Bolu came as godsent. It was as if he was waiting for us. We were tired and defeated by the blazing sun and punctured further by the lack of water on the course.
The organisers of the Vasai-Virar Mayor's marathon had bungled. As soon as the elite athletes passed, the water stations had vanished like water on hot frying pan.
Bolu joined us between the 30 and 35kms and walked and ran with us for the next four to five kms, blowing hard on his little whistle, ensuring that traffic did not obstruct us tired runners as we made our way through the town of Nallasoppara.
Our minds were numb, our targets was set, we had to finish the marathon, our determination was rock solid. Ocassionally after Bolu left us after guiding us through a flyover, we did attempt to run, but the body was not responding. Many runners passed us, but we were least bothered.
The sun was beating down mercilessly, as if to scold us for attempting to run on a day when it wanted to shine in all its glory.
When we started it was a pleasant day; the enthusiastic emcee almost started the race two minutes before the official start time.
We were to start the 42-km journey from Virar, the last station on the Western Railway's suburban network. We were to run past Nallasopara and head to Vasai and make our way back to the starting point.
We were finally off at the exact moment and it was the fourth marathon that I was running. I had a rather casual air about this marathon. I wanted to run many practice runs of over 30 kms but for some reason or the other, it was not possible.
I was clearly underprepared but I had promised to run along with a Laxminarayan Iyer, who was attempting his first marathon. He had run many half marathon but a full is another task.
The first few kilometers were always enjoyable and the crowd, they were everywhere. The ladies in their saries and gowns, the girls in their jeans and school uniforms, the uncles in their fine trousers and their pyjammas, the kids, the granny, the dog and even the tough-necks were cheering. Nobody was shy.
It kept us going upto 25 kms. Then the sun took over, first the cheering died, the uncles went in search of meat shop, it was a sunday and lunch had to have non-veg fare. The school kids, more tired than us vanished, the ladies went back to the kitchen and the toughnecks slipped into their bars.
Somewhere along the 15 to 18 km mark we also picked up a runner who had never run quarter of the distance we were running on Marathon day. Pradeep Dalvi, a driver with a reputed hotel in Thane, stayed with us for the rest of the journey.
The first part of our journey was fun though the pain from the high-humidity was killing us.
When we returned to Nallasopara, it was business as usual, cycles and rickshaws and cars were bumping around for road honours, the sight of a runner making them pause, there was an ocassional medical station but even they had run out of water, but their stock of enthusiasm was still high.
We finally made it to the home stretch and decided to run the last 500 metres. Our bodies were well past the complaining stage, but we had to cross the line.
It was the worst time I had ever clocked in a marathon. It was 75 minute behind my personal best, but I had no complaints. I had run in conditions where staying in the shade without a fan is considered insane. We had run on roads where walking was considered hazardous. We had finished at a time when organisers had all but wrapped up the arrangements.
But if the Vasai Virar marathon is held next year in October, I will run again. I want to meet Bolu again. Hopefully he would have grown stronger and taller from the wisp of a boy who ran with us on Sunday.
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