Delhi Half Marathon - Incredible & Incredibly Strange

Before I left for India I had committed to my friend, Ethan Zohn, that I would run the NYC Marathon on behalf of Grassroots Soccer. Part of this commitment was to raise funds for his charity which uses soccer to educate youth about HIV/AIDS in Africa. Unfortunately I had to move before the date of the marathon. Since I made a commitment to Ethan and people had already donated money on my behalf I promised to run another long distance race in India.

As luck would have it, I saw an advertisement for the Delhi Half Marathon in the newspaper once I arrived. I figured it would just be as easy as registering for the race and running it. This wasn't the case. Online registration was already closed so I went to the registration area at the mall with my friend Sukhi and his wife Tulika (who were already registered) and was told that there were no spots available. Hmm. No worries. I figured I would just show up and run. They expected 20K runners so I thought I could just slip by and run the 21km without registering or being noticed.

I woke up at 5am, put on my running gear, hailed a rickshaw and used the advertisement in the newspaper to help the driver figure out where the race started. In typical Delhi style, we asked about 17 people and finally found the place. I was very nervous because everyone had numbers pinned on them except me. Plus everyone had at least one running buddy and I was all alone looking very guilty.

I got into a really long line and was able to push my way through to the holding area. I honestly thought that the hard part was done and that I could run the 21km in peace. I began to relax by watching the senior citizens get prepped for their 2k walk/jog. There were the cutest aunties in Saris and chappals (sandals) and Uncles in their dhotis listening to the pre-race instructions as if they were in the Olympics.

After sending the senior citizens off, they finally called the half-marathoners. I was fine until I saw the tiny gate that they were letting all 20K runners through which was manned by abnormally beefcakey Indian men. I waited for most of the group to go through thinking that the beefcakey men would begin to lose interest in their job of number checking. I pushed up very closely to a runner in front of me and ran through. I almost made it, but then all of a sudden one of the beefcakes grabbed me and pulled me out of the group. He asked where my number was in Hindi and I just stared at him blankly. Finally, he told me in English that if I didn't have a number I can’t run and pushed me away.

Dejected, I walked through the holding area thinking about how I could join the race at a later stage. As I was deep in thought heading towards the exit, I noticed a guy who had "My friends are making me do this" written all over his face. Before I knew what was happening I offered the guy 1,000 Rupees (about $20) for his race number. He reluctantly said "no." Without pushing him more, I walked away and went back to thinking about cutting into the race. Then just as I reached the exit gate, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see the guy with his unpinned numbers in his hands. I grabbed the numbers and pin, gave him the 1,000 rupees and was off.

I got to the start gate, gave beefcake a quick smile and ran right through. I felt so alive. This was short lived because the Delhi Half Marathon staff decided not to use walkie talkies and the group .5km ahead of the start gate had already closed and locked a randomly placed large gate. There were about 25 of us with numbers all ready to go and we were stuck behind massive gate. So also in typical Delhi fashion our group of all ages, body types and genders starting using every limb and object to break the gate down. I actually started laughing out loud as this was happening as normally I do everything possible not to have to run long distances, but now I was risking bodily harm and possible criminal charges so I could run 21km. Finally an event staff member opened the gate before it was smashed to pieces and we all ran wildly like we just broke out of prison.

The rest of the run was not nearly as memorable as the first .5km. It was a mix of hot weather, weird salty drinks that they were handing out every 2 seconds, cows, bhangra music and screaming locals who were either making fun of me or cheering me on. All in all, I followed through with my commitment and completed the half marathon. Who would have thought that finishing the race would be much easier than starting it?