How I trained to run and complete my first 20kms Half Marathon as a person who didn't run regularly.

Pic courtesy:- a proud me

 

In the beginning of 2003, I was not the fittest version of myself. But, yes, I had the luxury of being a young woman. The young woman I was, discovered that in Brussels there were several chances for ordinary people to participate in different sporting events. Amongst these were runs of 5kms, 10kms, half or even full marathons. I took this as a chance to be able to tick off at least one of the dreams I always had had on my bucket list. So, as soon as I could I started training for it. I had an indoor elliptical trainer that I used daily and on any sunny day, I was outdoors trying my best to see what I was capable of.

Sports had always been important to me during my teens, mainly because I was always on the chubbier side. But I never had had any actual training in sports and even when I did participate in school, I was not good. Luckily, I never let that deter any personal plans I had at self-improvement. I was good at getting others to work as a team with me and often did all kinds of exercise at home either with some friends or even alone to improve my flexibility. 

I remember some crazy challenges I had made up for myself. During one of the phases when I was busy learning what exercises existed for someone to do at home, I discovered that I was pretty good with a skipping rope (jump rope). So, I took up the challenge to do at least 1200 skips every single day for at least a month. I didn’t have any teacher; it was just me telling me what to do.

So, fast forward to 2003, I took up a challenge to run a distance of 20kms. I was already dreaming of holding a medal at the end of that distance. It would be my first ever medal for anything related to sports. This time there was no way any of the past lazy, procrastinating or bad-at-follow up versions of my younger self would be allowed to come into the picture. I somehow felt that it was a turning point for me and also a welcome gift that I would give myself for having survived my first European winter. 

So, after celebrating the exciting moment when I actually secured a place in the race, I started running regularly. However, I had no idea what sort of training to do. The internet was not a big part of people’s lives those days. Or at least not of mine. My goal was to just finish the race. The training generally meant I would plan a time to leave the house and a duration to keep running on the go and stick to it. I would train at home on the elliptic trainer or be outside putting one foot in front of the other. I did that for several weeks, I fail to remember how many in fact. 

Finally, the week of the race arrived. I received a notification to go and pick up my race number. I still remember thinking ‘oh wow look at this. My number is 30000 something. That means there will be at least 30000+ people running with me.’ The number humbled me. I felt part of a huge community who probably all had a similar goal and at that moment it didn’t matter that this would be my first time. I was now even more excited to participate and see the people and all that encompassed the event. Waiting for the D-day became difficult. 

Of course, time goes by in a wink and I found myself standing at the starting line. We were divided into four or five groups of people. Each group contained people who had a similar estimated finish time. I had no idea about my speed and so I had put down 4 hours. Which was what I thought I could do in the worst case if I walked. Let’s not dwell on the fact that back then I hated walking. I preferred running.

Our group waited in the cold, chilly weather while we heard the gun go off for each of the groups that preceded us. Then I heard our gunshot and that’s when the reality struck me. Here I was, really, really trying to do what I had prepared myself for. While it was difficult to think of anything at that moment because of the number of people I was running with, I soon found my head flooded with doubts and fears. I had decided to keep a strict ‘no exit’ policy. Ok, the thought was here and was telling me that I would probably be in pain or that I would never be able do it. But the voice in my head and heart said ‘there is only one finish line’. There was no way I was going to give up without putting up a huge fight. There was no way the older version of me, who as a child didn’t have what it took to be a sportsperson, was going to get her way again. 

All I remember today is that the first 10kms were pretty easy, I actually hadn’t felt any pain yet. Since I had had only a few weeks of intense training and no real method to follow, around the 13km mark I started really feeling the effort I was putting my body through. Running with so many other people in the beginning of the race also pushes one to go faster than training speed, but, since it was my first race I didn’t know that. I was starting to feel the strain of those initial kilometers. 

