Last night, Kymaia’s athletics training group put up a program that had a plan for them to do a 10km this morning at a location I am not comfortable sending Kym to (they do highway running, and she is not old enough to handle fast-moving traffic while running in the pre-dawn darkness). I spoke to her instructor and told him that I’d train her this morning as per the team’s program and send him her data once done. So, Kymaia and I decided to go to our favourite stretch of road, which is smooth, well-marked and lit, exactly 1km long, closed off to traffic, and has ample parking.
Now, some background: Kymaia is not supposed to be doing 10km every day. Only once in 2 months, as endurance. She is training for 3km and 5km, with speed as her objective, since in her childhood, I made the mistake of pushing her into 10km, but with a positive fallout of her having built tremendous stamina as compared to her peers, which is something that has stood her in good stead since. Anyway, the point is that the previous personal best was 68m59s set in the winter of 2021 at the PCMC Half Marathon, about 13 months ago, and my expectation was that she come in somewhere close to it, given that her leg length and age has increased since then, and she has had more training too. We spoke about this last night and decided on a strategy (1km warm up, 15 minutes stretching, 10km run, 15 minutes stretching, 1km cooldown). I was to walk up and down doing my own things, and she was to intercept me whenever she needed water (which I was to carry).
All well and good. But, like Mike Tyson memorably paraphrased Moltke the Elder (“No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy’s main strength.”) when he said,
“Everyone has a plan: until they get punched in the face”
we soon found out that while she did her warm-up and stretching as decided, at the 2km point of the 10km run, she got stomach cramps and stopped. When I caught up with her standing there, she was crying. She started walking with me, refusing to run any further. I counselled her, explained to her how pain is temporary, offered her water and showed her how to do deep breathing exercises to de-cramp, and so on. No joy. She continued making that face where it becomes impossible not to give in. But I stood firm. ‘You have stopped your clock. Now, restart your run from the beginning and give me 10km within 70 minutes, or we don’t go home.’ This was followed by more tears (those big ones that gather inside the lower eyelid and come out as one large drop from the bottom edge of her beautiful large eyes) and pleading.
I told her that she could rest, but she had to go through with this. This is nothing for someone as trained and experienced as her, I told her. I told her the story of RacerGirl (those who have not heard this one are free to invite Kym and me over for dinner, and we can regale them with stories of this Superhero: RacerGirl, who is friends with the bees and fights bad people at night while being just a silly little girl during the day) who always saves the day because she is very stubborn, like Kymaia, and always finishes what she starts. She smiled. Then laughed. And eventually relented. By this time, she had walked with me for another km. Now, she felt better and then, reset her watch and went off like a hare.
Just then, an idea came to me. Everyone on that road knows Kym. All the aunties and uncles, all the bhaiyas and didis, all the other runners and athletes, all the soldiers and retired faujis, they all know and love Kym. So, I started stopping everyone, telling them that Kym was feeling down and could do with some motivation, and requesting them to clap and tell her that she’s doing a good job as she passes them on her ups and downs. Everyone was more than willing to help.
And so it began. As she turned back after her first kilometre, which was her slowest as data showed later, she was met with encouragement at every 20-25 meters. Someone would shout, ‘Keep going.’ Someone, ‘Good show, Kym’. Some other, ‘Come on Kym, you got this.’ There were many, ‘Badhiya beta’s and ‘Shabaash Kym’s emanating from around her. Most simply clapped without a word as she crossed them. Data shows that her pace visibly quickened from there on (from close to 8m for the first km to the fastest km in 5m32s), and she finished with an average of 6m01s over 10.36km, the last 500m of which I sprinted with her, with the entire walking plaza erupting in applause!
Kymaia has a new personal best for 10km: 60 minutes, 10 seconds. And a lot of the credit goes to the people who love her: strangers that wish her well and egg her on. People whose names she does not know, but who made her mind believe that the body could do what it thought impossible just a few minutes ago. You, my dear readers, are also one of those who ‘know’ her. And love her. Thank you.
I realised that simply being told that one is doing a good job contributes much to one actually doing a good job. That’s a lesson worth recording. And sharing.
P.S.: Why does it look like I worked out for 1h:42m while she only did 1h:02m? Because this does not capture her first 1km for warming up, her stretching at the beginning and the end of her training, her 3km of nonsense, and the wailing and nautanki. But then, that is not how today’s morning will be remembered by her. In fact, she’s forgotten the difficult parts already. She came home excitedly and, over breakfast (where she literally inhaled 3 eggs and 3 toasts, because she was famished) told her Aji about her new personal best and what a great morning it was. As you can see, success may not wipe out all the pain of the hard work one did to get there. But it sure does shove all the painful memories behind what really matters: that you conquered it all and emerged victorious at the other end. Have a great day, everyone!
