TATA Mumbai Marathon - We keep coming back here

Every time I sit down to write about TMM, the same question comes up—what more is left to say?

I’ve written about TMM a couple of times before. But this year, the answer arrived even before race day. The route changed, and the discussions erupted.

Two new inclines were added near Pedder Road, and the running community’s social media went on fire. On one hand, there was genuine excitement about running on the iconic, brand-new Coastal Road—an engineering marvel of modern Mumbai. On the other hand, there were questions. What would it feel like with an additional 25–30 meters of elevation? A longer silent zone with no spectators? More humidity, running right next to the sea and within the dense city vicinity?

One clear plus point was that flyovers and bridges are generally not paved with hard concrete. The more responsive asphalt surface was expected to help maintain a good pace.

 We Indian runners usually don’t stress too much about pollution—but yes, we do worry about weather and humidity.

While much of India was enjoying pleasant weather—the North even colder—Mumbai, true to its nature, chose to stay warm (and humid). Yet runners came from all over the country. This annual running pilgrimage never stops.

And once you step off the starting mat, all doubts disappear. Trained legs simply follow trained plans.

This year was no exception — not even for me

 I had trained well. After Sydney, I had a very good Satara Hill Marathon. Then one careless step on slippery monsoon streets and I had a hard fall, injuring my left arm. A few weeks of training were lost. The legs were fine, so I resumed — carrying a still-paining shoulder.

With the New Delhi Marathon coming up in February, a sensible thought crossed my mind — run Mumbai easy and chase a PB in Delhi. But when it is called a race, you have to race.

I had my personal best here last year. Why not try again?

Some training experiments had already paid off. Sydney gave me my first sub-3:50 with a 3:48 finish. I added a few more experiments this time, leaning heavily on the immense knowledge given to the running world by the late Jack Daniels.

Despite this being my 24th full marathon, I couldn’t sleep the entire night. At the start line, nothing felt right. Plans looked like distant dreams. I hoped the drowsiness would fade once the legs started moving.

The holding area, starting corral, and atmosphere were electric. I always wear a T-shirt with my name — it helps easy spotting for outstation runner friends. The start line becomes an annual catching-up point.

The race started sharp at 5:00 a.m.                   

The start was slower than planned because of record participation. The upside was disciplined corrals — almost everyone around me was running at a similar pace, with very little zig-zag overtaking.

In Boston, start waves are divided into even smaller corrals of similar pace, often without pacers, because everyone runs at roughly the same speed. With the way the Mumbai Marathon is growing, I can see that happening here in the near future.

It was dark and quiet except enthusiastic aid station volunteers, some big uniformed cheering squads — Nike, ASICS — appeared sporadically. The first five kilometres have switchbacks where you can see runners ahead and behind. In smaller races, I sometimes count runners for distraction. Here, the numbers were overwhelming. I simply thought — it would be nice to be among the first thousand runners.

That is what I love about marathons. You decide your own winning post. Everyone is a winner here.

By the time I reached Marine Drive, I was behind my 5 km target, but the drowsiness was wearing off. I forced a wide smile — sending the right signals to my mind and body. Everything happens in the mind first.

 A pillion videographer on a motorbike hovered ahead of me. Who is he filming? Some influencer? I gave up guessing. Cameras have a strange way of making you look confident anyway.

 

I quickly reconsidered my strategy. I dropped the idea of fixing average pace early. Years of running have taught me that lesson the hard way. There was time. Half marathon would be the real checkpoint.

     One of the micro goals of the plan was to achieve negative splits.  According to study conducted by Geeks on feet Just a fraction of TMM finishers could achieve that, mainly because of the infamous Pedder Road and rising tempature.

By the time I reached the easier side of Pedder Road—actually, it is not easier, it is the same elevation—but at the 10th kilometre, you are high on energy and don’t find it tough.

Around this stretch, I noticed a woman running strongly in a simple salwar kameez. No flashy gear. No costume. Just steady, confident running.

It struck me more than any elaborate outfit ever could. This was not about attention — it was a quiet statement. An invitation, perhaps, to countless homemakers who put themselves last every day.

  The fast downhill on other side of Pedder Road improved average pace by few seconds though still behind schedule.

        I passed a runner in farmer’s costume.  Once national attire of India changed to just fancy costume over the years,

  But Mumbai is changing too rapidly.

I could see a breathtaking web of flyovers against a backdrop of skyscrapers on one side and Arabian Sea on the other, as I approached the Mumbai Coastal Road.
It looked like some futuristic city we see in Hollywood movies.

 We could spot  faster HM runners on right  in opposite lane and on left faster  runners  already on the incline of the Coastal Road. The long incline  was not looking that  steep .

  Race was completely silent now. We were on the sea.  No spectators No cheering squads of sponsors. No runners talking to each other. No selfies or videos on the iconic bridge. Just thumping of shoes on tar.

   when you chase a target, you don’t see anything else. In earlier editions, when I was not chasing a PB, I used to listen banter, jokes, slogans, videos on Sea Link.
And it must be happening right now, a couple of kilometres back, among carefree runners just enjoying the race and not chasing targets like office deadlines.

I sighed, “When you achieve something, you lose something.”

