Summer break at school. Neither V nor I are fans of sending the boys to any “character forming summer camps”. No long vacation plans this summer either, which has meant that A1/A2 are at home most of the time. Mom’s visiting for the holidays, so it’s probably good that she gets to see more of them.
Even after accounting for their football/basketball stints and the many hours on the Xbox, there’s still time to kill. A2 is the hyperactive one, and being the voracious reader that he has always been, scours his large bookshelf for anything new and interesting. It’s Friday evening, there is a bandh in the city the next day (library will be shut), so the weekend potentially looms without new books to read. He’s in a phase where’s he’s finished pretty much the entire young adult fiction genre probably twice over, and is re-reading Harry Potter titles in desperation, half a decade after he first raced through the series.
I’ve tried to get him into P.G Wodehouse in the past, he didn’t seem to like it much (I still harbour hopes that he will pick it up again). We all gather around our favourite bookshelf at home, trying to pick out a book from our collection, one that will pique his interest.
And then I see it, the familiar stark white cover with just the name of the book and the author. I tell A2 that he might relate well to this one. Am just about to give him more context on what its about, when I suddenly have a better idea. I read out the opening sentence of the book, aloud:
“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it. ”
A2’s eyes light up as I think it would, we exchange smiles as he takes the novel from me and goes to his favourite reading perch in the balcony.
I was a few years older than him when I first read Catcher In The Rye. An hour or so later, he looks up at me.. my eyebrows go up in inquiry… he nods, says ‘good’ with a smile. Nostalgia overwhelms me, and my eyes well up.
The next day, in a family whatsapp conversation, in response to some mild admonishment from V on the boys not coming with us for a Carnatic concert, A2’s response is on expected lines – ‘I don’t care’, reads his message…. but now, it also comes with a suffix: “#Holden Caulfield”
(I can almost visualise him grinning with glee while typing that hashtag)
The most famous account of teenage angst and rebellion ever written in the history of English fiction, has just found another generation.
Mr. Spock intersected my life over two phases, separated by about two decades. The first phase, like many of my generation, was via the Sunday sermons that I spent the whole week waiting for – the 10.30-11.30 AM slot every Sunday morning was religiously devoted to watching him and the other crew members of Starship Enterprise navigate the galaxy on their exciting adventures.
Apart from being deeply fascinated and influenced by his logical and emotion-less approach to everyone and everything, I also had a quirky personal connection. My abnormally large-sized ears (they probably looked even larger on my 12-year-old-self) prompted an uncle to anoint me with the same sobriquet as the Vulcan. Even though it was a source of much mirth for others in the family, I was secretly very thrilled to be called by this nickname.
The second time Spock shaped my thinking, albeit in an indirect sort of way, was in my thirties. That was when I was sorting out where I stood on matters of faith, belief, etc. Among all the literature that I read on the subject at the time, one article has been lasting in its impact – an essay by this gent who calls himself Mr. Lizard.
Mr. Spock features prominently in this piece. In a way, it was fitting that he had a role in leading me to my atheist affirmation.
You Lived Long And Prospered, Mr. Spock. RIP.
<pic credit: @lillie_80 on Twitter>
I have quoted an excerpt from the above mentioned essay in one of my earlier posts, but it’s worth reproducing here in full. Superb read.
More Fictional Than Thou
Presented for your consideration: Two gentlemen, both with what one might term a mild delusion — they are deeply involved with people who don’t exist. Both spend a lot of money on this obsession. Both can recite, at length, the putative words, thoughts, and deeds of their fictional obsessions. Both have allowed the ideals expressed by these non-existent beings to shape their lives, and both proudly proclaim their allegience in a sect of followers. Despite this odd obsession, both men hold down jobs, have families, pay taxes, and commit no more than trivial crimes, such as jaywalking, or speeding, or ripping the tags off of mattresses.
One of these men, though, has a serious problem — he won’t acknowledge the fictious nature of his fantasy friend. The other one has no such difficulty distinguishing between reality and fantasy.
Yet, in our society, the former is considered normal and healthy — while the latter is, at best, a figure of mockery, at worst, a reviled outcast.
The former man, you see, is a ‘Christian’, and the fictious being he admires is called ‘God’. The latter is a ‘Trekker’ and his fictional focus is called ‘Mr. Spock’.
