Solang 100k 2024
Prelude: Clean house, throw out trash and head to bus stop. Waited over 2 hours and finally the bus arrives. A 2 hour journey. As soon as we cross the tunnel, its raining. Uh oh. Didn’t expect that. Luckily, it subsided at Solang. Hell race delays, as usual. Briefing is long and dragging. Nothing new. No value addition. Anand from Malnad ultra does this online on Google meet. I wonder if that’s the way going forward. The purpose is met, much to the convenience of many. Eye to eye contact is not really valued anymore I guess, sadly. Same course as last year. Finally, the briefing concludes and we head out in the cold for chai pakoda. Socialize with runners. Tagged along with Hira bhai and he conveniently passed over some driving duties to me. In his car, along with Hukum, drove around town in frustrating traffic. Devender made us wait in Manali. Got medals from Aleo. Got some trail paint too. Not ideal pre-race activities. This is the least I can do for Hell race. Dropped them at Solang and returned to Burua late. Spoke with Urmila bhabi. Same taunts I’ve heard all my life. “Kya milta hai?” (what do you get out of this?). No answer. Ate a bit of dal rice. We both packed our bags. Then I slept in the hall around midnight studying my excel sheet (most optimistic time) timetable.
Race day: My alarm buzzed at 4. Got up, changed clothes. Tried to gobble down some left over rotis. Hira bhai joins. We eat oats and bread. He offers me coffee. Good. We depart at 5:15 and reach the venue. I go for a shit in Bharat’s room. Its not smooth going. Heck, I go give my drop bags to Jhonny bhai and try some dynamic drills. It’s getting late and I still don’t have my music sorted. Decide on 180 bpm songs. With a minute to go, I fill my soft flasks. I hear the countdown and I scram. 3 2 1, I dart. Drop my flask within a few steps in the crowd. Recovered and gallop easily. Up the road. Chalo. I said as I crossed Hira bhai. Down towards Burua village, I followed Vishal and Pritam. You have no business running this fast now, I repeated to myself. Down the cement road, past Nehru kund. At Shanag, we hop over a few boulders and cross the Beas river over a wooden bridge. All this while, a frail, brown bitch is following us, right from the start. As we head towards Vashist, I spot a boy with a single earring approach me. Up? He asks me. “The Up starts at night”, I reply snobbishly. “Kahan se ho?”, I enquired. He claims to be a Nepali from Darjeeling. Huh, I snorted and go ahead. Past the Vashist aid station. No stop. Bowed down at the temple and splashed some warm water over my knees. Now it’s actually a steep gradient. The so-called death climb. Funny how someone uttered these words once (I think I know who) and the name has stuck. Part of folklore for over 9 years. That’s the reach of the internet. On the other hand, hermits exist here. I bet Bumboo baba (the sage from Thailand) who lives in a small shack on this trail section is not privy of this nomenclature. Random thoughts on a cloudy morning. I tick along (sans poles). Himalayan jogging. On-the-toes bouncing. Exaggerated swaying of the upper body. Vertical Pace – same as hiking. This time of the year, the trail was overgrown with bushes and shrubs. Most of them thorny. Ever so often getting dangled to my top and/or hydration bag. I suffered a few scratches and bruises too. Part of the game, I told myself, ignoring the pain and bleeding. At the top of the climb, I spot Pritam gaining on me. Somehow it didn’t bother me one bit. I’ve beaten him earlier convincingly. He had made some over-the-top statements for camera pre-race. I detest such cockiness especially from youngsters who don’t know/do shit. Play Ranji trophy first, then think about the world cup. Was an analogy I coined in my mind. I let him go so as to check him from up close. He seemed anxious. A few moments later he slips on the tall grass. Stops to tie his shoelace. That’s the last I see of him. The traverse to Kulang is butter smooth. I got ticking. The strides I had practiced in the previous days came to good use. I was maintaining good pace. Did not stop at Moridugh and just shouted out “bib 100 22”. I was above my excel sheet pace. The course snakes through several streams or naalas and I hop over them with ease. Glancing back, there was no sign of anybody. Continued to Kulang where the village is visible down below. Belted this technical down hill section in about 4 minutes. Another segment CR. Reached the road at Ekant restaurant and turned right. Brown dog follows. Never have I seen a dog follow for so long while also