Of Brown Diaries and Ink Pens

It has been an interesting week (the one that passed, that is). The elections were interesting - and that's all I want to say about it. Finally, after 43 years of existence, I have found my feet planted somewhat on real ground, but let me not push it and pretend as if I have deep political views! I am on top of all the trending stories, however, though I did manage to escape to the 1940s via a nice little novel about The Channel Islands, for part of the time. 

One of the recent things we have been doing is a Sunday family workout episode. We drop the child off to basketball and proceed to the gym. Due to some new rules they have brought in place there, I go to the aerobics room (which also, conveniently, has weights). So we are all in separate places. The duration of the class is sort of insufficient to have a satisfactory workout, so the best bet is to push oneself. The sweaty car ride on the way back when the child cribs about her team mates, and we both jump in as we are wont to and say "You see in the 1985 when I was playing at XYZ..." are good fun. I carry several towels 'cause I care about how my car smells later. 

Noting down the food, exercise routine, and something of feelings through the day in a diary - albeit from 2011 - has been an interesting experience. The online notings I have done while training for the recent marathons were alright and they are there for future reference, but this one, where I write alternately using blue and black ink pens, is better. I was writing in real small font though today I have decided to increase font size 'cause eyesight. 

The photography workshop that I was a reluctant participant at (because I was the driver and did not relish coming back all the way and going back all the way using googlemaps) talked about shots being framed correctly and the background cleaned of clutter. I went with a 'medium' distance shot above and I think to tell the story correctly I should have followed it up with a real close shot. Maybe of my brown 2011 diary which has my name embossed on it (with incorrect spelling). 

Next time. 

Togetherness

How to get a selfie together? 

Some of our most memorable times have been when we are exercising together. Over the years, we have had basketball, running, volleyball, gym, long treks, p90x, and more recently, walking (!). All of these have been fun in their own way, and though we do a number of workouts separately  as well, I feel like these together workouts are an important component of our lives. True, we have never run a marathon together like some of the other couples that we know. We haven't even run a half marathon together, though, compared to the former, the latter is not too far-fetched as a possibility for the future. The photo is from a gym session yesterday.

We had a schema for our weekend treks during our Massachusetts days. I remember agonising for days over the what-to-wear what-to-pack questions, while he just threw some random things together in like 5 minutes. Sandwiches, water, trail mix, some chips in a backpack. An insanely long trek which I remember now with only pleasure. Reaching the summit. The exhilaration at seeing the vistas at the top. Me, always impatient to climb back down. Chinese take-out at night. Waking up with really sore limbs the next day. Such a long time ago it all seems!

Nowadays we have our very short morning walks together, that's it. So far it is something we manage to do after dropping the child off, a time to breathe a bit. The whole child-house-work-deadlines-morning meetings saga has put paid to anything more than that. And our running goals are not yet aligned well enough that we do that together. I do my strength training on the terrace for expediency. He prefers the gym. I am still an impatient sort who always winds up at least 10 mins before him and sort of breathes down his neck, at any rate.

So it was a pleasant thing overall that we found ourselves with a nice hour long window (not more not less 'cause the child had to picked up from her basketball session) on a Saturday morning. We went together to the gym, and though we exercised separately, he on the treadmill and me doing my workout in the "padded" section, it still was reminiscent of that past life. I suddenly felt very grown up. And not for a second did I ponder the 'What-To-Wear' question. In fact, I think I picked out my workout clothes (blue TWCM volunteer tshirt and a pair of Nike running tights), with my eyes closed.

Bloody Hell!

I had a blood test recently - a routine check up which revealed routine things about my body and so forth. Before you ask, yes, it involved a urine test as well, which - however many times I do it - is a major pain. Anyway that was all fine, I don't want to talk about peeing though I just did.

There is a snatch of a memory from my childhood, I was very small, at least in size if not in age. We used to go to our family doctor - named Subba Rao - a super old gentleman who gave us those red tonics and half a 'celin' [Vitamin C] each. It was generally assumed that I got half portions 'cause I was one, but I suspect that the guy was just cautious about loading up the body with chemicals - a thing I appreciate a lot now.

The memory, yes, was about a vaccine I had to get. Mom told me about it and we walked from our house to my grandmom's house first (the good doctor was en route). And I was so excited throughout the whole outing. I could hardly think straight. I dragged mom out of the grandmom's house quick quick double quick so we could get the injection.

"Maybe she will become a doctor" I think they said. "Maybe I will" I remember thinking to myself as I inhaled the deliciously decrepit odours of the doctor's clinic. I had no use for the prattle that they use to make a patient comfortable. I didn't mind one bit the injection - not even the initial pin prick.

During my teenage years, thanks to the braces I had on my teeth, it was all those injections in my gums. I did not mind them, though that slurpy feeling in the aftermath was not desirable. I got four teeth removed in one shot one time, and no worries. The dentist was a very nice (and handsome) man but that was not the point, really.

In recent times, I am a bit more wary. I looked carefully as he broke the seal on a brand new needle. I watched him dab the antiseptic. I decorously looked away as he poked the vein. I only peeked a glance when he was a little rough during the vial change. I still am unafraid of injections - though I did not "become a doctor" - at least not of the variety they were referring to. 

Of Careers and Creches

Today I want to muse a little on parenting - as loyal readers know, it is one of my favourite topics. Mostly, it's a chance to say unkind things about The Child, who is, thankfully too preoccupied with a pile of books borrowed from the library last week, to get back at me.

I attended an interesting session at IIT today. I was the "Chief Guest" at the creche in the campus. I agreed to go simply because a friend of mine asked me and I found it hard to say no (she is most accommodating and I owed her one). I was a bit hesitant at first, 'cause I didn't have a ready made speech to give. I know, I know, that has never stopped me before, and it did not stop me today either.

I laid out a salwar kameez to wear then on the spur of the moment ditched that and wore a sari. It was a purple-ish one and I wore matching earrings and a bindi. My parenting moment involved the walk to school to drop the child off, during which she laughed loudly and informed me that all three were different shades of purple, and nothing matched. Oh well.