What one must understand is that the last 4 kms of this  Brussels race is totally uphill. Since it’s really a hard part of the race for everyone, most of the families and friends who come to cheer are found in this area. There are stalls to take a small break of water or grab some fruit at this point. One can find ‘help stations’ with Red Cross staff for people who have any issue to be looked at. There are several musicians who line the street and cheer the mass of runners with upbeat music and dance. Their energy helps immensely.

 I had promised myself that whatever happened throughout the race, I wouldn’t completely stop running. So, there I was at 16kms, having not stopped for a minute in those ‘God knows how many’ hours, still moving. Shuffling upwards, I really thought, ‘ok, now is when I’m going to pass out. Now I will start having a problem’. I countered this thought coming back to the fact that since  I had endured all this time, I just couldn’t give up at these last few kilometers. I needed something to give me a boost. But I didn’t have anything on me at that moment. I had already passed all the stalls and had decided to avoid going next to them. I had avoided any sort of excuse that could crop up in my mind which would put an end to my dream. 

Like a beacon of hope, I saw a lady cheering me on, on the left side of the road and she had something in her hand. It was a paper box full of sugar cubes. She placed a couple into my extended hand as I passed her. When I put one in my mouth, I felt a buzz of energy. This helped me hold on for about a kilometer. At around the 18km mark, I saw runners who had medals around their necks who were running towards us. These people had finished their ordeal and were running backwards to cheer on  people like me. ‘These people are heroes’, I said. 

That’s when I saw the Arc of the Cinquantenaire Park in the distance and knew I was close. That’s also when I felt this huge cramp envelop my right leg. I tried to move forward but found that I couldn’t run anymore. I was 600 meters away from the finish and I decided to walk. If one could call that walking. Limping and struggling with all my might, I moved ahead. People around me were falling like flies. There were so many fallen over, giving up. There were spectators trying to get those people to stand up. I said, ‘ok, it’s not just me who is finding it super hard right now.’ But no way was I going to crumble so close to the medal holding image of me, that I saw in my mind. I just kept ignoring the cramps which were now all over both legs. Kept ignoring people looking at me and kept ignoring the tears and the pain that I felt all over. I dragged myself to the finish line and I made it. I hobbled to where the medals were being placed on the finishers. Now, I had mine. And my medal met the new me.

You can listen to the article on my show called 'Lekha writes, then reads' on Apple or Spotify or by just clicking this link..Listen to the 20kms article 

You can also read these motivating stories about me and others 

Life in Belgium as a foreigner - No More Secrets!

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Rasika and Muthu climbing and conquering mountains together #couplegoals

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If he can run -#YouTooCanRun - Mr. P. Venkatraman - Zipper Club coach and founder

Complaining seems like everyone's constant companion

Somewhere in France, 
pic courtesy B.Libert

 A complain is airing out plainly in view, 
that you don't like what's happening or what's coming to you.

You still hope to edit or tweak the idea,
that doesn't sit your way.
Break someone else's will and conquer,
Just a figure of speech I say.

Breath in, breath out,
there's so much to say.
Our wounds need healing, 
we can't wish them away.

I work on my healing, 
My mind learns not to yell,
I'm hoping all this will take me 
To a time I feel really very well.

Hurray, we reach a time when my mind is now at peace,
But what do I hear now,
someone's complaining about me!

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 2 - Amma goes missing

             

illustration by Lucie Colinet 

 In my childhood most of the ladies of the house didn’t work. It was no different in my home in Mumbai. My Mummy stayed at home and my Daddy went to office. I had learnt about their youth as I started asking questions to them about where they came from. I had a mental image about my father being very able, social and the one who handled the outside world well. At the same time, my mother who was the whole day at home, was an amazing homemaker. I knew that as every meal was made with love, every part of our home was clean and her presence gave us a sense of security. For many things, I thought of them both as equal. But, the reality was, I didn’t have many examples of their roles being reversed. I had never seen mother travel alone or go and handle any bank or school work. I had not seen my Daddy cook or clean the house. Their roles were well defined and consequently, we as spectators had certain ideas in our heads.

