Sometimes we don't get soup. Comrades 2016

Comrades 2016 is done.  I finished it with just a few minutes to go,  in around 11:56. 

I last mentioned that I had this desire of finishing in a good time and going into the international tent and sharing some soup with my fellow Indian runners.   

At the finish, I had two bottles of IV instead. 

After finishing the race, I took my medal and walked towards the medical tent. 

I Threw up and doubled down on the lawn and was quickly transported into the medical tent. 

I've had IV's at comrades before but the next hour and half was one of the most painful I have ever experienced. 

They did some blood work and decided that I needed an iv.   The problem with the IV fluid was that it was slightly cold. 

At that point thousands of people were coming Into the medical tent and it was a complete crazy zone.  In fact, the comrades medical tent has often been described as the largest temporary medical set up In the world outside of a war zone or active disaster area. 

The cold iv went into my blood stream and I started to shiver. 

One may have seen those machines in the gym that people use to loose weight.  One stands on a platform and there is belt put around ones waist.  Then the platform vibrates and the belt also vibrates.  For about an hour and a half as the IV went into my system my upper body shivered with that intensity.  My legs however had gone into an excruciatingly painful spasm and were completely immobile. 

I pondered at the absurdity of my position. The upper half shivering out of control, the lower half completely immobile and in terrible pain. 

They had put one aluminum blanket and 3 woollen blankets on me to stop the shivering but it was completely useless .  

The suffering ended only when both the bottles of IV were done. 

So the dream of having soup got substituted with 2 bottles of IV. 

I lay In the tent for another half hour to recover. 

But Through the 2 hour ordeal, my one hand was clinching my finishers medal.   Bruce Fordyce has often said that at the finish-line, one way to check if the runner is dead is to simply try prying out the medal from his hands....A runner who isn't died won't let go of the medal. 

That little piece of metal is precious beyond words. 

As I lay vibrating at a high frequency and in intense pain,  I thought about my run. 

I had spent the last 4 hours  of the race on the road in intense pain and stress.  Every second is vital when one finishes a 89.205 km race with less than 3 minutes to go.   

For so many years I have been trying to improve my performance on comrades race day.  Every year has been the same. 

I felt bad for the millions of things my wife had done to help me. I felt bad for calling my friend ashok from pune to cycle next to me on my long runs.  I felt bad for all the times I've left my family and gone away to run.   To what end ? To keep finishing with such a slim margin ?? To what end ?  I've changed training strategies but the end result has always been the same. 

I finish the race with just a few minutes to spare.   

Only someone who run comrades and finishes in those closing moments will understand the level of stress one undergoes.  

People around you start walking towards the end and you have to fight the instinct to join them. It is very hard. 

The math is always clear.  One needs to run the Kms at a certain pace or one will get cut off.  But the road varies violently with the ups and the downs and it is hard for one to hold a particular pace. It is hard to plan ones pace. 

I battled with time from 38 km to go.  

Later, I had 10 km to go and 7 km to run.  My calf was continuously sending me signals that it was just waiting to go into spasm and my knees and quad muscles were screaming  for relief after being abused for the better part of 12 hours. 

I think my ability as a runner is hopeless.  

Bruce Fordyce always says that to be a runner one must choose ones parents well. 

I think in my entire family family tree spanning back many many generations, there isn't a single athlete. 

I didn't choose my parents wisely for this particular passion of mine. 

So what can I do ? 

Well for one , I thank my parents for all the other blessings they bestowed on me.  The love for reading and writing comes from my Father.  Courage, I inherit from my mother.

I have so many other blessings that it is ok if I can't run fast. 

Such is life. Nobody has everything.  The yin and the yang are always in balance. 

Such is life. 

Sometimes one has to do without the soup.  One can settle for the IV.

The comrades marathon and a message from the emperor

The comrades marathon and a message from an emperor !


I sit in my office today, 18th May 2016, a mere 10 days before Comrades and listen to a Lindsay Perry / Brad Brown webinar.

It is the last webinar  before  Comrades and I hang on to every word of advice.

I know that I want to run my personal best.  I want to finish this race in a good comfortable time.

I want to go through the day without worrying if I will finish the race.  

I know I can't run out too fast at the start nor must I run out too slow.