My parenting philosophy has mostly revolved around Role Modelling. I can't for sure say that it has worked out super well for us or anything. But it is something that makes sense to me, and it gels with my own personality. Some aspects of role modelling are such that it can backfire on you - for e.g. the fact that I wake up early and run regularly leads to a certain disdain for running, for sure! But so be it! I am hopeful that in the future she will be somehow inspired by it, and last week I distinctly heard her say "I need some exercise now, it has been a while since I had a proper workout."

Speaking of creches, I think an important thing to bear in mind is the fact that all the feminism and equal rights and lack of a glass ceiling and so on falter at the altar of early motherhood. I know that in the absence of a high quality day-care center, on campus, right close to my work place, with a reasonable philosophy of child rearing, I would not have managed to have a career.

I could have handled a job, yes, I would have worked for sure, maybe simply because I am not very good domestically, but having a full fledged career would have been well nigh impossible without a set-up such as the one I was at this morning [My own early motherhood was dedicated to a sister concern that is in IIT Bombay, where the child went from the time she was 16 months old].

For that reason among others, I am immensely grateful that such things exist today, unlike when I was a baby. While the grandparents are super awesome and are any day better at parenting than any creche (or myself), the guilt I felt for putting them through the whole feeding - diaper changing - nap-time - and other routines of babies, was strong. Plus I think for a single child, having a set-up outside the home and some friends and non-family adults to interact with, were valuable.

It was a great walk down memory lane for me today. It was nice to introspect a little and tell the eager young parents that were in the audience, that the "Food Battles" are really not worth it. It was so hilarious to think about how much I used to agonise over her food, considering that she is 3 inches taller than me now!! I tried to convince them that it has been one of my failures as a parent.

Most of all, it felt good to do this informal session and spend the rest of the day mulling over the various things said and heard this morning. As we move on to Phase two - 'Parenting a Teen' - due to happen soon, while all is said and done, it has been a really wonderful journey. Although it sounds geeky to say it, the apple of our eye has grown to be a good (if distinctly disobedient) friend, and perhaps when she reads this she will recall those early creche days with fondness...

A long-ago memory captured for posterity

   

Rejection

I was contemplating rejection, mainly in a work situation. We write all these manuscripts all the time - by and large we have been lucky, but a good number of them are returned back, rejected. My co-workers and I go through a period of dejection then - if the reject is with good, stated reasons, we can at least sit down and address them - but many a time no details are provided, and we don't even know why it was turned down! In any case, I convince everyone to think positively and move ahead. It's definitely one difficult aspect of my work, but we generally move on ...

(From New Yorker)

I read this nice article about the New Yorker cartoon rejects - check out this awesome blog:

"Rejection as Creative Catalyst: A Lesson in Entrepreneurship from New Yorker Cartoon Editor Bob Mankoff". It has nothing whatsoever to do with my work life, but it was still interesting to read! I stumbled upon it when I was searching for information about Gold Catalysts for my class, of all things! And it reminded me of a recent rejection I had suffered (not that I have found a way to make money off of that! Though the idea of a web portal of rejected manuscripts in Chemical Reaction Engineering would surely be cool! 😛)

As I was discussing something with the child, I remembered, due to the context, the  basketball games I have lost in over the years. It is quite a substantial number! But I had to dig deep in my memory for that - I was trying to convince her of the usual - that failure is sometimes a stepping stone to success - and no one wakes up and starts winning things, games in particular. The importance of effort, and dedication, and a good dose of luck cannot be under-emphasised, I was saying.

I guess I should have added that the memory of happy situations can be more prominent than that of unhappy ones, and while I know that pit of the stomach feeling of disappointment very well, I think I know the thrill, the exhilaration, the joy of a good job done to completion much better. And the happy moments can easily dislodge those unhappy ones in the long run! I don't think she believed me.

My student graduated and the committee was very respectful of him, unlike in previous encounters. We had a great lunch together where a visiting German professor gave the boy a hug. After the number of times we have had rocky meetings and the amount of heart ache I had suffered thinking about his thesis over the past five years, it was such a pleasant experience! I came out of it feeling super strong and ready to deal with stuff, after all, these young folks deal so well and come out happy, why shouldn't I! 

So here I end, on that pleasant note. If I had applied to be a Spice Girl and was rejected on the basis of my height (or unruly hair), I would be one of several, and all of us would go out into the sunset in companionable silence, heads held high and positive thoughts in our hearts! 

Short Shorts

At the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2016

Running shorts are my favourite thing in the world. Though I have never found a satisfactory pair of them in India. As in the past, in my recent trip to the US, I obsessed over it for days and finally ordered a bunch of them on amazon, to my hotel room. Only to discover a rather nice running store round the corner... 

It was heartening to read this article making a desperate plea for better shorts for women:

Longer Shorts

The options in India are generally pathetic as far as women's running shorts are concerned. I admit having to resort to men's shorts - they rarely fit well though they at least they are longer. I occasionally succumb and buy the latest model of Nike or adidas shorts since they loudly proclaim that they are for running, but they are all uniformly disappointing. 

I am seriously contemplating moving to those three-quarter tights that seem to popular among women runners in India (and beyond). I may even be okay with the weird patterns that these tights seem to possess. Maybe then my daughter will stop teasing me about my 'thunder thighs' - at least they will be decorously swathed in colourful polyester... 

At least there are no cats

(From: amazon, not my copy - which is anyway from the library)

I have stopped myself from buying any more Murakamis. I still like him fine, I assure you, despite the fact that he was yet again passed up for the big prize & yeah, sure, I have listened to Bob Dylan for a long time now and love him and his voice and his weird lyrics. At any rate Dylan is not a runner like Murakami so there is that corner of my brain that is going to always pro-Murakami despite what the Nobel Prize committee feels.

At any rate I rapidly read this anthology of birthday stories and all of them without exception were decidedly scary. Ranging from that one about a king without skin to the absolutely outrageous one about the two call girls and the Italian husband, they were all, on some levels, scary. The worst was the one about the ageing parents and their only son, and that birthday meal in that distinctly bleak Irish village setting. That one I narrated to my husband (to his horror) hoping that our future is not that.

