again as we went past the start point at Victoria Terminus.

After the initial jostling, pushing, being stepped on from behind and watching enthusiastic runners sprint past on the first of 21.9 Kms, I settled into a good rythm which was to last almost throughout. My biggest worry going into the run was the ability to gauge time and speed. I wasn't wearing a watch and was relying on my ability gauge my speed versus the distance I was covering. And old truths always are borne out aren't they? Practice paid and I paced myself to the absolute tee, averaging 10 kms / hour throughout. I can't say I intentionally sped up or knew when to, I went more with instinct and allowed my body and legs to dictate when to push and when to go easy. There were a couple of moments, first around the 13 km mark and then the 18 km mark when I thought I had really fallen off the pace but both times, I was wrong. The only time that doubt mingled with that other siren fatigue was at the 19 km mark: that 1 km cost me a good 3 - 4 minutes more where I would have given the earth, the sky, oh just take anything but let me sit down, sip some water and close my eyes...but I didn't. I saw the 20 km mark in the distance somehow, despite running on vapours found the legs to speed up. The finish was a high with a 500 metre sprint, Nelly Furtado pushing me on with "forca" in my ears and as big a smile as I could manage which soon broke into a huge grin as I approached the finish line and saw the clock.

I decided 4 months ago to do this. Along the way, there were doubts, fatigue, worn shoes, sores, shoe bites, anger, more doubts, disappointments, wavering of focus but at the end of the day, "the race was long and in the end, only with myself".

I finished 21.9 km as # 438 overall with a time of 2 hrs 03 minutes & 3.30 seconds.

2008

I have often wondered at the impact and necessity of symbolism in our world and lives but I have come to realize, with age that symbolisms are as important in our lives as the very air we breathe: they are the proud and bold flags waving stiffly in the breeze of our beliefs, hopes, dreams and ideals. They come to represent new beginnings and reemphasize our values as a society, as a people, as humans. Indeed, we would be far poorer without them.

And so I think it appropriate that I bow in welcome to this new beginning, symbolic though it may be: hola 2008.

The New Year has brought with it a whiff of fresh air, as real as it is imagined. A renewed vigour can be felt to plough the fields and bend the back that much harder and with diligence. Aware that there are several challenges, some known and some yet unseen & unheard, 2008 brings with it the strength and belief to take these in stride; to enjoy the moments that are enjoyable, to learn from those that may hold lessons, to count the blessings and silver linings when gloom gathers.

Every year seems like it will be a watershed one, where I feel the mist might lift a touch and one can see a few extra metres down the road, maybe glimpse the green grass, tulips, mead and good times that lie ahead. I hold no such expectations of 2008. What I hope for is to be happy and, in my own humble way, try and walk the ideals and values I so cherish and yet find so hard to be one with.

Mommy Mommy he called me a Monkey!

Incredibly, Ricky Ponting's Australians, at their self righteous worst went crying first to Blind Benson and then, ostensibly wiping tears from their eyes went to match referee Mike Procter, all the time pointing a finger at Harbhajan Singh.

If one were to recreate the conversation between the grieving Aussies and Procter:

Ricky Ponting, " Uncle Mike Uncle Mike!"

MP: Yes yes my poor child ricky...what happened? Why are you crying? And why is Andrew so sad?

RP: That sonafabit*h Bhajji ...the basta*d, he had the nerve to call Andrew something racist!

MP: What?? A brown guy insulting another coloured guy in a white team with a racist remark?? How can that ever happen? Its an insult to mankind! What exactly did he say?

RP: Umm...well he's a dirty basta*d you see uncle so we don't get too close to him but I think he called dear sweet mild mannered andrew here a monkey"

MP: What??! How dare he? Lets make sure never does it again. Do you have any proof he said that?

RP: yes yes Haydos here is also sure he heard something racist too. That's proof enough isn't it? The word of 3 Australians against 1 Indian? And I would suggest banning him for the rest of the tour so he can't keep getting me out uncle mike!!

MP: Done ricky done!
*************

I think I am just another of the MILLIONS ( that's how much this episode has touched Indians around the globe) who are outraged by: 1. The sheer gall Ricky Ponting and the Australian team had to complain about something said on the field 2. The incredible lack of sportsmanship displayed by Ponting, Clarke and Symonds throughout this match 3. By the ban served on Harbjahan Singh based purely on the word of 2 other Aussies, ONE of whom would probably go to great lengths not to play him in another match for a while.

As a cricket lover, I am distraught and I think every single Australian cricket fan too needs to be distraught. The days of Steve Waugh, Mark Taylor, Ian Healy and Border are gone. They seem like a dream compared to what we see today. Australian cricket: good bye and good luck. It'll take a lot for me to respect you guys again. You can win all over the world, but oh please don't ever expect any respect from us Indians again. And the next time you tour here, don't expect too many bouquets because honestly even us timid, servile, adoring Indian fans who let you come here, sing and dance in songs, cut ribbons, pose next to advertisements; even we are sick of you, at your hypocritical ways, at your incredible lack of playing the game the right way and at your brazenness when confronted.

Over and out Australian Cricket.

(cross posted on Life's a Pitch)