Sufian's Kralizec: July 2019

This post has been sitting as a Draft for at least 3 months now. Talk about irony - a post about marathons delayed due to indolence. Anyway, here it is.

I started the New Year with quite a hefty break travelling back to my family home in Pakistan. I hail from the capital of Pakistan, Islamabad – a beautiful city with green and serene landscapes, hills that would easily qualify as mountains for the denizens of Australia, and chaos aplenty to ensure a purely Pakistani experience nonetheless. When I was living there, we used to make our way to the Northern areas quite often – home to 5 of the 14 eight-thousanders including K-2 and Nanga Parbat, the Killer Mountain. For those of you accustomed to the idea of trekking, I don’t have to delve into elaborating how humbling the sport can potentially be. The same is true for another extreme sport – long-distance running/walking. A marathon measures to an exact 42.195kms, anything beyond the much sought for mark qualifies as an ultra-marathon. The most common distance run in an ultra is 50km or 100km – the most prestigious of the ultras being the 100-milers, which equate to roughly 161kms.

Needless to say trekking and walking is much looked forward to every time I travel back home. Albeit offering very high entertainment value and overdoses of adrenaline, long-distance is always physically painful and mentally exhausting – always.

The sun rose to a typical Islamabad morning – penetrating cold, foggy and wet, at 7:13am on the 14^th of January. Having already walked around 10kms in the dark, we greeted the sun with literally just an iota of mirth hoping against an already dwindling hope that with the golden hour past, warmth was nigh. With the sun shyly rising above the horizon and the light roaring across the landscape like a cavalry charge, the day did look wholly promising. Besides, it was a special day as we were attempting our first marathon in Pakistan and that too in the mountains of my youth – Margalla Hills. The Margallas, as they’ve come to be known, are home to the Margalla National Park and the hills have their fair share of wolves, deer, wild boars and hyenas, and the occasional disoriented leopard visiting due to extreme cold up North. It makes for a very interesting walk especially if getting lost is on the agenda, which tends to happen on long walks. One other generosity that longer than the usual 5 to 7kms trail walks lend the enthusiast is 'time', and that too in abundance. Therefore, there is ample opportunity to reflect on what seemed like a really bright idea a few hours ago and resulted in embarking on this Lord of the Rings-esque 10-hour long journey. All said and done, we made it back home 43kms and 11 odd hours later.

The reader may have noticed that I haven’t yet promulgated any information on who accompanied me. Well, all the complaining would’ve been for naught if I’d done so at the beginning. So, for the walk, I partnered with my 72-year old dad who was cuckoo enough to attempt a marathon at his age solely because it “sounded” like a good idea.

For me, personally, this specific marathon ended up being more of a life lesson than just another excursion through mountains. I shall leave the reader with three takeaways. First, in face of adversity, don’t give up. Second, if you have fears, take them on upfront– that’s the only way you’ll conquer them. Third, the journey matters more than the destination – make sure to cherish the opportunity to experience it.