I waited anxiously for the one authored by Murakami himself, and of course he saved it for the very end. I read with interest that it was written exclusively for this anthology, and that it was triggered in his mind by his own experience of turning twenty. I tried to recall my own 20th birthday and frankly, I just don't recall a single detail of it. Likewise my 21st. Anyway, I hurriedly read it through to the end, and of course, did a double take and read it again to make sure that (a) I understood it somewhat and (b) the story had really ended.

I was a bit disappointed with that one, I admit. I expected something poignant, thought provocative, with a hidden depth that I would explore at length in my mind later, and yes, the word I am looking for is haunting. Instead I was left with something that felt, for lack of a better word, just plain unfinished.

Before you accuse me of it, no, I am not a fan purely of the long form, I like short stories. I read them quite often, especially when going through a busy stretch of life, they are the best. I like the suddenness of them, the inherent unpredicability, the comfortable lack of deep character exploration, and ultimately the fact that they allow me to imagine beyond the typed words.

But this book left me - not - as I expected -  in a thoughtful mood where I would sit around and think about the stories and try to pick at them in my head, but in a hurried mood wanting to pick up something else to read and replace it all with. Nevertheless, there was one saving grace in it all, and that was that none of the storied featured cats! Cats! I have had enough of and will take Dylan's 115th Dream over anything to do with cats, anyday! 

Hydrating for a marathon

(source: not me)

I usually carry a water bottle wherever I go. Especially if I am running a marathon the next day, and all my friends are busy hydrating for what seems to be a week and I figure I may as well do that too, 'cause you know, you never know the day before the marathon that you may twist your ankle and throw 16 weeks of training (even if desultorily done amidst much stress).

But I forgot.

Plus the rule in the airport is never really clear. Can you carry your bottle through the security if it's empty? Or should you take a sip and show them it's potable? Or will they chuck the damn thing into the trash? So of course I don't dare to carry my good bottles. But a random one lying around the house can be recruited for this purpose easily.

But this time I forgot.

So I sucked it up and bought a bottle of water paying an astronomical amount in both paper currency and mother earth screwing up currency. I drank up a bunch and decided to save the rest for the car ride in Mumbai (bound to be long).

I got on the flight and proceeded to do my usual thing of sleeping from before take off to just after landing, waking up only to scarf up the breakfast they provided (don't recall what it was, I was awake just long enough to consume it).

When the flight landed in Mumbai I woke up and twiddled my ears a bit 'cause they were blocked and looked for my bottle. It was all crushed like. I guess they make these water bottles from cheaper and cheaper plastic of late, and plus all the pressure changes or what not. A bit of OCD made me try to straighten it out a tad but it wasn't important so I left it.

Then this stranger woman sitting next to me says "here, let me". I was fine, I DO NOT MIND I wanted to say but before I could capitalise my letters she grabbed the bottle. And believe this. A stranger of a woman who I had had no relationship with up to the point we boarded that 1.5 hours flight. SHE BLEW INTO THE BOTTLE.

I am not known as a good poker player. She must have seen the emotions clearly go across my face. I am not violent by nature so I could easily resist the temptation to slap her on the cheek. But I was so so annoyed! I am pretty easy going among friends and family about sharing food or what not but *shudder* what was she thinking! I pictured all the germs in her mouth, all the cooties and what not.

I reached my room and gave that bottle a nice big rinse. And yes, I did not hydrate (at least not from that bottle) for the rest of the day.... 

Nostalgia

(with thanks to facebook for unearthing this gem)

I think when you are 42 years old, you spend a whole bunch of time thinking about the past. I recently met with some friends - girls err women - I went to college with. We had a nice lunch - chat - exactly like we would have in those days in the early 90s'. Well, except for small differences. You know, one of the kids came along, one of us drove, the other brought her bike, Ola cab was summoned. We talked about calories. And uteruses.

But mostly, we talked about - and thought about in between sentences - about our life in those days. The fun days in the hostel. That old tree outside the library. Boys. Rules. Life lessons. How we thought we knew everything there was to know. We laughed at ourselves - our naivete, the confidence that we had in those days.

In many ways it was wonderful. We have been in touch for the most part, we know a lot about what our lives have been in the past 25 years since that day we all first met, back in 1991. We understand each other without having to say much. We can talk about the others without having to give the whole back story or explain things. We are happy, secure, and life is just generally awesome in one's forties no?

But then there are always those lingering moments - sometimes during our meet-ups, but most times afterwards when I think about it. It's a sadness, for what has clearly been left behind. And a regret that I didn't do that or say this. For me, these are not about the big things - career, husband, family. It's the small things. Not understanding someone's cry for help. An unnecessary argument I still recall. A small meanness I once displayed. A jealous feeling I had. A callousness... Taking someone for granted at times...

Oh I was young, I tell myself. I couldn't have known better. I was grappling with a ton of things. I was working myself to the bone on so many things. I justify it, in my head. I wouldn't call it guilt - not like there are that type of big old skeletons in my college closet to make me feel guilty per se. I guess it's an inescapable feeling that I should have been a better person, and a fear that even now, at 42, I may not be as good a person as I want to be.

Overall though, I clutch jealously to my old friends. They give me a peek into my old self, they remind me of the firebrand I used to be, they tell me the stories I have forgotten, and the best of it all is that they have grown meanwhile, into lovely women. All the edges rounded, a really peaceful aura around them. Of course, I can stay 'Hey BSA, Can I borrow your SLR?' and they will laugh, and we will talk about the godawful common room where the TV was located... 

London Marathon and So On

Thank you random google searchable website with such cards. It captures the essence of my relationship with my daughter perfectly! Though the visual is quite off. She is about an inch taller than me now, and it may interest you to know that recently, she outgrew her crocs, passed them on to me, and bought the next size. 

It has been an interesting summer, for sure. Last summer, in one more of those incessant food battles at home, I had thrown her a challenge. I asked her to grow taller than me by the end of the summer, and Show Me. It was awesome for me that she didn't manage that last year, but then the time to gloat has passed, and I am officially the shortest person in our house, plus have the smallest feet.

