This year’s Maybank Marathon arrived at a moment I didn’t expect. A week before the race, I had to fly back to Jogja because my mom was sick, and my focus shifted entirely to family. Training was almost nonexistent, and to make things more complicated, my foot suddenly swelled up three days before race day. So I came into this race without proper preparation, without structure, and without high expectations. Thankfully, I had secured a ballot for the 10K category—something I had done several times before—so the anxiety wasn’t as intense as my earlier races.

On the day before the race, I flew back to Bali once my mom’s condition improved. From Solo to Ngurah Rai, I went straight to the RPC at the Bali United training center. It was hot, crowded, and the traffic was slow because everyone seemed to be heading to the same place. It felt like a warm-up race before the actual one. After picking up my race pack, I went to Ubud for an Ashtanga session—probably not what most people would do the day before a race, but it actually helped settle my mind. From Ubud, I returned to Renon to rest and tried to squeeze in as much sleep as I could before my 2:00 AM alarm.

Race day started in the dark. I headed to Sanur to catch the shuttle bus to the venue, choosing convenience and hoping to save some energy. Even that early in the morning, the atmosphere was lively and made everything feel real. I came alone because my friends didn’t get a ballot, so the whole experience felt more intimate, quieter in a way, but also personal. When I arrived at the venue, the nerves started creeping in. Thousands of runners, loud music, the MC shouting instructions, and Bali’s early morning energy—all of it created a sense of excitement that was hard to resist.

Once the race started, I focused on keeping a comfortable pace. The first few kilometers felt surprisingly good—my breathing was steady, my legs behaved, and the cheering from locals along the road added a warm touch to the race. But around kilometer eight, things shifted. The downhill section triggered a sharp pain in my hips, and I had to switch between running and walking to keep moving without overdoing it. Still, I stayed calm, reminding myself that my only goal was to finish.

When the finish line finally appeared, it felt surreal. I crossed it with a mix of relief, gratitude, and disbelief. Despite minimal training and a less-than-ideal physical condition, I finished in 1:15—a personal best. It reminded me that sometimes the body surprises us in the best ways when we simply keep going.

This year’s Maybank Marathon 10K wasn’t perfect or meticulously planned, but it was honest, messy, and full of meaning. It reminded me that sometimes, showing up is already enough—and finishing is a bonus. And as always, crossing the finish line left me wanting more.

When I first yoga in 2017, I thought it was just about stretching and moving my body. I didn't have any expectations. I was just curious, maybe hoping it would help me be a little stronger or more flexible. I signed up for a vinyasa class without really knowing what I was getting into. It turned out to be exhausting, fast paced, demanding, and overwhelming for someone who had never even practiced basic poses before. Halfway through, I was sweating, losing my balance, and wondering if I'd made a mistake. But strangely, even thought it was hard, something insede me clicked. It felt like a challange I didn't even know I needed.

Life, however, had other plans. Campus got busier, responsibilities piled up, and slowly yoga dissapeared from my routing. I always told myself I would get back to it when I had more time, but somehow, more time never came. Years passed, and yoga became just a small memory tucked away somewhere in my mind.

In 2024, living in Bali, I found my way back to the mat. This time, it felt different. I didn't come back to yoga expectation to master poses or fix my body. I came back because I wanted to listen to my self better. I wanted to reconnect with something that had once made me feel strong, even in the smallest way. Walking into that shala again, I realized yoga was never just about stretching. It was about showing up for myself.

The first few classes were humbling. My body wasn't as flexible. My endurance wasn't the same. But instead of being hard on my self, I learned to be patient. Yoga started teaching me things I hadn't paid attention to before, not just how to move, but how to breath through discomfort, how to stay calm when things felt tough, and how to be okay with small progress. Flexibility wasn't just about touching my toes anymore, it became about adapting to whatever life threw at me. Being able to shift, adjust, and move with change instead of fighting it.

Patience grew quietly inside me too. Some days I moved with ease, other days everything felt stiff and stuck. But the point was to keep showing up, to keep trusting the process. Yoga made me realize that patience isn't something magically find, it's something you build, breath by breath, day by day.

As I kept practicing, certain poses started to mean more to me than just physical achievement. Bakasana or crow poses became one of my favorites. It's challenging arm balance that requires focus, courage, and a willingness to fall. Bakasana taught me to trust myself. To lean forward into uncertainty instead of pulling back in fear. It reminded me that sometimes strength isn't about pushing harder, but about balancing effort with surrender.

