how i completed a marathon after shitting 2 times

for context, this is the 2nd marathon i ran: the NMDC Hyderabad Marathon. the first one was an experience in itself (twisted ankles, 3 hours of sleep, runner’s knee). but the 2nd one? wow. i can’t believe i did it again. ran the entirety of a marathon, twice in the same year. maybe i like pain at this point.

it was sad that i had 6+ months to train for the entire marathon, and i could not commit. it was a loss of sorts, because i could’ve done a lot, lot better if i had wanted to. but given the circumstances, i rose to the occasion. the longest run was a 25K, which, according to some marathon plans, was just “enough” to get us across the finish line. you mean I’ll be suffering? of course! i signed up for this.

running a 32K, which is what most marathoners suggest to run, was far out of the question.

soon it was race day, in the beautiful city of hyderabad. i had a vision where I wouldn’t get a cab to the marathon’s starting point because it’s at 3.30 AM, but behold, i got it in under 2 seconds. the quickest cab I’d ever gotten. gotta love it.

here i was, at the starting point, warming up and getting mentally ready for the fuckery that was about to be unleashed on my knees and myself. the energy was nice, and after the first few kilometres, i knew shit had gone wrong. i knew that a surprise was underway during the run. the surprise being, shit that was gonna show up during the run, and fucking hell did it show up. by the 5th kilometer, i had to let it down. the horrors of sitting in a porta potty, god bless.

shit was insane. i knew it was not over though; round two was coming. i had already lost 10 minutes because of this. by the time i got out, the streets were empty. i knew i couldn’t catch up, but we continued. then, a 2nd shit hit the tower.

by the 10th, i was right back where i started, so i went in for the porta potty again. sat for a good time because i knew this was only gonna get worse. the official marathon started after i was out of the box, and i found another guy who had apparently gone through the same shit. literally. we bonded for a few kilometres over stuff you normally wouldn’t, but here we were.

the marathon was famously called the flyover marathon, and soon it started. the stomach and the roads were clear, and i was cruising happily. the whole hilly stretch was awesome, because it was through the city and a lot of kids, uncles, and DJs playing at 6 AM in the morning. good vibes all around. all of it made the 100 metres of elevation gain feel normal and fine.

soon i was catching up with the crowd, and just like that, 21k was also done. right after that, i bunny hopped downhill because i wanted a faster pace. HUGE MISTAKE. i thought i was the subway surfers guy, only that i was not. dead legs. soon after the 22nd, it was getting bad. shit scares & elevation made me want to give up at times, DNF at times, and walk at times. by the end of the 24th, i started walking. as soon as i did, i saw a DJ corner where all the 10K runners just gave up running and started dancing. i’m switching to 10K runs after this.

i couldn’t run at all. the body gave up, then the mind gave up. i saw the guy with whom i bonded at the start again. man had to hit the stall the 3rd time, tough shit. then i encountered another flyover, and it was the real test. ran a bit, but the only goal was to survive until the 32-kilometre mark. i was betting my whole run on this strategy i called “rebirth”.

as soon as i saw the 32-kilometre mark, i sat down, had a lot of coke because sugar and caffeine help. sprayed an entire bottle of muscle relief spray.

removed the knee braces, put those earphones on, and played Anirudh’s “Raga of Revenge” and HOLY SHIT. the body hadn’t heard music for 32 kilometres. it was completely devoid of it. then suddenly, Anirudh hit like hard crack. i was FLYING. i was done with 35 KM without even realizing it. music really is a drug.

by 37th, i was doing well and took it slow and steady. “imma conquer this shit,” i said as i was shouting and letting out primal screams here and there. by the end, sprinted at the FORTY SECOND KILOMETER as if that was even possible. pushed and pushed, and soon, we reached the end, right before cutoff. just fell onto the track, laughing and crying, saying “i did it again”.

in the end, it wasn’t pretty. porta potties, dead legs, coke, screams, flyovers, and that damn bunny hop. but i did it somehow. here’s to more shitty runs.