CAPETOWN
MARATHON – Kipchoing to Keep Going
A Silent Rivalry with the GOAT
I don't know who is following whom, but once again I found
myself running the same race as the GOAT, Eliud Kipchoge.
This was our third encounter. He may not know it, but I have
been steadily closing the gap. At the 2023 Berlin Marathon, he finished 128
minutes ahead of me. In Cape Town, the difference was down to 92 minutes.
Simple mathematics suggested that, if both of us continued
at the same rate, I could catch him in about eight years.
There are, however, a couple of problems with this plan.
On my return flight, I sat next to Francis Brennan , a
75-year-old British runner who had finished almost as fast as I did and was
runner-up in his age category. If Francis can run like that at 75, I suspect Kipchoge
might still be running 2:30 marathons in his late forties.
The second problem is that performance curves are never
linear. Cape Town Marathon proved that to me.
It wasn't a heartbreaking finish, nor was it a survival
finish.
It was a liberated finish.
I arrived in Cape Town expecting another breakthrough.
Cape Town Marathon had other plans.
Somewhere beyond the 32-kilometre mark, the race stopped
being about pace targets and finish times. It became something entirely
different.
Sometimes, when you let go of expectations, running gives
you something more valuable than a personal best.
That may well be the lesson I remember most from Cape Town
Marathon.
Journey to Cape Town
After the disappointment of last year's postponement and the
uncertainty surrounding its World Marathon Majors candidacy, Cape Town Marathon
still remained firmly on our calendar.
Our travel group had made up its mind long ago. Dr. Sudha
from Thane, Kalyani from Nagpur, Latika from Bangalore, Dr. Vijay, young
Bhavin, and I had already shared memorable marathon journeys together since
London 2024. Whatever happened with the Major status, we wanted to run in one
of the most beautiful cities on Earth.
As I often say, reaching the start line is usually harder
than crossing the finish line.
This time, that saying proved true.
The weeks leading up to our departure were filled with
uncertainty. Flight disruptions caused by the conflict in the Gulf region
threatened travel plans across multiple routes. After months of training
through the harsh Indian summer, there were moments when I wondered whether all
that effort might go to waste before I even reached South Africa.
Fortunately, the journey worked out.
As my taxi approached the hotel in Cape Town, excitement
quickly replaced anxiety. The first word I heard after stepping onto the
pavement was "Kipchoge."
He had just finished a meet-and-greet session at the V&A
Waterfront and was leaving the area moments before I arrived. Once again, I had
narrowly missed meeting the greatest marathon runner of all time.
My silent rivalry with the GOAT would have to continue from
a distance.
Still, Cape Town immediately made an impression.
Towering mountains, fresh ocean air, and a city buzzing with
runners from around the world created a special atmosphere. Everywhere I
looked, there were marathon banners, runners discussing race plans, and
volunteers preparing for the big weekend.
The journey had been uncertain, but at that moment I knew it
had been worth every kilometre of training and every hour of travel.
Cape Town Marathon had begun long before the starting gun.
About the Newest World Major
Cape Town Marathon may be the newest member of the World
Marathon Majors family, but in terms of organisation, it already belongs among
the best.
From registration to bib collection, race communication to
result delivery, everything was handled with remarkable efficiency. Every
important update reached runners on time, making the entire experience
stress-free.
The Expo was not the biggest I have attended, but it was
neat, well organised, and easy to navigate. More importantly, it felt personal.
Everywhere there was a sense of excitement that Cape Town was on the verge of
becoming Africa's first World Marathon Major.
What struck me most was that this event felt bigger than a
city and even bigger than a country.
Throughout the race materials, expo displays, and
promotional campaigns, one message appeared repeatedly: Africa United
Through Running.
Maps of the African continent were everywhere. Runners had
travelled from across Africa and around the world. It did not feel as though
South Africa was hosting a marathon. It felt as if an entire continent was
welcoming the world.
That feeling reached its peak during the concert at DHL
Stadium. The performances were outstanding, creating an atmosphere more like a
celebration than a pre-race event. When Eliud Kipchoge took the stage, the
excitement among runners was palpable.
Among several memorable remarks, one story stood out.
Kipchoge spoke about his wife preparing to run her first marathon and the
advice he gave her:
"Don't race. Just enjoy the experience and finish
with a smile."
It was a simple message, yet a powerful one. Coming from a
man who has spent a lifetime chasing world records and redefining the limits of
human endurance, it carried special meaning. For most of us, marathon running
is not about winning. It is about the journey, the challenge, and the memories
we create along the way.
Little did I know that I would need that advice myself on
race day.
Kipchoge's presence was impossible to miss throughout the
weekend. His image appeared on giant screens, promotional videos, and race
displays across the city. On race morning, he was everywhere. Standing in the
start area beneath the shadow of Table Mountain, watching Kipchoge on the giant
screens, you could feel a special energy in the air.
