My Forrest Gump Moment

As I sat in the waiting area at the Jamaica train station seven Sundays ago, surrounded by a staccato of patois-English, I reflected on the incredible events of the previous six days. I don't think I've ever experienced such a wide array of events in such a short span of time, accompanied by emotions ranging from profound sadness to pure joy. While I didn't share my life experiences with my neighbors as Forrest Gump did, I spent those endless minutes mentally separating out and appreciating each of the moments that had become blended together in the fast pace of life.

Monday began with the deepest sorrow I had felt in years. I logged into Facebook and read on one of my cousins' status that my beloved Nana, affectionately known as Maa (Mother) by many, my last surviving grandparent, had passed away. This sad news was confirmed a few minutes later with a phone call from my Dad. I was dazed. While Nana's passing was not sudden - "rather expected" as put by one of my uncles - it did hurt me at my very core. As I've learned to do after hearing of such news over the past years, I read Sura Ya Sin, a chapter from the Qur'an that reminds the people of their impending return to their Lord. Even though I had read the chapter countless times, this time it was the hardest ever. Every few verses, I could not help but choke up a sob and remember the happy moments I shared with my Nana. But somehow, I managed to finish the chapter. I was supposed to be preparing for my dissertation defense, which was to take place on Wednesday, but try as I might, I could simply not focus. Instead I turned to Facebook to chat with my brother and cousins to try soothe my troubled heart. recounted my trip to Tanzania in January, where we spent many treasured moments with Nana, and I told my brother Adnaan that I was glad that I joined him after initially planning to go after I defended my Ph.D. A couple hours after I initially got the news, I called my Mom. Our conversation was filled with more sobs and tears than words, especially unusual coming from me, but I think it was a necessary early part to our grieving. The rest of the day became more bearable and I did manage to go over my slides for Wednesday's presentation.

Tuesday dawned, and while I was still deeply saddened, I was more poised to tackle the day's sole challenge, and that was to be prepared for the Defense. After waking up and getting ready for lab, I presented (to myself) without my notes for the first time. Then I headed to lab and busied myself with some of the other tasks I had planned to work on the following week. Then I came back to my presentation and practiced one more time. I visited the scene of my upcoming showdown, the Bioengineering Conference Room, to ensure that all the necessary equipment was in place. And then I went home and tried to re-read my notes to make sure I was prepared for potential questions that might arise the next day.

I tried to sleep early, but it took me nearly an hour to fall asleep. I suddenly awoke at 2:30 a.m. and tossed and turned fitfully for about 2 hours before finally falling asleep. I finally got up again at 7 and got ready for the Defense. Most people who know me know that I don't like dressing up in dress shirts, pants, ties, and suits. But today was different. Today was the most important day in my graduate career, and probably the most important day in my 26 years and 363 days thus far. Today I was going to earn the signatures that opened the gate to the Ph.D. degree and allowed me to carry the humbling title of "Doctor". More anxious than anything, I spent the hours prior to the Defense browsing the internet aimlessly, reading the news, checking the weather, making my fantasy football picks, anything that wasn't even remotely related to my dissertation. With 1 hour remaining until showtime, several of my lab colleagues and I headed over to the Bioengineering building to set up the conference room. I made sure to arrange the coffee, juice, donuts, and sugar cookies in a way that wouldn't be distracting to me during the presentation. While I wasn't fasting that day, it was still the holy month of Ramadhan, and I was mentally in fasting mode. With the computer, projector, chairs, and food ready, I sat down and twiddled my fingers. The audience members and Dr. Jesty, the chair of the defense committee, started streaming in about 20 minutes before the presentation, and while I made casual conversation with them, the room started to fill up. At 1:28 p.m., the room was packed and it was literally standing room only, with 3 of the audience members hanging out by the door. At 1:29 p.m., Dr. Frame, the final committee member, made her way to the last remaining chair in the room. The clock struck 1:30 p.m. It was time for the Defense! After a brief introduction by Dr. Jesty, it was up to me to impress and prove to the audience that the research I had done was important and beneficial to science and the society at large. After an initial shaky start (due to my unfamiliarity with the handheld clicker and laser pointer and slight twinge of nervousness), my slides began flowing together smoothly, and exactly 40 minutes later, I was done! Not quite. The audience and I were booted out of conference room, where the committee convened to prepare their game plan to grill me. After a couple minutes of chit-chat with the last stragglers out of the room, I was left in solitude and sat outside the room. After 10 minutes, I was beckoned back in. The cross-examination was not as I feared. The committee members gently prodded me about the intricacies of some of my results and methods, and proposed several suggestions on how to improve my dissertation. Fifty-three minutes later, Dr. Jesty asked for my signature sheet, and all 4 committee members unanimously scrawled their John Hancocks on this now-all-important sheet of paper, unofficially agreeing to allow me to conclude my long but rewarding graduate school travails. The official commencement of the next chapter of my life would occur on December 22nd. I presented a small token of my appreciation (from Tanzania) to each of the committee members, prompting Dr. Frame to quip, "You're supposed to bribe us before your defense, not after!" Dr. Bahou responded, "The donuts and sugar cookies were pretty good though!" The members strolled -- no, rushed -- out to their next engagements, while I cleaned up the conference room, trying to entice whatever students walked by to grab whatever sugary delicacies that remained. I finally left the building at 4:00 p.m., and walked back to my lab on the East Campus, where my colleagues awaited to take me to John Harvard's for a nice small meal. I should have been jumping for joy, but I was still a bit subdued by the loss of my Nana just a couple days earlier. However, I slept well that night.

