Beyond the Run: My Journey as a Pacer in Tata Mumbai Marathon"

 "What is the treasure you seek in dedicating your time?"  

A compassionate soul replied, "I unearthed the richness of human connection, my friend."

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The Tata Mumbai Marathon is a pilgrimage for every Indian marathoner like me, the first marathon I ever heard of. Since then, I haven't missed it. The magnitude and charm of the Mumbai Marathon continue to overwhelm me, even after participating in marathons and ultras worldwide.

A pilgrim doesn't dream of being part of a temple, and neither did I. "Why are you not responding to the TMM Pacer invitation?" I got a call. I didn't believe him until I scrolled up my messages, finding the invitation buried in Christmas messages. My heart skipped some beats.

I was about to miss a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

I filled out the form with all the credentials and hoped for the best outcome. However, my joy was short-lived as my dear Dad left us for the heavenly abode just a day after Christmas at the age of 91. I hadn't resumed training after the Border 100 km hell race in mid-December, so running was on the backburner.

A call just 15 days before the race changed everything. I was selected as the official pacer for the 4:20 bus. Based on my previous runs at TMM and my strengths and weaknesses, I prepared a pace chart for every kilometer. The official pacer groups kept swelling endlessly. "What is the strategy, Pacer?" was a common question after every entry. I didn't believe in just giving a pace chart. Half of the runners were first-timers, and many faced challenges around the 30/35 km mark every year.

Analyzing the splits of my friends from the previous year, I decided to share the thought process behind my chart and strategy in a small blog. Though I planned for every kilometer, it's impossible to monitor it on the field. I narrowed down the chart of 4 hours and 20 minutes into four segments of one hour and a final one of 20 minutes.

Now, everyone knew how much to run in every hour. Focusing on just the current segment at hand, roughly 10 km per hour, eased the anxiety of first-timers. If you were slow in the 7th km, don't panic; you have 3 km in hand to cover up lost minutes.

The Mumbai track has some elevation in the second half, and I've seen excellent runners struggle there. I wanted to convert that weakness into strength by taking that elevation into account.  

Another intention of sharing a thought process was running together was not possible  in this big race .  Well understood strategy in hand anyone can be his own pacer if  not spotted my pacer flag .

I pinned that blog in the group, and it got a whopping 700 views in just 24 hours—double the size of my team.

Not only did my team like my idea and strategy, but they also shared it among other runners. The marathon was only for a few hours, but it was a 10-day journey for the bus. We got to know each other, our runs, our goals. Runners from all walks of life, from all over the country, and four other countries shared their stories, expectations, doubts, and apprehensions. Our group was an open forum till the end, but no one spammed. It was the most respectful forum, and I am grateful to all of them.

I felt like a short-time micro celebrity when people clicked photos with me and my image at the expo. I was fortunate to meet the international ambassador of the event, Olympic gold medallist pole vaulter Catie Moon, and have selfies with her.

"How will the weather be this time?" is the favourite topic of runners since the start of the month. Mumbai is a coastal city with warm weather and high humidity. Winter months are a bit pleasant, but still hot for people from other parts of the country. It was comparatively pleasant weather this year. An early start ensured finishing before it became too hot. Runners were expecting to improve their time.

The night before every marathon is always sleepless and restless; this time it was more so. I was expected to walk (or rather run) my talk. Entering the holding area of TMM gives you an idea of the enormity of the event. A huge number of runners entering the gates, music, and warm-up drills make you feel like you've come to a party.

You bump into many known faces, your buddy from this race or that race. I meet some runners in this holding area only once a year. But in no time, the gates open. Before you find a way to your gate, it's already time, and the race has started. At a starting mat, you will always find a stunt or slogan of a runner. I crossed the starting line after walking half a kilometer. It was dark, and I couldn't feel my bus. Where are those who posted countless messages to run with me?

Since the underground metro work started, they put a huge steel sheet with welded grips on the road instead of tar; it was a scary run. Someone asked me how I manage my pace without looking at a watch. He was reminding me of my pacing duties, I thought. "If I stumbled on those welded grips , there would be no pace and no race," I didn’t said that aloud.

As we entered Nariman Point's turns, I could see other pacers and my bus. As you are heading the bus, runners stay behind you, watching your flag but invisible to you except for the turns. My bus's target was finishing 10 km in the first hour. Fresh legs, cool sea breeze, meet and greet continued. We were dot on target, though there was a bit of an incline in the 10th km.

