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Bombay 2006 - Race Report
Somewhere around 35k things started to go wrong. We were back on Marine Drive but this time it was hot and it was an endless road stretching into the distance. The were fewer runners around now as the pack had dispersed and nobody was talking much. I could no longer carry on running. Even the water stations had dried up. Id pulled my cap down so I could only see the next 10 yards; I'd even started counting like Paula Radcliffe (the British long-distance runner). 'The Doubt', as Eddie Merx had termed it, was winning. I crouched up in a feotal ball and felt the relief in my legs as the muscles were able to assume a different position. I don't remember much about the next few kms other than the fact that I didn't give a shit much about the marathon any more. The intensity of smell and colour, of health and of wealth that is India can be very stimulating. But when you're down on your knees it has a habit of surrounding you in a hostile way. As I was passing a gymkana (sports club) somebody was burning a pile of rubbish. I openly cursed him. What am I doing here? And who do I think I am?
At around 39k we turned back into the Victorian city. The walk/jog was replaced by steady light running as my spirits lifted immediately. But the prospect of another 4km was still a heavy burden to bear.
Imagine my absolute, delirious delight as I read a sign that read 500m to go. I laughed out loud. I didn't know what to do at first. Then I did. And at 300m I started to run as fast as I could. The crowds (who had thinned out certainly) started to clap and cheer again. It certainly felt like sprinting, although probably didn't look much like it.
And there on the line were the Glacon crew and a man with a medal. But suprising little emotion. Pleasure and relief, yes. But not the tears I had expected. Maybe the finish had taken me by suprise. There were a large crowd of locals wanting to shake hands and take pictures, but also a slight feeling that the show was already over.
But I didn't mind a bit. I instantly knew that my achievement was something I'd be able to carry with me and reflect on at any time. There was beer, of course, and good food that evening. But I was extremely tired.
The next morning I arose from the bath a different person. Physically I looked different; leaner, I looked abit like a runner. And so it was that I made my way gingerly but happily to the cyber cafe to let the world know about my experiences in brief. Only to have everything unhinged by the news about Phil. One time colleague, close friend and, for the past two years, neighbour.
Me and Phil had travelled to north-west India six years ago. Our trip had been a life-changing one for me. But on occassions Phil had seemed disconnected from the people and the places around him. Filling in the blanks now I realise that it wasn't indifference or arrogance but just a deep sadness. Phil had a wonderful sense of duty towards his friends and he was so very humorous, intelligent and much more. But some force inside him would on occassion consume him and eventually enabled him to take his own life.
I wondered: if I could have persauded him to step out on those cold winter evenings in Yorkshire and run along side him up Malabar Lines. If he could have ran alongside Rajah's sandals and seen the pride and dignity in that young man's eye's would it have made a difference? Perhaps.
Or perhaps not. Maybe we're just lucky. Lucky to be able to start the race. And lucky that we have the will to want to finish it.
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