42 Kilometers, Zero Practice — And One Lesson for Life

On 19th January 2014, I participated in the Mumbai Marathon — the full 42 kilometers.

Why? Not because I had trained for it. Not because I was a runner. But simply because I wanted to experience it.

And when I say zero practice, I mean it. I hadn’t even practiced walking, forget running. I had never participated in any race before — not even a half marathon. This was my very first experience.

I remember asking a friend to join me. He agreed, but only for the 5 km run. I said, fair enough — at least we’ll start together. Little did I know that different race categories have different starting points and timings. That morning, I reached Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus by an early train… but my friend never showed up. He backed out.

But I was clear — I was going to run.

The marathon started, and I ran at full speed. I just ran and ran… and then paused to check how much distance I had covered. I thought I must have done at least 5–7 km.

To my surprise — it was just 1 to 1.5 km.

That’s when I realized — this is something else.

As the race went on, it became extremely difficult. There were moments of intense fatigue. My legs were jammed. My body was in pain. I kept shifting between walking, jogging, and running. And yes — there were many moments when I wanted to give up.

I still remember — at one point, a man sitting by the roadside laughed at me, almost as if saying, “How are you going to complete this?”

But I continued.

There were so many moments when I wanted to exit. But I didn’t even know how to. The roads were lined with ribbons and barricades, and I had no idea that you could simply stop and get picked up. So I kept going.

At one point, I reached the Worli Sea Face stretch. And there, it was very clear — there was no easy way out. Either go back… or go forward.

I chose to go forward.

There came a moment when my body almost gave up completely. It just wasn’t responding. And that’s when I saw an elderly man, very fit, running with a group of youngsters.

I went up to him and asked, “Can I join you?”

He said yes.

And that changed everything.

He guided us — walk for a few minutes, jog for a few, run for a few. This rhythm worked. Slowly, steadily, we moved ahead.

As we approached the finish line, a few people from our group dropped out. But a small group of us kept going.

The last few meters were the hardest. I could barely walk. Every step felt impossible.

But I completed it. (There were experienced runners who couldn't complete the race). I thanked the elderly man; we 'finishers' hugged each other.

42 kilometers. In 6 hours and 18 minutes.

And when I received that finisher’s medal — it was an unforgettable moment. I still have it. 

After the race, I collapsed onto one of the medical beds. Doctors came, applied sprays, gave medicines, ice packs — my entire body was jammed. It just wouldn’t move.

And yet — the next day, Monday — I went to the office.

Now, I wouldn’t recommend anyone to do this without preparation. But this experience taught me something I carry even today:

If I take up something, I finish it.

That commitment, that ownership, that refusal to give up — it stayed with me.

Because somewhere deep inside, this experience showed me what I am capable of.

And one simple truth:
If you don’t give up, you will eventually complete what you start.