One day, I was travelling back from a party with my parents. It was around 10pm and we were heading back home by the local train. Usually, women and children travel back by the ladies compartments that are present in two parts of each train. One is situated in the middle of the train and one at the end. However, those days, at 10pm, the compartment in the middle of the train became a general compartment to allow for men too. 

We reached the platform and found ourselves standing at the opposite end to the ladies. Frankly speaking, the general compartment was not very crowded, but getting into the train was difficult. Too many people were blocking the area at the entry, I noticed , while boarding the train just after my father. Soon enough, the train started and I turned behind to look for my mother. There were several people there, but no Mummy. I felt this deep fear while I kept looking for her. “Mummy’s not here Daddy!”, I said loudly. My father was very calm. He always treated every situation without any quick reactions. He told me to be calm and that we would find my mother together. We got off at the next stop, while our final destination was actually five stops away. 

I was slightly upset that he didn’t even look worried. When we got off at the next station, we went to the Station Master’s office. We got the person on duty to make an announcement that stated my mother’s name and asked her to come join her family at the station where the announcement was being done. 

While waiting there for those difficult and long 20 minutes, I was very scared. I kept looking at the door hoping to see her come in. However, after the half hour was up, my father asked me to follow him and we took one of the next trains back home. I spent all the time back home aboard  that train,  worried and with a knot building up in my tummy.  

When we got off at our station, we had still to take a bus to reach our home. At that moment, I remembered that my mother never carried a handbag. I didn’t know if she had some cash or small change stuffed in her clothing. Some women carry their change and cash in small purses that they smartly hide either in their blouses or the material of their saris.

This increased my worry and on the route back home, I kept looking out of the window searching for her on the streets. However, this was of no use as I couldn’t really see everything in the darkness.

The moment we reached our building, I ran up the stairs, entered my house and saw my brothers and sister there and searched for my mother. She wasn’t home and I started crying and tearily told them what had happened. My brothers immediately left the apartment together taking the motorbike we owned to go search for our mother.

Sometime passed and while I was being consoled by my sister and father, one of my brothers reached home. My mother had apparently entered the first train that my father and I had gotten into. The only thing that happened was, since the door was too crowded, she climbed into the compartment using the next door which had more space for her to enter. She reached our destination stop easily and quickly. But since she didn’t have any cash and those were the days that transactions happened only with cash, she couldn’t take the bus. 

They found my mother walking home slowly, wondering all this time how we had got lost.

#parenting #thechroniclesoftheyoungestchild #mumbailocaltrains

Like what you read? you can listen to me read out this story on Spotify or apple in 'Lekha writes, then reads'. or here https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/lwbrussels/episodes/The-Chronicles-of-the-youngest-Child---Amma-goes-missing-e37tkv4

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The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 1

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 2 - Amma goes missing

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 3

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 4- Getting 3rd Rank

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 5 - Enacting our real life personas

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 6 - Typing Tickets

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 7- My brother Raj's birthday to a young me - my doll from Italy

The Chronicles of the Youngest child - Part 8 - Childhood picnics at Gorai Beach, Mumbai

The Chronicles of the youngest child - Part 9- Back from the picnic at the Beach - the aftermath

Lekha and her lisp - my brother's way of showing me his love -The Chronicles of the Youngest Child - Part 10

Icecream incidents- The King Cone - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child - Part 11

No smoking please - Chapter 12 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

The mystery of the pink curry - Chapter 13 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

#thechroniclesoftheyoungestchild #olderparents #oldersiblings #largefamilies #pamperedfourthkid 

Life in Belgium as a foreigner - No More Secrets!

When I shifted to Brussels, I was 24 years old. So, I thought I knew the ways of the world and had some work experience too. However, getting married to a Belgian man in India and living in India was surely different from the first few years of life in Belgium. Nothing could have prepared me for the culture shock that awaited me. He and his family were all native French speakers. I had never learnt French as a child or in school days. Even at university, there was French as an option, but I never thought that I would have any use of the language in my life.