running fast. Probably it belongs to some runner, I thought. Continued clicking up the road. A loaded truck was crawling uphill and this served as a good pacer. Vehicles by your side actually helps, ask any cyclist. Albeit brief, for a few seconds, I got my rhythm till Palchan village. Now, it’s off the highway onto cement roads. Up towards Ruwad. Greeted familiar faces. I was told that he’s just a little ahead. Reached the tent at Kothi road. Screamed my number to volunteer Nivedita and continued. Into Kothi village and up towards Dolma ji’s dhaba. She was out cheering for us, not running this time. Just hi fived her. We hadn’t spoken for long. The internet bug has bitten her and she’s into road running (and social media predominantly) these days. Fame changes people. To each his/her own. Just as I’m climbing up, I spot the leader, Vishal. He is within eyesight. Relaxed at that thought. Greeted Baba and Bharat on the way up. Its now the old British track to Rohtang. Apparently, chopped wood used to be brough down via this path before roads were built. Its now defunct for several years and its slushy with tall grass in sections. A lot of switchbacks snake going up, so I spot the leader frequently. Brown dog follows. Abruptly the trail ends and we need to climb to the right. A steep climb. Its actually a landslide area and since many years its in bad shape. Water is flowing. My stomach gurgles and I squat for a dumb. All the while looking down, I don’t spot anyone. After my business, I continue to 14 mod (the 14th hair pin bend after Gulaba) where my first drop bag is. Two Himachali boys are quite helpful. My scarpa shoes felt great. Solid grip. Awesome stability. These were gifted to me by legendary Italian sky runner Marco De Gasperi (thanks, Marco). He is now the head at Scarpa. Just the fact that he had beaten Kilian several times, I hold him in high regard. I now had to take a calculated decision. Do I change shoes? It was wet and soggy. The trouble may arise later, I thought and took proactive action. I changed into the hard Adidas which had a torn upper. I had taped them to prevent mud from entering. A band-aid solution, as they say. Loaded up and departed. I met a Maharashtrian guy, Vishal’s friend. So, this fella has support crew too? Interesting. The climb started. My energy level was good. Downed gels frequently. It was getting hot and I veered ever so often towards the last few trees for shade. Then it was all exposed. Once upon a time, I had done it in 99 minutes. Road to lake. Hands on knees, I was trying really hard to keep high cadence. Just keep bouncing, I repeated. I approached closer to the leader but at no point did I want to put in a surge. Early days. Music blaring in my ears. Its cloudy at Rawli Kholi. Refill water, thank the familiar volunteers and I’m off. Guess what, the dog is still in pursuit. It gets windy towards the top. Thankfully, I had picked up my flimsy, torn gloves. A boulder section here was steep where I hop over them nimbly. Reach the top. Noon was the target. I reached 10 minutes prior. I spot the tent with a few men standing there. Mentally, I’ll crush him, I thought. Vishal was panting, tired. “Kai zhala? you really gonna hurt today” I quipped. A line I picked up from Scott Jurek’s book. Waved at volunteer Naveen and started moving. Never stay long at the top (mountaineering 101). Thinking back, that line was uncalled for. Such a sweet guy. Let me give you some background.
Vishal Valavi, the 25 year old, was from rural Maharashtra. I first spotted him at the Sinhagad epic trail where we ran neck-to-neck for a while. We both lost our ways and then we separated. A thin short kid, looked like a minimalist runner. Super strong and light, I was intrigued. He won that race and I took his autograph on my bib. I have plenty such in my career. I learnt that he had won a 100 miler earlier under tough conditions. A soft-spoken boy, he clearly had a penchant for long distances. “Come to Solang”, I said then, thereby sparking his fire.
Now, he’s not 100 percent. Poor pacing strategy. I offer him a gel but he refuses stating that he feels like puking. Commits another mistake of going off track (towards Vashisht) and I yell out to him. A million thoughts are in my head now. Should I scoot? Should I help this guy? Most likely he will quit. But I may screw up too. Still early stages. Saw him up-close on reaching the yet-to-be-set-up tent on the way down. He glugged some coke. No gels, no electrolytes, no salt tabs, no poles. How is he gonna cope? My heart melted like a piece of butter on a hot paratha.