Neither God nor Mr. Spock exist. Both are creations of the imagination. There is no such thing as being ‘slightly fictitious’ — a thing, or a person, either exists, or it does not. God does not exist, making him as fictional as Spock, Fox Mulder, Tom Sawyer, Hamlet, Bart Simpson, or President Clinton’s ethical standards.
There are many people in our society obsessed with fictions. Any college library will have scholarly journals, many of which have been published for years, which contain endless articles analyzing the psychology and behavior of people who don’t exist, from Huck Finn to Hamlet to, of course, Yahweh. No one would blink at someone with a bumper sticker reading ‘God Is My Co-Pilot’. Many people attempt to solve moral dilemmas by asking themselves, “What would Jesus do?”
A teenager who professes a strong faith in ‘Jesus Christ’ is likely to find societal approval. Even if he comes from a Jewish, Muslim, etc, family, he will easily find a community to support him. And while his parents might disapprove of his beliefs, even disown him, neither they nor society will doubt his sanity — even though Jesus Christ (as the Son of God, not a loudmouthed Jew hippie) doesn’t exist. Not at all. Not one tiny little bit.
But change Jesus to Spock — or Sheridan, or Mulder, or Megatron — and you suddenly have a ‘geek weirdo’ who might well need therapy for his ‘unhealthy obsession’. A teen who spends all his free time studying the Bible, the Torah, or the Koran is usually admired for his peity, at least by adults;a teen who spends all his time studying “The Star Wars Encyclopedia” is considered unhealthy at best.
Given how unhealthy and destructive religious beliefs are, you would think fandom would be lauded and praised. No fan of Star Trek ever went to court to demand that warp drive theory be given ‘equal time’ with the theory of Relativity, as Creationists have done with Evolution. No matter how vicious the Internet flame wars between fans of Star Wars and Star Trek, no one has yet been burnt at the stake for heresy. Not even the most fanatical follower of Mr. Spock would voluntarily limit himself to sex once every seven years (if the opportunity for more frequent matings ever arose), yet thousands of followers of Jesus voluntarily suppress the most fundemental, basic, human urge for their entire lives. Some women even claim to be the BRIDES of this fictional being, living forever in an unconsummated relationship with a man who does not exist. Compared to that, two Trekkers getting married in Klingon garb is postively wholesome. At least the ‘Klingons’ will probably have sex at some point.
Religion is needed to inspire men to do good deeds? If a man chooses pacifism because Yoda said that anger is the path to the dark side, rather than because Jesus told him to turn the other cheek, is he any less of a pacifist? Marcus Welby undoubtedly inspired many to become doctors;Perry Mason, many to become lawyers. The usefulness of incarnate ideals to serve as our guides and inspirations is beyond doubt — but there is grave danger when we forget these incarnations are just the creations of other men.
Is it a waste of time and resources to buy ‘Darth Maul’ style toy lightsabres (Toys R Us was sold out last night…Waaah! I had to settle for the poster) or painstakingly catalog every color variation on ‘Batman’ action figures? Perhaps — but consider how much waste has been done in the name of the gods. Imagine if all the medevial toilers who built the cathedrals of Europe had instead built roads and bridges and mills and forges. If the tens of thousands enslaved to build the pyramids had instead been permitted to build themselves better houses. If all those who spent their lives memorizing vast amounts of religious litany had instead used that incredible brain power to create new things, rather than simply preserve the old?
Is there a difference between a ‘Darth Vader Lives!’ bumper sticker and a plastic Jesus on the dashboard? Both are icons declaring a faith. The buttons and bumper stickers of the geek are akin to yamulkes and crucifixes — they identify your religion to the world.
The only difference, really, is that we know the dates of creation of Mr. Spock and Darth Vader, and the names of their creators. We don’t know the name of the first person to make up the story of Adam and Eve, but that doesn’t make it any less made up. All gods are stories, and all stories have an author, even if his or her name is lost to us forever.
So believe if you must. Call your God Yahweh or Spock, call your Devil Darth or Satan;it’s no skin off my nose either way. But don’t strut too proudly, no matter which you choose, for your lie is no less false than your neighbors, and his god is no more fictional than yours.