Reaching here in Brussels, i realized that even though Brussels was an international city and a hub of Europe few people on the streets really spoke English. I had time on hand and within a few days, I joined a French class. It was a great way to meet new people and have a social life. It was nice to see that others like me had it hard with this new environment. That others like me, had to start again to make friends and learn the ways of life in a new country.

Looking back, youth definitely helped me. I didn’t find the process of learning this language difficult. I spoke English with my husband, so I practiced my French with his family whom we met on the weekends. I used to listen to what was being said, repeat their sentences and try and make sense of it. Body language is such a fantastic tool when you are learning a new language. So many things like encouragement, affirmation, approval or disapproval and impatience are displayed on the faces of those you interact with. Eyes shining up because they were surprised to see me try their language, a nod of the head showing that they were starting to understand me, a frown if there was a word that I hadn’t really pronounced well or a giggle because there had been a mix up in the sounds I had used were a very common occurrence. 

Very often, I would start on a topic when I met someone from the family and they would encourage me by being patient and entertaining my efforts. But, in Belgium or anywhere in the world, I notice that people speak for an average of ten minutes slowly and patiently in an informal setting. They then quickly start speaking at their normal pace of communication. When this happened, of course, I couldn’t keep up. Instead, I found myself having a debate in my head about what they had just said and what would be the correct word and correct order of words to choose to reply them. So, funnily in most cases I would talk about something that was already ‘old news’ to everyone else in the room by then. They would stare at me weirdly, their minds trying to make sense of what I had just managed to utter. They had no idea of the difficulty with which I had managed the feat. I could hear questions being asked and then, suddenly the person most in tune with me and my language skills would remember the subject from some minutes ago. 

As months passed and I completed more than one academic year in my French school, I started to notice progress. I would find myself being able to hear the ‘liasIons’ that link the words to each other in the language. I could actually remember difficult words and even form sentences that were different from just the basic ‘I’ and ‘me’ ones.

One day, I reached my in laws’ home where the entire family was gathered. As they all greeted me and everyone settled in, I declared loudly in French, « From today, there will be no more secrets ».

My father in law smiled and said, « Oh, what an intelligent girl she is » !

PS. I encourage everyone to continue to learn languages, it’s such a great way to understand another culture and really integrate into a new society. You understanding them well means there is a chance they understand you well. 

You can hear me read this article in my podcast on 'Lekha writes, then reads' on Spotify or Apple or by clicking here 

https://open.spotify.com/episode/2UG4BEbsadlmAe1orCAgvq?si=4zJn-p-yQUSmZw-RqiDd2w

#languagelearning #newlanguage #lifeskills #relocating

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The Portuguese Connection- Sintra

Quote 1

Pic courtesy- me

 No one is allowed to put out my inner flame,
they don't have the key to that place.

The Universe at its play - Change

Picture courtesy B. Libert

 A second chance has come our way,
We want to now savour it well, we say,
These don't come to us a plenty,
Not after the teen years and the decade of twenty.

Gibberish, says the Universe back down to us,
It pushes over several changes that we have to now rush,
that strip us and hurt us down to our core,
And here you were thinking, your life is a bore.

Take this, take that,
the Universe laughs in its play.
You thought you would sleep easy,
See what's coming your way.

You need to reinvent and accept what comes,
or else be hurting because your vision is blunt.
Rigidity and change make for such a bad marriage,
Each walking towards the two ends of the carriage.Then with all this strife, a second chance, this is, you say?
Where is the joy, when I feel such utter dismay?The Universe says calmly,
Don't be a fool
Look at the route you're taking,
You're breaking every rule.Your roads are now clear of patterns to follow,
Your life is becoming more deep than hollow
Just look at what you have already achieved,

Remember that in you, my friend, I always believe.

Emotional Banter - 1 - Anger

Picture courtesy- me

 Anger should be treated like a meal. Hot or cold, one should chew on it, taste and swallow it, sit on it , experience it and take the time to digest it.