Part excitement. Part anticipation. Part history.
This was not just another marathon. It felt like the
beginning of something significant for African running.
The volunteers deserve special mention.
Every volunteer I encountered was enthusiastic, informed,
and eager to help. On race morning, volunteers were stationed throughout the
city, guiding runners towards the start area long before dawn. Even runners
staying several kilometres away from the start line could easily find their
way.
Like London, Cape Town uses multiple start areas, and the
flow of runners was managed smoothly. The only improvement I would suggest is
adding more toilets at the start village.
On the course itself, aid stations were plentiful and
exceptionally well stocked. Water, Coke, and sports drinks were available
throughout the race. In fact, I have never seen so many Coke stations in any
marathon before. It quickly became clear that runners in Cape Town have a
special relationship with Coca-Cola.
The finish-line experience was equally impressive. Medals,
refreshments, recovery support, and even breakfast for international runners
were organised efficiently. Families could easily locate runners through
clearly marked alphabetical meeting zones, removing much of the confusion that
often follows large marathons.
To top it all off, race results arrived on WhatsApp almost
immediately after finishing.
Cape Town Marathon delivered a world-class experience from
start to finish. If World Marathon Majors are judged not only by history but
also by organisation, runner experience, and community spirit, then Cape Town
has already earned its place among them.
My
Preparation
The months leading up to Cape Town Marathon had been among
the most satisfying of my running journey.
After recording seven personal bests in my previous eight
races, I felt I had finally begun to understand my body better. Improvements in
pacing, nutrition, recovery, and training had helped me improve by nearly
thirty minutes over the previous two years.
More importantly, this was probably the most disciplined
marathon build-up I had ever completed. For the first time, I did not miss a
single scheduled training session. Through the harsh Indian summer, I woke
before sunrise to complete long runs and workouts before the heat became
unbearable.
As race day approached, the numbers looked encouraging.
Cape Town's rolling course was never expected to be as fast
as Berlin or Chicago, but I believed it could become an important stepping
stone towards my long-term Boston Qualifier goal. My pacing plan was prepared,
my nutrition strategy rehearsed, and the training data suggested that another
personal best was within reach.
Perhaps I was confident.
Perhaps I was a little too confident.
Looking back, I realise that success can sometimes teach the
wrong lessons. A streak of personal bests creates the illusion that progress is
always upward and that every race will naturally be faster than the last.
Running has a way of correcting such assumptions.
The elevation profile looked manageable. The weather seemed
favourable. The target appeared realistic.
As I stood among thousands of runners on race morning, I
felt calm, prepared, and optimistic.
All that remained was to execute the plan.
Or so I thought
The Race
One lesson Cape Town Marathon teaches quickly is that pacing
by numbers alone can be misleading.
At Sydney Marathon, Kalyani had paced me to a personal best.
In Delhi, we ran together as part of a group effort that resulted in another PB
for me and a Boston Qualifier for her. For Cape Town, we agreed on a simple
plan: run together until halfway, then let the stronger runner on the day
follow their own race.
Unlike London or Berlin, Cape Town was not overwhelmingly
crowded. Within the first few kilometres we had settled into a comfortable
rhythm.
Or at least we thought we had.
By the third kilometre, the course had already begun to
reveal its character. The rolling terrain arrived almost immediately. As Coach
Lyndsey Parry had warned in his podcast—and later repeated when we met him at
the Expo—Cape Town is a rhythm-breaking course.
You cannot maintain the same pace. You cannot even maintain
the same effort.
You have to constantly adjust gears while preserving energy
for later.
The hills are only part of the challenge. Another feature of
the course that rarely appears in race reports is the pronounced road camber.
Many roads have a noticeable lateral slope designed to drain rainwater away
from the roadway. It may not seem significant at first, but after running for
hours on a tilted surface, the uneven stress on the legs becomes noticeable.
Experienced runners soon learn to stay on the left-most side of the road
whenever possible, where the camber is less severe.
Cape Town is a course that demands attention not only to
pace and effort, but also to where you place your feet.
And yet, what the route takes away in speed, it returns in
beauty.
To my left stretched the rocky Atlantic coastline. To my
right rose the majestic Table Mountain range, its peaks draped in the famous
white "tablecloth" clouds that seemed to flow between the mountains
like a slow-moving river in the sky.
This was not a course for staring at a watch.
This was a course for looking around.
As the kilometres passed, the route carried us through
dramatically different parts of the city. One flyover seemed to transport us
from postcard-perfect waterfront neighbourhoods into vibrant working-class
districts.
We were passing through Woodstock, one of Cape Town's most
fascinating neighbourhoods. Old warehouses and industrial buildings stood
beside art studios, cafés, and creative workspaces. The contrast felt very Cape
Town—layers of history, industry, and modern urban culture existing side by
side. Like the marathon itself, the city seemed to blend many different worlds
into one.