On Thursday, I woke up before the crack of dawn to catch the 6:30 a.m. morning rush hour train towards the city -- for my 10:30 flight to Buffalo. My attempted nap was fitful, as I was often interrupted by the loud snores of a well-dressed executive across the aisle from me. My two-hour wait at the airport and subsequent 1 hour flight was quite uneventful and boring, and I arrived on time for the first time in many trips across the state. After a short stay at home, I went with Mom to Buffalo Hearing and Speech to pick up new hearing aids to replace my museum pieces. After a quiet dinner at home, we were joined by Adnaan, who had driven up from Philadelphia. We all went to bed early.

Friday was an eventful day, both in terms of significance and activity. It was Eid-ul-Fitr, marking the end of the holy month of Ramadhan. It was also my 27th birthday and the 14th anniversary of the passing of my Dadima, my paternal grandmother. Looking back, I think of it as an honor that the peak of my academic career was bookended by the departures of two of the most important people in my life. We all woke up early, showered, and dressed very nicely and drove the two hours to Brampton in Canada to participate in Eid congregational prayers. Now I think some family members paid off the Imam, himself a distant relative of mine, since he mentioned that young people these days put off marriage until later because, "Mom and Dad, I can't afford to marry yet. I need to get a job first and become independent." While he said it in general, I think it was directed at me. I whispered to myself, "Okay, I surrender. No more excuses." And then repeated it one more time aloud to the Imam himself after the prayers. We briefly met some of our family members and then drove across town to the northern suburbs of Toronto to visit and condole two of Nana's sisters. Finally, we ended the long day at Aunty Amina's house, where we enjoyed a peaceful dinner and post- food coma conversation with my Uncle, Aunt, and cousins Javed and Nuzhat. We three brothers played Monopoly to a draw and went to sleep at 1 a.m.

On Saturday morning, Aunty Amina and Javed made us a nice breakfast of omelette and (real!) French toast, after which we went to Uncle Mehdi's house for a small program to celebrate Eid and reminisce about the good ol' days and remember departed elders of the family. After the sumptuous umpteen-course meal of biryani, kachori, samosa, and Nestle chocolates, Aunty Zainab surprised cousin-in-law Nishaat and me with a September birthday cake. I was truly pleasantly surprised, as I thought no one would remember my birthday. After a group photo consisting of 30+ people and as many retakes, we finally departed for home sweet home. Not being able to eat anymore despite it being dinnertime, Nabeel and I resorted to playing knee hockey in the basement, after which the aforementioned knees were baby smooth and hairless for the first time in years. Oh yeah, the carpet burn was painful too. Then Adnaan, Nabeel, and I played Monopoly yet again, but this time we played to a draw, at 1 a.m., because we were keeping Mom and Dad awake.

Sunday dawned and Adnaan left early, eager to return to Philadelphia and recommence his endless studying. I departed for the airport a few hours later. While my flight was only slightly delayed, the luggage in New York took a while to come out, and I ended up missing the 4:20 p.m. train back to Stony Brook and had to settle for the 5:50 train and a cool seat on the platform at Jamaica station.

While bobbing along to the last few strains of sing-song patois, my ears suddenly perked up to the mixed Noo Yawk-Caribbean voice that boomed over the speakers, "Tha Five Fiftee traaainn to Hantingtan stayshun is now approachin'....oll aaabooard!" I tipped my head to patois-chattering ladies and boarded my ride home.

