It’s OK if you’ve never heard of Sharir, because he revelled in anonymity. After all, he’s not a political master or a decorated soldier. Neither was he a quick investor with billions to burn. He’s a Star boy and bred, like you and me, only he happened to love and live distance running.
I can’t think of any Star athlete, past or present, who runs quite like him. Power with grace. He just flowed, like poetry. That’s why, watching him in action, I was reminded of Colin Bell, one of my all-time football heroes, whose trademark ghosting runs from behind often caught opponents off their pants. And Sharir was similarly unflappable, understated and easy to overlook.
While the hurdles and sprint poster boys (you know them all) were out flashing and flaunting their bravura, Sharir chose to remain inconspicuous. But behind the façade of thick glasses and glam-rocker hairdo, lurked a precocious talent and devastatingly competent running machine. Ever so gracious and diffident, he didn’t celebrate or even discuss his record-breaking feats. Uncharacteristic and uncommon for sure, but a Star champion and prodigious son no less.
A born distance runner, Sharir was one-sided to a fault. He could attack the old cross-country course behind the Field Force camp, through the rubber estate, deep in the muddy stream, across Ampang Baru new village, among the cattle crowd on Dairy Road, up the old Tiger Lane, without breaking a sweat. But he laboured to pass the 100-metre standard tests. A humbling reminder that he, like all of us, was imperfect.
Running up to an Ipoh District athletics meet in late 60’s, the fraternity was abuzz with the upcoming cross-country showdown between Sharir and Othean Sunthiran, a long-distance god from Anderson or St Micheal, I’m not sure which. Mindful of the portentous Indian runners’ “live to run, run to live” work ethics, the smart money was all for an Othean’s sweep.
Totally unruffled, Sharir settled down to a good night’s sleep. The next day he won with a generous hundred yards to spare. After the race, he quietly faded into the crowd. No victory jigs, no celebratory air-punching, only vintage Sharir. All in a day’s work for the champion.
Sharir and I both shared the unforgettable Blue experience, burning and bringing down the old house together with Bain, Pak Dokter, Pak Chat, Chot, Sany, (Datuk)Ishak Shideburns, Ridzuan and other assorted personalities. I must admit that I took up distance running myself, moved and inspired in part by Sharir’s effortless and all-conquering running style. Short on gift and talent, I’ve never won anything. I can never be like him, I know, but I’m still running today, every evening, with the same schoolboy vigour and fervour.
Jump and conclude that I’m a libidinous show-off if you like. But it’s only because I’m out to drive home the point that I owe this little passion to Sharir. I’ll keep on running, for another thousand times or more, and he'll always be ahead of me.
Sharir passed away early morning 3 July 2011 after a brave fight with cancer. Our prayers and thoughts are with his family. It’s never too late to celebrate his life and achievements.
(This article has been posted earlier on staroba.org, the Star Old Boys website)