Then comes the most important part, eliminate it. The lessons learnt while experiencing it can be absorbed for our benefit

Safe, under her wings - nothing beats a mother's love for her child

Bulbul, resting on a hot summer day.
Pic courtesy- B. Libert 

Ragini was so happy these days. It was the summer vacations and she was out the whole day playing with her building friends. They played outside as it was always hot and dry and the building people allowed them to use the entire premises. Outside, children could play together as bigger groups. Their building was not very big, with just eighteen apartments. Each floor had a landing that was like a square which was central to four homes. Back then, buildings were only four stories high. There were no elevators in residential buildings in their suburbs. Elevators were only seen in the office buildings in the town area or the residential towers of the wealthy who could afford to live there.

Their building didn’t have a huge compound as a lot of place was dedicated to a flower garden. Sometimes Ragini liked to go to the neighbouring building. She had another set of friends there. Two months of summer vacations meant that the choices of whom to play with were never ending. Usually, she knew when her mother expected her at home for lunch. She didn’t like upsetting her mother as things were very well organized at home and not turning up for lunch on time meant that her brother could eat up all the good bits that were served.

This day, she had decided to go to play with her friend Anita in the building next to hers. Anita didn’t usually come to Ragini’s building as Anita’s mother didn’t allow it. Ragini’s mother was a bit more lenient when it came to things. So, excited about her upcoming morning, Ragini finished her breakfast and left her home which was on the second floor. As she was running down the stairs, her downstair’s neighbour, Seema, who was also her friend, asked her where she was going. Seema was disappointed hearing that Ragini didn’t have time to play with her.

As she continued descending , Ragini noticed that Seema was tagging along . Yes, her own good sense told Ragini to go and inform Seema’s mother. But, by then Ragini had no more patience. She was just too excited about playing with a new person as she was bored after the weeks of playing with her usual friends. Ragini and Seema reached Anita’s building and played gloriously for a couple of hours. In fact, all three of them were so engrossed that they didn’t hear anyone calling out for them. They didn’t know that Seema’s mother had been frantically trying to find her. When they came back to their own building, Seema and Ragini were accosted by a group of their friends. One of the kids in that group, Harish, seemed to be acting like Seema’s disappearance was personal. He probably felt like the chief of the search party who had finally found the missing person and the culprit who had created the chaos. Before Ragini knew what was happening, Harish punched her hard in the stomach. She was in pain of the kind that she had never ever known. She found herself on the ground, mouth open, but silenced by the pain, tears rolling down her cheeks. Most of the group ran away after they saw what had happened and Harish was nowhere to be seen when Seema helped Ragini up. The two girls climbed the stairs slowly. On the first floor, Seema’s mother was so relieved to see her, she didn’t notice Ragini. Ragini continued upwards towards her own home. When she entered her house, her mother noticed that there was something wrong. Ragini’s mother was not a very fit woman as she had had health issues all her life. She asked Ragini to tell her what had happened. After which, Ragini’s mother helped her to clean up and thoroughly examined her daughter’s stomach region. As lunch was served, they ate together and shortly after, Ragini fell asleep. It was around one o’clock in the afternoon and Ragini slept for more than two hours.When she woke up, she was delighted to see that her mother had a treat for her. A small slice of cake and a glass of milk. The troubles of the morning seemed far away. Ragini was eager to go see her friends again and get back to playing. She knew she would ultimately see Harish again that evening and was apprehensive. However, happily, he was nowhere to be seen. Seema came down to play after some time. That’s when Ragini heard Seema say to the group that she had seen Ragini’s mother walking towards Harish’s house with a cane in her hand. Seema had followed at a safe distance, but, close enough to see Ragini’s mother ring Harish’s door bell. The family inside seemed startled to see Mrs. Mehta stand there and wave her cane at Harish. “Stay away from Ragini”, is what she had heard from a distance. Ragini felt so proud and safe at that instant.

#Heartwarming Mother's Love 

Like this story? Please consider sharing it with your friends and family. It makes a huge difference to me.

