So I actually forgot what dying felt like during last year's half marathon and I went to sign myself up again this year. Last year was a terrible experience. I ran completely by myself. I did not train at all. I skipped dinner the night before and did not sleep enough and didn't eat or drink before the run.

I ran with a broken heart.

I managed to make it to 15km before I started to feel like collapsing. I felt faint and giddy and started seeing white. I gulped down a cup of 100 plus at the drinks station, only to puke everything out 5 minutes later (with the 100 plus still tasting like 100 plus except it was warm hah).

I stopped several times trying to catch hold of my consciousness. I really wanted to give up. Even just walking was a torture. I wanted to just end the torment and go home and cry. But I didn't. Half walking and half dragging myself, I made it to the finishing line. By myself. I started late hence many runners had already completed the race. I took about slightly over 4 hours.

This year when I went to run, my heart was not only broken - it was shattered. I look whole, but inwardly I was struggling not to fall apart.

I had companions with me for the first 10km, before we all split up according to our own paces.

I was doing well - as I had trained prior to this for the Nike 10 km run. I kept a fairly steady pace till 13km, before I started having a very bad stitch. I learnt my lesson not to gulp down 100 plus or water but to take sips instead. I started walking as the stitch was killing me. But I brisk walked, trying to keep track of the time/pace reported by my running app.

I was deeply shattered by incidents that happened just before the run. I had negative thoughts all over me - how good would it be to jump into the sea from the bridge, or to just walk into the oncoming traffic by the side of the road. To lose consciousness and forget about the pain that was stabbing me mercilessly. I decided I would finish the run before anything else. Let it be the last half marathon I may ever complete in my life.

After walking for 4km, at the point of 17km, I suddenly felt a surge of emotion that propelled my legs to start moving. I started jogging, then I started running, then I started increasing my pace - thankful that my stitch had died down. I didn't manage to run as fast a pace as when I first started, but it was a fairly okay pace to complete my last 4km.

Somehow or other, I made it. As I rounded into the last 150m of the race, I knew that as long as I kept up my pace or run just slightly faster, I will make it under 3 hours. My personal target was 3.5 hours.

So I ran steadily, and I made it with my timing below.

I may have completed my race in record time. But my heart was still broken and shattered, and everything still hurts everywhere and it was hurting too much for me to bear. I did things I shouldn't have.

Friends congratulated me on my achievement of completing the race so quickly when I told them of my results.

At the end of the day, I congratulated myself for staying alive.

#thingstolivefor

Disclaimer: This was supposed to be a blog about happy things and happy stuff in my life.. it's been a long time since I've blogged so honestly and earnestly without reservations. I am broken, yes, but most importantly, I am alive. I must and I will find strength... to be happy once more. Thank you for reading :)