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Because it was my best friend’s birthday, I went to his home on Tuesday evening to wish him. It turned out that a bunch of folks were there – and that then went the late evening route. Oh well. Post this marathon, cutting myself some slack is perhaps okay.

This morning I reached track at an early time. It had been a while since I had done that.

Gaju was already waiting for me in the parking lot sans Coach Ravi who I heard had fractured his hand.

Off we went out for a road run. Immediately, we took up a reasonable pace and two kilometres later we found our stride and were running at a tempo-ish effort.

It was our usual out and back and surprisingly there was a cool breeze in the air that translated to a headwind on our return.

Back home, it was on the bar with leg raises and pull ups. Following that were dead lifts, calf raises, kettlebell exercises, core work, squats and a smattering of other exercises.

This is what good feels like.

Rest today ! Felt bombed but in a good way. I knew my body was recovering and catching up.

After yet another late evening, I woke up late but I absolutely needed to run.

I hit the driveway after giving the young girl a long hug and stepped out to a blazing summer morning.

But at least, I was on my feet and I was running – finally.

I switched to my Delhi Half 2023 playlist and off I went to Black Eyed Peas.

After a reasonable 10k that left me winded, I did a new circuit workout. The young boy ran on the treadmill while I did a smattering of pull ups, leg raises, seated calf raises, Bulgarian squats, reverse lunges and more to round up a solid session.

Later in the morning, it was all about the London marathon. On one hand to see the legendary Eliud Kipchoge – although he didn’t win – and watch my coach Eilish McColgan’s debut marathon where she broke the Scottish record.

A Sunday sports day of sorts.

Shake it off ! Enough of the nonsense !

It seems as if I am on a weird holiday. It’s been a few days of no training – other than the pull ups and core workout yesterday – and what with continuous late nights expected this week, running has been shelved for a bit.

It’s Thursday. I can’t wait to start training again. I am a bit jet lagged so woke up late-ish.

Got into workout gear and headed out to the pull up bars. This is one exercise where I see noticeable decline if I don’t do it regularly. The opposite isn’t true. It takes a while – at least for me – to increase continuous repetitions.

So pull ups it was. Leg raises. Hip thrusts. Calf raises. And some other smattering of core work.

I rounded it off with stretching and hopefully set the tone for a new training block to begin.

I landed wearing my Boston jacket – one I was happy to keep on for a long time.

A shower, lunch and a bit of chit chat at home before heading out the door to work and morphing from the weekend experience to work mode.

The race is in my head though, everything about this race and the post race effect seems different.

It was a delightful celebratory evening yesterday with Isha and Ahaan, with old fashioned at a beautiful bar and caviar, steak and wine at a wonderful restaurant.

I slept for a few hours before taking a car to JFK to catch the flight back to New Delhi.

On board after a greedy lunch, I slept, only to wake up nearing hometown.

The Boston Marathon is the most enjoyable race and run I’ve done in nearly twenty years of this sport.

I could see from the weekend that the city really showed up for this legendary event but what lay ahead was just awesome and breathtaking – a testament to humans coming together.

Of course, I know Boston is the gold standard for amateur runners, to qualify, and then to be here itself is a privilege – both from a financial perspective and realising the dream of running Boston.

For me, it was that dream come alive – to qualify several times over in the last year and then to receive the congratulations letter in the inbox – at every step of this journey, the privilege was never lost on me.

But the race. Phew. Every inch was carpeted with spectators cheering for runners. Families, infants, children, grandparents, music bands, the Wellesley college girls, the creative signs – you’re running better than the government, tap to power up, I’m 80, single and ready to mingle, nice tits, kiss me, I’ll call you an uber, enjoy every mile equally, give heartbreak hill hell – and of course my very own cheering team – Deepanjana and Arno who came all the way from New York City and saw me at mile seven, twelve, twenty through the race.

It was a way finding check in each time, knowing every few miles they would be there – tall Arno waving a rainbow flag – and Deepanjana – phone ready and coconut water in her hand.

Later when I opened my phone, there were dozens upon dozens of messages from friends and family in a group she had created keeping them updated with my progress. Overwhelming doesn’t quite describe it.

The race morning saw me make my usual coffee and get ready. I checked my post race and pre race bag several times. Checked the watch, gels, and the extra layers I would keep on till the start. I had a few bites of Deepanjana’s roasted sweet potatoes, took a banana from the lobby and stepped out to an eight degree crisp morning on Boylston Street.

Dozens of school buses were waiting to transport runners according to wave times and the Boston Commons area was packed with runners. I found myself sitting next to a Navy man from Arlington and we chatted nearly the whole hour it took us to reach Hopkinton.

Many runners were warming up, but many were just sitting in a patch of sunshine eating or stretching or doing nothing at all. I found four Indian Americans from New Jersey and joined their friendly group chatting about races and running in India and the US.

Here we were all just runners.

Shedding my sweatpants and my jacket, I was in race gear. Later, after about five kilometres in the race I would go to a portable toilet to remove an inner layer I had worn because I was afraid it would be too cold for me. That must have cost me a minute but for this race I’ll take the caution of being slightly overdressed.

The start line was about a kilometre walk and we were shepherded according to waves and corrals. Already the homes lining this narrow street had people cheering, one set of ladies adding glitter to anyone’s face in pretty colours. I was briefly tempted.

At my corral, I tied my laces again, touched the ground, kissed the Sai Baba on my chain and here we go.

The race start is an immediate downhill for a kilometre or so and then is a gradually rolling downhill to about the five-seven kilometre mark. After that until Newton Hills, the roads are continuously rolling. I don’t recall there being much flat but the memory I have is of the cheering, screaming, cowbells, speakers blaring out all manner of music. Every skin colour, every race, every kind of human being. Some were barbecuing, some standing and clapping, some sitting on picnic chairs and shouting, whatever they were doing, they had shown up outside their front doors for Boston. In restaurants or street bars, I saw hundreds of people congregated, in several homes, people were standing on roofs. I high fived dozens of people, dozens more children and as many Wellesley girls as I could down the screaming tunnel. Of course, I hugged and high fived my own special Deepanjana and Arno.

Watching out at Newton Hills, I slowed down the pace to maintaining effort not speed and that was probably a safe and smart move for my first Boston.

At the bottom of Heartbreak Hill was a giant red sign proclaiming its start. Here we go, I thought. But soon, I could see another sign saying congratulations on conquering heartbreak you’re at the top – I am paraphrasing here – I don’t remember exactly what it said, but I was glad to be on the top and I’m glad I didn’t walk.

I thought of my friends Maneesh and Amit – how much they would enjoy this race. I thought of my parents. I thought of Parul and our children. I thought of my life coach Rasik who had given me so much wisdom and encouragement for today. I thought that my sister Roshini would be tracking me and wondering why I had slowed down. It’s Heartbreak Hill !

From there on it was just a countdown to the last eight kilometres. One mile at a time since the course was marked in miles and marked in kilometres for every five kilometres. In that, it became so – I looked out for mile posts and for the every five kilometre markers to mark progress. To mark satisfaction.

In my last kilometres, I was shouting out my mantras, I was calling out to the young boy back home.

Crowd energy and the twists and turns into Boston carried me to Boylston and then to the finish line. I kneeled, touched the ground, kissed the Sai Baba.

An indescribable race, a run of a lifetime. The marathon mirrors all of life, the journey, the ups and downs, literal and figurative, the pain, the highs, the finish and the yearning to do it all over again.

Boston – I am ever so grateful.