If you feel bad at 10 miles, you’re in trouble. If you feel bad at 20 miles, you’re normal. If you don’t feel bad at 26 miles, you’re abnormal.
Rob de Castella, Australian world champion marathon runner
In 2017, I took my first steps into the world of running, barely able to cover a kilometer without stopping. Fast forward to 2024, and I found myself at the starting line of my very first full marathon, a daunting 42.2 kilometers of road ahead of me. This journey, from novice runner to marathoner, has been a testament to passion and determination for the sport.
The turning point came during the Tata Mumbai Marathon 2023, where I participated in my fourth official half marathon. Despite missing my sub-2 timing by a mere two minutes, the experience was exhilarating. Surrounded by elite runners from across the globe, their dedication and energy were palpable. Inspired by their grit, I made a spontaneous commitment to attempt a full marathon the following year, unsure of how I would achieve such a feat.
Cut to January 20, 2024, as I journeyed to Mumbai aboard the “Vande Bharat” train, reflecting on the grueling year of training that had led me here. Long weekend runs, early mornings, and sacrifices made with family time—all were part of the process. With the guidance of a dedicated coach, coach Manish Jaiswal of Snails2Bolt – a Mumbai-based running group, and support from my local running group, Bavdhan Brigade – a Pune based running group, I steadily progressed from 21 kilometers to the daunting 42. At the expo, surrounded by seasoned runners, my nerves were masked by a skeptical smile. Despite my doubts, I was ready to take on the challenge. The night before the marathon, after a simple dinner, I found solace in prayer, seeking safety for the journey ahead.
On race day, nerves lingered as I approached the start line. Encountering familiar faces from my running community, like my running group – BavdhanBrigade, my coach, the Snails2Bolt group, and a few runners from across India with whom I had interacted only via social media; provided a sense of reassurance. With no specific time targets in mind, I set out to simply finish the race, embracing each moment captured by hovering drones and photographers. The start was marked by the melodious tunes of the Indian Navy band, filling the air with a sense of anticipation. Starting off cautiously slow, I gradually found my rhythm, passing iconic landmarks like Trident Hotel, Marine Drive and Haji Ali. As I approached the Bandra-Worli Sea link, nearing the 17th kilometer, a glance at my pace hinted at the possibility of achieving a sub-4-hour finish—an unexpected but welcomed surprise.
Running on the Bandra-Worli Sea Link felt like a dream come true. The cool sea breeze eased the strain in my muscles, and I couldn’t resist capturing a few photos against the stunning backdrop. Little did I know, those smiles would soon be replaced by grit and determination as I faced the toughest stretch of my marathon journey. As I passed the toll booth on the sea link and entered the reclamation area, all seemed well. The rising sun painted the sky with hues of red, orange, and yellow, casting a surreal glow on the surroundings. But at the 24-kilometer mark, disaster struck—I cramped for the first time. Descending towards Mahim, the cramps intensified, throwing my pace off course. Despite meticulous training and preparation, I had made a critical error—I started too fast. Ignoring the warning signs, I pushed on, relying on the walk-run technique to carry me through the next few kilometers. Feeling defeated, I watched senior citizens breeze past me with steady strides, reminiscent of the hare and tortoise tale. But amidst the struggle, a ray of hope emerged. A 74-year-old runner extended a helping hand, urging me to keep going. Inspired by his resilience, I pressed on, fueled by determination and sheer willpower. As the sun beat down relentlessly, I resorted to dousing myself with water to combat the rising heat. Remembering advice from my training sessions, I refrained from drinking too much water to avoid weighing myself down. Instead, I relied on tricks to trick my mind into feeling hydrated.
Approaching the 32-34 kilometer mark, I witnessed a fellow runner collapse—an alarming sight that threatened to shatter my resolve. But amidst the chaos, I found solace in the coach’s words echoing in my mind, urging me to persevere. Navigating the treacherous Peddar Road climb and battling fatigue, doubts crept in. “Why had I signed up for this grueling challenge? Who was I trying to prove myself to?” and then finally “I am never going to do this again.” But with each step forward, I silenced the doubts, focusing on the finish line that seemed perpetually out of reach. Crossing Marine Drive, the end seemed finally in sight. With every ounce of strength left in me, I pushed forward, fueled by the promise of victory.
At the 41-kilometer mark, fatigue had consumed me. My legs felt like lead, my body screamed for rest, and even my mind begged for respite. But amidst the exhaustion, a spark of enthusiasm ignited when I spotted familiar faces from the Bavdhan Brigade on their exclusive support counter. Summoning every ounce of courage, I danced a few steps fueled by their encouragement. Then came the defining moment—a fellow runner exclaimed, “It’s the last kilometer. Let’s finish strong!” With newfound determination, I pushed forward, each step a testament to sheer willpower. But as the finish line loomed closer, my body rebelled. Unable to muster the strength to jog, I resorted to walking. With every meter counting down, doubt crept in. Then, a friend from Snails2Bolt appeared beside me, urging me on. Despite the physical strain, I mustered the courage to jog across the finish line, raising my hands in triumph.
Completing the daunting 42.2 kilometers in 5 hours and 36 minutes, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears welled up as I realized the magnitude of my achievement. It wasn’t just about the official timing; it was about the journey, the struggles, and the ultimate triumph. Crossing the finish line, exhausted but exhilarated, I realized that the true victory lay not in the time on the clock, but in the journey itself. From a hesitant beginner to a marathon finisher, the road was long and challenging, but the sense of accomplishment was unparalleled. Receiving my well-deserved medal, the pain faded into insignificance. Surrounded by fellow runners, we celebrated with countless photos—a testament to the memories we had created together. In that moment, I proudly embraced my newfound title: Marathoner.
Reflecting on the journey, I acknowledged the invaluable lessons learnt along the way. Without the guidance of a coach and structured training, injury would have been inevitable. Strength training proved crucial in sustaining my body’s endurance, while proper nutrition ensured peak performance without a hint of stomach cramps.
Route support, tips from running buddies, and the camaraderie of fellow runners were all instrumental in my success. As I left the staging area, a friend’s question lingered in the air: “See you next year?” Without hesitation, I replied, “Definitely!”
And therein lies the beauty of running a marathon—the endless pursuit of challenge, growth, and triumph, fueled by the unwavering support of a community united by a shared passion.
My Fitness Notion 