Apologies
my dear readers, for the unannounced quiescence of the past few weeks.
Some exciting developments at work and the insalubrious consuetude of
viewing Lost, the popular television series, till I am goggle-eyed every
evening have seduced me away from the blogosphere. But I return with
exciting news and stories to share of races run and medals won.
I
refer to the annual Cape Ann 25K run – my first running race ever! Set
in scenic Cape Ann, a rocky peninsula that overlooks the Atlantic, this
race is infamous for a route that comprises 16 crazy hills! Runners make
a 16 mile loop around the entire cape, with spectacular views of the
ocean, the ships, sand beaches and grassy moors along the way. This race
is one of America’s oldest and toughest races and is considered ideal
preparation for runners training for a fall marathon.
And
so most of our team found itself in the tiny northeastern town of
Gloucester that hosts this event, on sunny Labor Day morning. The
pre-run excitement and anticipation was palpable as soon as we arrived
and we were greeted with scores of runners scattered everywhere. Some
were warming up and stretching their muscles while others were
stretching the near endless line for the Porta-Johns even further. Yet
others were securing their race numbers, trying their luck with
registering impromptu, eating bananas, inventorying their ‘Gu’ energy
gel packets or showering their young offspring with affection and
assurances of finishing the race soon. As 9 o’clock approached,
everyone gathered at the starting line and distributed themselves by
their approximate running pace. I found myself somewhere down the middle
– too slow a runner to accompany the well-toned, athletic, seasoned
participants at the front and too swift, as I erroneously assumed, for
the seventy year olds at the rear. A short, sharp blast from the horn
and we were off. We herded down amidst deafening cheers and applause
from the spectators that assembled all along our route.
The first six miles flew by. I challenged the six toughest hills of the
race with ease, fueled by the ardor of those running beside me. Tackling
consecutive uphills in rapid succession was a first for me, so imagine
my surprise when I learnt that I had run them at a pace 1.5 minutes
faster than my normal running pace on flat ground!
The celebrations and merriment of the onlookers filled the air with
exuberance and energy. High school cheerleaders did little jigs and
yelled catchy slogans. A group of musicians delivered enduring beats on
bongos and Djembe drums. Gleeful toddlers strained to free restraining
holds and to run amock in the strangle spectacle unfolding before them.
An old couple offered candy and ice to the runners. Someone played the
stereo. Another set up his hose to shower cooling water on the hot and
sweaty runners as they passed by his front yard. Yet others waved and
hoorayed from their kitchen windows. I was amused and delighted by it
all.
Exhaustion
began to creep in slowly after the seventh mile. I had fallen behind my
young, able-bodied companions and was now running among the suburban
moms. I soon discovered that pushing sleepy baby Jen in a stroller at 7
miles per hour, while scooping up Muttley’s morning edition and calling
the husband to remind him that it is his turn to take junior to the
dentist offers training advantages that are almost impossible to compete
with. In addition, hauling five hungry, reluctant kids to and from
piano or soccer lessons every evening provides significant
cross-training. It is with utmost humility that I inform you, dear
readers, that a couple of miles later the supermoms were little specks
upon the horizon. I now enjoyed the company of the elderly, the same
seventy year olds I had conceitedly placed myself before at the start.
Their placid countenance and cheerful “Come on, you can do it miss” pats
on the back kept me going the next few miles. I had slowed down
considerably due to fatigue augmented by shooting pain in the joints
between the hip and thigh. I still had four miles to go and my
motivation to tackle the remaining hills had near dissolved. Each
succeeding mile seemed to get longer and I took extended walk breaks
between brief spurts of running that required every ounce of motivation
and strength. I was thankful for having caught up with P, my friend and
teammate who had braved this 25K race on a serious ITB injuring she had
been nursing for a week. We kept each other going by lively conversation
and by gazing out at the picturesque grassy moors on either side. It
was indeed beautiful, an emerald expanse interspersed with clear,
aquamarine pools of water, that tumbled into the smooth sand and azure
ocean in the far distance.
Mile
fourteen proved to be the hardest. It awakened the dormant disciple in
me and coaxed me into invoking three hundred different Hindu deities to
bless me with their many arms to get through these last miles. I
negotiated, bribed, prayed and pleaded; I praised their benevolent
nature and I promised to please. My forefathers would have been proud.
When it brought only tears, I turned to other religions least their Gods
be more merciful than my own. I loathed every bit of this mile as we
had left the eye-catching scenery behind and were now back in the grotty
part of town. Since most of the runners had already crossed the finish
line by now, the cheering crowds had retired home. We only had rude
drivers and the town traffic for company and had to stop frequently to
give cars and the commuter train a right of way. P pushed me onward
before I had a chance to act on my desire to stop, catch a ride and go
home.
We
turned a bend at mile fifteen barely able to lift our feet and were
greeted by several of our team mates waiting in anticipation. Seeing us
struggle they quickly surrounded us with encouragement that the end was
very near and advised us to take small steps, lift our feet and our
heads high and to finish strong. We had one last steep hill to go. Our
teammates ran beside us and helped us tackle the famous ‘wicked, crooked
hill’ with renewed vigor. A little beyond, we made our final dash to
the finish line together.
The
Cape Ann run was indeed a very valuable experience. It introduced me to
the characteristic pre-race jitters as well as the energetic race day
atmosphere. It taught me the importance of pacing myself conservatively
so as to not wear out half way into a race. A careful analysis of all my
injuries later revealed how an incorrect running posture had caused
restricted rotation of the spine that impacted my strides and manifested
itself as pain in seemingly unrelated regions. I learnt that I spent
too much time on the ground and it is essential that I raise my calves
higher when I run to reduce the constant impact on the arches and knees.
But most of all it brought home the true value of being part of a
strong, close knit team as I am certain that I would have failed this
race miserably without my teammates’ company, motivation and precious
support.
True
to its reputation, it was a tough race. But at the end of the day, we
were thrilled to have conquered those heart-breaking hills with a
hill-breaking heart! Below are some captures from the day.