We had a great trip to London. I ran the Virgin Money London Marathon, it was amazing. It was my dumb luck that the day of the marathon turned out to be a super cold day. I barely sweated, and held together very well for a long while, running even Kms. The last few Kms were tough, I was still a bit cold, but no big. Met the family at 40th Km, gave me some mojo, finished in decent spirit and time (4:24), felt strong but was very cold. By the time I settled down near the other Indian runners, my lips were blue and all the clothes I wore were of no use. Thankfully, after a coffee and a hot bath, I felt fine!

The week long vacation we had after that was really fantastic. We did a walking Harry Potter tour (Muggle Tours) which was incredible, 'cause it was super geeky (so child lapped it up and answered all the questions before they were even asked). We did the Universal Studios thing also, which was alright. Butterbeer was terrible. Ugh. SO SWEET. We went on a Beatles walking tour (cute), saw Matilda (amazing), Mousetrap (super), rode everywhere in the tube, went to the Lord's Tavern (glug), drank some awesome beers (mmmmm...), cooked in our apartment (why not, dammit?), lost a scarf in Hyde Park (but found it again), & stood on the Prime Meridian. 

Image Make Overs Are Overrated

This is NOT me, she even spells her name differently, so there. 

So it has happened. The undergrads are all back in the campus. In characteristic style, a large team of workers has taken it upon themselves to fully dig up the road outside the building where our classes are. They have blocked up about 3/5ths of the road. One can't drive, walk, cycle, or breathe forget about parking or anything nice like that. The campus is bursting at the seams, I swear.

I am getting that familiar Friday evening feeling of being bone tired, but in a good way. However, this I admit. I started the week thinking that I would transform myself a bit this semester. Image Make Over Baby! I kept telling myself. Vaguely defined, I admit, but I had a few thoughts:

• Wear sarees more often
• Be super organised with daily calendar and meetings
• Be ultra prepared for class with all fun things lined up
• Shoo off anyone who comes to see me without an appointment
• Be serious and firm about rules like the above
• No compromise on exercise + no junk

Let's see how it went and a bit of projection about what I expect to happen. On Monday I wrote a brand new saree and was well prepared for class. Actually I was over ambitious and could only cover ~60% of the material I had planned. No worries, 'cause I used it for Tuesday's class. The other classes went fine as well and I used coloured chalk and stuff.

I gave a talk outside campus - at a local college here on Thursday. I wore a gigantic saree. Traveled a long way. Gave my long talk, had lots of exercises planned which they (who are professors themselves) participated in enthusiastically. It was super fun. I excused myself from lunch and rushed back but traffic made me miss an informal session in lab I had planned.

Lots of people came and got signatures and asked "Two minutes ma'am" type doubts and the phone guy called tons of times to tell me he has fixed my new office phone. I had to be called frantically by my student for a meeting that I semi-forgot. And when another student called me a day in advance to remind me well in time about his meeting, I had a panic attack (almost) 'cause I thought I was late to meet him.

I suddenly discovered (seriously, this shouldn't come as a surprise) that I have Lab class. The lab is large, warm, toasty and dusty. It would be good practice to wear closed shoes to the class. Saree + Sneakers! UGH! So while I did OK on saree wearing and generally being decently attired this week, prognosis is not good. I am likely to fall back to my usual well worn pants and kurtas and stuff, specially with the house painting going on.

I was too zonked and had all sorts of pains Mon-Tue-Wed so I have essentially had three good exercise days this week so far. The cycle ride was fun as was the workout I cranked out yesterday on the terrace. And today I woke up extra early to make sure I got my workout - which was hard, but possibly not hard enough (lift to failure? Seriously, I need a better handle on that).

In short, my make over has ended before it even began. The future, it's bleak. I am me, and shall remain so. Messy, distracted, hair all piled up on my head, and wearing ill fitting clothes. Yep. Me.

Why Don't I Feel More Bummed Out?

Back In March Me Being All Gung-Ho About A Random Sunday Run... 

The most important growth as a runner is the ability to be positive through injuries, don't you think? Here I was, just a month ago, thinking, hmm, it feels like a niggle. It should work out fine with a few days of rest. Then a couple of weeks later with a few runs, testing the niggle out gingerly, which didn't go too well. But kind of not too worried 'cause the Half Marathon I was training for MONTHS for was still a couple of weeks away.

I stayed positive and did all my home remedies including being optimistic and not succumbing to the vicious cycle of waking up late - skipping workouts - losing motivation - feeling ungainly and unfit - lacking energy - needing more sleep - waking up late. I did OK, slogging it out in the gym or cycling, and hoping for best.

And then one day it hit me - BOOM! This wasn't going to happen. It hurt in new and different ways everyday. The pain never really went away though it was never severe enough to wake me up. Finally I did the sensible thing and went to the doc. Who was encouraging and said you are right, it is the dreaded Plantar Fascitis.

He said he did not hate hate me, although I was one of those people - you know - who self-diagnose and self-treat (not self-medicate - that I won't do - I swear) and mess everything up before finally succumbing and going to the doc. He said chill, it's alright, continue all the good stuff runners do when they get PF. And rest up.

He was even all fine with me running as long as I took it easy after and before, and did some pampering. Till he heard about my minimalist shoes. And my 41 years of age. And the fact that I was traveling till the evening before the race. You shouldn't run this half marathon in my medical opinion, he said, and that, was that.

Thanks to all the collective advice of lots of people, I managed to not ruin the foot despite the travel - it wasn't very hectic travel admittedly - despite having to wake up at 3am on one of the days (I did my usual trick of sleeping from before take-off to after landing - a handy hack I use very effectively when I travel alone). But still, Saturday night I took myself to bed, with no race stress.

