Taming The Dragon: Have you tamed Yours?

It’s a festival of lights. Such incandescence, it’s almost blinding. I feel like a divinity in the center of the spotlight. The finish line looms ahead. The atmosphere is electric. There is a buzz in the air.  Music is playing in the background, my heart beating to the rhythm of it’s beats. Its rising to a crescendo as is my heart rate. My heart will burst with anticipation and excitement. Something has got to give.

The race director is announcing my name on the mike, 10 seconds to countdown and the crowd starts chanting the countdown, 10, 9, 8…the atmosphere is practically explosively, and instinctively I step up my pace. After having raced 225 kms it seems my legs are still alive and kicking. They say Adrenalin can make you move mountains. Cometh the moment cometh the man. This is my moment…

or is it.

My mind is unable to process the plethora of emotions, it cannot take the stress anymore, and I wake up with a start. Body drenched in sweat, my quilt a mangled contraption, my heart pumping at a galloping pace. but what about my mind. Its surprisingly calm, it has transcended the dream state to the reality of now, in the snap of a moment. I have Become “Master Chifu”.

In the beautiful and tranquil isle of Langkawi lies my tryst with destiny. Once more I will take on the gauntlet, of completing the Ironman, the coveted dream I have been carrying for the past 2 years. Once again, I will not just stretch my body but my mind too; and most importantly will test the mettle of my spirit.

Why do I undertake these journey's? what rewards do I seek?

but then isn’t the whole purpose of the journey, the journey itself.

Does life have to have a goal or merely to live to the best way we can.

There may be milestones, but is there a destination? Such deep thoughts permeate my mind, and I struggle to shrug them off as I head for the start point of the swim. I don’t want to drown in thoughts of my galloping mind even before I have touched the water. I am not helped in my quest with the two other occupants of the cab being deeply glum.

My first tryst happened more than a year back in the beautiful countryside of France. I had crossed the Ocean to swim in a lake, bike the countryside and run in the once important city of Vichy. On jumping into the cold water of the lake I had developed amnesia. It seemed as if a land mammal was suddenly thrown into the water and all he could do was splash around. The struggles of the body were merely the tip of the iceberg; the real struggle was the ongoing battle in the mind. After having won the mental battle against my vivid and apocryphal imagination, I soldiered on; guided by a pink beacon ( 10 minutes too long). Not only did the pink beacon desert me but along with it took away my lady luck. The Suave James Bond walked out of the water calm and confident only to be informed that he was late. The mission was a failure. I was left wanting, having floundered in the lake, meandering 800 m more than the stipulated 3.8 km and missing my cut-off by 10 minutes.

An eternity for me.

The remaining days were spent gazing at the natural French beauties, and seeing pristine works of art. Picasso leading the charge.

The local beauties were a close second…

Who am I kidding? There is no dispute. Pulsating flesh and bone will always triumph.

The French riviera did its best to heal the wounds. I traversed the riviera with a vengeance including swimming in the azure waters of the Mediterranean. From Nice to Monte Carlo, to walking down the red carpet, in Cannes. Soothe it did, but healing would take some time.

And in this case time may fall short.

Redemption is what I sought. I needed my Mojo back.

The journey commenced, with an initial outpouring of my heart, captured in words for all to see. I had bared my soul. It was the first step. The successive ones were not incremental but rather more a foxtrot, two forward and one sideways.

It was akin to getting back on the saddle of a horse who has thrown you off with a vengeance. I had not just been thrown on the ground but been trampled and made to bite the dust.

Or, had i.. It was the mind. And i had let it play tricks with me. If you don’t keep the mind on a tight leash it makes a slave of you. Not only the body but the spirit is bridled too.

Only when the gods decided to speak out (getting back on the horse) did I recommit to healing myself.

I was clear in my mind. No stone will be left un-turned. History will be changed; the charge of the light Brigade will not throw up heroes but “Winners”, instead.

The journey recommenced in another exotic locale, of Langkawi, surrounded by the crystal clear waters of the Andaman sea as I had decided to be a good family man by planning an international holiday.

The island was thoroughly scouted; the water depths measured, the height of the waves mapped and tested for marine life.

After reconfirming the jelly fish season concluded before the Iron Man date, I could barely hold back to register. My Achilles heel will not be tested, viz my swimming capabilities. The water was placid like a swimming pool, and protected by two small islands. It sounded like a dream swim; I could hardly believe my luck. How my luck evolved is something else altogether. Lady luck and I had been playing a hide and seek game. Thankfully doesn’t extend to “women”.

To prepare for the eventual battle, decided to test my skills in the half version, Ironman 70.3 at Bintan , Indonesia, hop step and jump from Singapore. The half event tested my mettle with the gruesome weather and forbidden hills, sprouting around like mushroom on the forest floor. Having done my sandbox testing, i realized i needed professional guidance, and promptly connected with an Ironman Indian coach based out of Australia.

I felt I was being intrusive in dialing his number straight away, barren of any introduction, to be pleasantly surprised that he recalled me, courtesy my trademark mustache and my Comrades exploits.

He seemed more confident of my capabilities than I was.

I was put on a 16 week training program, which started a bit tame for my hulk like appetite, only to be surprised By the quantum of training it evolved into. I was stretched. The week envisaged a training regime of nothing less than 14 to 16 hours a week ; culminating in a Sunday typically with a 6 to 8 hour workout. I was in a grinder, no doubt about that. To the point that I was looking forward to race day , juts to put an end to the training. The week prior to the race was the cherished part of the journey, little did I know that it was the lull before the storm, literally.

Arrived on the tranquil isle of Langkawi , although had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t in India, given the large contingent of Indians who had come to test their mettle in the shorter and longer formats of the Ironman. No longer were we happy with being men or women, we needed a validation, nay a certification that there was steel not only in our bodies but in our minds and spirit.

