Current Events

Lucky 13

PARDEEP SINGH NAGRA

Sikhs abhor superstitions, omens and so-called ‘lucky’ or ‘unlucky’ numbers. I suppose that is why we grow up not afraid of, for example, the number ‘13’ and actually embrace it.

Well, add me to that list! Last Sunday I participated in the Toronto Waterfront Marathon ... my 13th marathon. 

I would have preferred to write this article on Sunday, or even Monday for that matter, but the aches and pains were just a bit too much to handle, not counting the migraines from the euphoria withdrawal.

The training leading up to this year’s marathon was expected to be my most structured and best. After all, I had promised myself last year when I ran the same marathon that it would be my last (2nd last, actually because I was hoping to qualify for the Boston).

The 16-24 weeks of training and the distances covered were just starting to pass the tolerance threshold for me, both physically and mentally, not to mention the time commitment. When I barely crossed the finish line at 3 hours 18 minutes, it was devastating, I missed my Boston qualifier mark by 3 minutes, I needed 3:15h.

There was a silver lining, though, in that as I am older, I am stepping into the next age bracket and thus I would need to finish within 3:25h to qualify for Boston if I were to run again.

Oh yes, the mind games have started. Okay, I say to myself, one more time, please; I am so close and if I can just repeat the time I’ve already done, next time I’m in. I “promised” to start training more and earlier. Little did I know that it would be the worst and most challenging training season for me!

First of all, I didn’t start earlier as I was engrossed in the opening of the Sikh Heritage Museum of Canada Gallery in Mississauga which consumed every minute and ounce of energy from January through April this year. May wasn’t helpful either, as we commemorated the centenary of the Komagata Maru.

So much for the ambitious plans!

As I mentioned, I also expected to train more (4 days a week instead of 3 for the first 3 months). Well, that only lasted 3 weeks as every part of my body resisted the scheme. For the first time in my life I got shin splints because of it. Things could not get worse, could they?

Off to Gurmit’s shop to pick up the protein powder for training. Ironically, the name of his shop could’ve been my motto: "Second Chance Health Shoppe”.

When I finally got my training back on course, news came that the Sikh Heritage Museum of Canada was selected to take its Komagata Maru exhibit across Canada as part of the National Exhibition and Lecture Series. The planning started in earnest in the summer months and by September it was full steam ahead.

Add to that, the events around the centennial of the First World War and the Sikh role in it.

September demanded the most commitment to the training as it required me to peak to 35 kilometer runs every weekend. Yet here I was busy the first weekend of September getting Nanaki and Sahib ready for the beginning of the school year. The second weekend was spent in England, the third in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and the fourth in Toronto for our exhibition, “A Call to Flanders: Sikhs in the Great War.”

October 1 saw me leave for Calgary and Edmonton … and so ended my Summer and began Fall.

This was crazier than my worst nightmare. I picked up my race kit on Friday last … and reignited my training schedule!

Sunday, October 19 has finally arrived.

I wake up at 6 and my nerves are through the roof, my self talk doesn’t do much to calm them down. I arrive at the start-line for the marathon, and get to my corral 5 minutes before the race starts. I beeline it to the pace bunny who is holding up a sign that says 3:05 continuous. I talk to him and he says he is going to go steady for the 42.2 km race. I said okay, I will try to pace with him at least to the halfway mark of 21k.

In my previous runs, I had paced with the 1:30 half bunny and had proved successful. The thought of banking time is not good in a long race, you usually tank or crash at the end.

The horn sounds and the race starts. I quickly follow in line with the 3:05 pace bunny, the first k feels good. As we make a couple of turns through the 2nd and 3rd k, the pace line is not straight. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a runner to my right with the yellow hat and bunny ears, holding up a sign. Good, I say to myself, right with the pace bunny! I am feeling good about the pace, very smooth so far.

A couple of kilometers later when I actually look up and forward, to my surprise I notice the pacer I had been following is the 1:30, the wrong one. Though it makes me feel good, I slow down a bit and keet myself between the 1:30 half and 3:05 full pacers.