"Is this the much-dreaded Pedder Road?" asked a South Indian runner. "It is 2 km ahead; don't worry, it will be downhill now." Pedder Road's uphill is at the 36th km. It is not that steep, but legs are tired by then, so it has become a bit notorious among runners. It is a lovely part of affluent South Mumbai. Residents come out in large numbers to support runners here. "I love Pedder Road" is my slogan while everyone is walking here. Anyways, it is the later part. We picked up a good pace on the incline. The bus was forming its shape now, and there were no strangers running alongside now.

By the time we reached 16 km, my fellow pacer, Mehwish, joined. Mehwish Hussain, an IT professional and Yoga trainer from Mangalore, is an excellent runner and pacer. The happy bus cruised on the beautiful Sea Link, chanting "Bus no 420." It was still dark, and we could see the city lights of Maximum City on the right and lights on fisherman ships in the vast Arabian Sea on our left.

I had promised in my strategy blog for the bus to stop for photography on Sea Link. We had the luxury of 3/4 minutes in our kitty. Taking selfies, videos here is a tradition now. A runner coined a funny slogan for a video for Bus 4:20. "I am 420, and I will remain 420." 420 in India means a con artist, but ours was a smart bus, not a con. It was a fun slogan, and I was happy to reach the halfway point almost exactly as per plan. But this is the point that quietened the bus. Some legs started to get tired, some were full of energy, roaring to go.

The bus is just a metaphor, a loose group of runners roughly targeting the same time. The only pacer, the driver, is bound by his own plan. I was heading the bus and couldn't see back; I could listen to less noise. Maybe because the noise was now from the sidelines. We were in the city again, and residents young and old were cheering loudly, offering water and snacks.

Mehwish and I were both in sync now, some paces ahead and some paces behind. The rhythm was set, and there was no worry until the end of the third hour. By now, the bus had thinned further. There was just the occasional cry of "Bus no 420." Restless guys left us for chasing their PBs. I hoped tired legs were not far behind and were enjoying the hospitality of Dadar and Prabhadevi.

To be a good pacer, it's not enough to be a good runner; you should have good mental math. Now, running with a plan was not enough because the distance on the course is always more than the distance on your watch. So, you have to see mile markers on the road, calculate the remaining distance, calculate your remaining time, divide the distance by the time, derive the pace, and run by that pace. Confusing enough? Yes, it was confusing. While running, even simple math seems difficult.

One time I thought I was going too fast, then slowed down. A few meters later, the calculation was wrong. Pedder Road was still there with an invisible placard saying, "Love me, Hate me, but don't ignore me." "My respects, dear Pedder Road, I love you," I started walking, grabbing a chocolate offered by a resident. Most of the runners were walking on the incline. Midway up the incline, I started running again. Pedder Road conqurred.

I was not tired, but my mind was fatigued with constant calculation. There were a few FM distance signs on the road. I didn't want to go too fast and slow down at the finish line. That would be unjust for those still running in my bus. I was running easy, crossed some more friends on the way. We were at Marine Lines again. The sea breeze was not as pleasing now. The plan told me it was time for a gel, but I hated it now. I wanted something warm like chocolate or chikki but didn't want to stop. Maybe Marine Lines had few bands and cheerleaders this year too, but I was too occupied to notice.

Somewhere I saw a signboard of 41 km. Was it for the Elite or Amateur? I didn't pay attention. I had 8/9 minutes and 1.20 km to go—easy. I thought about Mehwish; I knew she must be a few meters behind. But by the time I reached 1 km to go, I had just 6.50 minutes. I got worried. I tried to step up, but my legs were heavy. With 500 meters to go, Mehwish shot from nowhere and sprinted towards the finish, which was still far away. It sprouted new energy in my legs. I sprinted behind her but not that fast. First thing after the finish line, I saw my watch: 4:20:35. Thank God. I lived up to the trust. I didn't fail those who believed in me.

It was joy. I could recognize faces around me. I smiled sheepishly. I was tired and tried to walk before settling on the curb. I didn't know how many in my team achieved their target until messages started pouring in. I could meet some of them. It was the first time I was happy with the success of strangers. But they didn't remain strangers now.

I looked at my medal. I won more than this medal— an enduring connection with fellow runners and the collective heartbeat of shared goals. 

Isn’t that a greater treasure?

BUS NO 420- TMM 2024

 
Friends,
The Tata Mumbai Marathon is a pilgrimage for Indian marathoners, and it is truly an honor to lead the bus on this iconic route. With its massive crowd and numerous turns, this city marathon presents a unique set of challenges. Negotiating the packed streets often leads to running extra distance on turns, as the sharp curves are not easily navigable. We'll aim to run tangentially to minimize this effect, even though  we will be covering a few extra meters in total distance.