One of the things that I routinely do when I visit someone else’s place for the first time is look for a bookshelf, and if I spot one, spend a fair bit of time looking at the titles. Apart from being a great conversation starter, a book shelf says so much about the person – if it’s an acquaintance who one doesn’t know well yet, I can almost foresee how well we are going to get along (or not) :-) . However, with the advent of e-readers, this kind of personality analysis is sadly becoming more and more infrequent. It seems a bit rude to ask for someone’s Kindle and scrutinise their purchase history.
The contents of the book shelf featured alongside has probably been the single biggest influence on my general worldview and has shaped a lot of my thinking. The 200+ books nestled in this favourite corner of our home has some of the best writing that I’ve been privileged to read in the last couple of decades of my life. Of course, there are more books in other parts of the house, plus the many borrowed from friends & libraries over the years, but the ones here are a fair distillation of my adult-life reading. Applying my psycho-analysis to myself, this book shelf almost defines who I am.
My reading pattern tends to yo-yo a bit. Sometimes, days go by when I don’t open a single page, and there are times when I spend most of the weekend and week-nights post-dinner, reading. In recent years, on average, I’ve settled down into a rhythm of finishing 12-15 books over the course of a year. And as I get older, this has led me to think carefully about what I read nowadays.
Given where I am in life, I give myself another 35-40 years of a (hopefully) healthy life, where my eyes will allow me to read for any length of time. This basically means that I will have to pick the 450-500 absolute must-reads from now till the day I die. While 500 may sound like a lot at first, it really isn’t that much. Think about the choice set: the millions and millions of titles published since Guttenberg came up with the printing press, and a similarly unimaginable number that will come into existence over the next four decades. From this vast ocean of literature, I have to find and choose the 500 best pearls of wisdom, entertainment, knowledge, pleasure, pathos, etc. And who knows, I might die of cancer in five years, or get hit by a truck once again while cycling next week (and not be so lucky to get away alive this time). Bottomline, I have begun to get really, really picky in what I read.
For example, the editors at Amazon recently published a list of 100 books to be read in a lifetime, of which I have read only about twenty…. 30-40 more to go from that list, at least. But the majority there are fiction, while most of my reading over the last couple of years has drifted into non-fiction, which makes it another huge list to look at and choose from. Then there are all the classics that I put off reading in my youth for later in life – Dostoyevsky, Dickens, and the likes…. now, I am in that “later” phase of my life. Poetry is something that I have never related to earlier, but after reading gems such as this one by Wislawa Szymborska, is a genre where I am desperate to make up for lost time.
So I have to be really thoughtful on which books to spend my time on.
The other thing that’s happened to my reading of late, is that I straddle 3-4 books at any point of time. I guess this is a consequence of getting into mostly non-fiction reading. I cannot remember the last time I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning because I couldn’t put down a thriller until I got to the last page. Actually, wait.. I do remember – Steig Larsson’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo was when it happened last, a few years ago. I hardly read those sort of novels now.
On my bedside right now:
Brian Greene’s The Fabric Of The Cosmos. The big questions about our origin and how our universe works have become a bit of an obsession with me.. physics, biology, genomics, stuff like that. Have discovered authors who deliver high quality science writing in the language of the layman. Greene is one of the best in that breed.
I’m an atheist by choice, but the few times when I can empathise with the divine feeling that believers describe, is when I hear MS Subbalakshmi on the stereo. She lived a very interesting life too. Given the paucity of publicly available written material available on her, T J S George’s biography, A Life In Music, makes a masterful effort even more precious.
On the Kindle:
Re-reading The Brothers Karmazov, two decades after my first attempt. In my twenties, I found Russian novelists depressing (exception: Chekov). Now, older and (I hope) wiser, I’ve started on it again, and the insights into and reflections on life that Dostoyevsky weaves into his characters are compelling to read now. Next, Great Expectations.
Also on the Kindle, Elizabeth Kolbert’s The Sixth Extinction: Written with clarity and verve, a depressing but brilliant account of how the consequence of mere human existence is proving to be disastrous for many other species and ecosystems in our planet. Next, Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal.
The reading that I look forward to most these days is a book that I finished just a couple of months ago. Yuval Noah Harari, who teaches Humanities at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, offered a course called ‘A Brief History of Humankind’ on Coursera some time last year. I signed up enthusiastically, but like with many other courses, didn’t last the distance and dropped out midway. I was still fascinated with the ideas and discussions that the course threw up, so when his book Sapiens (which is a print version of the online course) released a few months later, I immediately ordered my copy. Harari traces the history of our species over the last 70,000 years, with three distinct inflection points – the Cognitive , Agricultural and Scientific Revolutions. With lucid, evocative language, a sharp wit and cogently laid out arguments, he tackles a broad swathe of issues across areas spanning anthropology, culture, myths, evolutionary biology, to name just a few, and constructs a fascinating narrative of how we came to be where we are as a species. If I were to pick the one standout book from all of my last year’s reading, this would be the one.
