Sydney Marathon 2025 – Vindication of Self-Belief

                                                  

 

The Reward of Strategy, Control, and Pacing

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The Finish Line Message

“Congratulations on finishing the TCS Sydney Marathon presented by ASICS in a net time of 03:47:52.”
The message flashed on my phone minutes after I crossed the finish line.

“Did I really?” I asked myself. As I read it, the last four months of training replayed in my mind like a movie.

Every marathoner knows the ordeal of this phase. The decision to register is huge in itself. Then comes training, logistics, balancing work and family commitments, endless planning, and dealing with date clashes. You end up missing events, picnics, and outings, caught in the cycle of run–eat–work–sleep–run. Long runs, short runs, intervals, recovery runs — all kinds of runs.

If you want a better timing, the common mantra is: increase the volume. But volume often brings injuries, and injuries cut volume.  Frustrating Cycle.

All this effort summed up into just 3 hours and 47 minutes. The funny part is: the lesser the time you aim for, the bigger the preparation it demands.

After earning five stars, only New York was left among the original World Marathon Majors for me. I still don’t know why I chose Sydney as my “sixth” instead of New York, one of the original Six — maybe it was the chance to grab the inaugural medal. The race was new, the route unknown. Unlike the majors, there was no past data to rely on. The website had some information, but it was confusing. The only thing clear was: this would be the hilliest of them all, with the maximum elevation gain.

Since Boston, my strategy has been to mimic the target race profile in training. I did the same for Sydney. I hoped that would help me in the actual race.

Talking about the route, the Sydney course turned out to be the most scenic of all the majors — but also the most dramatic. More twists and turns, more ups and downs than any Bollywood blockbuster.

Just for fun, I even asked AI for the number of bends and turns. It came back with approximately 37.

One thing is certain: in Sydney, runners don’t need sightseeing tours. The marathon takes you past every famous landmark in the city.

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Pre-Race Build-Up

Our group arrived earlier than usual to tackle the jet lag of this southern hemisphere city. We went to the expo on the first day itself and found it crowded even in the opening hour. Although TCS is the title sponsor, the expo was dominated by ASICS. Their huge pavilion at the entrance displayed a wide range of high-end products, cleverly encouraging runners to spend their budget before even reaching the smaller exhibitors. Marathons always teach lessons beyond running.

The big topic of conversation at the expo was the elevation — what to expect and how to tackle the rolling terrain. Even the elevation chart and the “virtual walkthrough” had contradictions.

Searching for your name on the giant runner roster is always fun. I came across thousands of Indian names. “So many from India?” I wondered. Later, I realized India is everywhere — a million Indians live in Australia  itself. Many of the names I saw might have belonged to American, Canadian, or British runners of Indian diaspora Still, it left me amused. For centuries man moves from one place to another. Australia is perfect example. And   TCS, an Indian company, sponsors half of the World Marathon Majors filled me with pride.

                                                                      

 "The city itself was buzzing with one name: Eliud Kipchoge. During shakeout runs, everyone hoped for a glimpse of him — perhaps even more than a selfie with the Opera House.

In Berlin two years ago, I finished just over two hours behind him. Fortunately, I’m improving a bit, and incidentally, he’s getting a bit slower. Maybe one day I can narrow that gap — to less than two hours, perhaps. Jokes apart, running in the same race is a big honour. One day, I hope to meet him in person. He is not just the greatest runner, but also my biggest motivation. His quotes make me work harder.

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Race Morning

The Sydney Marathon starts early. The weather looked perfect — a blessing on such a hilly route. Our group was split across different corrals:

• Shyamji, my partner in five majors, started ahead of me.
• Latika Roy, my London and Chicago buddy and the India head in a MNC bank (I will never forget her  midnight sprint at Changi Airport to help a disoriented, lonely elderly woman from getting lost, along with Dr. Sudha  , a famous Gyncologist and patron of my social cause — we ran London the same year), and Nitin, my Berlin partner, were in later waves.
• Luckily, Kalyani Satija and I started together.

Kalyani is a strong runner, consistently near Boston Qualifiertimes since last year. We’d done many races in the same timeframe since 2020 but never really knew each other. Our paces matched, so we decided to stick together till 30 km, then adjust individually.

I always make a pacing chart tailored to the challenges of each race: the initial urge, elevations, the middle “boring” stretch, fatigue points, and my strengths and weaknesses. I monitor it in 5 km segments. I need to think about just 5 km in hand (legs, rather) and not the entire race.

• Plan A: finish in 3:55.
• Plan B: if feeling strong, aim for 3:50.

