When I prepared for the London marathon, I soaked up as much information as I could. I read every blog and article that I could find. I spoke to countless friends who had run marathons. I visualised the entire course. I even had a mentor give me a marathon plan to get me through the race. But nobody told me about the crying, how to run through cramps, or what to do when you hear jingling bells.

On the suburban streets of South London, in the early part of the London Marathon, there are very few spectators. Apart from the occasional clapping and cheering, or the cumulative thudding of thousands of runners’ feet, you are surrounded by relative silence. So when I heard the sounds of jingling bells, it really stood out. Slowly, the sound got louder and louder until, out of nowhere, I was overtaken by a guy wearing a belt of bells and a flag. As he ran past me and began disappearing into the crowd ahead, I looked down and noticed something that shocked me. He wasn’t wearing any shoes (as this video shows)! I took a deep breath, looked ahead, and said to myself “I’m running my own race”. And between then and Buckingham Palace, that’s what I did.

For me, running my first marathon was a much longer journey than the 42.2km I ran on Sunday 28 April.

The journey began years ago when I ran my first City 2 Surf as a 14 year old in 2006. Not being someone who was particularly fit, the 14km fun run took me 2:03 to run at a pace of 8:49mins/km (2:12min/km slower than my marathon run). Despite this tortoise time, my passion grew over time as I progressed from fun runs to the occasional half marathon. I finally bit the marathon bullet after starting my MBA and began a schedule of daily training, while also overcoming 2 shoulder dislocations (including one which made me miss the 2018 Chicago Marathon), and recovering from illness in Israel.

When I found myself standing in Greenwich on a cold London morning, waiting for my first marathon to begin, I couldn’t really believe that it was actually happening.

The feeling didn’t go away when I crossed the starting line. It was surreal to see people lined up on the sides of suburban streets, cheering and yelling as we ran past. I knew that I was running a marathon in London but it seemed too surreal to be true.

Muscle memory and the rhythm of my training kicked in after 3km. My mind began to understand the reality of what I was doing, and a wave of emotions swept over me as I felt nothing but gratitude and good fortune for where I was that morning. I’m in London and running the London marathon! My first marathon in my favourite city in the world! It can’t get better than this. I began crying.

For the remaining 18km of the first half of the race (from 3-21km), I felt like I was running any other half marathon that I had run through before. The running was comfortable and familiar. The only thing that gave it away was running through the narrow streets of London where crowds 3-4 rows deep were yelling and cheering. I have never felt more like an epic athlete in my life.

The crowd reached Olympic levels as I crossed over Tower Bridge and reached the halfway line. And that’s when I realised what I was doing. I’m running the London marathon. I’m running over the most iconic landmark in London. I can look down the Thames and see the Shard, St Paul’s, and the top of the Tate Modern. The emotions overcame me and I began crying again.

Coming down from the bridge and turning right towards the docks, I saw the 3:45 hrs pacer in front of me (my target time was below 4 hrs). I felt strong and only one thought went through my mind: “This is too easy!”. I knew that I had banked up a substantial amount of time that I could use later, when the inevitable fatigue set in. I felt just as confident for the next 5km until I hit km#26 and felt a cramp in my left calf. It was the sort of bubbling cramp that I had felt on some of my earlier training sessions. I felt far less strong and only one thought went through my mind: “It’s all over…” Getting sub-4 hours was going to take everything I had in me, plus more. I was in for a world of pain.

By the time I reached 30km, everything below my hips was cramping and in pain. My calves were cramping. My feet were cramping. My hamstring were cramping and my quads were on fire. Even my hip flexors and glutes were cramping (something that I had literally never experienced before). The internal monologue in my mind began a debate - do I stop or do I go. I wanted to keep going but I was in an incredible amount of pain. I’d never run through cramps like that before, and it’s an experience I never want to have again. To refocus my mind, I turned my music off and began to absorb the energy from the crowd. And at almost the exact same moment, I heard people yelling “Ameya! Ameya! Ameya!”. Turning to my left, I saw Daniel and Shelley (2 of my best friends who now live in London!) with a sign, cheering me on. The adrenaline rush and surge of emotions (yes, I began crying again out of joy - the marathon really affected me emotionally) took away my pain and I kept chugging along.

The next 10km (from km#30 – km#40) was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. In marathon running, there is a significant element of mind over matter. But when your entire body hurts, there is little that your mind can do to keep you going. Somewhere in between (I really can’t remember when), I gave up on my time, abandoned my marathon plan (while simultaneously remembering the Mike Tyson quote “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth."), and basically told myself that I would do whatever it took to make it to the finish line. I took lollies, oranges, bananas from everybody who was handing them out. I high-fived people whenever I could to get some excitement and adrenaline going. I walked for 1 minute every mile (and sometimes more). My head was down and the only thing I could see was the lane marking on the road I was running on. I was going to finish but it wouldn’t be pretty.

With 3km until the end of the race (km#39), I saw a bright light. No, I wasn’t dying or fainting (as I initially thought in my confused state). I had emerged from a tunnel that I didn’t realise I was running in (I was starting at the road as I ran) and found myself running next to the Thames Embankment, in one of the most iconic parts of London. But I almost didn’t even notice. With my legs cramping and my entire body in unbearable pain, I was looking down at the road and telling myself that I had to stop and take a break. I just couldn't go any further in that exact moment...

Out of nowhere, I remembered what a friend had told me: “Don’t forget to look up” and did as he said. I saw the London eye. I saw the Houses of Parliament, including the clock face of an otherwise covered up Big Ben. I saw the smokestack of the Tate Modern and the brutalist National Theatre, and I saw the cheering crowd (they were as good as my friend had said). It gave me the adrenaline boost I needed and I kept trudging forward! Once again, I cried again out of joy.

Turning in front of Westminster Palace, towards Buckingham Palace, I saw a sign saying “1km to go” and stopped in front of it. I took a breath, and told myself that I would keep running (no walking) for the last kilometre, no matter what it took. I took off, on one of the slowest, most painful jogs of my life. With 300m to go, I ran past the Victoria Memorial and started sprinting. My legs wouldn’t work like they normally did, and I did a weird ape-like hobble over the finish line.

I was done. I stopped. My entire body began cramping.

One of the race wardens pushed me forward, telling me to “keep walking because it will help me with the cramps.” I wasn’t in a great state at that moment and needed help with everything, including tying my emergency blanket.

But I knew one thing for sure. I had just been through one of the greatest experiences of my life. And I knew that I wanted to run a marathon again.