I really believe that books like Sapiens must be made compulsory reading for high school children in our schools. Since that is never going to happen in our education system, I started a reading project during the boys’ Christmas break. Now over dinner at home, I read out a few pages from Sapiens aloud while A1/A2 and V chew on their calories. Harari’s extremely engaging style and compelling content has meant that they were hooked right from the first few pages, which was not surprising at all.
For me personally, this whole process of reading out a book to them has been immensely gratifying. The last time I read out aloud to A1/A2 was more than a decade ago, when they were toddlers, so it probably triggers a strong sense of nostalgia inside… watching their faces as I read aloud, trying to answer all their questions which triggers some amazing conversations.. this reading project has been a deeply satisfying experience, one that I shall cherish for the rest of my life.
The timing of that sunrise couldn’t be more perfect. You are almost halfway into your race, have settled into a steady rhythm, body nicely warmed up and cruising in auto-pilot mode. The darkness of the night slowly makes way for the break of dawn. Your senses are alive to the smells of the sea breeze and the crisp chill of a winter morning in Mumbai.
You find yourself running on the magnificent Bandra-Worli Sea-link, with its imposing architecture. On the one day in the year when the only sounds emanating from one of Mumbai’s most iconic structures, are the gentle tip-tap of running shoes on the tarmac, or of runners making small talk, exhorting each other to keep going. No braking, no screeching of tyres, no honking.
It’s all perfectly set up.
And then you see it on your right, an orange circle slowly rising above the skyline. As you traverse the length of the sea-link and head towards Mahim, it morphs into a golden yellow ball of fire, heralding a new day for a city which ironically prides itself as one which never sleeps.
With every year that I come back and run the marathon at SCMM, I’ve become more aware of and alive to savouring this majestic sight. 2015 was my fourth time at this event, my third marathon (I ran a half-marathon in 2012), and again fully lived up to its promise of memorable memories. Spectacular sunrises apart, it was, as always, a special feeling to run in the country’s biggest marathon event and my home city. Staying in Sion where I grew up, spending time with family & friends, forming new bonds. This has become a much looked-forward-to annual weekend ritual.
As I wrote in an earlier post, the 2015 edition was also my first real crack at a 4 hour marathon (I ran a 4:16:02 last year). A 4 hour marathon is a kind of Holy Grail once you become a serious recreational runner (well, some would argue that qualifying for Boston is the Holy Grail, but that one is still in the realms of fantasy for me) . My training had gone reasonably well, and I was cautiously optimistic about race day. The only potential pitfall was exactly the same as last year – a work trip to Redmond the week before – which meant that I crossed 14000 kms over a 13 hour time-zone to land in Mumbai about 24 hours before the starting gun went off at Azad Maidan on the morning of 18th January.
Jet lag and the usual pre-race jitters kept me awake all night, but it didn’t seem to matter much. On race day morning, I was pacing myself to perfection. As it transpired, I ran the ideal race till 36 Km. Was tracking better than my pre-race plan on each and every 5K-split till that point. I felt really good, had a nice rhythm going.. had even crossed the dreaded Peddar road slopes without too much of a bother.
But you know what they say about life happening to you while you are busy planning for it (also applies to running marathons in hot and humid mornings like the one at SCMM 2015). Just after turning past the corner at Wilson college and entering Marine drive, as I began to habour visions of breasting the finish line comfortably under 4 hours (chickens, counting, hatching…. yes, yes.. I know), my left quadricep, moody drama-queen that she is, felt like that was the point when she really needed some deep love and affection. So a case of bad cramps it was. Really bad. Grimacing, clutching back of left thigh and hobbling in pain kind of bad.
Now there are two ways that this could have gone from then on. One is what you see in those Youtube clips that folks keep posting all the time in running forums. The ones which end with Beethoven’s Fifth playing in the background, as the heroic and courageous runner battles insurmountable pain and collapses in victory just after the finishing line, goal achieved.
