First place at Nangal race

It is cold and dark when I get up at 2:30 AM this Sunday morning. This is the kind of thing we runners are used to. Getting up early, eating breakfast in the middle of the night, putting on running shoes in the dark because you do not want to wake up your spouse, are all things runners are adept at.

At 3 AM, I am in the car on my way to Nangal. It is usually a two-hour drive, but Google maps say 1 hour and 45 minutes. Time to think about strategy and expectations. A hilly route is what was advertised. Scenic. I have to be at a concert in the evening and take the piano to the venue around 1 PM. I hope I will be back in time. That probably depends on whether I have to wait for the prizegiving if I finish somewhere in the top 3.

The road is predictably empty, and I reach the NFL stadium at 5. The race is supposed to start at 6:30, so I put back my seat, set two alarms and go to sleep for half an hour. I must still get my Bib. It is getting colder by the minute. My feet feel frozen when I wake up. Get my Bib, pin it on my innermost layer (I learned my lesson earlier), back to the car.

6:15, time to warm up. I run a round of the stadium. But wait, there is no chance for this to start on time. No Zumba yet; nothing is happening on the loudspeakers. We are waiting for the guest of honour. Finally, the Zumba warm-up starts, but as usual, I don’t participate. I run another round, take off my track pants and second sweater and take it to the baggage counter. At 7:00, we line up. It’s hard to judge, maybe a hundred runners.

At 7:05, we finally get started without the presence of the chief guest. I get past the slower runners, and then there are about 10 runners ahead of me.

When I turn the first corner, the guy in front is almost out of sight. I keep the pace around 4 minutes and 5 seconds per kilometre. My Garmin is set to remind me if I go slower than that.

I soon realize that all the guys in front of me had a sprint start. I overtake them one by one. The guy in the first position stays with me for about a kilometre, but then I leave him behind. It is just the lead bike ahead of me, but the route is well marked, and I don’t think I will get lost. If you know me, that is always a possibility.

The route takes us next to the Bhakra dam with shining blue water. What a fine morning for a run. I take off my extra sweater and bind it around my waist.

Some ups and downs come and go, but I am now fully warmed up and push the pace to around 4 minutes per kilometre. Around the halfway mark, there are some more severe uphills. My heart races faster while my legs slow down. The road continues uphill for two kilometres. Then comes the downhill which is not too steep to run.

So I let myself be swept downhill. The kilometres fly past faster than I have ever gone in any race. There is a bit of trail, and I fly down that too, taking care not to fall. I am used to seeing surprised locals, but now I see astonished faces look up as this apparition speeds by at break-neck speed. I smile, but I do not stop.

I just have this amazing energy pushing me forward, even when it becomes flat again. The lead vehicle starts telling everyone who wants to listen that this is the 21k front-runner. People clap and cheer. I pass some of the backmarkers of the 10k race, and they also cheer me on.

There is a crowd at the finish line. This is so different from what I am used to. The last 100 meters is lined with supporters. A commentator can be heard above the din. I sprint for the line. It is done. I look at my watch. 1:23. Finally, after 13 years, I equal my personal best.

I never had to smile for so many pictures, not even at my own wedding. This includes selfies with strangers and shots taken by people carrying impressive cameras with long lenses. I get interviewed by the commentator. He asks two questions that are basically the same:

“How was the route?”

“Great, thanks!”

It takes a while to get to where I can pick up my medal, my refreshments, and my extra-extra sweater. It takes forever to wait for the chief guest to arrive so that the prizegiving can start. I sit in one of the chairs arranged for the ceremony, pose for more selfies, and have semi-awkward discussions with strangers.

While we wait for the proceedings to begin, there is a lot of dancing. Bhangra mostly, nothing strange. This is Punjab.

A little boy sitting next to me looks me up and down. “What is your name?” he asks. Then later: “What is your father and mother’s name?” Eventually: “Did you win?” After I receive my prizes and stand wondering how I would get it to the car, he comes up to me with a simple, serious: “Congratulations.” Interesting fellow.

There are many surprises at the prizegiving.

1. The 10k for ladies was won by a little girl, Nishita, who is 12 years old.
2. There was an 86-year-old man that participated. (Probably in the 5k)
3. There was only one lady who did the half marathon.
4. I got the prize for my age category (40–50), but no overall winner was declared.
5. My prize included a big heavy box that I did not have time to open until I reached home. My wife, who got to open it, was surprised to find a microwave oven!

Keep running

Stephan

AKA the ‘garib angrez’, meaning poor foreigner. (This is apparently what locals call me behind my back because I cycle to work.)