If you’d told me two years ago that I’d run a marathon, I probably would have laughed. Not out of rudeness—just disbelief. I wasn’t a runner. In fact, I struggled to picture myself running even 5 kilometres without stopping. But in October last year, I did something I once believed impossible: I ran the Melbourne Marathon.
Melbourne is my hometown, which made the entire experience deeply personal. The streets I’d walked countless times, the landmarks I’d grown up with—all became part of the course I pushed myself through. Running those roads wasn’t just about the distance; it was about rewriting what I thought I was capable of.
Training wasn’t easy. I was fairly new to running, and every milestone felt monumental. I remember the first time I ran 10 kilometres without stopping—I nearly cried. Not from pain, but from pride. Each long run, each sore muscle, each early morning taught me something new: about resilience, patience, discipline, and the quiet power of putting one foot in front of the other, even when it hurts.
Race day came with nerves and excitement. Standing at the start line, surrounded by thousands of runners, I felt part of something bigger than myself. The crowd’s energy, the volunteers’ cheers, the strangers calling out encouragement—it all carried me forward. There were moments I wanted to stop, moments I questioned why I signed up. But somehow, step by step, I kept going.
Crossing the finish line at the Melbourne Cricket Ground was surreal. My legs were heavy, my body exhausted, but my heart was full. I’d done it. I’d run a marathon.
Running has become more than just a hobby—it’s become a journey of self-discovery. I’ve learned I’m stronger than I thought, more determined than I ever realized, and that sometimes, the most powerful changes come from doing something you once believed was out of reach.
