Debut full marathon—a 42.2 km beast that tested every ounce of me.

 beast that tested every ounce of me.The gun cracked at 5:30 a.m., and 1,000 of us surged forward like a human river under the dawn sky. My first full marathon, after months of pounding Kolkata's humid streets and Maidan tracks. Heart pounding, legs fresh, I weaved through the pack, hitting the 5K mark in 25 minutes—right on pace for a sub-4-hour finish. The crowd's cheers along the Howrah Bridge stretch fueled me; energy gels in my belt felt like cheat codes.By 15K, doubt crept in. Sweat stung my eyes, and the sun climbed, turning the air into a sauna. "Just keep the cadence," I muttered, high-fiving kids waving flags. The half-marathon point hit at 1:50—still strong, but my quads burned like I'd squatted a rickshaw. I spotted my family at the 25K water station; their shouts yanked me forward. "You're a machine!" Dad yelled. Lies, but they worked.Mile 20—the wall. Every step felt like concrete blocks strapped to my feet. Nausea from gels, blisters screaming, mind looping "Why the hell did I sign up?" Runners dropped like flies, medics hauling them off. I broke it down: one kilometer at a time. A stranger slapped my back at 35K—"You've got this, brother!"—and suddenly, the finish loomed.The final 7K blurred into pain and euphoria. Legs numb, lungs raw, but the roar of the crowd at the Salt Lake stadium drowned it all. I crossed at 5:46:42, collapsing into volunteers' arms, medal heavy around my neck. Tears mixed with sweat. Not just a race—a rewrite of what I thought I could endure.