The days prior to the event were spent doing last minute checks on the gear and with the registration process. The cavalcade of bikes was a sight for sore eyes, as was the emotion with which the fellow athletes handled them, I wonder whether they would be as caring with their offspring or their spouses. Was this the case of transference in their cathartic process.

One thing I did often, was test the waters. Went for a swim in the tranquil Andaman sea. It was as good as it gets. Like the previous sojourn to bintan , the sea was at peace with its surroundings and provided a gentle rocking while swimming in it. This time I had to do double the distance, in all aspects, but most importantly, cavort with the sea for 100 odd minutes. No date can go for so long without A Bump or two. Especially since this was a one-sided affair, my obsession with Ironman and my mandatory waltz with the waters.

The weather was hot and humid, I prayed to the rain gods for their blessings during the latter part of the bike stage and the subsequent full marathon. The most agnostic of us knock on the door of last resort in testing times. I wasn’t bigger than my ego. Despite the sea giving me all the right vibes, I needed a couple of beers to reach nirvana. After being in the arms of my long standing affair, I hit the bed and slept like a baby.

Mohit slept, but the person who woke up was not him, but rather Master Chifu. An epitome of inner peace.

I got ready for the race, without a worry on my head and stood in line for the bath of the royals.

Well, I left all that behind and embraced the sea, and got an equally warm hug back. It was all about doing the ballet, gliding through the throng of humanity and using your martial skills sparingly to swim ahead of the pack. I had seemingly become the master of the sea, and finished my 1st loop of the 3.8 km swim with ease. This time jumping into the water with purpose and fortitude. I was soon racing ahead or so it seemed. Done with 2.5 km and soon enough rounded the 3 km corner .. I was planning a “sprint” in the last phase of the swim.

The weather gods had plans different than mine with 0 intersection. The wind and the rain gods decided on a romantic ballet, a bit too early for my taste, turning the tranquil sea into a monster. We were suddenly being tossed around like rag dolls, With waves high enough to obscure our vision and the promised land became an elusive entity.

I had envisaged being an Ironman not a dead man.. I could barely harness my galloping mind. I had got back on the horse, realising a bit late that it was a wild one. The kayaks for support seemed an eternity away. And in this mayhem who all would they turn to.

Many brethren in the 226 km journey, hopped onto the closest kayaks… I couldn’t.. I couldn’t let go of the dream of becoming an Ironman. Couldn’t shake my sons’ belief in hard work and perseverance. To pursue their passion with unrelenting ardour. To pursue their dreams no matter what obstacle they came across. I wasn’t going to give up, and not merely for the coveted medal. But for all this and more. It had become bigger than my dream or ambition. I soldiered on, and focused on my stroke, my form and my elegance. The ballerina is oblivious to the audience, merely an instrument of beauty, grit and perfection. I gave my best performance and exulted in triumph as I emerged from the water. James bond was back, with all the confidence and poise, and a bit of cockiness, having tested his mettle and emerging victorious.

The bike ride started in earnest, having passed the mental hurdle. It was all about hard work now. A mere 222 kilometres to finish. The ride was tough. An elevation of close to 5000 feet over a distance of 180 kilometres. The route defined the perimeter of the island making us work hard with the steep inclines over hills, at the same time rewarding us with exceptional views of the coastline. The natural beauty numbed the senses to the punishment being meted out. The ride was punctuated with signboards mentioning wildlife on the prowl. Not a signboard you want to see with meager energy to scamper away from impending threat.

After 10 hours of wading into the water, I was back on my feet , to start the marathon which lay ahead. I had to run 42.2 kilometres in under 7 hours. The question was not the time available, but rather the energy available in the body. Each km was a milestone. You ran 2 kilometres, approached the water station, fortified yourself with the salts and started running again.

It was tough on the body, but the Mind was ruthless. It kept pushing it into domains which had yet not been encountered. I had experienced exhaustion in my run at comrades ( a 90km iconic Ultra Marathon, run between the two cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg over the Drakensberg mountains). But this was something else. It seemed as if I was delving into a new dimension of physical and mental strength. The concept of “digging deep”, was brought to the fore like never before. Each km was a challenge; each hydration point a moment of reckoning. The heat and humidity had sapped the last vestige of energy from my system. I was running on pure mental prowess.

The route envisaged loops of 13 odd km, meaning you crossed adjacent to the finish point every 90 minutes or so. The finish line seemed like the gates of heaven with the celestial nymph beckoning me with open arms. It was a mirage and vanished as soon as I crossed by the finish line. The ordeal continued, with the beckoning smile and comforting arms slipping from my grasp…

Soon I had concluded the 40th km mark, after having experienced some hallucinating moments; and reached the vibrant streets with party goers doing their best to cheer us on. The Title was within my grasp. I could feel it flow through my system and invigorate me with new found energy. Legs which had become leaden, suddenly wanted to replicate Kipchoge and in their earnest belief they were thinking, that they were doing so. I was running towards the finish line; nay, I was running towards my dream, towards becoming a superman in my sons’ eyes again, towards redemption, but most importantly I was running towards becoming “whole again”. Ever since the fateful day of 27th August 2017, when lady luck turned its back on me, I had been the shadow of a man I once was. I had found myriad ways to get back to be complete, yet I had known in my heart; I had been unhorsed and trampled and made to bite the dust.

But it was getting over, and I was running towards a whole new me. I was on the verge of reclaiming myself.

Standing by the announcer, was a Mohit, complete and resplendent in all his glory; full of life and verve. I ran with all my heart and my legs supported me, unfurling the Tri-colour as I headed for the last 100 m dash; to hear the golden words.

Mohit Chobey, from India;

YOU ARE AN IRONMAN.

I was “whole” again.