How (not) to run a marathon

This post, much like the rest of me, is terribly late. This seems to be marathon season, full marathons, half marathons, 24, triathlons, 24. Except for marathons of the 24 variety, of which I am a veteran, I admire the tenacity and discipline marathoners of the physical exertion variety display, whether it is for a cause or simply to prove a point to themselves.

A recent case in point is my sister who just completed her first half marathon.

Most women, particularly Indian women tend to use childbirth as an excuse to lay off exercise and conveniently blame children for their being unable to shed weight (I know I'm going out on a limb and being very stereotypical here, apologies to all hurt feelings). This, in many cases, is a valid and true fact - one that I find very sexist since men cannot use the same excuse for not losing weight. I digress. My sister has always been an oddball fitness freak of nature in the BBC household (BBC for those who are wonder what it is, stands for Bala's Belly Corporation, an affectionate nickname my father had when in school). So it comes no surprise that this freak was the one to complete said marathon. Kudos to her and I find myself sadly short of words that adequately describe how I feel.

You know what I think about marathon runners? They're nuts, dumb, don't know the ways of the world. Don't get me wrong, but there are marathons that are run and marathons that are participated in. Most marathoners fall into the former category, yours truly falls in the latter. That, I believe, is the smart way to do it. Sure, with the right training, one can run the whole distance, but what if one does not have to run, but still finishes the marathon? So how does one participate without the road runner act? Simple, take an auto rickshaw for part of the way.

Allow me to explain. When I was in school, we were required to run a torturous 10km run every morning come rain or snow (unfortunately snow never came to Lovedale, but rain did come, in bucket loads). The route was as circuitous as it gets. We'd have to start off from Top Flats and literally patrol the school campus and come back via Junior School to Senior School. Now, the distance from Top Flats to Senior School is 500 metres, why one would take a 10km route in the first place was beyond me, but no one listened to me. The genius in me, on this occasion, was suppressed. That, however, did not stop it altogether.

A group of around 6-7 of us would amble along at the very end of the crowd making sure no boy is left behind, wounded or otherwise eaten by a passing leopard. In a gratitude-less world, this free, selfless service was rewarded with reprimand from KB, the physical instructor. However, reprimands never stopped us from doing what we loved, service to society, so this happened every morning.

One day, said genius had an epiphany. Every morning we pass the school garages and the school auto rickshaw would just be starting off on its daily milk run. Why not save the environment a little bit by taking a ride on an otherwise empty auto rickshaw? So we all piled in. We would have travelled the sum total of 549 metres when the vehicle was stopped, by none other than KB. What's worse, the checkpoint was right outside my house.

Like most teachers, KB had lost his sense of humour and ability to recognise genius somewhere around year 33 of his career. Needless to say, he did not take kindly to our little act of innovation and we were made to kneel down for half an hour, outside my house. It was a case of so close yet so far.

So, I ask my sister, you were the clever one in our family (and I've always been the black sheep), pray, why didn't you take an auto rickshaw on your half marathon? Shortage of 'ricks in your part of the US of A?

Nevertheless Saumya, I'm proud of your achievement (despite running like everyone else in the marathon)!