Another pose that fells special to me is Halasana, the plow pose. It's deep, inward fold, where your legs come over your head, and you literally turn yourself upside down. In Halasana, I always feel this deep sense of surrender, like letting go of everything. It's a reminder that true strength sometimes looks like softness, that rest and instrospection are just as important as movement.

Sirsasana, the headstand, is a pose that challenged me to the most mentally. Being upside down forces you to confront fear (not just the fear of falling, but the fear of losing control). Mastering headstand wasn't about brute the strength, it was about building calm, steady foundation, and trusting my own balance. My teacher always reminded me "your body knows the balance, you just have to trust it". That simple advice shifted everything. Sirsasana taught me that when life feels upside down, sometimes the best thing you can do is stay calm, breath deeply, and trust yourself.

And of course, there's Savasana, the final resting poses. It looks simple, but it's probably the most profound part of the practice. Savasana taught me how to truly let go. How to stop striving. How to be still without guilt. It's not about doing nothing, it's about honoring everything you just did, allowing yourself space to integrate it all.

Balance became something I understood beyond just standing on one leg. It showed up in how I managed my time, how I set bounderies, how I tried to keep my energy steady even when life felt overwhelming. Concentration wasn't bout forcing myself to be serious, but about fully being in the moment.

Breathwork turned out to be one of the most powerful parts of the practice. I never realized how much control we have over our own energy, just by breathing consciously. On days when everything outside felt chaotic, I found I could still find a small piece of peace inside, just by pausing and breathing.

Along the way, yoga gave me more than just personal growth. It gave me people, new friends, a community of others also trying, struggling, learning. I'm so grateful to my fellow yogis for their energy, kindness, and quite support (whether it's a smile before class or a shared laugh after trying and falling a new pose). And to all the teacher who patiently guide, correct, and encourage. You've shown me a new way of seeing myself, with more compassion and courage. Thank you for holding space fol all of us, for reminding us that yoga is not about perfect poses, but for honest practice. Kudossss

Today, I mostly practice vinyasa and ashtanga. Some days it’s a strong sweaty flow, other days it’s slow and soft. Some days I feel powerful, some days I’m just grateful I showed up. Yoga taught me that growth is not linear, that strength looks different every day, and that the best thing you can give yourself is patience, balance, focus, and space to just be. And that’s something I want to keep learning for as long as I can.

If you’re thinking about starting yoga or picking it back up, I’d say "just start". Show up exactly as you are. You don't need to be flexible, strong, or "ready." You just need to come with an open mind and a willing heart. And if you’re ever in Bali looking for a place to practice, I have a few favorite yoga shalas that I’d love to share. Let’s flow together someday. Namaste

I started running in April 2024. Nothing fancy. Just trying to build a habit, get moving and see where it would take me.

Fast forward to November, and I participated in my first 10K at the OPPO Run 2024, which was held at the Bali United Training Center in Gianyar.

A week before the race, I did a route check - actually, a day after I donated blood. Probably not the best idea as I was still feeling a bit weak. But I wanted to see the course and prepare mentally. The roads were quiet, surrounded by rice fields and hills. I thought, "OK, this seems manageable".

Turns out I was wrong.

The first two kilometres on race day were on sand. Deep, soft, energy-sapping sand. I had no idea this part existed. No one warned me. I found out when my shoes started to sink with every step. And just when I thought I was done, the last stretch to the finish line? More sand. A full circle fight.

Kilometres 3 to 5 were all uphill. My legs were burning, my lungs weren't happy, but I kept going. What helped? The local marshals cheering us on, dressed in traditional Balinese outfits and playing live instruments. This little boost of culture and energy really helped to push me on.

At 6 to 8km we finally got a break. The road began to descend. The air in Gianyar was cool and clean, the scenery soothing, and I finally found a rhythm. It was a moment that reminded me why I started running in the first place - to feel alive.

There were also water stations along the way. Nothing fancy, just a simple paper cup of water, but it felt like gold.

I finished in 1 hour and 10 minutes. Not fast, but I didn't stop. I didn't give up. For someone who only started this journey a few months ago, I'm proud of that.

And yes - running isn't cheap. Shoes, race fees, transport, it adds up. But the experience, the people you meet and the feeling when you cross the line? Worth every penny.

If you're new to running, don’t worry about being fast or perfect. Just show up. Do what you can. That’s already a win.

See you out there. Let’s keep running.