The other way is what I did (which is why no one posts these kind of stories). True to type, I chose an icing+massage at the nearby aid station over pushing-through the pain (or trying to push through and end up not-finishing). This obviously cost me a few minutes, and while my leg felt better post-treatment, I still wasn’t confident enough to go for a final kick at the pace that I had originally planned. End result : 4:00:37.
So, the oft-heard cliché about the glass being half-full or half-empty, now had its perfect case-study. Quite a few of my runner buddies sent messages cheering me up, thinking that I would be crestfallen at having come so close to a sub-4. V, who had an awesome finish earlier – she smashed her previous HM best that she ran just 3 months ago at Bangalore, by a full 13 minutes – greeted me back at Sion cheerfully, but with a teeny-weeny hint of regret – it would have been the perfect day if I had finished 38 seconds faster, I guess.
All that empathy from everyone around felt nice, and also a bit amusing. I remember reading somewhere that race timings should be the last thing that determines one’s happiness, and I really couldn’t agree more. Got back to Bangalore the next day and conversation with A1/A2 went something like this, hey appa.. heard you did some 4 hours at Mumbai, right? Cool. Btw, you need to fix the Xbox. Like, NOW.
Keeps things in perspective.
Honestly, on that Sunday afternoon, I was just blissfully content in the afterglow of a special day. Running has filled my life with so much joy and happiness, and on days like SCMM, it truly feels like I am in paradise. You always carry back wonderful memories.. the banter and chatter at the start line, hi-fis with the kids sporting their sunshine-smiles near Mahim church, the unending enthusiasm of the families (spanning multiple generations) handing out food and drink on Peddar road, all the bands rousing your spirits along the way, treating complete strangers who are running alongside as kindred souls just because running a marathon together brings that special camaraderie… unforgettable. Above all, just the pure pleasure of running through the streets of Bombay in the kind of atmosphere that only SCMM offers.
And that sunrise. Man. Running on the sea-link and watching the sun come up like that. That moment alone will make every possible highlights reel of my life when I re-play that movie from my deathbed.
So here’s my take on the numbers. Ran my first 42 a couple of years ago, now this 4-hour marathon. 42 @ 42, 4 @ 44.. has a sort of a nice ring to it, no? Am far, far fitter in my forties than I was in my twenties. More importantly, happier, healthier, and feeling more alive than ever before. What more can one ask for from life?
noun \ˈsä-lə-ˌtüd, -ˌtyüd\ : a state or situation in which you are alone usually because you want to be
Do you prefer doing things alone or in the company of others? Some of the things on which I spend a fair amount of time every week, for example, are primarily solitary activities – reading, running, biking, etc. But what about other things that one would normally enjoy as a communal activity.. how different would these experiences be if you were experiencing it alone?
A Swedish TV Series called Experiment Ensam (Experiment Alone) did an interesting project recently to glean insights on the role of community in human enjoyment. After five experiments where a single person experienced things alone that would usually be done with a crowd – e.g. watching a stand-up show, a karaoke performance – the last one resulted in Fredik Wikingsson , a middle-aged Stockholm TV personality, lucking out on a truly-never-in-a-lifetime experience.
Wikingsson, a father of two kids, also describes himself as the biggest Bob Dylan fan there is. As part of this project, he was chosen to experience a concert where Bob Dylan played for him, live and exclusive. And exclusive, in this setting, meant just that – Wikingsson comprised the entire audience of one person for that performance.
“I was smiling so much it was like I was on ecstasy,” he says, recounting his feelings in this lovely this Rolling Stone interview “My jaw hurt for hours”
The channel put together a documentary-style video capturing his whole experience. It’s a great clip.. watch Wikkingsson’s bemusement on whats the best way to appreciate the incredible show that’s unfolding in front of him.. watch Bob Dylan’s response, classy as always.
If you are a Dylan fan, this is a must watch. Even if you are not, this is just an incredible story.
The part where he’s struggling to hold off his tears as Dylan plays the harmonica…. I would have just collapsed weeping. Man, this is what dreams are made of. Epic.
In these days of incessant social media sharing about any news, be it trivial, trite, or terrible, was surprised that I didn’t see anyone talking about Deven Verma on my FB/Twitter TL this week. Like the memorable characters he essayed in his films, he was understated even in his passing away, which happened earlier this week.
