Kaveri Trail Marathon. A 21 km run along a shy little tributary of the Kaveri, flanked by lush green fields around Ranganathittu, birds chirping their gossip in the distance, village charm in full display… honestly, who wouldn’t fall in love? They call it India’s oldest trail marathon. But alas, I’ve arrived fashionably... no, foolishly late to the party.
It was only last year that I took up running seriously, and KTM was one of my early 10Ks. Of course it hooked me clean. This year I wanted to go the whole hog. I’d even signed up for the full. But the universe had other plans: a few rough months, lousy health, and eventually a meek request to downgrade to the half. I was gutted. Till I discovered that the full is just double loop of the same trail. That softened the heartbreak a bit. I wasn’t missing any of the famed course after all.
The first 5 km is pure magic. The 10K is actually a round trip through this little paradise. But the following 5.5 km... Sigh. Dusty gravel. Construction debris. A war-zone cosplay where the only soldiers are cement bags and half-built houses. The rustic charm surrenders to chaos, and the country vibe dies somewhere under a heap of brick and mortar.
Honestly, I should have run this at least three years ago. But I only laced up last year. And now the trail is paying the price of 'progress.' NEB really needs to find a new route if they want to preserve what made KTM special. Because next year? It’ll be worse. I can’t help but cringe at the sad, predictable picture this landscape is spiralling into. Narrow lanes winding through jarringly ugly buildings that barely qualify as village homes. Laundry drooping across cramped balconies of tasteless two-storeyed boxes. The inevitable stray dogs. Cows loitering on concrete roads because their grazing fields now host more of those obnoxious constructions. And dung everywhere, like a final flourish of defeat. And worst of all, impatient two-wheelers hauling sacks of farm produce, muttering curses at runners intruding on 'their' road.
Call me skeptical. Yes, absolutely. I’ve seen enough places slide into the same fate to have earned my cynicism. This is exactly what happens when a beautiful trail is swallowed by the unstoppable hunger of construction. And unfortunately, I’ve arrived just in time to witness the last act.
Funny thing, just earlier, on the drive to Mysore, kid and I had been talking about why residential streets abroad look so beautiful while most populated areas here look battered and filthy. I gave a lame diplomatic excuse about postcard angles and curated views. Truth is, I don’t really buy that myself. We lack taste. When we build, we don’t build into the surroundings. We bulldoze over them. No syncing. No harmony. Not even a token attempt. We are, without apology or shame, selfish in our distaste for anything resembling aesthetic restraint.
Winged runner
It was around the 19 km mark that she overtook me. I remembered those legs instantly. From Goa Ultra. On her thick, powerful calves, she has a pair of wings tattooed, one on each leg. And as she ran, she didn’t just run. She flew. Her tattoo wings seemed to flap with every stride. And she was fast. In Goa, she had left me far behind; I only got a fleeting glimpse of those brilliant winged calves. But today, already in the final stretch, I was determined to keep up with this incredible runner.
Those wings were too strong for me. They flapped relentlessly, and soon she had a 50–60metres lead. But I kept my eyes glued to those legs. Watching those wings fly by the Kaveri stream was its own kind of inspiration. I dug deep in the final kilometre, went all out, and when we finished she was barely ten metres ahead.
At the finish line, kid was waiting. He’d finished his 10K second in his age category. The euphoria distracted me from my enchantment with her winged calves. But there will be more runs. And I’ll keep an eye out for those tattooed legs. She’s truly an inspiring runner. One I’d love to meet and greet someday.
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