This boy has travelled so far. He is my guest. A simpleton, I develop a soft corner for him. Follow me, I told him going downhill. All the while giving him tips. Which racing line to take. Where to take lighter steps, where to throw caution to the wind. Where to load up on calories. At the Moridugh station, he’s hungry. Chomping on whatever he could find. I wait a while then I urged him on. Down to the road at Ekant. The brown dog is still following!
It had been a long downhill from Brighu lake and the quads are trashed. Takes a while to activate the hams and glutes for the road uphill. Vishal joins. He is faster, only slightly, and goes ahead a few meters. After Palchan, we hike a bit in Ruwad. Chomping on some calories in the energy-sapping heat. We decide beforehand, to grab a bite at the next aid station. At Kothi road, Nivedita and a boy greets us with hot rice and dal. It was served in paper plates. I lifted mine right upto my mouth and let it flow in. Done. Let Vishal eat in peace while I sprayed my ankle with diclofenac. I had busted it in TOR and it had not healed. I still couldn’t figure it out. Sometimes, when we run downhill, we dislodge rocks in such a way that it whacks the ankle bone (in front). How? I don’t know. How bad? Quite bad. A month later, today, that area hurts if touched. Welcome to the life of an athlete. Perpetual pain. Always thinking of the next race, injuries do not warrant much action besides RICE (Rest, Ice Compression, Elevation). What if it’s a fracture? Nothing. Got to do the same for it to heal, right. So better not get it checked at all. Saves time, resources and retains mental sanity.
After loading our tummies, we start climbing Kothi. The most boring, remote, treacherous, nonsensical climb. Even the local villagers barely use this route. No water along the way anywhere after the small waterfall of sorts. We filled up, I led, he followed. Got chatty with Vishal to stave away boredom. I learn Marathi from him. Teach him some Kannada. Talk about his village, his family. The going is slow uphill. He wants to sit. No sir, not allowed. I make him lie down and stretch his hams and quads. He grimaces. He gets some relief in that torture. Let’s get above the treeline, I urged. Water trickled here and we turned to the left. After a short climb, we swing our legs and I tell him – all down. Next stop Solang. We tick along and spot camera man Bannerjee and boys at Khobi. I signalled He’s the star they need to focus on. Deftly shying away. Down the grass fields, into the forest. Nimble footed. Alternating on who takes the lead. Towards Solang village, I give him the most important tip. Stay towards the right of the trail on the grass. The trail is full of rocks and stones and descending can be tricky. Grass is much softer. We pound down, cross the newly constructed bridge and turn towards the camp. Transition time is pre-decided. What was in store was a crowd so big I last remembered seeing in Rajiv chowk.
Grabbed my backpack from the tent. Changed tee. Socks, shoes. Tugged on my 799 rupees Kalenji road flats. Everyone wanted to help. Shooed away the media. No camera bytes. I was still in “no comments mode”. Someone offered dal rice. Barely gobbled a few spoons. Vishwas bhai knowing me, asked if I would like black coffee. Yes sir, wished he lived to a 100. Was raring to go while this dude is still grimacing, getting stretching done by someone. Someone else was literally spoon-feeding him. “Come on, it’s a fuckin race” I muttered under my breath. After waiting a while, I lost patience. Enough, I’m on my way, I declared leaving. Reluctantly, he scurries along soon. This time our four-legged friend has had enough. Thanks, take rest, doggie.