The internet is overflowing with pacing chats.  Each one telling me what is the best half-way time for my target finish time.

Some charts get me to the half way slightly faster than the other charts.

I know that a slight mistake of going out too fast will cook my goose in the second half.

But what is that "slight error".

Which is the perfect pace ?

Who can simply look though all my data and look at my life over the last 5 months and divine the perfect plan for me ?

Who can look into the future for me and know what will happen to me on Comrades day and then come back to the present and then tell me how my day pans out and tell me what I should tweak ?

Who is going to give me the message that will lead to salvation ?

Is the messenger coming ?

Kafka wrote a story about an all powerful emperor who on his deathbed sent an all important message to a lowly wretched citizen.  

The lowly wretched citizen is aware that the emperors message is tremendously important and is meant ONLY for him.

The message is given to the emperors most trusted courier and the courier is on the way.

The story as translated by Mark Harman goes like this :

A Message from the Emperor

The emperor—it is said—sent to you, the one apart, the wretched subject, the tiny shadow that fled far, far from the imperial sun, precisely to you he sent a message from his deathbed.

The emperor bade the messenger kneel by his bed, and whispered the message in his ear. So greatly did he cherish it that he had him repeat it into his ear. With a nod of his head he confirmed the accuracy of the messenger’s words.

The messenger set out at once; a strong, an indefatigable man; thrusting forward now this arm, now the other, he cleared a path though the crowd; every time he meets resistance he points to his breast, which bears the sign of the sun; and he moves forward easily, like no other.

But the crowds are so vast; their dwellings know no bounds. If open country stretched before him, how he would fly, and indeed you might soon hear the magnificent knocking of his fists on your door.

But instead, how uselessly he toils; he is still forcing his way through the chambers of the innermost palace; never will he overcome them; and were he to succeed at this, nothing would be gained: he would have to fight his way down the steps; and were he to succeed at this, nothing would be gained: he would have to cross the courtyard and, after the courtyard, the second enclosing outer palace, and again stairways and courtyards, and again a palace, and so on through thousands of years; and if he were to burst out at last through the outermost gate—but it can never, never happen—before him still lies the royal capital, the middle of the world, piled high in its sediment.

Nobody reaches through here, least of all with a message from one who is dead.

You, however, sit at your window and dream of the message when evening comes."


As I listen to the pod casts and look at the pacing charts, I too realise that the message isn't going to come.

No one is going to tell me what my perfect pace should be.

No messengers are going to come through !

I have to close my eyes and look within myself and find the beginnings of an answer !

It is only on race day that the final answer will evolve.

For Franz Kafka, the Comrades Marathon and a Cup of Soup

For Franz Kafka, the Comrades Marathon and a Cup of Soup !

The thing to do in these last couple of weeks before Comrades is to sit and meditate upon the Comrades day strategy.  

The thing to do would be to come up with plans A, B and C.  The 3 plans would signify the ideal, the acceptable and then the bare minimum.  

This is easier said than done.

This is easier said than done because by simply making a mistake in plan A, I could make attaining plan B and C close to impossible.

Comrades’ does not treat fools lightly.   I know.  I’ve been there.

It is possible that my plan A is just that marginally out of reach, say 1 minute too fast over the first 20km which would cause me to blow up so terribly at 70km that not only would plan A be out of reach but also compromise plan B and C.  

I like to break up Comrades route into different Compartments.  It’s like different rooms.  You enter each room through a gate, run through it and then enter another room through another gate.  

There are then, 5 rooms and 5 gates:
1)    0km to 18km (Start to Umlass)
2)    18km to 40km (Umlass to Inchanga)
3)    41km to 52km (Inchanga to Hillcrest)
4)    53km t0 70km (Hillcrest to Pinetown)
5)    71km to 89km (Pinetown to the Finish)

If I don’t enter the first gate at the right speed, I can’t make it to the second gate at the right speed.  If I don’t enter the 2nd gate at the right speed, I can’t make it to the third gate at the right speed and so on and so forth.

So if Plan A has to work, I need to start at the beginning.  I can’t decide to do my best only after reaching 71km.   And I'm not skilled enough to change gears like some people I know.
By 71km, I know that my goose is cooked.

