About the author:

Rupantar has been the race director of the Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team since 1985, having been asked by Sri Chinmoy to serve in that capacity. As well as working on the big races the US Marathon Team organise each year - the 3100 Mile Race and the Six and 10 Day Race - he also spends a considerable amount of time archiving the Marathon Team's 40 year history on this website.

***AUTHOR's NOTE: after weeks of failed attempts to capture in words some of the spirit and adventure of my recent attempt at the 20th annual New York Sri Chinmoy 6-Day Race, I was at a stop light on Mesa Street in my home town of El Paso, Texas when some sort of divine inspiration struck. I have a very small picture of the late Sri Chinmoy (philosopher, meditation teacher, spiritual leader, artist, running race organizer, and on and on) on the chipped and dusty dashboard of my old Honda CRV. Guru Chinmoy's picture, the red light, the fact that I had just finished my first decent run since the hard race in New York City-- all were factors as I recalled one of several poems of his that I once knew by heart but in my old age know only "more-or-less."


 The Red Light And The Green Light

   I have two intimate friends:
The red light
      And
The green light.

The red light warns me
   And cautions me
      And finally commands,
         “Stop!”

The green light inspires me
   And encourages me
      And finally whispers,
         “Start!”

My red friend
   Teaches me patience.
My green friend
   Teaches me dynamism.

My red friend tells me
   My life is precious.
My green friend tells me
   My goal is precious.

My red friend
   Perfects my will.
My green friend
   Fulfils my dream.

  • Sri Chinmoy

The Wings of Light, Part 1. Santurce, Puerto Rico: The AUM Press, 1974


The wind-driven rain flying north off Meadow Lake cut at the faces of tired runners. It was the afternoon of Tuesday April 26th. The 6-Day racers were in Day 4, the 10-Day competitors day 8. The end was not close enough to be "in sight," and most of the 80 runners moved a tad more gingerly than they had a few days earlier. My inner "red light" was telling me LOUDLY to stop!
 
I was cold, wrinkled, and ready to get in the car and drive the 5 miles to Uncle Arpan's warm, cozy house in Jamaica Hills. My wife and coach Helen phoned and suggested I simply walk the 9 or so minutes across the pedestrian overpass of the Grand Central Parkway to the Holiday Inn (something I and other runners have done in the past, but usually only when we had endured days on end of rough weather). I just could not get into any kind of rhythm, and ultimately Day 4 would be one of my lowest volume days (just 34 miles) of any of at least 15 multi-day races over the past dozen years.
 
Of course, as fate would have it, this was the day that several once-in-a lifetime running and life experiences greeted me. Until this point, each day of the race I looked forward to the 5 p.m. to 11 p.m. time period. Former race announcer and longtime helper Sanatan "Sinatra" Curchack would park his mini van at the far east end of our 1 mile loop, partly to keep an eye out for wayward speeding vehicles and loose dogs and other animals, but also for any runners who might head off the wrong way at this hairpin right turn and confusing round-a-bout. Plenty of runners have gone wrong briefly here, but generally late at night when sleep-deprived and being chased by seven foot tall skunks and raccoons.

I gave my customary wave and "Hey-hey!" to Sanatan (decades ago runners nicknamed him "Sinatra" because of his beautiful baritone speaking and singing voice, as well as the similarity of his name to the maestros Frank and Frank Jr.). Walking the short uphill turn, I saw many wet Cricket players just ahead. Cricket is a major sport in New York City, with many high schools having Varsity teams that draw crowds at games equal to what the schools' baseball teams or track meets do. A few times I have had Cricket balls come close to hitting me in the 300 meter stretch between pitches ("fields"), but I had also found a few abandoned, worn out balls in our path which allowed me and runner friends to have short games of toss and catch.
 