Buffalo Half Marathon

As I crossed the finish line, arms raised in the air, I reflected on the emotions of the previous 1:54:08 and the journey that took me to the starting line....

Anxiety. Nervousness. Determination. Frustration. Pain. Focus. Anticipation. Strength. Humility. Camaraderie. Inspiration. Motivation. Exuberance. Confidence. Exultation. Exhilaration. Joie de vivre.

My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. on the morning of May 24th. My hand crawled out from under the cozy warmth of the comforter, up the nightstand, and reached over to my cell phone to hit the "Dismiss" button. I carefully shimmied out from the cocoon of the bed and stumbled off to prepare for the big day. After getting dressed, I carefully tiptoed down the stairs as to not wake up my dad and brother, made myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and poured a glass of milk, and sat in the relative darkness of the kitchen to ponder on my game plan. While waiting for my friends Bryan and Jen to pick me up, I went over the day's weather forecast and attempted to decode the route that I was supposed to run. Showers at 11 a.m. Hmmm, no big deal, I thought, at least I will be done by then. Some online reviewers of the course said that adjustment to avoid construction would take us over some overpasses, negating the reputation of the route as fast and flat. I am not a big fan of hills, and still blamed the overpasses for slowing me down and knocking the wind out of me during the Suffolk County Half Marathon nearly two months earlier. Before the mental games set in, I quickly exited the house and sat on the front stoop, took deep breaths, and looked out at the lightening sky as the sun began its long ascent above the horizon.

Just after 6 a.m., my ride arrived. I reacquainted myself with Bryan and Jen, whom I hadn't seen in almost 5 years, while we zoomed through the empty streets and highways of Western New York, still sleeping on this fine Sunday morning. The conversation was a blur, as I was still waking up. We found a parking spot not too far from the parking line, and strolled along the street to the Hyatt Regency. It was not yet 6:30 a.m. and the place was teeming with several hundred runners. Weaving through the crowded lobby of the Hyatt, I spotted the concierge and asked him to store my bag, which he graciously did. I rejoined Bryan on the other side of the lobby, where he introduced me to Safiyya, a teammate of his from University at Buffalo. While she sauntered off to the starting line, I realized that I needed to use the facilities. I was discouraged by the long lines, and with 15 minutes left, I thought that the urge to relieve myself wasn't pressing, and that I could hold it for a couple more hours. I crossed my fingers and headed outside to join the now bulging crowd heading towards the base of the parking garage at the intersection of Pearl and Huron Streets. While fumbling with my MP3 player and armband, I ran into Safiyya.
"I wish I brought my iPod," she said.
"Don't worry. There are a few thousand people here. You could chat with some of them," I responded.
"True."
The announcer told the crowd to push back further up the street to allow the stragglers room to squeeze into the mass of humanity. Then he extolled on the virtues of the perfect weather of the race day, the perfect elevation of the course, and that we were going to see the beauty of downtown Buffalo. He reminded us to drink water and Gatorade at the stations spaced apart every two miles. He then finished by saying that above all, that we should go out and have fun. Then a singer, who sounded a bit half-awake, croaked out the Canadian and American national anthems. Kudos to her for coming out at 7 a.m. though. The announcer started the 60 second countdown. I quickly wished Safiyya good luck, plonked my sunglasses on my nose, plugged in my earbuds and turned on my MP3 player. I set it to "Stand Up and Be Strong" by Soul Asylum, which always gets me moving, whether it be a short training run or a long race.

Stand up and be strong
It won't take long
You can't go wrong
Stand up and be strong