I know that 95% of the people make the mistake of going out too fast.  I understand. By running just that 45 seconds/km too fast in the first half you blow up your race and suffer in the second half.
 I get it.  I understand the concept.

But how in the world can I know the exact speed which is ideal for me this year?  I don’t train on the Comrades route. My training is different from last years. I’ve grown wiser and more foolish because I’m a year older.

A thousand variables have changed such that I cannot with any degree of precision decide the exact extent of my ability.

I am too much of a novice to plan this with precision.

Should I enter the first gate with plan A in mind, knowing well that a badly planned plan A will cause me great grief?  
And if I start the race with Plan C, I’m completely done-in, because if things go wrong, there is no back-up.  I'm feel I'm not skilled enough to start with plan B and then adapt to plan A.

I am plagued with doubt.

I find myself in what I would call a Kafkaesque situation!

It is as, they say, a situation of nightmarish complexity. It is as they say, a situation which is bizarre and almost illogical.

“Before the Law” is a parable contained in a novel “The Trail” written by Franz Kafka.  

The parable goes like this :

“Before the Law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the Law.

But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment.

The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in later on.
“It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.”

At the moment the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside.

When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t endure even one glimpse of the third.”

The man from the country has not expected such difficulties: the Law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he gets permission to go inside.

There he sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests.

The gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, and at the end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet.

During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the Law.

After many years he no longer has much time to live. Before his death, he gathers in his head all his experiences of the entire time up into one question, which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper.

He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body.

The gatekeeper has to bend way down to him, for the great difference has changed things to the disadvantage of the man. “What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are insatiable.”

“Everyone strives after the Law,” says the man, “so how is that in these many years no one except me has requested entry?”

The gatekeeper sees that the man is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’m going now to close it.”

So on 29th May, as I stand on the starting gate.  I need to decide, if I have the courage to enter the gate as per Plan A or not.  
I cannot wait for another year, I cannot wait for a life-time.

I want the pleasure of finishing Comrades with the luxury of having more than a few minutes to spare.

I want the luxury of walking into the International tent and meeting my friends and sharing a cup of soup with them while a medal hangs around my neck.

I’ve finished 4 comrades and have never had the luxury of having that soup.  I just make it to the finish with a few minutes to spare.

I don’t want to grow old and weak and then be told by the gatekeeper, "Amit, you were once capable of running Comrades in time enough to enjoy your cup of soup,  and watching the final gun go-off.  
You were capable of running fast enough to not be in that life-and-death situation of making that final cut-off that you found yourself in each year.
You simply had to have the courage to enter the start gate at the right speed.
The gate was meant for you and now it is closed.”

I cannot but try.  This is the year.   This 2016 entrance gate is mine.

I’m going in.

Comrades and Math

Keep your eyes on the stars and feet on the ground : Theodore Roosevelt 

Since the last couple of days my friend Iqbal is trying to convince me that I'm a much faster runner than my past results suggest. 

He asked for my champion chip number and pulled up my split times from the Comrades 2012 and 2014 down runs.  He pointed out that I ran far slower in the first 17.5km of the race than I was capable of running.   

We discussed my best marathon and half marathon and 10k times from the last 9 months and he plugged them into Norrie Williamson's comrades finish-time predictor. 

I also pulled out my log books from 2012 and 2014 Comrades down-runs and analysed the volumes and the distances. 

I re-read all the Bruce Fordyce advice.  I re-heard all the pod casts from Lindsay Perry and Brad Brown. 

I memorised the Comrades route profile.  

I memorised all the ups and the downs on the route.  

I poured over the pacing charts and the prediction tables. 

I've looked at the chats and the diagrams.   I've calculated the split times and the half way times and the cut-off times. 

I've seen the proofs and the equations.  

I've analysed and theorised. 

And now I simply feel tired and sick.   This is too much analysis and information. 

And I realised that I might have become Walt Whitman's learned Astronomer.   

I might be missing the beauty and mystic of the stars for all the math. 

Walt Whitman wrote a wonderful poem about sitting in a classroom and listing to a learned astronomer explaining astronomy.   

The Poem is called,  "When I heard the learned Astronomer" and it goes like this :

"When I heard the learn'd astronomer, 

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, 

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, 

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, 

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, 

Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, 

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars." 

