It began with a Facebook photograph. A man, his arms raised in triumph at the finish line of the Mumbai Marathon, his face glowing with a joy that seemed to eclipse the fact that this was no ordinary victory. He had completed the race after undergoing angioplasty—a feat that not only inspired countless others but also held a mirror up to me. If he could do it, what was stopping me? That photo sparked something deep within me, an urge to take that first step. It wasn’t just a step onto a track, but a step toward a transformation that would change my life forever.
Fifteen years ago, I ran my first official race—a 5km fun run as part of the prestigious Airtel Marathon. I was woefully unprepared, panting heavily as seasoned runners, some twice my age, breezed past me with smiles that hid their struggle. Blade runners—individuals with prosthetic limbs—ran with such grace and resilience that my complaints about aching calves or heavy breathing felt trivial. That day, I caught a glimpse of the magic of the running community—their unwavering spirit, infectious positivity, and the shared joy of accomplishment. It wasn’t just about running; it was about belonging to something bigger than yourself.
In 2007, I stood at the starting line of my first half-marathon: the Satara Hill Marathon. It wasn’t just any race. The grueling uphill terrain and the sheer volume of runners battling the same daunting course created an electric atmosphere. Crossing that finish line didn’t just earn me a medal—it brought a Guinness World Record certificate for participating in the event with the highest number of runners at the highest altitude. But more than the accolades, it was the indescribable satisfaction and pride that cemented my love for running. That day, I realized running was not just a sport; it was a metaphor for life.
As my love for running grew, so did the distances. After several half marathons, I decided to challenge myself further and ran my first full marathon—the Cherrapunji Marathon in Meghalaya. Running in the “abode of clouds” was an entirely new experience. The rain never stopped. The mist wove around the course, and the roads glistened with the wetness that defines the world’s wettest region. Every kilometer brought an intimacy with nature that no other run had offered, and the challenge of pushing through rain-soaked shoes made crossing that finish line even more rewarding.
Then came an invitation that truly bewildered me—a 12-hour ultramarathon. I thought to myself, One can’t even sleep for 12 hours straight—how is running for 12 hours possible? It felt absurd. But then, a thought struck: If I wasn’t challenging myself, I was living in a comfort zone—a numb existence. Struggling and suffering, I realized, are the essence of a life worth living. With that, I signed up.
Accomplishing my first ultra-run of 80 kilometers in 12 hours inside a stadium was a revelation. The sheer grit it required was unlike anything I’d experienced before. My legs felt like lead, my body screamed in pain, but my mind carried me through. I was ecstatic at the finish line. That day, I understood what running had truly taught me: the strongest muscle in the body is not the glutes, hamstrings, or calves. It’s the mind. Running long distances, I learned to trust my mind over my body. Run often, run long, but never overrun the joy of running.
After finishing my first ultrarun, I realized the joy of sharing this passion with others. On Christmas holidays, I began organizing ultraruns with the help of my colleagues. For the past five years, this tradition has grown, with increasing numbers of participants every year. Watching others take on and conquer their own challenges has been deeply fulfilling. The spirit of the running community continues to inspire me to keep running and motivating others.
Legendary marathoner Eliud Kipchoge once said, “If you can finish a marathon, you can do anything in life.” Truer words were never spoken. Crossing the finish line comes at a price. Bruised nails, legs that feel like lead, chafed skin causing searing pain—it’s a cocktail of physical exhaustion and discomfort. But every step, every ache, is a reminder of your resilience, a whisper to keep going, no matter how tough the road. Running is not just about physical endurance; it is strategy, preparation, and above all, willpower.
Running is now my sanctuary. It’s where I process my thoughts, overcome doubts, and remind myself of the unyielding human spirit. I don’t run for medals anymore. I run to feel alive. I run for the camaraderie of strangers turned friends at the start line, for the high-fives from onlookers cheering in the rain, for the sunsets and sunrises I wouldn’t otherwise see.
That photograph of a man crossing the Mumbai Marathon finish line changed my life. Little did I know, the finish line wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.
