I was making the best progress of my life, and then I was not.
Before 2025, I had never run more than 6 kilometers. Then I did the Goechala trek, and the prep test for it was running 10K. That was my first. But the trek did more than just make me run further. Being around people who were fit, enthusiastic, and clearly at peace with themselves did something to me. Something I did not expect. I came back and I wanted more from myself.
From May to August, I focused on dropping weight through diet and strength training. I felt lighter. Stronger. More confident. I started grooming better, carrying myself differently. The way I saw myself started to change, and that changed everything else.
Then from August, I started running seriously for the first time. Long runs. Norwegian 4x4 intervals. A protocol where I increased my distance by 10% every two weeks. My 10K time dropped from 1:27 to 1:12.
Then from November, things started getting harder. A personal loss. A move to Bangalore. Travel that would not stop. My running sessions suffered. The consistency I had built started to slip. But somehow, in between all of it, I still found pockets. On January 1st 2026, I ran my fastest 5K in 30:32. In late January, I ran 21 kilometers in a single practice session and finished in 3:12.
I set a goal of 2:30 for my first half marathon on February 22nd. I actually believed I could do it. The numbers said I could. What I did not see was how much the disruption had taken out of me underneath.
On race day, I showed up thinking I would at least defend my practice time. Somewhere in the back of my head, I was hoping for a miracle, that I would somehow finish in less than 3 hours. By the 14 kilometer mark, stomach cramps took over. I could not run anymore. I walked the rest.
My final time was 3:52.
That number broke something in me. Not just disappointment. Grief. For the version of myself that was running 1:12 tens and felt unstoppable. For the months of work that life took away before I could use them. For the distance between where I was supposed to be and where I actually stood.
But what came after was worse. Every time I tried to run again, the cramps and stiffness came back. I would plan for 5 kilometers and stop at 2. I went from someone who ran 21 kilometers in practice to someone who could not finish a short run. Maybe it is my body still recovering. Maybe it is something in my head. I do not know which one it is, and that uncertainty makes everything heavier.
The truth is, the confusion did not start with the race. It was already there before February 22nd. I do not know what I want from certain parts of my life right now, where I want to push, what I want to chase. That was sitting in me before I reached the starting line. The race just made it impossible to ignore. And now it follows me everywhere. Into my runs, into my work, into everything that used to feel clear. Not "how do I get faster" but "can I even do this."
I feel like an imposter in something I was genuinely good at three months ago.
My first HYROX is on April 12th. I have not prepared enough. I am going in anyway, because the alternative is standing still, and I have already done enough of that.
I do not have a comeback story yet. Just heavy legs and a lot of questions I have not answered.
The finisher's medal sits in a showcase in my house, centre stage. Not as a reminder that I ran a half marathon. As a reminder of the 3:52.
I thought I was almost there. I was not. That is the only thing I know for certain right now.