Considering the elevation points and the increasing warmth of the Mumbai weather, our strategy involves starting the first half slightly faster than the second half. Our average pace will hover just above 6 minutes per kilometer, adjusting for the course dynamics.

To simplify monitoring, I've divided the course into 5 segments: four 1-hour segments and the last one to the finish line. Our strategy is straightforward—maintaining a pace of 10 km every hour for the first three hours, around 9.5 km in the fourth hour, and finishing the remaining distance in the last 20 minutes. Finishing the 10 km in the fourth hour also provides a cushion for the final segment.

This approach not only makes it easier to remember and monitor but also has a psychological advantage. Focusing on just 10 km at a time helps us stay mentally strong throughout the race, especially since we're the bus number 420!
Remember to carry your hydration for at least the first 10 km, which take you through the heritage sites of South Mumbai's Fort, the modern area of Nariman Point, and the refreshing sea breeze along Marine Drive. It's a journey accompanied by music both on the streets and within.

As we progress, adopting a strategy of walking 50/100 meters after every third kilometer adds an interesting element to the race. This provides a mental break and helps maintain an average pace. After obtaining the map of aid stations, we'll plan our walk breaks strategically, allowing everyone to grab water bottles during those intervals.
Consider implementing a walk-run strategy after the first 10 km, as the race begins to thin out, and walking in a group might obstruct others. These walking streaks also provide an opportunity to consume gels, salt tablets, or electrolytes from aid stations. Plus, we can even take a memorable selfie at the iconic Sea Link during one of these walks.
  Shortly After we take  blessings from lord Ganesha at  Siddhivinayak Temple, our third segment concludes. While it's a flat stretch, it's a defining moment for the bus. Fast runners may find us too slow, and tired runners might struggle to keep up. Stay positive, listen to your body, and remember, TMM happens every year. Here we have opportunity to watch almost  flying elite runners on the parallel dedicated lane.

At 37 km, we reach Pedder Road—a famous yet misunderstood part of the Mumbai Marathon. The moderate elevation at this crucial point, coupled with the support from residents and even the Japanese consulate members, adds spice to the race. Embrace the challenge; it's what makes TMM beautiful.

As we approach the end of our fourth

segment, with just a couple of kilometers to go, enjoy the music, bands, and cheerleaders along the route. Acknowledge their support with a loud thank you, but stay focused as the finish line is almost within reach.

In the final stretch, despite the fatigue setting in, maintain your pace. Remember, your mind may be tired, but your legs can carry you. The camaraderie among runners becomes evident as they cheer and encourage one another. As we leave the waterfront and re-enter the heart of the maximum city, the crowd's energy propels us forward. Dont forget to smile here ,  Race photographers are trying to give you best Insta pics 

By the time we see the finish gate, more than 42 km would have been conquered. Sprint those last few meters with a wide smile and your signature pose. Don't forget to end the activity on your tracker before receiving your medal and indulging in a wild victory dance. And, of course, don't forget to hug your pacer if you've reached the target time.

See you in Holding  Area Corral B !

 

From Doubts to Desert Bliss: A Journey of Discovery in The Border Ultra 100K

 

  "The miracle isn't that I finished.The miracle is that I had the courage to start." - John Bingham

                           '  ( The Border Disclaimer Document  page 3 , para 1)

"Hypothermia is a potentially serious risk! It can strike very quickly, especially when the pace slows from exhaustion or injury. The runner may feel very cold, experience uncontrolled shivering, and become unaware of their surroundings, possibly posing an immediate danger to themselves."

This paragraph in the caution section of the race disclaimer sent by The Hell Race Team a few days before the event further scared me. It all began with a phone call on October 31, 2023. I received a call from my friend and accomplished runner from Gurgaon, Geeta Ahalawat.

"Dilip ji, you wanted to do the border race? One spot is available. Do it now. You can continue breakfast after that."

Caught in the spell, I registered for the race, despite the fact that the Border Run had always lingered as a distant desire. Little did I realize the gravity of the situation until a day later – a 100 km race with only 6 weeks for training, tapering, and actual travel.

Untrained and uncertain, I found support in Geeta, who connected me with her coach, Hemant Beniwal. Doubts clouded my mind – about myself, the training plan, and my other commitments. While the city celebrated Diwali, I ran through the scorching heat, dodging crackers.

A month of interrupted training passed quickly, marked by travels and minor health issues. Then, the handbook with its dozen warnings and disclaimers arrived by mail. Having witnessed hypothermia in cycling tours and faced desert heat before, the challenge loomed ahead.