Deven Verma brought a rare sensibility to Hindi cinema. His ability to create a Marx-brothers-like zaniness in everyday situations was unique, albeit with a style that was sort of an anti-thesis to the over-the-top, almost slapsticky style that Groucho & co employed. A perennially befuddled expression that conveyed a I-don’t-understand-how-this-world-works-and-its-better-that-I-don’t-try, laced with almost minimalist dialogue produced some of the best comedy seen on our screens.
His repertoire really came through in those lovely ‘middle-class movies’ genre that was the preserve of greats like Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Basu Chatterjee, etc . Angoor was obviously the standout, but there were a string of other roles which showcased his talent. His cameo in GolMal, is a favourite of mine.
This lovely tribute by Jai Arjun captures what a gem he was, both as an actor and as a person. Just visualise him with that classic deadpan expression, delivering this line “Ghisi-hui, purani, bekaar si cheezeen (a slight pause) ..jaise tumhare pitaji”. Priceless.
I’m glad that he chose to stay away from the degeneration that has taken over humour in Hindi movies, since those glorious days.
This weekend, go get a DVD of Angoor. And eat some pakodas, prefereably laced with bhang.
RIP, Deven Verma.
As the undisputed running capital of India, Bangalore, the city that I now call home, was long overdue to host a marathon of its own. So it was great to finally see the inaugural edition of the Bengaluru Marathon being flagged off on 19 Oct 2014. Participation from the running fraternity was encouraging for a first-time event, with about 1000 marathoners and 3500 half-marathoners lining up at the start. Crowd turnout along the route wasn’t great, but that’s understandable – it takes time for a city to take a marathon to heart. It’s taken Bombay ten years to make SCMM the premier marathon event in the country.
I used to cover large sections of the marathon route during my regular training runs and it turned out that the route actually passed very close to where I live, The weather gods also benevolently decided to bless us with a cool morning, so it was a real pleasure to run past familiar places and scenes in gorgeous running weather. Overall, apart from some glitches on traffic management towards the end and an unfortunate fiasco earlier involving the lead runners, Bengaluru Marathon 2014 was an enjoyable experience. Hopefully, the event will grow to become one of the great city marathons, like the world majors.
Re-caping some highlights for the memory archive:
Finished with a PB of 4:05:58, 10 minutes better than my SCMM 2014 timing. Though I underestimated some of the elevations around the 26-30Km stretch, any race where you nail a PB is always a good one. This one was a fair result for the kind of training I had put in. Set me up to take a shot at a sub-4 SCMM in January 2015. Que sera, sera…
While the crowd turnout was not something to write about, there was a lovely surprise awaiting the marathoners at about the halfway mark, after the 100ft road stretch in Indiranagar (the half marathoners U-turned back at Domlur, so they unfortunately missed out). As we came down the Domlur flyover on to Inner ring road, was amazed to see hundreds of jawans from the adjoining ASC centre lined up on the road. For that entire stretch of over 3 kilometres (almost till Sony junction), these soldiers egged the runners on, clapping, hi-fiveing, calling out our names from the bibs with exhortations of ‘shabaash, himmat se’, etc. It was an overwhelming, goosebumpy experience that got me all choked up, even as I tried to feebly appreciate their support. Truly, a splendid gesture and a very special memory of this marathon.
The Bengaluru Marathon also set a shining example and a high benchmark on waste management. Thanks to a couple of runners and a fantastic group of volunteers who were all passionate about the cause, a very effective mechanism to manage waste during and after the run was planned and executed with exemplary precision. Re-usable glasses/serving vessels, non-disposable plates, segregation of food waste post-run, getting NGOs involved.. A stupendous effort, and a stirring message for a city that is grappling with an acute problem of overflowing landfills, and fast turning from a garden city into a garbage city.
Many valuable lessons here for not just other marathon events, but also for the city corporation. Kudos and hats off to everyone involved in this effort.
This marathon also put me in touch with some new running partners when I started running with the ‘Indiranagar Runners’ group. Our long training runs on weekends kept both the motivation and fun levels consistently up. I believe that runners in general have an in-built ‘goodness-gene’ – they are nicer folks than the average guy on the street. And this group has definitely vindicated my belief. Its been great to get to know and run with a happy, fun loving bunch of runners and also genuinely nice people.
Cheers, guys..I look forward to many many more fun runs, sumptuous breakfasts, and wonderful times together. Thanks for being there!