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.