I even woke up early on Sunday, dressed in Dryfit finery and went to the race start/finish point by bike. I wheeled my trusty steed all around and met up with tons of folks who were running or cheering. I hung around a fair bit, and returned home very happy at having met all these crazy runner friends of mine. I expected it would hurt a lot (emotionally) that I was missing out on the fun. I only had a pang of regret that I didn't volunteer at the aid station (actually the doc told me not to. He said it is probably worse than running! Thanks, doc!).

Aside from that I was generally fine and happy and looking ahead. So yes, not bummed out much about missing the Dream Runners Half Marathon for the first time since inception. I have run three years in a row and the fourth was going to be super good for me, with all that training under my belt and all. It was not meant to be, I guess!

So here goes me, all positive and optimistic, enjoying a few more weeks of non-running workouts - I am hitting the gym, though sometimes a tad dejected when I see my form in the mirror; I am cycling, despite the crumminess of my bike; I even swam yesterday, after much haranguing by the child and a few insults flung my way. I may suck at all these things, but then there is no recent evidence that I am good at running either, so I pull on the big girl undies and plod on! 

Bike It Like You Mean It

Right. So this past weekend I did something that sounded crazy. I went on this super long bike ride. The deal was like this. I was missing running, big time. I was killing it in the gym but you know how it is. It is not the same thing. I don't dislike the gym but running be my first love, you know. 

Anyway since I couldn't run long, I figured I should try this long bike ride and see how it goes. Thankfully, a bunch of my friends were going for it as well. And the start point was like 400m from my house, at this new cycle-themed restaurant called Ciclo Cafe. The actual distance of the ride was 80Km.

Yes, 80Km. But they warned us not to try to ride 80Km all in one go. Meaning, if you hadn't done long-ish rides before, don't go for it, they said. And being an endurance athlete and all (ahem!), it made all kinds of sense to me. Besides, I have a very basic bike. Like no gears or anything, just very very basic. 

So my plan going in was to get a 2 hour workout out of the thing. But my friends - the two you see up there - convinced me to ditch the time goal and go for a distance goal. The cycling peeps are big into distances. I mean, yeah, runners are also, but these guys are into 10s of Kms!! 50Km, they said. The second we hit 25Km we hook a U, they said.

I was OK with that. Based on my solo rides that I do periodically, I know that around 3mins/Km is what I can generally maintain, without much effort, for about an hour. Sometimes, I drop off after that, if I feel thirsty or my thighs hurt, or the sun is crazy etc. I figured that was a good goal for this one, with a broad idea of trying to keep the pace steady. 

I have no idea how to pace myself on the bike since I am pretty inexperienced in long bike rides. Of course I have been riding a bike for the past 30 years and am comfortable on it, and I have been riding in Chennai traffic for a few years now so I am not over-worried about that either. But still, the longest ride I had done till Sunday was 33Km or so which I did back in Aug 2014 ('cause I was injured and pissed off at being injured & not being able to run). 

I am anything but sensible anyhow, so off we went. It was pretty fun actually! I found myself whistling to myself sometimes or just chatting with my buddies. It was very peaceful. I was not thirsty or hurting or anything at all. I had my garmin on and was calling Kms periodically. I was sight-seeing happily, noting the various offices and stuff we encountered. 

Without any regrets that various folks resolutely headed to the 40Km turn-off point, the three of us turned back at 25Km as planned. On the way back my bums felt a bit sore and we all joked about our sore bums. We took a couple of water breaks. I felt pretty good throughout. And was looking forward to the breakfast that was promised, and sorting through the various things I had to do through the rest of the day, in my mind. We took ~2.5hours for the 50Km, which was not bad, and within what had seemed sensible at the beginning.

Right, then I waved my friend on and decided to pop home for a second to hand over the house keys to my maid, who was waiting. I did that, and headed back to Ciclo Cafe to partake of my breakfast. I felt thirsty so, as I was doing all along, I grabbed my bottle from my waist pack and was drinking it. You know how this goes, right?

I hit an uneven section of the road, the bike flew, and I, thankfully, did not fly, but with my 3 decades worth of bike riding in my instincts, let go of the bike and fell on my side. As this is a men's bike, I couldn't do what I would have done with a ladies bike and throw it away from me. It fell on me. It was hilarious. Security guards from all surrounding houses showed up to see what the hell I'd done.

Long story short, it wasn't too bad. Nothing broken, except for a bit of skin in my palm. And some nasty blood clots on my thigh and shoulder. The front light popped out, but it's fixable. No big whoop. In all this one thing I was glad about was wearing pants. 'Cause you DON'T want to tumble from a big old men's bike on the street where you live while wearing tiny running shorts. At least this 41 year old doesn't. :-) 

Gone up in smoke

The last couple of weeks of non-teaching summer time are here. I have been dreading the second half of July this entire summer. One reason is that I didn't feel like I got a good break this year. Yes, we had a bit of a vacation in Yelagiri back in May. And I have been spending time at home on domestic tasks and fixing the cracks in the wall. But my 'me' time - involving much decompression, focussed running, bunch of reading, bit of writing, well I haven't had that this year.

I am not saying that such luxuries are mine every year. Something or the other crops up for sure. Like I remember one summer when my sole goal and focus was on getting an air conditioner fitted in my office. Uff. At least when the semester rolled around I was like 'Hells Yeah Bring On The Undergrads! With AirCon In My Office I feel Ready' - so it was something.

I had hopes for this summer, I swear. I was going to be in fit fighting running ninja shape (hello, Plantar Fasciitis). I was going to go miles ahead in my writing project (well, the universe conspired to delay it enough that I just got Step 1 done last week. Forget the miles). I was going to be Domestic Goddess and get the house painted (Where the hell are my paint samples now, dammit?). I even downloaded the paint app on my phone (It sucks royally as well, pun intended, crashes every 3 seconds). I was going to move offices (this is a long tale that will follow anon).

Anyway, here we are. Trying to count the positives. My foot is feeling better today. I have overcome the laziness and started cycling a bit. I am stretching like it's going out of style. I am done with all the left over grading, evaluating and other stuff as of this afternoon. And I am 30% of the way through my office move, which I finally started yesterday. There is this circular Indian problem that I often encounter.

