The Hyderabad 10K happened on Sunday. Discovered that it isn't such a great idea to suddenly get up and run 10 kilometres after months of inactivity, and years of not having run anything like that distance. Nevertheless, it was a pinkish Gatorade day in the annals of one's running.
In the crepuscular (and crenellated and crustaceous and many other cr. words besides!) light of dawn, we wended our dopey way across silent Begumpet, through a Brahmanwadi in the process of waking up, crossed the railway lines near Gussain Sagar Jn. to Neckless Road.
When we got to People's Plaza, the starting point, there was already a multitude there, waiting. For the Mahatma. Usha Uthup's voice (tinny over the PA system) was urging Hyderabad to "Ron! Ron!! Ron!!!" The urge did come over us to ron and torch the PA system. The feeling passed. Meanwhile, the (very annoying-ish) anchor was going on and on about sundry things. An Aerobics Lady came on stage and got everyone to jump around and warm up.
Busybodies were going through the crowd saying, "Cucumbers. Fresh cool cucumbers. Cucumbers for thirst..." [This is from a different book, innit?] Time passed, to the accompaniment of the flapping of wigeon pings. Some people dropped in on us, with flags. The Mahatma came and said, "Hey Hyderabad, how y'all doin'? S'great to see everyone so energetic. Peace out, man. Satyameva Jayate.", in his dopey voice. The Chief Minister came, and said things about being healthy, but no one paid any attention, because it was raining men. Hallel.
Shortly thereafter, we started plodding along at a sedate pace. Lake on left, Lakdi-ka-pul on right, lafangas all around. Into the Valley charged the Two. The cunning organizers had put up countdown signs all around 10k-9k-8k... Of course, didn't notice this. So come the 6k sign and the spirits soared in joy at the thought that only 4k remained. After 1k, when the 5k sign hove into sight, the airborne spirits lost power in their starboard engine, lost airspeed, stalled, and came crashing down with a sickening squelchy thud on some imaginary pigeons that had happened to be roosting near at hand.
The Hyderabadischer Tankischer Bund was commissioned by Emperor Fünf (the Fifth) of the Qutub Shahi dynasty. The grain had separated from the chaff at this point. The problem with being the grain though, is that one tends to get cooked in short order. This is precisely what proceeded to happen. In that arid stretch between the end of Tank Bund and the beginning of Necklace Road, where Reality packs Its bags and goes to Mallorca, where the delicate odours of bovine ordure mingle with the ether, the spirit faltered.
Newertheless, ve plodded on and on, until we were back at Eat Street. At this point, certain unnameable sandbaggers produced extra propulsion and scooted off into the waiting finish line. The rest of us sweated it out, finished, and died. Short funeral services were held, the corpses were held upright and finish line photos were taken.
And so it ended.