I looked at the city—it was still dark. But you could see silhouettes of huge skyscrapers, some lights, and their reflections in the sea.
     Luckily, I noticed another runner with a small placard reading “Save SGNP.” I had one too, pinned to the back of my T-shirt.

A brief smile, a nod, and we ran together for a short distance. It turned out to be Kranti Salvi, a fellow World Marathon Major runner, her group  trying to draw attention to proposed development plans affecting the Sanjay Gandhi National Park — truly the lungs of Mumbai. Hence the placard.

Halfway mark was approaching. I was monitoring lap pace well.  Little behind planned average pace. The body knows its own limitations; it doesn’t always listen to your desires.

There was a steep incline just before halfway. Runners sprinted to cover some lost time

Everyone complains about Pedder Road incline, but one should thank  for downhill   gifts as well. Until last year, there was a mile-long double switchback. We used to spot pacer flags and friends ahead or behind, calling out in parallel lanes.

Now the race enters the spectator zone. We get wide support from citizens from here.
In any marathon, these middle miles is a trying period. People lose motivation here. But luckily, on the TMM route, this zone is never boring—the crowd keeps you motivated.

It is daybreak by the time you reach Mahim. Now runners start recognising, chat a little , greeting to fellow runners while moving ahead.
I made a mental note to keep lap pace below 5:15. Whenever I noticed a drop due to an aid station or chat, I pushed a little to cover it. Not much—just a second till that streetlight and so most of my middle kilometres were series of these small victories

 I didn’t bother any other parameters on my watch. Just  total time, lap pace, and average pace. And every 30-minute beep for nutrition.

“Don’t ignore gel time,”
Over the last year, I trained my gut for hydration, nutrition, and electrolytes in every training run. I kept track of water and electrolytes I sipped, but kept pouring water on my head as I was feeling increasingly hot.

Someone shouted, “Ganpati Bappa Morya!”
The Siddhivinayak temple stood glowing in the morning light. Almost instinctively, runners bowed their heads for a second or two. So did I.

 Asking for Strength to tackle  thePedder Road  , Coastal Road inclines and rising temperature  

Faith doesn’t make you faster, but it makes you calmer. And sometimes, that is enough

Around Worli, with its sharp turns and switchbacks, I became conscious of tangents. Last year, my watch showed I had run nearly 500 metres extra. In a crowded city marathon, running exactly 42.195 km is almost impossible. Even a clean corner adds a few extra metres.

Sometimes I wonder if the sport should acknowledge this reality — perhaps one route measurement optimised for elites chasing records, and another more practical one for amateur runners navigating crowds. Thousands of runners unknowingly run extra distance and miss qualification times by seconds.

Just a thought that keeps returning in big city races.

 

I was climbing the Coastal Road again, the sun now fully up. The deafening cheers from Worli faded suddenly into silence. Just a river of tired runners spread across a massive road over the sea. The next three kilometers were flat—then came the descent, the reward. A chance to claw back lost seconds.

On that steep downhill, I spotted the 3:45 pacer flag below me. I was close.

I was already rolling. Sprint for a while and jump onto the bus?
No.

I had a plan. My watch is my only bus.

This is my race. Everything else is a prop—bib, route, crowds, fellow runners. They exist for one reason: my time. Don’t chase the props. Follow the script.

I surged. A warning shot—light cramps. My injured arm throbbed. I backed off. Pedder Road was just a mile away.

I did the math. Even with caution, the PB was safe.

That’s the real villain.

The brain negotiates. The legs listen. Pace slips.

I need to beat that villain too.

Top of Form

 And then—almost without warning—Pedder Road returned.

The real Pedder Road.
The dreaded one.

Late in the race, when fatigue is deep in the legs and mental math has already done its damage, the same incline feels brutal. This is where Pedder Road earns its name.

I didn’t fight it. I respected it.

I walked a few steps—not in defeat, but control. I let the crowd carry me. This isn’t where you win the race, but it’s exactly where ego can make you lose it.

I sang my old line again—“I love Pedder Road”—my private ritual.

Last year, YouTuber runner Avinash Kumar caught this moment on camera. It went a bit viral.

The downhill paid me back. Pace returned quicker than expected.

But as I hit Marine Drive, the numbers crept in again. PB was still possible—even with caution. Cadence dropped. The urge to push faded.

Mental math again. Wrong signals from the brain to already aching limbs. Cramps returned. Both arms protested. The noise from the crowds couldn’t bring the speed back—but it helped me hold on.

Pushing now wasn’t calculated—it was survival.
The 1 km to go sign appeared.

Just 45 right-foot steps, ten times.

Five hundred meters. Push.
“Not interested,” the legs replied.

Two hundred meters.
“Just 90 right-foot strides,” I begged.

I crossed the second timing mat and stopped my watch.

3:47:15.

A personal best.

It felt more like relief than celebration. I will always prefer a strong finish. I missed negative splits by just over a minute — after months of training, despite an arm injury, chasing that elusive goal on the TMM course.                                      

But it was close.

And maybe that is exactly why I keep coming back.Every marathon gives you something — a time, a lesson, a memory.

                                           And a new reason to return .