Thank you Arun 

(from Photographs of IITM)

In this case it goes like this: To move the air-conditioner from Office A to Office B involves:
1. Removing ac from Office A
2. Cut window in Office B
3. Board up window in Office A
4. Affix ac in Office B
These tasks cannot be done in linear fashion, because, monkeys. The crew for steps 2&3 is different from the crew for 1&2. I didn't want them to do step 1 till step 3 was assured, as I have my stuff in Office A still and I already had a bit of a monkey attack 'cause I left the window slightly open and they squeezed their adept fingers in and stole my cloth purse with play-doh. Last week.

Office B is part of a wider lab with tons of equipment and students. They don't want step 2 done before step 4 is assured. Also because it is on the ground floor, and not just monkeys, but snakes. Besides, we discovered while fiddling around with the window, that there was a beehive or a wasps nest of some sort. The creatures starting bzzing around the lab and it was like OKAY NOW.

In the middle of all this, I am demanding that they clean the fan. Trust me, it needs cleaning. And my student says the floor is sloping (I don't care about this one as much as I should). I need a new table 'cause my current table is from the British era and is constructed from concrete or iron though it looks wooden. And the best part of it all is that the switches for the light and fan in my office cabin are located miles away at the entrance to the lab. Dimwits.

I mean, the Tiger, Bangle, Brahmin problem's got nothing on mine, I tell you. I almost regret I started this whole thing. But I have to get this done before the semester starts - I am determined. This is good for me. I know. 'Cause it's so darn hard and so darn dumb, it has to be character building. Without doubt. Meanwhile, let me go and dream about how my new office is going to look super cool and neat and be the talk of the town.

Home Alone!

Image: Internet 

Every morning I wake up and of course I first and foremost get rid of my exercise fixation. But even half way through that the nagging "I got to be doing this that" feeling creeps in. Yes, it is the dreaded school cycle & morning routine. Well, not so dreaded now. But more on that in a bit. That feeling is not entirely unlaced with excitement, I admit.

It is kind of strange but I just love those first few minutes of the morning when I see my daughter. Now, it could be that I am a morning person. Or that I am all hopped up on endorphins after my workout session. Or it could just be true love or something. Whatever it is, I feel very positive and awesome and all resolved to be a wonderful mom (and not a nag), every morning. And then that feeling slowly goes away and I become this person who most likely has PMS (even if she doesn't).

Now, this year, we have made some changes. We moved schools! I know - this is like super big and momentous and I haven't had a second to talk to people whom I haven't met IRL about it. We thought long and hard, actually for almost one full year, and then bit the bullet and did the needful to give up on the CBSE dream. With that, we threw away also, the dreaded uniform, a 15 minute morning and 1/2 hour afternoon commute, and the comfort of familiar textbooks. 

I would have to be really selfish not to mention that this is the fourth school the child attends, well, fifth if you count her play school. She is a trooper and has held her head high in all. This is also the fourth language she learns (as a second language) - Spanish. Oh yes. She did Hindi when we were in Mumbai. Then I went all idealistic mother tongue (well, father tongue if you really must split hairs) on her and she did Tamil when we moved here. It got super scary so we moved to Sanskrit (which she loved) when they offered it. And now, in the new school we picked Spanish! 

The class is very small, and they follow the Cambridge curriculum. She gets to wear a Tshirt with the school logo on it, and shorts/skirts/pants of any sort. Of course she wears shorts or jeans, which is also her normal outside school wear. The salwar kameez as uniform is something she has hated a lot! She can wear non-uniform shoes so she has a series of sports shoes that she wears using logic I don't understand. Her feet, incidentally, are a half size bigger than mine now. 

It has been a month and she is full of beans (and rather red in the face from playing in the sun) when she comes back home. So far, except for a couple of minor fights with a couple of the kids in her class (she can be fierce when it comes to small matters like someone taking her pen - I blame it on the fact that it has all happened 1000s of times in her years of schooling), she seems well settled. I don't know anything except that we talk science occasionally, and I needn't tell you how much that warms the cockles of my heart. 

Today the school has taken them to a movie - Kaaka Muttai - which is why I am home alone currently. Good for them, 'cause I have been really really bad about any kind of movie watching this year. I was telling her this morning that she cannot take any food/water to the theater as outside stuff is not allowed inside. "I am not an idiot ma - even if I have been to exactly two movies in my eleven years" she said - tone all accusatory. I don't deny it. I never seem to find a chunk of time for this. 

But I have managed to pick her up from school all this month (except a day or two here and there), been un-competitively encouraging of her basketball playing, bought her all the shoes she asks for, including ordering a pair online, sending it back 'cause it was too small, and getting the correct size in timely manner, allowed her to make a food timetable and not insisted overmuch on Vegetables Every Single Meal, and generally tried to keep the nagging under control. Now where is my Gold Star, dammit? 

Going to the gym, gym, gym

My husband was only too glad to show me how bad my push up form is. #OrangeYouGladYouAsked

When I was in college I spent a lot of time with my ankles swathed in crepe bandages. Mostly, everyone thought I was being a major drama queen and did not hesitate to tell me so. Unfortunately this was in the 1990s and no one (at least in my near and dear ones) had realised the importance of things like balance and stability and so forth.

I tore, strained, screwed up many ligaments and tendons and other such things in my feet over the years. I continued to play basketball, stoically suffering the aftermath with tightly bound ankles. I slowly migrated to better shoes once I reached western shores (still not super good shoes, as I bought them in sales in the kid's section - I only recently realised that quality of kids shoes are not as good as adults). I got nice ankle braces and wore them a lot.

Thankfully, being small built and being super busy with studies and research meant that there was only so much damage I could do to myself in those days. Now, of course, you may argue that the world is my oyster. And not in a good way. I am heavier, and it is four decades and counting, and there are so many miles to be run, after all. At any rate, despite retiring from basketball several years ago, and for all my sensible and joyful running and whatever, I suffer niggles on a regular basis now.