One month passed quickly in training, hindered by some travels and minor health issues. Then the handbook, with a dozen warnings and disclaimers, arrived by mail. Having witnessed hypothermia before in my cycling tours, facing desert heat posed another challenge. Flights and hotels were booked, money was spent, and there was no turning back. I have observed that those who start also finish, even if not in the best training condition.

Fortunately, discussions in the race WhatsApp group were more about everything but running. It was sometimes annoying, but in hindsight, it helped me distract myself and not overthink about the upcoming race.

Before every race, I meticulously plan my run, study the route, create elaborate Excel sheets, summarize it hourly, and revise it. But this time, I couldn't think straight; there was no question of planning anything.

I don't know how the mind works, but as I chose the bag to pack, all my fears were replaced by excitement. I could overhear words like Ultra, border, 100k, and 100 miles in the flight itself. The flight was landing in the brown landscape of nowhere, and I got my first feel of the desert. At the airport, it was a pleasant surprise to meet Chetan, my comrade buddy with a black and pepper beard.

The expo of any ultra is always about catching up with friends and making new ones from all over India. Fortunately, I could chat with legendary runners like Raj Vadgama. Friends had told me that the race briefing of The Border is one of the highlights of the event. I had seen glimpses of the style of our race director Vishwas Sindhu , an interesting fellow - bold and straightforward in his true Haryanavi style. Though he seemed rude at the beginning, this man knew his business, whether you liked it or not.

Out of the 360 runners lined up, many were repeat offenders like my friend Chetan, while the rest were first-time participants, like me. Similar to how the Comrades Marathon was started as a tribute to the soldiers of the First World Wars in South Africa, The Border Ultra began as a tribute to the 120 soldiers who defended the frontier in the famous Laungdwala battle. The organizers, The Hell Race, limited the cap to 120 runners in each category in respect of those soldiers.

Though everyone seemed excited, taking selfies, shouting slogans, I tried not to think about what lay ahead. The sun was scorching in the clear midday sky. The start line at the Indira indoor stadium was outside the city of Jaisalmer, and we were on a desert road in no time. In ultras, runners preserve energy, and the start is always easy - chatting with fellow runners is the most wonderful thing in the first few kilometers.

"Where are you from?" is a common question, and you can hear names of any of the 36 odd Indian territories. Different accents, different languages, different names, but the same passion. Veteran runners talk about their experiences, recalling what happened in Malnad or Khardungla Challenge. Ultra Matheran runners are a different breed, made of something else. They are distinct from general marathon runners, and I still don't belong to that category. This is a small community scattered all around the country, aware of each other. "How fast" is not the buzzword here; "how much distance" is the common question.

In ultras, you have to take care of your needs yourself. There won't be pampering. Water stations or aid stations are 10 km apart. By the first water station, the race had spread like a big 2 km long snake. The terrain was rolling with a brown landscape - soil, rocks, homes, even fencing poles were made of brown stones. One big Jain Mandir property was fenced by very huge blocks of golden sandstone. Tharparkar cows stopped grazing invisible desert grass to watch the long line of runners.

Chetan told me that Tharparkar cows are found in the Thar desert, spread in India and Pakistan. Chetan had excellent knowledge about nature, and you could find stones from different ultra marathon routes in his collection. "Don't go into bushes. Babhul thorn will spoil your entire run," I heard someone warning. The terrain was full of Babhul ,thorny Ber and surprisingly evergreen Rui plants. My other Comrades Marathon buddy, Arti Agarwal, zoomed past us,  ,

"Slow down Arti ; you have 150 kms to go." But she had her own plans of pace.

Hell Race volunteers stacked their aid stations well with water, electrolytes, and fruits, and they were very happy to help runners. The sun was still strong, but there was a slow breeze that made it bearable. The terrain was changing; shepherds in Pathani attire looked after flocks of white sheep grazing bunches of Shewan grass. At one place, shepherds were loading a truck with sheep crowded like Mumbai local trains. Hopefully, the truck was going to a sheep-sharing event and not a slaughterhouse.

Although my buddy and I had decided to run together, we had different goals. He had to conserve more energy for his 160 km, so we decided to go at our own paces. Three kilometers of running and 200 meters of walking were my strategy. "Every third walk should be at a water station," I told myself. Like camels in the desert, refill your bladders, grab something to eat, and move ahead.