You can listen to me read it on my show 'Lekha writes, then reads' on Spotify and Apple or by clicking this link https://open.spotify.com/episode/3uj5P2kbsMEBtWqQCCAkkL?si=XwxoM5j7RY-TRXN30Ykiuw

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Learning to be a Woman Incidents 2- #metoo

 

 For a thirteen year old, I was a big girl. Anyone on the street could think I was a young adult, only realizing that I was a kid if they stared at my child-like face. Growing up with my much older siblings had given me a certain maturity that got accentuated with my woman’s body. I started to experience funny mix ups, where people looked at me and thought I was the elder daughter of the family. Of course, this didn’t make me happy, but, that was how things rolled when one was my size as a teenager. On the other hand, it was great to be the tallest in the class. It was fun to catch up quickly with the older children around.

During those teenage  years of mine, my sister ran a business in data collection. She used to assign small tasks to me so that I could make some pocket money. It was great to be able to afford some small things and save up for some treats. One of those times, my sister asked me to run a small errand for her. Normally, going and picking up something from an office didn’t intimidate me, but this time she wanted me to travel outside my area to do so. She really didn’t have any other solution. 

Doing her errand meant that I would need to travel by bus to the station, catch a train to the suburb five stations away, then take another bus, visit the office, do my work and make my way back. She convinced me that she thought it would be a good learning experience for me. All I needed to do was to be careful to enter the ladies compartment of the train and then get off at the right station. I knew our train station well enough and knew where to go to buy my return ticket. 

The difficulty of travelling in Mumbai is that the buses are always packed. The train stations and roads around them are mostly bustling with vendors moving around with their wares, people waking in all directions and traffic engorging the streets. So navigating all these obstacles was my first mission. When I finally reached the railway station, I somehow managed to get my ticket, ask where the train going to Andheri was expected to arrive and make it to the railway platform. 

Luckily, the train was quite empty and I reached Andheri without any difficulty. I had to now figure out where the bus stop was situated to my destination address. Once I had that information, I found myself on the bus seated near a window. In a few minutes, I had someone sit next to me. I was busy looking outside the window, so proud of myself that I was just busy reveling in that. Needless to say that the arm moving and trying to touch my breast was quite a startle. I was trying to figure out what was happening, why this man who was wearing such a nice shirt and tie was touching me. First, I tried to move even further near the window. But I realized that this was not going to change anything because he moved in closer to me. 

I was hit with a truckload of  feelings of anger, shame, helplessness and incomprehension. I didn’t know what would happen if I said anything or if I screamed. I had grown up with two elder brothers and an elder sister. My mother was a very strong willed woman too. I knew that they would be upset if I didn’t speak up. All the same, I tried to project if the situation would get out of hand and if I would have to physically hit this person. I just felt the bile rise in my throat more and more. This man couldn’t do this to me. I would feel horrible if I went home feeling violated and having not done anything to stop it. I remembered an incident where my sister had been groped on the street in front of me and she ran after the man screaming and hitting. She had done that to give me strength for right now. 

I still don’t know where the voice of this mature woman came out from me and I said, “Move your arm!” loudly. There was a sudden shock in the energy I felt just before and the man seemed to take away his arm and still stare ahead. This time around, I turned my face towards him, forcing him to look at me. I stared him in the eyes and said with a  very angry and severe tone, “Keep your hands away from me”. I said it again in Hindi and made sure to get an eye contact from anyone in the bus who was looking forwards me. The man’s demeanor changed completely and he slid to the outer corner of the seat. He stayed there till I had to get off the bus. Ferociously on the outside and weak and trembling in the inside, I ordered him to move out of my way so that I could get to the passage way. I kept looking at him with disgust till I got off the bus. He didn’t look up at all. 

I got off the bus, a changed human being. I was now learning that this would also be something I had to learn to deal with. I was growing up fast.

This is an empowering #metoo story of survival and strength. If you liked this story, consider sharing it with your friends and family. 

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