Sydney’s public transport system was excellent — it even took us to the holding area free of cost. But conditions there were less than ideal. It was cold, and runners from hundreds of nationalities queued endlessly outside porta-potties. The sight was frustrating. As time ran out, some people gave up and left for the start line. I even saw an elderly woman relieve herself on the road. It was disheartening. Hopefully, the organizers will improve facilities next year.

The crowd buzzed with excitement as flag-off time approached. A giant screen showed glimpses of the elites, who had started earlier. We all searched for our GOAT, Kipchoge. He might not win today, but in the hearts of runners worldwide, he is forever king.

Piped flame throwers on both sides of the street added to the excitement — and some much-needed warmth.

The countdown began. Runners discarded warm clothes and shuffled toward the start. The race began downhill. “Control and preserve” was the mantra.

Almost immediately, the majestic Harbour Bridge loomed ahead — 93 years old, iconic, and beautiful. Photographers were surely around. Every runner wanted that picture.

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Running Through Landmarks

The plan was to run the first 5 km at 5:20 pace. We were on track, but I missed the water station — the first one came around 7 km instead. Compared to other races, the water stations on this route were far too few. Thankfully, the weather was cool.

Sydney’s course is a mix of rolling uphill, wide roads, and stunning scenery. The Tasman Sea has carved bays and coves into the city, creating winding roads and elevation changes. But at every turn, you’re rewarded with blue skies, sparkling waters, and glimpses of landmarks like the Opera House, The Rocks, and Anzac Bridge.

By the third segment, we hit continuous uphill. My plan allowed for 5:40 pace here. During our shakeout run earlier, this stretch had felt brutal. But on race day, with the crowd, atmosphere, and architecture around us, it felt manageable. We even averaged 5:25.

                                                         

“Are we going too fast?” Kalyani asked. Her pacing discipline was impressive — London and Tokyo had been textbook even-split races for her.

“We’re good,” I said, though I shared her concern. Too fast a beginning means hitting the wall later. My fatigue point has slowly been improving —27 in Tokyo, 39 km in Boston. Today, I hoped to push it beyond 42.

We soon entered Sydney’s green lungs — big parks with century-old trees offering shade. The crowd was smaller than London or Berlin but louder than Tokyo, full of witty, funny, and sometimes naughty placards.

At Kingsford, we hit the longest straight stretch. After the U-turn, we could see runners behind. Among them, I spotted several in costumes — one even attempting the Guinness record for most pairs (53) of underwear worn, another in school uniform, and some man wearing salwar kameez. A crazy half-nude guy was running in just underwear, with his phone stuffed inside. Not the most decent sight! (Tokyo, in contrast, forbids such antics.)

By 30 km, we circled Centennial Park. I had braced for this as a daunting task — half downhill, half uphill — but it wasn’t as bad as expected. The park, shaded and lively with kids playing, made it enjoyable. Still, narrow patches frustrated us, especially when tired walkers blocked the middle of the road instead of the sides.

At 35 km, the 3:50 pacer was within reach. I suggested Kalyani push ahead for her BQ. She chose to hold back, wary of cramps. I also decided not to risk it, sticking to the even pace.

By 39 km, we caught and overtook the 3:50 bus. The final stretch was slightly uphill, but the cheers pushed us forward. Soon, the Opera House domes emerged at the end of a long slope — a sight so calming, so majestic.

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The Finish

“Push now!” someone shouted.

The crowd was deafening. The finish gates came into view. Kalyani surged ahead. I raised my hands, smiling for the cameras. For the first time, I crossed the mat feeling strong.

                                                                                        

My splits might look boring — even, like a treadmill run. No drama, no collapse, no heartbreak. But for me, it was pure joy. To finish strong, without walking in the last 200 meters, without dozens passing me — that was priceless.

This race was special. Not just another PB, but a confirmation that my training experiments work. That I don’t need a celebrity coach. That belief in myself pays off.

Five PBs in my last six races — but Sydney gave me something different: happiness instead of just relief. I’m closer to my Boston Qualifier dream now. It’s no longer a daydream.

                                                                  

When I held the glittering medal, its delicate carving of the Opera House catching the light, my thoughts instantly drifted to my daughter. At that very moment, she was high above the clouds, on her way to London to chase her dreams. I wasn’t there to hug her one last time at the Mumbai airport, to see her eyes brimming with both excitement and nervousness. Missing that farewell was a wound I silently carried — a sacrifice that weighed heavily on my heart, even as I stood on the stage of triumph.

Vindication of Self-Belief

I’m writing this a week later. I wasn’t sure if I could say anything new about the same 42 kilometres in each blog. There was no drama, no heartbreak, no excuses. Just joy.

But joy is worth sharing. It’s contagious. And Sydney gave me plenty of it.

If you’ve read this far, you already know the feeling.