At some junction, we turned and headed west on a very narrow road. At some places, the desert sand had covered the road. The sun was inching towards the horizon, and it was an enjoyable time. Legs were still not tired, and the desert looked different now. Some farmers were preparing fields. "Jeera," a farmer replied when I asked what they were sowing. Tubewell was the source of water. Right from Jaisalmer, majestic windmill farming was a salient feature of the landscape. Every windmill was so huge that one could rest in its shadow. By the evening, their presence became more prominent with the sound generated by their huge blades.

The fifty-kilometer mark was still a few kilometers away when sunlight faded. Before twilight turned into darkness, it was necessary to reach the drop bag point. Though the crescent moon was in the sky, its light did not reach the desert. I heard stories of the last year's run when the moon was nearly full, and the desert looked different. They didn't need to turn on headlamps.

Our drop bags with winter clothes and other essentials were transported and made available at the 50 km and 60 km points. At 6:30 PM, it was total darkness. Finding the drop bag station in the field, locating my bag, changing in darkness, and putting on a headlamp was a total challenge for a tired mind. I grabbed some hot, solid food. The whole process took a lot of time and took away the desire to run again. I walked almost half a kilometer to gather the courage to run again. It was pitch dark. In daytime, some runners were always in sight, used to talking to each other. By this time, hardly anyone was in sight. When someone passed, hardly anyone talked. Those were the loneliest hours.

We were on a big, wide Bharatmala road. It was super flat, with no turns, no rolling hills, and no landmarks visible in the dark and no vehicles. It was like a long tunnel in darkness. ”Three kilometers of running, 200 meters of walking. The third walk at the water station at every 10th kilometer.  was still my strategy. Water station was the only place alive. Though I was running, I was not feeling alone. There was nothing to think about, no one to talk to. Just the jingling sound of the bouncing hydration pack on my back was my company. I don't listen to music while running. Lyrics get lost in my chain of thoughts, and only noise remains. Secondly, handling all those earphone wires is not my thing.

I could sense the silhouette of sand dunes on the sides of the road. I looked up at the sky, and it was a mesmerizing scene. In decades, I had not seen such a starry sky. I remembered my childhood when we used to identify constellations. I almost spotted one, but I kept going. Am I going west? How could I know? I wanted to stop and find the North Star, not for navigation, but for the sake of it. But I had miles to go before I stopped. I still regret not stopping and looking for the North Star guide of all nomads and wanderers. I don't like only one thing about running. It is too focused on the finish line.

The difference in kilometer marks of water stations and my watch reading was increasing. The seventh water station arrived well after the 71st kilometer. I got irritated at the thought of the extra distance. Anyway, I was just two water stations away from the finish point. That was a reassuring thought. By that time, my legs were tired. So, the 200-meter walk increased to 300 or even 500 meters. It was like the law of inertia. When I was walking, I didn't want to run, and when I was running, I was afraid of walking. So, I changed the formula to a 3.50 km run and a 500-meter walk.

I was frustrated to run up to 93 km on my watch to reach the 9th water station, supposed to be at 90 km. If the finish point is 10 km away from here, my run will be 103 km but my mind was programmed for 100. I hoped that the race director was just pulling our legs, and the distance would be only 7 km. But that didn't seem possible. I lost all my enthusiasm. My pace dropped, and I started walking more frequently. I even lost count of how much I needed to go.

Suddenly, I saw some headlamps coming back running. I shouted, "What happened?" Some volunteer emerged from the dark. "These runners are doing 160, going to Laungewala."

"So what about 100 km?" I almost screamed.

"Congratulations! Your finish line is just 500 meters away near that light."

I was overjoyed. I sprinted with tired legs towards that light in the distance. One runner ran past me. I ran faster, but before I could overtake, there was a timing mat and the race director waiting there to greet finishers.

The real challenge came after that. While I was running, my body felt warm. This warmth, along with the layers of winter clothing, shielded me from the biting cold of the desert. After the excitement of completing the race, receiving the medal, and taking photos, I began to feel the chill. I located my drop bag containing dry clothes and a jacket, but I lacked the courage to strip off my sweaty garments in the cold. Putting on fresh clothes over the sweaty ones only made matters worse. I started shivering so intensely that I lost all the hot tea from my cup.

This was my most memorable race of my life. I lived every mile of it. I still remember every water station, every turn, arrow markings on the road. May be because this was I was not obsessed with finishing time. I have not kept any target. I was careful not to exceed certain level of efforts and preserve energy. When you don't focus on results but on efforts, you get more than your expectations. I was blank before the start, because of my undertraining.

I had decided that this will be my first and last 100 km Ultra Race. But now I am not sure.