At 7 a.m. the gun went off, and the runners let out a jubilant roar. 3,222 pairs of feet and 2 sets of wheels thundering down the sleepy streets of Buffalo. We were on our way, and whatever obstacles I might encounter, I was going to finish these 13.1 miles strong. We headed down Pearl Street, and I saw the recently-demolished Aud, with only one wall remaining standing. While it didn't evoke any memories, since I became a fan of the Buffalo Sabres a year after it was closed, I was sad to see it torn down, since I heard so many tales and legends about the old arena. We drifted right towards Niagara Square, around the obelisk and courthouses, and up north on Niagara Street. I was telling Safiyya not to burn herself out and to keep a steady, comfortable pace. "Are you kidding me? I'm just going to take it easy." At this point, there were a few bystanders cheering on the runners, and quite a few gawkers staring on, trying to fathom the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. After a couple miles, Safiyya took off, and I continued on at my pace, vowing to conserve my energy for the strong finish. We rounded into Lasalle Park, and Lake Erie drew into view. Ah, the sight of water re-energized me. I had been wanting to run along the waterfront, and finally it was happening. At the 3-mile mark, and I sighted the first of the water stations. I grabbed a cup of water, drank most of it and tossed the cup away. I then formulated a plan whereby I would alternate water and Gatorade every two miles, since I found that Gatorade really helped me recover faster after each of my training runs. A runner that I passed was wearing a shirt that declared, "In my mind, I am Kenyan." I smiled, recognizing that the race was more a grasp of our inner confidence and mental stamina rather than a feat of physical endurance. We squeezed onto a winding bike path, two abreast, in front of the Lakefront Apartments. A few residents were watching us, but those on the balcony of the last apartment were hollering and cheering and waving noisemakers. I was already starting to like this race.

We then merged onto Erie Basin Marina Drive, and I kept an eye on the oncoming traffic for my friends from middle school, high school, and college who I thought might be running a bit faster than me. As we approached the 5-mile mark at the base of the observation tower, I grabbed a lemon-flavored Gatorade. Going in the opposite direction of that we came from, I once again tried to spot my friends, but couldn't, and just forged ahead. A bunch of runners ran into the restrooms at The Hatch, but by this point, my bladder wasn't sending signals, so I just continued on. Turning near the Naval Park, I heard my name yelled out and saw Bryan standing on the median. I waved to him and ran on, elated that at least someone recognized me among the multitude of runners. Just in front of me, someone was wearing a shirt requesting donations to the Matthew J. Schnirel Memorial Fund. I flashed back to my few memories of Matt, a classmate at Sweet Home Middle School, who passed away in a plane crash in late April 2008. I was glad to know that some of participants were running in his memory. Finally I saw a roadside timer for the 10K mark. 53:20. Not bad, I thought. While it wasn't as good as my 10K time 3 weeks prior, 51:25, I was staying on pace. As we hopped over the above-ground subway tracks and towards HSBC Arena, "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" played over my earbuds. How coincidental, I thought. And ran on.

As we turned onto South and Louisiana Streets, we encountered blaring stereos and cheering spectators, raising a racket with their noisemakers and cowbells. Just before South Park Avenue, we passed a Polish pastry shop, and I thought of paczki ("paunch-kee"), the ubiquitous sugar dusted doughnuts on Fat Tuesday. Running into the store to grab one for the road would be so tempting at this point, but I had to save my indulgences for later. Finishing was my task right now. We zoomed along and merged onto Peabody Street, the eastern boundary of our long route and just after the 9-mile mark. Just after the I-190 overpass, there was a Franciscan friar, in his brown garb and chastity belt, and the head monk in a white habit high-fiving runners as they passed in front of the church. While I was on the other side of the street, I could help but feel a boost of energy. Here were two of God's servants encouraging us to live out our passions. Today was indeed a blessed day. At this point, it started to drizzle. Oh no, I thought, the rain is going to come 2 hours early. Why does it always have to rain when I race? There was nothing I could do except hope that I wasn't going to drench, and perhaps run a bit faster to escape the brunt of the showers if we got caught.

As I crested the Seneca Street bridge over the train tracks, the Lion King song, "Circle of Life," piped through my ears. Perfect! I felt like I had just conquered another mountain and was raising a cub over the plains. I may not be Kenyan, but I was certainly feeling like one now. On and on I ran, water droplets gently whizzing by. Several more bridges and overpasses. It was clear now that this course wasn't going to be run without a fight. I switched to my energy conservation mode, running faster uphill while others slowed down, and running slower downhill as others let their legs go wild. The industrial-looking businesses along Exchange Street looked gloomy in the darkening skies, but I couldn't let them bring me down. I focused on the road ahead. By mile 11, my legs were starting to feel like jelly, but I cleared my mind and pushed on. I very nearly slipped on a train track rail, but steadied myself and continued. I noticed that two of the runners about 30 yards in front of me had been at about the same position since mile 4, but I was slowly falling behind. But I was determined to conserve my energy for the strong finish. I was thankful to them for helping me maintain my pace, but now it was all on me to finish on my own. As we headed down Michigan Avenue towards HSBC Arena, the steady drizzle finally let up and a few rays of sunshine peeked from behind the lifting clouds. Rounding the corner and crossing the train tracks, I spotted a friend from University at Buffalo, walking along the opposite side. "Go Courtney," I yelled. "Hey!," she yelled back. Down Erie Street I went. Four kids were lined up on the curb, hands outstretched. I stuck out my right hand and high-fived them all. "Pas de Problèmes" by Kana played over my MP3 player.