I suddenly realised that I have now been sitting In the Comrades Marathon lecture-room,  reading proofs and figures and Columns and looking at diagrams and route elevations and I too have become tired and sick. 

I suddenly realised that I'm missing the Beauty of this race by getting bogged down by the charts and the figures and the predictions. 

The glorious uncertainties of Comrades can't be predicted.   They are by their very nature,  unpredictable. 

The Comrades day unfolds in magical ways and our responses cannot be predicted nor planned.  

The magic of Comrades cannot be analysed with charts and figures and predictions.   

Astronomy cannot be fully enjoyed with figures and columns and charts.  Astronomy can perhaps best be enjoyed by looking at the stars.  

Comrades cannot be enjoyed with an obsession on data. 

Comrades is best lived, on the road, on the day. 

I now await the glorious uncertainties of Comrades day. 

I now await the majestic mystery of Comrades Day.

Love and the comrades ultra marathon

Love is a many splendored thing

Yesterday, I finished my last long run.  55k in 6:39.

Sitting in my car on the long drive back to mumbai from lonavala today, I was thinking about how the 2016 comrades day will unfold.

It's quite an experience to stand on that start line.

I've run Comrades 7 times and experienced almost everything.  I have finished Comrades and I have not finished Comrades.

I have always finished it with only a few minutes to spare.  

I'm one of those ordinary chaps at the very back end of the race who, on occasion, manages  to do something extraordinary.

But as Comrades nears,  I'm again filled with anxiety.

I don't know if I can finish it or not.  I wish I had more faith.  I'm working on the faith department and such.

For someone like me, at the very back end of the race,  the day really unfolds in segments.

At the start, is a feeling of anxiety mixed with a feeling of satisfaction for having made it to the start line.

It is mixed with pride and a feeling of self esteem for I'm standing in the company of people I consider heroes.

It is also a time of tears.  The tears of gratitude are mixed with a desire to achieve something spectacular and to prove to myself that I'm not just another mundane human but a life force who is significant and who wishes to be someone of consequence.  

I want to be better than I am.  I yearn for greatness.
I want to prove my worth to myself.

Later in the day comes a time when i start to battle against time and the outcome is unknown and uncertain.  It is a time when my brain does calculations of speed and pace and my  heart searches for clues.  Clues which can help reveal how my day will end.

The body and mind reach a deep dark place and I battle against all my weaknesses.   The mind starts thinking that this is futile and hopeless.

The space from 55 km to 75 km is perhaps what it would be like to be stuck in purgatory.
I don't know whether I will go to heaven or hell.

Will I finish or not is a question without any answers.   It is a dark grim expanse of time.

Physically, on the watch face however, Time simply starts to fly.  The seconds minutes and hours start to slip by at an astonishing speed.  The kilometres however have their own agenda and want to keep me in purgatory for as long as possible.

By the time I reach 70k i know more or less if I'm  going to make it.

I have had the experience where it dawns upon me that there is no hope.  There has come a time when math simply clarifies to me that without the help of a bicycle I can't make it to the finish.

At that point a strange sadness descends.  It is with a strange calmness that I accept Defeat !  There is a numbness and an emptiness which I have only otherwise experienced at funerals of loved ones.  Except that in this case, it is mine.

It is defeat blended with a strange sense of gratitude that at least, the struggle is at an end.  I don't have to run anymore.  I don't have to fight my mind and body and this road anymore. Please ! Just take me to slaughter.

And yet, it's not all over.   I know that i will have to grind through the aftermath.  To Get into the bail bus and have my bib cut up is like having my beating heart yanked off my chest.

I know that I will have to sit in that bus for a long time as it goes towards the stadium at a snails pace.  I will have to smell the stink of sorrow and resignation and defeat in that bus.  I know that I will have to walk through the medical area outside the stadium and then enter the stadium like a defeated warrior.

I will have to meet friends walking around with medals around their neck while I  just want to have the earth open up and swallow me.    They show me empathy but it is lost on me.  And then, I have to suffer the excruciatingly long journey home.

But , On the other hand, on many occasions , at 70k,  I've had the experience of knowing that I'm going to finish this race.

The math is in my favour and the body and mind are working.  There seem to be no hidden skeletons in the closets.