I back the hell off when that happens. My friends laugh at me at my constant whining about this pain that pain. My husband shouts at me and says funny things like "Why don't you run 50Km and see if it goes away" [It did, one time, I swear. My knee was all wobbly and I was griping big time and I sucked it up and ran to Mahabalipuram with my buddies and it was all Endorphins Baby All The Way and I felt awesome].

Now the trick is to not succumb to the low feeling too much. Like last month I was positive my ITBand was screwed up. I had a 21Km run on the schedule that was bothering me a lot. It wasn't like I had been running too well anyway up to then. I foam rolled [Hate It] and whined and griped. The 21Km felt fine though I was off target time. The ITB thing went away. But then right now my heel hurts. I swear it's like Three Men In A Boat. Just missing Housemaid's Knee!

I hereby resolve to count my lucky stars. The important thing is to Keep At It. So I have been doing whatever feels good. And is not = lazing and sleeping unnecessarily. I upped the weights on my strength routine. I increased intensity on my core routine. If I skipped an exercise that loaded my left heel (which is hurting), I added one that doesn't. Thinking of this as an opportunity. To fix my push-up form. To get a couple of pull ups under my belt. Like that. Hell Yeah. #FortyOneNotOut. But for now, I am back in crepe bandages and hoping it helps heal my heel! 

Relaxing Like A Boss

All smiles after belly is full! 

I saw a play in the theatre after a very long time. Chennai is so accessible to do such things - be it music or theatre or lit events - within a half hour driving distance from home! Of course movies as well - though I find I am not so much into them still. I don't mind the occasional chick flick on TV but I would still much rather read a book!

Anyway back to yesterday. It starred Anupam Kher Neena Gupta and Rakesh Bedi & it was really wonderful. The lines were delivered perfectly (what do you expect - these guys are super talented), and the premise was simple enough (which I enjoy). And the best part of it all was not having to deal with a large cast (somehow don't like a large cast - mostly because the quality of acting is never uniform and it irritates me. Except in Broadway musicals perhaps :)), and in particular not having any young people in it!! Here go read some random things Miss Malini said about this play:
Mera Woh Matlab Nahi Tha

After several months of being on the #100SareePact I finally bought myself a couple of sarees for office wear from here: handsofindia. They are the kind I been looking for a while - they are Kota cottons, thin, fluffy, and since I got it from these handloom aficionados, kinda feel good about it. My mom is likely to say I overpaid, but that would be par for the course. I need to solve the blouse/petticoat situation now and clean up my clothes shelf, and then am ready for the semester to begin, I guess!

Of Life, Niggles, and Mental Strength

"Women Power" 

It has been a strange year for me, this 2015. Half way through, it is a good time to figure out a few things I guess. Instead of thinking, here I am, typing furiously and hoping the thoughts sort out in my head somehow. 

A few days shy of my 41st birthday, I dropped my precious iPhone. It wasn't even a particularly old iPhone (by my standards), so it was really earth-shattering for me to find that the touch screen konked immediately. The blasted alarm was on and I couldn't turn it off 'cause I couldn't swipe to unlock it. It was a relief when the battery died out (not that that took long - y'know). I replaced it with much guilt with a new one, thankfully it still fit into my old back-up battery. I declared it my 41st birthday gift from the family and they didn't seem to disagree, so that was that. 

Sometime in February, I started thinking seriously about training for marathons - something that I have never managed to do, like, ever. I started valiantly on the Run Less Run Faster program back in 2014 before the Chicago marathon, but the whole thing got derailed thanks to a shady tendonitis issue. Anyway this has been a good thing for my life, having a real personal coach and all. I have understood a lot more about my body (& mind), and while I fight another very recent niggle, I have good things to reflect on! 

The #CleanKotturpuramCampaign (https://www.facebook.com/CleanKotturpuramCampaign) was born this year on Jan26th. It is a neighborhood initiative and we work on waste segregation and tons of other related things. I have met such wonderful people and it is quite convenient considering they live so close by! We sweep and dig and level and talk and talk to everyone. We have had frustrations but look forward to growing this in the immediate future! And I have learnt so much about waste, it has been wonderful. 

The #100SareePact was also born this year. That one I cannot take credit for, but it has been an interesting journey for me. I feel mature and sensible and more confident walking about in a saree. I am not, as I say often enough, a fashionista. I hate figuring out crap like accessories. And being a chronic mix-and-match-er means that sarees are always tough treading ground. A bit of creativity on the blouse front, and recognising that there is a particular accessory I like (dangly ear-rings), has been great for me! Somehow it gives me the happies. 

We took two vacations this year - and are dying to take another one. The first one was an almost stay-cation. We just went to Mahabalipuram and it was super fun - mostly involving swimming, trying somersaults in the pool, and chatting. Then we went to Yelagiri on a big ol' family trip which was also great, with kids milling around, lots of trekking, and many arguments with the hotel guys who I suspected were trying to starve us. 

The child moved to a new school this term. That was an interesting set of tasks, I don't know how we managed to get it all together. But if I was worried about the transition, it turns out I needn't have. 'Cause she has been the trooper as always and adjusted super well. She is learning Language # 4 (Spanish, after Hindi/Tamil/Sanskrit for a few years each since Grade 1), and basketball (well, it's too soon to say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree), and seems in great spirits. 

What the next six months will bring up, I don't know. But I hope my running picks up - first the niggle to solve of course - and then a couple of nice races won't hurt even if they are not full marathons; I hope I get a hold on this nutrition; I hope we get some vacation time soon-ish; hope the child figures out some time for her swimming & most of all I wish for mental strength to stay happy and positive and a be good person! (and some mental clarity to blog more often!) 

Mysore Half Marathon

Even in the most megalomaniacal mood I couldn't write this in TWCM blog, so here I am. With some not-so-breaking news! And musings! 

On Sep 29th, I ran in the 3rd Namma Mysore marathon organised by Life is Calling. I have been meaning to run in this event since inception but it was always one thing or the other. All legitimate excuses, I promise. I managed a quick trip in and out of Mysore this year for it, so glad I could. Plus met up with the family and ate mum's dosas.... Yippee!