Cape Town felt alive.
The crowds were energetic, diverse, and enthusiastic. While
the noise was not as deafening as London, there was a warmth to the support
that felt uniquely African.
For a while, everything seemed under control.
We were only a few seconds behind target pace at 10
kilometres.
Nothing to worry about.
Or so I believed.
The Turning Point
By the halfway mark, I was still slightly behind my target
pace. “Shall we push a little now” I asked.
No, you go ahead, I will hold this pace for some time.”
I remembered reading that the next several kilometres were
among the easier sections of the course. The terrain felt friendlier, the legs
felt strong, and the temptation to make up lost time became impossible to
resist.
I gradually increased the pace.
For a while, everything went according to plan.
Around that point, the route passed through an
area that looked unusually open for a city so close to its centre. There were
stretches of land with surprisingly little development, and I later realised we
were running through District Six.
For many runners, it is just another section of the course.
For South Africans, it is a place filled with memory.
District Six was once a vibrant, multicultural community
where people of different backgrounds lived side by side. During the apartheid
era, however, more than 60,000 residents were forcibly removed from their homes
after the area was declared a "whites only" zone. Families were
uprooted, homes were demolished, and an entire community was scattered.
As I ran through the area, it was difficult to imagine the
scale of that human tragedy. Marathon runners often travel through cities
admiring landmarks and scenery. Here, the route passed through a place that
tells a much deeper story about South Africa's past.
The road ahead soon returned my attention to the race, but
District Six remained in my thoughts for several kilometres. It was a reminder
that Cape Town Marathon is not only a journey through a beautiful city, but
also through layers of history that have shaped modern South Africa.
The crowds were thinner here, but enthusiastic. The sun was
shining, the road seemed faster, and my watch was finally showing numbers I
liked. The lost seconds were beginning to disappear.
Then, around the 25-kilometre mark, the course reminded me
that Cape Town does not surrender easily.
A climb appeared earlier than I had expected.
"Oh, it starts here," I thought.
It was not a brutal hill, nor was it particularly long. But
after more than two hours of running, even a moderate incline demands respect.
The elevation charts I had studied before the race suddenly felt less reliable.
Cape Town's profile tells only part of the story. The route constantly throws
small surprises at runners, forcing them to adjust effort and expectations.
Fortunately, the following kilometres were manageable, and
before long I found myself approaching one of the most memorable sections of
the entire race.
At around 31 kilometres, the course suddenly turned left
into a narrow tree-lined lane.
Within seconds, the atmosphere changed completely.
The noise of the city faded. The open roads disappeared.
Runners entered the historic Company Garden, a place with nearly four centuries
of recorded history and often described as the birthplace of modern Cape Town.
This was no ordinary city park.
The garden has witnessed Dutch settlement, the arrival of
enslaved people from regions including India and Southeast Asia, British rule,
the Boer Wars, apartheid, and the emergence of modern democratic South Africa.
Few places in the city have observed so much history.
The path itself was surprisingly demanding. A long uphill
stretch paved with stone and concrete blocks wound through the trees. The
change in scenery was beautiful, but it also broke whatever rhythm remained in
my legs.
For nearly a mile, the course climbed through this historic
landscape.
I found myself torn between admiration and fatigue.
Part of me wanted to absorb the surroundings. Another part
was focused entirely on reaching the top.
Eventually, a sharp right turn carried us out of the garden
and back onto city streets.
The road finally pointed downhill.
I felt relieved.
Thirty-two kilometres completed.
I allowed myself a moment of optimism. Average pace was within reach .
Unfortunately, Cape Town had one final lesson waiting for
me.
Keep
Going
A sharp pain shot through my left calf.
I shortened my stride immediately.
Then the right calf tightened.
Then right Arm.
Right Chest
Cramps.
Not a warning. Not a twitch. Proper cramps.
A few moments earlier I had been calculating pace and finish
times. Suddenly none of that mattered. My world had shrunk to the next step.
I tried running.
I tried walking.
Neither felt natural.
The nearest aid station became my only target.
"Do you have ice?"
Blank look.
"Spray?"
Another blank look.
The volunteers were eager to help, but what I was asking for
clearly wasn't part of the standard marathon toolkit.
I swallowed the salt tablet and started jogging again.
The race had changed.
This was no longer a race against the clock.
It had become a conversation with myself.
KEEP GOING
The words appeared on a spectator's placard.
I read them aloud.
"Keep going."
A few hundred metres later, I repeated them again.
"Keep going."
Soon it became a rhythm.
Not my running rhythm.
My survival rhythm.
Keep going.
For the first time all day, I stopped looking at my watch.
The target pace was irrelevant.