A smile forms on my face and my chin stays up.  Every supporter on the road  is cheered at in return, every supporter is shown a victory sign or a "thumps-up" sign or a raised fist in acknowledgement !

Tears flow now as well but they are of a different kind.
I've felt a feeling of pride and a sense of satisfaction: I amount to something.... I've run Comrades.

I want to send a signal to neepa and my children that all is well and I'm on my way.  Do not worry.

It is also a time when I miss my father.

My heart is just filled with gratitude and satisfaction and love and happiness.  I've achieved something awesome.  I am.  I amount to something.

I'm in love with life.

My heart is filled with emotions but words are insufficient to describe them. Words aren't of any help.

Helen Macdonald wrote that it is futile to explain how it feels to be in love by waiving an MRI scan of a lovestruck brain.

I agree that explaining the emotions on the finish line is near impossible.

I accept my inability.  But I don't care if I can't explain the emotions of wearing a comrades medal around my neck.

I want to earn one on May 29th.

Being in love is a many splendored thing.

Never give up without a fight

Never give up without a fight.

The first time I felt a stabbing pain in my abdomen, it was on Jan 3, 2016 and I was running the florida marathon. The pain came in around the 30k mark and it stayed with me for about 2k and then faded.

Over the next two weeks I didn't run much and then I ran the Mumbai marathon on Jan 17th 2016.   I don't remember experiencing pain during that run but the pain kept getting worse whenever I did my gym workouts.    It really hurt when I did my crunches.  It hurt to an extent that I stopped doing crunches.

In February, I started Comrades training and the pain started coming about two hours into my long runs and more specifically on the down hills.

I knew I had to get this checked out.  My general practitioner diagnosed it as a possible hernia and asked me to do a sonagram.

The radiologist had no doubt that I had an inguinal hernia.  He opined that it was a very small tear.

The surgeon at ambani hospital said that I was sitting on a "time-bomb" and wanted me to do the surgery asap.

I told him I want to run a 89km race in the mountains in May  and he said no problem. He opined I will be up and running in one weeks time after the surgery.

Dr Anant Joshi sent me to another surgeon after personally calling the other surgeon and explaining to him that he was sending his friend for consultation.

Dr Anand , the surgeon, explained the problem to me in great detail and said that when there is a hole in a fabric its best to stitch it when the hole is small.  I remembered the stitch-in-time bit but I explained to him that I really wanted to run comrades.

Dr Anand made me lie on the bed and with a pen marked the exact spot where the tear has taken place.   He suggested that if I can protect that spot by applying pressure (example :by wearing compression shorts or a belt) I would be fine.   He said that if I did surgery it would take a minimum of 6 to 8 weeks to be up and running.  After all they would be putting a foreign object (mesh) in my body.   All my personal research on the net had also led me to a similar recovery time frame.  

In my personal opinion the ambani doc just wanted a patient.  Screw the running.  For him that was something to explore at a later date.

Of course I realised that not doing surgery immediately would mean a day to day existence.  

I have to step out on each day's training run not knowing if I will make it through.

I know that in the more than two months of comrades training to follow , if the pain were to increase, it would mean that the tear has increased and I would certainly stop at that point and say goodbye to comrades and get the surgery done.  At that point I would have no regrets for I would have tried my best.   I don't have a death wish.

But I agree with my friend Smita who pointed out that lots of athletes get injured without any notice and I'm actually fortunate that I can at least mentally prepare for that possibility.

I realise that I do have many blessings.

I went public with my injury right after it happened and a lot of well wishers advised rest and recovery. .  That thing about "health being paramount" and such.   I appreciate and am truly grateful for that advice.

At the same time, I truly love this Comrades Ultra Marathon and I want to run it.

I know there will come a day when I willingly decide not to run it.

Today is not that day.

Earlier Today I ran a 51k in lonavala in 6:00 and took a small step towards that Comrades start line.

I ran the 51 km wearing compression shorts and a hernia belt.  

I think that it was the easiest, most controlled, run I've managed to do in the last 9 years.

I also called my homeopath Dr Divya and asked for her help.  She said that she was happy to help and asked to schedule an appointment.

I have this deep desire to be on that road.  
I don't intend to give up on it without a fight.
I will not be beaten into submission without a fight.
I will search for each ray of light.
I will take every possible chance.
This is my life.
I want my heart to be filled with laughter.
This is my life.
I want to delight in it.