At the 12k marker there is a PowerGel station and for the first time in my running career I take it instead of water or Gatorade. It turns out to be both refreshing and helpful.

On I go, passing the halfway mark (never looking at the time) into the 23-26k loop. I start to feel heavy and tired and start slowing down. A race official standing near a timing station in the loop shouts out to me to open my hands and relax as my hands are in a hard fist position (my natural way of running, which is counter productive).

I tell myself to relax, my pace picks up, but just as quickly I go back into my natural fist position. On my way back through the loop, once again I am reminded to open my hands, and once again I do.

This time around, I engage in a continuous self talk to stay relaxed and keep my hands open.

At 26k the 3:05 pace bunny and his posse pass me. As soon as I see them, I quickly tag behind.

More self talk. This time I tell myself, just hang on as long as possible, and at 27k guess, what! Another PowerAid station. The timing couldn't be better. I hang on with the 3:05 group until the 32k marker (it is known as the Wall in marathon parlance where most runners “hit the wall”). As we make the last turn to be on our way back, it is now just me and the finish line.

More self talk, be relaxed, just keep the legs moving (the worst thing in a marathon is to stop because the legs cramp up very easily). 34k, 35k, 37k, getting closer to the finish but the legs are paining, and in fact the energy level is so low that I am getting disoriented and almost hallucinating. At the 38k marker I argue with myself, just get to the finish line and stop this nonsense of running marathons, let alone trying to qualify for Boston.

The 39k and 40k markers cannot come fast enough for me, I am struggling to keep my feet moving. I am fighting it harder than ever; if I have a chance it is through just keeping my feet moving.

I still have never looked at the race time, I have no clue what my time is, I am now just here to finish the race. Less than 2k left, less than 1k left, the problem is, it is slightly uphill to the finish. How cruel.

With 400 meters left the crowds are cheering, I try putting on the afterburners, but the only thing burning are my legs. To tell you the truth, I actually think I am slowing down. Less than 50 meters and I for the first time look up at a race clock, the finish line race clock, and it is reading 3:09.

Are you kidding me? Boston, here I come!

I cross the finish line with arms wide open, get my medal, and get a body warmer cape put on me. I have the Fauja feeling (“The older I get, the faster my time“).

Now the hardest part, getting to the car. My legs have completely seized up, my hamstrings are knotted, I am in trouble. I try to take a short cut, but get told that access is only for race officials and volunteers. I am pissed, half way to my car I collapse as my legs are not moving nor can I stand on them. I need and get medical aid.

Two nurses help alleviate the knots in the hamstrings and I can take half of a baby step at a time. I eventually get to the car and get help paying for my parking fee and start to drive back home.

Then, I remember: there is a display case I am interested in for the Museum, and I will be passing the shop right on the way. I give them a quick call and tell them I cannot get out of the car. They are kind enough to bring it out to me and put it into the back of my car (I have parked across the street) and I pay them on the spot.

When I finally reach home, mom is waiting with a big smile, hug and kiss. I am physically exhausted but emotionally ecstatic. I just lay for a few hours as my body will not move and my eyes will not shut.

It doesn't take long before I start planning for the Winnipeg exhibition this coming weekend, and the oncoming Remembrance Day in a couple of weeks.

I got my first running bug 13 years ago in 2001 when I saw an ad for the Disney World Marathon in support of the Canadian Arthritis Society. As I am a sucker for charitable and humanitarian causes, I jumped on board the Joints in Motion program and ran my first marathon. And I got to meet Mickey!

The 13 years since have been equally packed. I kept my running spirit up and never failed to try, no matter the situation. But every year, including this one, I always gave life and worldly duties priority over running.

This year, someone must have been watching over me and said … this is it!


The author is the Executive Director of the Sikh Heritage Museum of Canada.

October 22, 2014
 

read other articles in Current Events