The uphill on the road can seem benign but it takes effort. A lot of run, hike, run is involved. Not to forget swaying away from speeding vehicles. One day, someone is gonna get knocked down, I keep telling the RD, knocking on my head. In hindsight, I should have been faster. Got to work on this aspect. Across the Dhundi bridge, onto dirt roads. We have about 20 minutes cushion as per the excel sheet. From the project site, its all hiking. The underfoot is tricky. Reach Palchani nala – the drop bag and I take my time getting ready for the night. Vishal’s K-tape has come off, so I offer him my white plaster tape. He puts it all over his feet and it looks funny. Way too much dilly dallying and I have no time cushion left when I depart at 18:20. Equipped with gloves, poles and headlight. I’m determined. Hiked with purpose while Vishal falls behind. The good thing was, he kept getting energy and followed suit. “Kitna daudaoge? (how much more will you make me run?)” was his query. I didn’t understand his context. He had clearly lost the plot of racing. Mentally, I needed to bring him back. He needs micro targets, which I pointed out in the distance. After Bakkarthach, we climbed the boulder section. Here, I broke my pole. One portion got stuck in the ground and remained there. Felt sad. Very sad. Gave away the other one to Vishal and went ahead. I don’t deserve one, I reprimanded myself. The open field before Beas kund had a few water crossings. Two headlights helped both navigate that. Popped a gel ahead of the lady leg climb. It was cold and windy. Nothing hot to consume in the tent, we went ahead. The climb was as expected. Steep. Reach the col and decided – next stop Palchani. No stopping. Follow me I said, taking the lead. On the way down I deviated slightly to the right mountains, but got back on track after a while. After Lahuli nala, it was a gradual descent but through single track trails. Reached the drop bag and Vishal seemed famished. Another loop? How will we fare this time? Doubts crept into my head too – the one lacking sleep and clarity. The bonfire was tempting. Downed some maggi this time. Narry and this Delhi girl were kind to help. Started again. This was slower than the first time. Wicked thoughts of leaving him behind momentarily popped in. Shunned them. A word - responsibility was stuck in my mind. Arbitrarily. How it got there, what context it had was all perplexing. We continued up the boulder section and again hopped over streams. The lady leg climb was drudgery this time. To keep the brain busy, I told him to count his steps. He got distracted somewhere around 850. I counted till 1600. Reached up. To pep him up, I said “you’ve done it pal, it’s almost over”. Well, it isn’t over till the finish. That all racers know. Going down too, we had lapses in energy. It got really windy and we were chilled to the bone. No stopping by bonfire. Was carrying a ton of food and stuff in my pack. Dumped it all out except for half a litre of water. Gave him my poles (fixed with tape now) and said let’s get this done. We had never looked at the clock all this while. A mistake in hindsight. Would that have caused some more urgency? Only time could tell. Went down steadily till the road. Something was off. It was torturous. Inefficient movement. I believed he had it in him physically (to push ahead) but mentally he was drained too. Our gait looked rusty. Energy low. Led the way down the trail shortcut. With less than a km to go, we deviate off the road. Don’t do anything silly, I kept saying to him and what happens? I have the silliest trip over a log and bam! I yell out in pain clutching my tibia. Then move as if nothing happened. It was throbbing. I was hobbling. Past the leaking pipe, we see the campsite. Here was our conversation:
Me: I don’t know how to end this but you think and decide. A race is a race.
Him: We have been together all this time. Let’s finish together.
Me: Our timings will be same. It makes no difference. Choice is yours.
Him: Majority of the time you helped me. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You are the senior.
Senior. Senior. He had said that umpteen times all along. True humility this chap had. We pushed the final few meters. Come on, I yelled before the tape. He let me touch it a second before. And we stood, brothers in arms. An unspoken bond we shared. What a journey. Unforgettable.
Post race:
Hindsight is 20-20. Many things could have been different, that’s easy to say now. I believe, everything happens for a reason. And whatever happens, happens for good. It was a lovely outing in the mountains. The weather gods were kind. I put in an honest effort. Recognized where I ticked boxes easily. And where I need to improve. For sure realized the importance of the word “responsibility”. My 5th victory. My fastest time till date i.e. 20 hours 14 minutes (https://www.strava.com/activities/12584249491). I have no words for the camera. Let him bask in the glory. It’s his time.
Huddled by the bonfire. Gazing at the stars. It was beautiful. Pushkar and crew switched off the cameras and we watched the burning embers. Trying to make sense of this moment in time. A collection of such moments, we call life.
The next runner arrived over 3 hours later. The other races began at dawn. Barely caught 2 winks and lingered by the finish line. Sharing the joy and sorrows – the emotions. The smiles, the tears and everything in between. I’ve been here for many years. Genuine and for-the-camera. I’ve seen it all. A spectacle indeed. The moment encapsulating a journey. In the words of Rihanna, “Baby, this is what you came for”.
Thank you, brown dog.