I felt the lower part of my tummy wriggle out above the elastic band of my blue shorts as I bent down to tie my shoelaces. T minus 2 minutes to flag-off. Small beads of sweat clouded my forehead as I glanced nervously around me at the mass of runners. I gulped.

“First time?” whispered a voice. I looked up. The owner of the voice would cause anyone to drown in a puddle of shame. She could not have been any fitter than she already was, and she did not look a day over 25.

“It’s ok!” she smiled. “Just run. Try not to overthink it.” Easy for you to say, I thought, as I glanced involuntarily at my flabby hipbone. My first 10 km timed run, and I was already sweating my nerves out. Will I be able to do this? was all I kept thinking about.

And then, suddenly, there was no time to think at all. Flag-off – and we were off!

Towards a finish line that seemed like it was in No Man’s Land.

As I pushed my 70-kilo body towards the finish line, I could feel myself already beginning to pant. I was only a modest 300 metres from the starting point and I felt ready to stop running and simply start walking. It was painful. I was disappointed. This can’t be happening, I thought. I had practised hard – so why was my body ready o give up?

Just as I was about to stop, however, a tiny voice inside me screamed firmly against it: “You are well rested. You’ve practised enough. You can do it. It’s just 9.7 km to the line you want to reach!” So I listened. I separated my body from the pain it was beginning to feel, and from the blisters I was sure were forming on my feet. I remembered, instead, why I had begun this in the first place. How I had told myself I wanted to prove everyone and mostly myself – the teenage version of myself wrong – that I couldn’t run if I weren’t small in size.

So I ran. I did not look down to count the number of steps I was taking; instead, I looked up at the sea of heads before me who, just like me, were trying to bridge the gap between themselves and the finish line.

I had neither a watch to tell the time that had passed nor a pair of a fancy Bluetooth headphones to distract me during the length of my journey. All I had were sweaty smiling faces running alongside me, volunteers stationed at intervals to hand out water and juice bottles – and the occasional din of silence interjected only by faraway car horns.

The run route was mapped along the sea side and I could feel the cool sea breeze kissing the sweat beads off my cheeks. I did not stop. I continued to run. The only music I paid heed to was that of the cooing pigeons and the cawing crows. I ran. I jogged. After a point of time, the exhaustion seemed to disappear. I could not feel my legs. I just sensed that I was moving and drifting in mid-air.

I had no idea how long I had been running. Was it an hour – or maybe it was just 5 minutes that I had been pushing on? Time seemed like a stranger whose acquaintance I was yet to make.

My speed accelerated and I believe I completed the last 20 metres of the lap in just under 30 seconds. When I jumped over the make-shift hurdle at the finish line, I felt like I was crossing over a fire to get to the safety of the world.

It took me a good 90 minutes to complete my first 10km. It was then that I looked at the sea of faces around me, all united by the exhilaration of victory. Had I actually managed to do it? Complete my marathon run without a halt?

“Congratulations, you did well,” whispered a smiling voice. She was the same lady, who had spoken to me at the starting line. I nodded in acknowledgement. She then told me,

I looked at her, dumbfounded and in sheer awe and respect.

Your body may age, wrinkles may show, waistlines may tend to play hide and seek at intervals, but your heart does not age till your mind tells it to. Running a marathon is a mind-controlled game. It is in no way related to the number of birthday candles you have blown or the inches your pair of jeans have stretched to over the years.

(Reshmi has been a financial research associate for five years. She is also a traveller by heart, a fashionista by choice and a writer by love.)