Of course, it is an exciting thing. I drooled over the race route every year - it starts at the Mysore Palace, winds all over, hits the Kukkarahalli Kere, goes past my sister's college and my school, dad's college, Neha's college, comes back down near where we used to live in those days, and returns to the Palace again. Drool.

I am in decent shape lately, I must say. The hyderabad marathon, where I was the 5 hour pacer, was good. I finished strong. The crazy flyover runs we have been doing in Chennai actually helped a bit. I have reduced mileage since end-August as I am working with a group of beginners training for TWCM, but have been super disciplined anyway.

The first km is itself uphill at Mysore. It's a super familiar place (Devraj Urs Road) having been here a million times but I was quickly out of breath running there! Of course I started in typical fashion at an insane pace (someday I am going to learn to start slow). It stayed uphill past Regaalis etc. and then it was up and down but I was enjoying running in all these places so much that I kind of didn't worry about things till the KM 15 or so. I did slow down but was still at a good clip throughout.

I saw all the lead runners on the trail part of the run, and was glad to note that I was in third position. But wasn't sure if there were any women near me, with all the uphill parts I was sure I would slow down in the later part of the race and that if anyone was near me they would overtake me. Not that I was too worried about it, of course. If they did, they did. Nothing I could do about it.

When I passed my school - 12 years there - I really really wanted to stop and take a photo. I was grinning like an idiot. But I was also hurting a bit and didn't think I would get a good shot thanks to the high compound wall - so continued on. I was all alone on this stretch, I couldn't wait for someone to catch up with me to tell them. That someone was a nice looking chap from the Navy or something but by then I had stopped tearing up and it was cool. I just told him, my school is lovely.

Dad's college passed by too quickly and I was going down a familiar downhill. How I used to love to ride my bike fast down that part of my commute home! I advise all the people to chill out and not run fast downhill lest they blow their knee out, but I couldn't resist... One final small hill to crest - and then the course flattened out nicely, and I left behind sentimentality and concentrated on keeping to a decent time.

I ran into a friend from Chennai at some stage and he pulled ahead, strong, at a water point. I was glad to see him go 'cause the sub-2 was in the bag for him, it meant. But I looked down at my watch and realised it was likely that I could do it as well. So I urged the little heart to fight it out. Another friend who had finished earlier showed up to pace me the last few hundred meters. I didn't put in as much as a kick as I usually do at the finish ('cause I only do that if I am on a track!) but came in in 1:57 and change anyhow.

I was super duper happy with the time. I did feel like I had worked hard, and finished strong. Did my usual Viparita Karani (suspending my legs) move on some random palace wall (after finding one that didn't have any gods on it!) and drank up all my water, and stretched out nicely and walked around a lot, admiring the Palace and taking pictures...

Then waited and waited and waited a long while to finally get the chance to go up on stage and collect my third place trophy. The auto I flagged afterward had this super chatty driver who refused to believe that anyone would pay money to just participate in this mad caper of a race....

Mum and Grandmum and Aunts and all were very kicked about the whole thing... Paper had my name going on which was cool. And check me out all pink and smiling with my trophy thing!

Mum's the word

I was away this past weekend, attending a wedding, somehow feeling super tired, and catching up with family. I go months without talking to my aunts & uncles, and I only very rarely meet the relatives next removed. Life is busy and I don't get too down thinking about this, but when I see them it feels so good. Plus there is my grandmum, who is pretty awesome.

I am reading the Murakami (1Q84), and I needn't tell you how brilliant it is. Mum read a couple of chapters and decided its a book of short stories. Nothing I said (in Page 512 at that point of time), could convince her otherwise, so I let it go. Which is the best strategy sometimes. No big deal.

She started quizzing me about my early childhood memories. Now this is a tricky thing, right. Sis and I have to talk about this stuff with regular disclaimers that we don't blame her for anything. Not that anything bad happened to us, just the regular parts of growing up and so on, but mum, she is getting increasingly sensitive about this stuff.

So I told her innocuous things. Like I remember being three or so and sitting reciting the alphabet. I was on the living room couch, I remember. It was brown that year. Dad was in his favourite cane chair. I asked him after I got done 'was that capital letters or small?' Of course I don't think this is a pure memory because the story has been told many times in family circles. (As evidence of what, I don't know).

I remember being in our little garden. Early morning, checking out the dew drops, climbing on the gate, plucking the delicate white jasmines, praying, snuggling up to mum early morning inside the mosquito netting, yeah well, lots and lots of things. These are like snapshots in my brain. Not videos. So I have to order them chronologically now.

I was always super tiny. They sent me to a different school than my sister, for a little bit. Because it was closer to home. And it would be easier to not lose me despite my Thumbelina like size. Or something. Well, that school sucked big time and I regularly had to deal with boys who would take off their shorts and run around and all sorts of nonsense like that.

Not that I told my parents any of that. How was I to know? I thought that was how things were in schools. Finally someone figured out that this school was terrible and they pulled me out. I don't remember too much but I think I can picture the scene where a bunch of us kids were taken by one of the maids hired for the purpose, to the school, in the morning.

My mum was always very busy. She was studying for her M.Ed. (when I picked up random words like 'curriculum' and 'corroborate' from her in my Thumbelina avatar). Then she was working at an Institute for Language Studies (where I hung out for ages after school amidst the mango and banyan trees with my quiet friend Vijayalakshmi-with the short cropped stylish hair-style).

Then the old folk at home fell sick one by one and she was busy dealing with that (while I branched out and went to school and figured I was good in studies but not so much in eating and waited the whole day to snuggle up to her in the early mornings). Then she started on her Phd (and I really think I wanted to help her, though all I did was grade the numerous exams she gave kids for the sake of her data).

Although she is right here, few hours away, I miss her a lot. I want to tell her everything. I want to sit down and have a good cry on her lap. But I don't. I spent a lot of time talking to her this weekend. We discussed family politics. Some philosophical musing type stuff. We talked about the kids. We talked about the wedding. And my work. And her apartment. Neither of us talked about ourselves, our feelings, as usual.

(And I still haven't directly told her I ran the Ultra Marathon in December)