Ne laisse personne t’indiquer
Le chemin que tu t’es tracé
Ne t’en détourne pas, écoute moi
La vérité est toi

(Do not let anyone tell you
The path that you have traced
Do not worry away, hear me
The truth is you)

"Looking good Jawaad!" I lifted my head. Bryan was cheering me on again, about 100 yards from when I first saw him about 50 minutes earlier. I passed the 20K timer. 1:49:35. This was looking like an even better finish than my previous half marathon. One more hill under the Skyway bridge. As I broke onto Franklin Street, I pondered on how I was going to finish. Jump across the finish line? Raise my arms high above my head? Do a funny dance? Spin around? I picked my move and kept a lookout for the finish chute. Crossing Church Street, I sighted it. I could hear the booming announcer clearly: "Bring it. Bring it. BRING IT! Strong finish! STRONG FINISH!" I responded and broke into a sprint, pushing harder, pushing faster. "Here's 1! Here's 2! Here's 3! Looking good! PUSH IT!" I whizzed by the two runners in front of me, finding my second wind, and reached out for the finish line. So close...I could taste my personal victory. Arms raised high, I crossed the finish line, head pounding, feet pounding, but feeling a sense of joy I had never felt before. I did it!

I glanced over at the clock. 1:55:10, more than 4 minutes faster than my previous half marathon, and I wasn't even feeling tired or in pain. Truthfully, I may have been able to go 3 more miles, but this was all about self-control and living in the moment. I got a finisher's medal, a heat blanket, and scooped up some water, orange slices, and a banana, and exited onto the sidewalk, disappearing into a sea of sweaty runners and cheerful spectators.

I took a few deep breaths and crossed over to Pearl Street, where the full marathoners were speeding by, hoping to catch a glimpse of friends who I knew were running as well. It was my lucky day. I called out to Alyssa, from middle school, just as I reached the sidewalk, and spotted John and Paul, who were creating a racket with cowbells and noisesticks. I hadn't seen these guys in more than 11 years, but it sure felt good to meet them. After a few minutes, Jen jogged by, and I had seen nearly everyone who I wanted to meet. I quickly crossed the street, picked up my belongings from the Hyatt, went to the bathroom (yes, two and a half hours holding it in was long enough), wiped away the sweat streaks on my face, and made my way over to Franklin Street, just in time to see Jason Lokwatom of Kenya winning the marathon. If anything, I felt a secret satisfaction that I finished the half marathon before the Kenyan won the whole thing. I was still hoping to see my former boss from the UB Bookstore, Greg, who was cheering on his brother. After a few circuits of the finish area, I finally found him, with his family, right at the end of the full marathon course. We chatted for a while and he introduced me to his brothers. Now, Elena Orlova of Russia finished as the fastest female runner, and more impressively, 3rd overall. I bid my adieus to Greg and his family, went off to the side, and did some stretches.

Josh, a dormmate from college had promised to treat me to coffee. I gave him a call, walked over to the benches on the other side of the Buffalo Metro tracks from the Hyatt, and sat down to enjoy my Gatorade. "Yo!" I looked around. It was Safiyya, my starting line neighbor. She was sitting on the sidewalk, shoes and socks off, enjoying her Cheetos and yogurt. Seems like I had missed the post-race goodies in the Convention Center, but after hearing about pizza, I was satisfied with my Gatorade. She had blasted off after 3 miles, but hit a wall at 10 miles. But she still finished in a respectable 2:03:00, and especially impressive considering that she only started training about a week before. After a bit of chatting and encouraging her to run the half marathon again, I made my way over to the benches to wait for Josh. After a few minutes, he arrived, and we went to Spot's Coffee on Elmwood. I took a coconut-flavored slush and we talked about how life had changed (or not changed) for us since 2003, since we last lived in the same dorm. As we were sitting outside, I saw a few marathoners running by, forced to run on the sidewalk since Buffalo was now awake, and traffic was returning to normal. After about half an hour, Josh dropped me off at UB's South Campus, where I waited for my dad and Nabeel. Then it was time to wind down and enjoy the rest of beautiful Sunday.

Quote of the Week 3

"In my mind
I am Kenyan"

-On a T-shirt, during the Buffalo Half/Full Marathon, May 24, 2009