"Your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dark submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you."
(A Laughing Heart -  Charles Bukowski)

In search of a lighthouse

In search of a Lighthouse.

Over the last 72 hours. I've had my testicles ( I prefer the word: balls ) pulled, yanked and squeezed in more ways and by more people than my wife  managed in the preceding 20 years.

I was, while they were being yanked, pulled & pushed, asked to lie down and cough and sometimes to stand and cough !

All this was quite traumatic because at the end of all the yanking and coughing, I was told that "I had a protrusion of abdominal-cavity contents through the inguinal canal!"

Which when translated, meant that I had "inguinal hernia."

I was told that there was only one way to sort this out and that was to undergo "surgery".  

Surgery !!!  Surgery which would require 4 to 8 weeks (depending on the surgeon I spoke to ) of recovery time.

When I assimilated this, I realised that I was in an existential crisis !  

I started training for the 89km Comrades ultra marathon (which takes place at the end of May in South Africa ) in all earnestness, on the 1st of February 2016 and now on the night of 29th February 2016, I was coming to the understanding that Comrades training was possibly coming to an end.

If I don't train in March and April and May, to the extent and intensity necessary, I don't think that I can ever finish Comrades.

As I lay in bed last night I was completely devastated.  I felt like the floor below my feet had caved in and I was in a free fall with no safety line.

For the last 7 years, Comrades had been a central unifying idea in my life.    Every day when I woke up in the morning , I knew what I was doing.  

I knew which way to point my ship.
I knew which shore I was aspiring to reach.

The 89 km Comrades ultra marathon has come to define my life.  I am a runner yes, but I am, more specifically, a Comrades runner.

When I ask myself the existential question, " Who am I ?" The answer has always been "I am a Comrades runner"

In my personal opinion , I cannot be defined by my work.   I cannot be defined by education.  I cannot be defined by my relationships. I cannot be defined by the things I own.  In my personal opinion, none of these are intrinsically mine.

For many years now, whenever I closed my eyes and sat in silence and asked myself, "Who am I ?"  The answer has always been, "I am a Comrades runner"

I liked this answer.   I didn't want the other possible answers.  I didn't debate the other possible answers.  I didn't care if this wasn't the correct answer.   This was an answer which I owned.  

I have an overwhelming abundance of blessings but I choose to define myself as a Comrades runner.

As I lay in bed last night. I realised that Comrades will leave me one day.  It will no longer be possible.   I will no longer be on that road between Durban and PMB. It will be beyond my physical ability.

It dawned on me that one day soon, I will no longer be a Comrades runner.   Yes, I will be a once-upon-a-time Comrades runner, but that is only a consolation.   It is not the same.

People will always advice that health is what matters and these other things are irrelevant.  That can and always will be an opinion.
But for me, to be alive and to not be on that road on that particular day wearing my bib # 21548 is not something I had envisioned.   I had not applied my mind to that possibility.

But last night it dawned upon me that as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, that such a day will come, sooner rather than later.

I felt a sickening emotion in my heart.  I felt lost.  It was as if my life had been wasted because I didn't have an identity.

I don't know who I would be if I am not a comrades runner.

I lay in bed and felt that all my physical strength was gone.  I felt all alone.  I looked inside myself and searched for an answer, "who am I ?"
There wasn't any answer forthcoming.

Over the coming days and weeks and months, I need to sort this out.   I need to find an answer.  I need to find my bearings.   The existential crisis isn't not running Comrades.  The crisis is not knowing who one really Is.

Osho says that if you keep asking the question, who am I, over and over again.  If you meditate upon that question long enough, one day the very question will drop. You will reach a silence and at that point you will reach peace and enlightenment.  

I am very far from that point.   I am, at this point down and dirty and entangled in the passions and pleasures of life very far from the lofty heights of spiritual enlightenment.  

Of course, Osho also says that you can find enlightenment while being completely engrossed in the marketplace of life.
But I'm in no position for that either.

For now, I just want to run Comrades and at the same time begin the process of figuring out a future without Comrades.

For now, I am lost and need a shore to steer myself towards.  

I'm in search of a lighthouse.