GRIT

The night fell, adrenaline coursing through my veins. With only 30 minutes of sleep, I stood, facing a beast that only a few dared to challenge in a timeline as short as a year. I stood staring down the countdown of a beast, an ultramarathon. 50 kilometers of pure grit that was needed in me, was rather not there. The adrenaline had already put thoughts in me to not start this race. Sentences like “Dude there’s barely another person your age here? Think of it”, “You’ve done enough, why even bother?” rang in my head like a haunting background score of a scene where I felt like Neo, fighting the agents of the matrix.

Race Day Weather

With the night, now ready to rise into dense darkness, the air was thick with anticipation, and the weather forecast hinted at a challenging day ahead. A full moon night bore a lot of wind to be face on the terrains, with the light of the moon ready to give a romantic touch to the terrains with its light to navigate the course, negating the need of the head torches that were rather made compulsory.

The First Half (The First 25kms)

The clock struck 01:30 of the midnight and the race began, initial miles unfolded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Each step forward felt like a triumph over doubt and fear. The first 25 kilometers blurred into a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds—a symphony of footfalls echoing against the backdrop of nature's grandeur. The climb from kilometer 5 to kilometer 8 unfolded like a seamless challenge. The hill that was supposed to break me was rather conquered with ease, further boosting my morale, and that, was STRIKE ONE. Never to let the initial confidence of an ultramarathon dictate you approach is a lesson I learned the hard way here. Although it felt effortless, it was ready to push me into a whole different world in the second half.

The Second Half (The Last 25kms)

Reaching the halfway mark in 02:19:50, I was sure that I was going to overperform myself and obliterate my goal of finishing my debut ultra in 5 hours and 30 minutes, because at this pace, I was on track to run this course in about 4 hours and 40 minutes, had I held my pace, but at kilometer 28, began the real battle. This is when the beast, i.e., the ultramarathon started to fight back. The next 6 kilometers was a brutal push as my hamstrings had now started singing songs of why I should have taken it easy at the tallest hill from kilometer 5 to kilometer 8, and my right ankle, now harmonizing why I should how strength trained enough. At kilometer 34 was the real heartbreak, now walking not out of the race plan, but to preserve myself and to fight to the finish line, I had the last 10 miles left.

At this point of time, the beast had already had the better of me, with thoughts of quitting, not creeping up my mind, but yelling around me, on the inside, and the outside, with the voices haunting me as I kept pushing, walking and running in intervals, trying to focus finishing the next kilometer or the next mile or just reach the next aid station to get some food in my belly and some sugary drinks to not pass out as I pushed forward from one aid station to another. Passing from kilometers 34 till reaching kilometer 39 was pure hell, until I met an angel.

A kind man with a lot more experience of tackling ultramarathons asked me to tag along with him as he picked up people who were struggling and helping them push themselves to the finish line. With a guiding light, now my focus was not on my hamstrings, or my now injured ankle, but only on this man as I kept a bull’s eye focus on him, with one goal, not to lose this man for as long as possible. The next 6 kilometers, simply live as blurred memories and split stats on Strava, and all I know is that I had crushed those 6 kilometers as there were downhill.

I had found my wind. With the last 5 kilometers now left, the clock was pushing towards 5 hours in the race. The cocky intentions had all faded and now, a humbled me was focused on running 500 meters and brisk walking 500 meters to try to accomplish my initial goals. With shared camaraderie of hurting runners, we decided to pace each other. Hurting and going, I saw the board that said, “1 Kilometer to Go!”. And I flew off the handle haha! I have one simple rule the last kilometer is celebration. So I celebrated, running fast, not focused on the pain but the glory, with Deva-Deva, Film Version’s lines “Shikve Puraane Saare Peeche Main Chhodta Hoon Ugte Sooraj Se Apni Ummeedein Jodta Hoon Duniya Badalne Meri Aaya Hai Yeh Namaha, Lamha”. I crossed the finish line, barely holding my tears.

An Incomplete Feeling

Crossing the finish line should have been a moment of unbridled celebration, a culmination of months of training and preparation. But amidst the cheers and applause, there lingered an undeniable sense of incompleteness. My ankle was forcing me to not think of anything, but pain, while the place now illuminated by the sunlight and fellow runners congratulating each other.  I learned that the true measure of grit lies not in the glory of the finish line, but in the courage to face the challenges that lie ahead. As I reflect on the journey that brought me to that starting line, I'm reminded that every obstacle overcome is a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

So, as I bid farewell to the dust and sweat of the racecourse, I carried with me not just the memories of miles conquered, but the unwavering resolve to tackle whatever challenges life may throw my way, along with a void, built in my heart as the adrenaline faded away. One I couldn’t narrate.

The ultramarathon may be over, but the journey of grit and resilience continues—a journey fuelled not just by the desire to reach the finish line, but by the courage to keep moving forward, one step at a time, hoping the void I discovered, is found and filled.