Unfortunately, I am neither. I also hate all kinds of fitness regimes. I am allergic to gyms and the idea of lying on mats and tying oneself into knots doesn’t hold much appeal for me either.
I remember asking my friend Shubho, our local cycling expert, about the importance of fitness for mountain trips. One of his many remarkable cycling feats is climbing from Manali to Leh on a monstrously heavy iron bike while chain-smoking all the way. “Highly overrated,” he assured me, adjusting his gel-filled gloves imported from France. “You get fit as you go along,” he added before proceeding to light a cigarette.
My cycling partners Ranjan and Mohit take fitness more seriously.
Ranjan is a karate champion. He breaks bricks with a nod of his head and flips people over his shoulders for fun. He also goes for kickboxing classes to strengthen his legs. The other day I saw him carrying a copywriter on his back up eight flights of stairs to our workplace. “I thought it would do my hamstrings good,” he told me when asked to explain his odd behaviour.
Mohit prefers more conventional training methods and hits the gym at the basement of his office complex. With the help of his trainer, he has drawn up an intricate chart full of specific leg exercises to help him climb better in the mountains. Every day, Mohit spends six hours in the gym and about an hour at work. I don’t know how he gets away with it. You’d think the management of his ad agency would suspect something if one of their key art directors stopping churning out layouts and started growing disproportionately large calf muscles.
Meanwhile, I have been avoiding all physical exertions and drinking lots of beer instead. After a couple of bottles, I am usually so confident of taking on any mountain that often I have to be physically restrained from getting on my bike and setting off immediately.
Our different training techniques were tested when we went on a mountain trip recently. I realised that Shubho’s tactics don’t work for me: I didn’t get fitter as I went along, I got more pooped.
Ranjan and Mohit, I must admit, did remarkably well. They climbed the mountainous stretch effortlessly as if it were a flat straight road. I brought up the rear, puffing and panting like I was suffering from a severe asthma attack. There were moments when I couldn’t breathe altogether.
My friends mockingly referred to my wheezing, contorted look as the ‘Dead Elvis Grin’, after the name given by fellow cyclists to Lance Armstrong’s snarl when he cracks during a climb. While it is very rare to see Lance wear such an expression, it’s my default look in the mountains.
Next, we are planning to go on a long trip through the Himalayas sometime in July or August. I know that I need to do something drastic and have decided to turn over a new leaf. To start with, I intend to stop guzzling all that beer and switch to vodka and whisky instead.
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Ranjan on the climb to Kasauli.
Even from a distance, it is evident how easy
these things are for the martial arts types.
Mohit and Ranjan discussing the state of
the world’s economy while waiting for me
to catch up during our climb to Lansdowne.