Fast forwarding a few miles and getting towards sunset, I was dreaming about the best restaurant (I think) in all of New York City (this would be the Oneness-Fountain-Heart, and conveniently for me it was close to our park AND they made deliveries!) To be clear, the race kitchen and food were amazing (the Head Chef, Nipura Brown from New Zealand, was charming and all agreed had the appearance of a movie star. She could easily have a reality cooking show in the USA). I enjoyed the race cafe's food around the clock, but the Oneness-Fountain is a gourmet establishment and offers several of my favorite dishes in the world, including "Royal Rice" and Cantonese-style noodles with broccoli, soy sauce and various other trimmings. And did I mention their critically acclaimed desserts??
 
Like clockwork, my friend Galya Volodia Balatskyi, a world class runner originally from Ukraine (last summer he ran over 70 miles every day-- for 42 days-- enroute to finishing 2nd to "the Flying Finn," Ashprihanal Pekka Aalto's world record 40 days+ in the world's longest ultra, the New York 3100 mile) came out to tidy my hopelessly messy car and table. Each runner has half of a table to place small essentials on, the table being under cover and mere inches from the running path. Within minutes my dream food from the Oneness-Fountain appeared at my newly tidied spot. More importantly, the smiling, well-known Chef Shashanka Karlen himself had delivered it and cheered me up while walking a short ways with me. While I was still wet and miserable on the outside, I felt a warm glow on the inside.
 
One reason I could not get into any rhythm on this day was that I seemed unable to go 4 miles without having to visit the medical tent for one thing or another. Blister prevention, diarrhea prevention, chronically sore and swollen feet, bad back, bad breath-- these all bled time from the unforgiving race clock. Luckily for me and all runners, we had a stellar crew of professional massage therapists, doctors, nurses, chiropractors and assistants at our disposal. Twice during the race we were beyond fortunate to have Dr. Sakhshat W. Flowers drive all the way out from suburban New Jersey to use his cold laser on limping or injured runners.

Doc Flowers (himself a stellar 400 meter runner in his youth) spent about 12 minutes each time working around my left foot and ankle (which were swollen and painful). And-- miraculously-- the swelling went down and the function of the ankle improved markedly. A new pair of shoes (it seemed anything other than the Nike Odyssey or Structure caused me foot pain and blisters) brought out to me all the way from Manhattan by my lifelong friend and training partner Maurice Shalah also gave me new life-- I wore Maurice's new shoes the last 115 or so miles of the race!
 
I was escorted from the medical tent (perhaps overstaying my welcome) by a muscular, unshaven, tough-looking Hungarian massage therapist. Fortunately, this tough-looking guy-- Dr. Shivabhakta Tamas Agoston-- happens to be one of my best friends at the race and favorite people in the world. He knows how to make me laugh when I want to cry, and is also good at giving me a kick (and I mean a real hard kick!) to get me to stop whining and start moving. Little did either of us suspect that as we walked along the first part of the course we would make a discovery worthy of any reality TV "Treasure Hunt" type show.
 
After 5 hours the rain had stopped and the weather had actually warmed. Near the sharp right turn where I had chatted to and waved at Sanatan a few hours earlier, I noticed-- wedged against the curb-- some empty paper bags from fast food restaurants, a few paper cups, and-- what looked like a leather wallet! .....

--What was in the wallet?!
--Would this author and all the other runners survive two-and-a-half more exhausting days of running?
--Would the magician and multi-Guinness world record holder Ashrita Furman manage to set a world record for catching ice creams thrown at him at Bartolo Colon (famous Mets' pitcher)-like speeds??
--WHO would win the 6 and 10-Day races, which were still close as the clock wound towards 48 hours to go??
--Who would win the annual "Most Smiley" Contest among runners, Big Andrei Andreyev or Little Sergei Leschenko of Russia, one of the famous Sykorova sisters (Manoshri and Gautami) of Canada, or some newcomer??
--Would race announcer/ manager Devashishu Torpy catch the young prankster who ran along the course alternately kicking over and tossing off into the bushes the hundreds of traffic cones marking the proper running route??