The personal best was irrelevant.
Even the finish time was becoming irrelevant.
And then a funny thought crossed my mind.
All weekend, Kipchoge had been everywhere. At the concert.
On giant screens around the city. On giant screens at the start village. In
conversations among runners. Even in my own private calculations about closing
the gap between us.
All morning, I had been trying to do my own version of
Kipchoing.
Chasing pace targets.
Calculating finish times.
Looking at my watch every few minutes.
Trying to squeeze every possible second from the course.
That was racing.
That was Kipchoing.
Now the race had changed completely.
The watch no longer mattered.
The pace no longer mattered.
I was no longer Kipchoing.
I was Keep Going.
One step.
One kilometre.
One aid station at a time.
Keep Going.
The words on the placard suddenly made perfect sense.
Strangely, it felt liberating.
I remembered Kipchoge's message from the concert.
Speaking about his wife preparing for her first marathon, he
had said:
"Don't race. Just enjoy the experience and finish with
a smile."
At the time, it sounded like advice for first-time
marathoners.
Now it felt like advice meant specifically for me.
I also remembered a conversation the previous day with Coach
Norrie Williamson. During our discussion, he had warned us not to get carried
away on the easier sections of the course and to remain patient throughout the
race.
Kalyani had followed that advice perfectly.
I had not.
She would go on to finish strongly and become the fastest
Indian woman at Cape Town Marathon 2026.
The race was teaching me a lesson in humility.
Progress is not linear.
Neither is marathon running.
As I let go of expectations, I started noticing things I had
been too busy to appreciate earlier.
The vibrant colours of Africa.
The spectators dancing and singing.
The beautiful colonial-era houses.
The Atlantic Ocean appearing in the distance.
The runners ahead silhouetted against the sea.
At one point, I saw a spectator holding a mischievous sign:
"I know the shortcut."
No runner was about to cut across the grass after suffering
for more than thirty kilometres.
The notorious final section of the course was approaching,
but for the first time all day I wasn't worried about it.
I wasn't racing anymore.
I was experiencing it.
Gradually, the cramps became less aggressive. My pace
returned to something that felt comfortable. Not fast. Not slow. Just
sustainable.
I returned to an old game I often play late in marathons.
Pick a runner ahead.
Catch them.
Then find another.
A blue shirt, then a yellow one. then white
Nothing dramatic.
Just small victories.
One after another.
The kilometres continued to pass.
The finish line was getting closer.
More importantly, I was enjoying the final miles of a
marathon that had every reason to be miserable.
That surprised me.
Perhaps Kipchoge was right.
Perhaps finishing with a smile matters more than finishing
with a number.
Finish Line Reflections
The final kilometres passed more comfortably than I could
have imagined when the cramps first struck.
I continued playing my small mental games. Spot a runner
ahead. Catch them. Then find another target.
The finish line was drawing closer.
I glanced at my watch occasionally, but only out of
curiosity now. The obsession with pace had disappeared somewhere back near the
32-kilometre mark.
Even after my watch recorded the 42nd kilometre, I made no
attempt to sprint.
That surprised me.
In most races, I would have emptied whatever was left in the
tank.
Not today.
Today, I simply cruised towards the finish line.
As I stepped onto the blue finish mat, I raised my hands and
smiled, hoping at least one race photographer would capture the moment.
3:45:45.
Not bad.
I smiled again as I walked towards the medal collection
area.
The sub-3:40 target was gone.
The streak of personal bests was over.
But somehow I wasn't disappointed.
Cape Town had reminded me of something that every runner
eventually learns and occasionally forgets.
Progress is not linear.
Some races reward you with personal bests.
Some races reward you with lessons.
Respect the course.
Respect hydration, Patiance, Experience.
And above all, respect the marathon.
As I collected my medal and walked through the finish area,
I thought back to the opening chapter of this story.
My silent rivalry with Kipchoge would continue.
Of course, there is one small problem.
On my flight home, a 75-year-old British runner named Francis
Brennan had finished almost as fast as I did and was runner-up in his age
category.
My silent rivalry with Kipchoge would continue. The
mathematics still suggested I might catch him one day.
If Francis can run like that at 75, I suspect Kipchoge will
still be running frighteningly fast marathons long after my calculations have
expired.
Of course, catching Kipchoge was never really the goal.
The idea is simply a reminder to stay positive, stay
motivated, and keep learning from the people who inspire us.
Every runner needs a lighthouse somewhere on the horizon. —distant,
unattainable, yet constantly guiding the way forward.
But Cape Town taught me that not every race needs a PB .
Sometimes the achievement is simply adapting when things go
wrong.
Sometimes the goal is not Kipchoing.
Sometimes the goal is Keep Going.
And that, more than any finish time, is what I will remember
from Cape Town Marathon 2026.
