
We began our journey on Saturday 26th July at 7am, driving slowly from Seremban, soaking in the calm before the storm. The road trip itself was peaceful, almost meditative, as if my heart knew what was coming the next day. I could already feel the excitement building, knowing that tomorrow would be the day I tested not just my body, but my spirit.


Our first stop was race kit collection. Despite the crowd, everything was incredibly smooth. Smiling volunteers, excited runners, and the sound of laughter—it felt like stepping into a community of people who understood why we run. After collecting our kits, we had lunch, took some beautiful photos to remember this moment, and even enjoyed a quiet tea break before heading to our hotel. Best part? The hotel was only 400 meters from the race venue. That small detail brought such comfort—no rushing, no stress.



Dinner was magical. A small hidden Thai restaurant tucked away in Taiping. The food was comforting, and every bite felt like fuel for the soul.Warm lights, comforting food, and quiet conversations with my hubby. It was more than just a meal; it was the calm before the storm. Back at the hotel, we laid out everything—pants, bib, socks, shoes. That pre-race ritual grounded me. It wasn’t just preparation; it was a promise to myself: “Tomorrow, you will give everything you’ve got.”



Sleep was restless. Not from nerves, but excitement. At 2:30am, I woke up naturally, ready to run. My race-day ritual? A cup of Milo, coffee, and a peanut butter sandwich. Simple, familiar, perfect. Hubby and I exchanged a smile—no words needed. We were ready.
At 3:45am, we walked slowly to the starting point. The atmosphere was electric. Music pulsed through the air, runners were laughing, stretching, doing warm-ups, setting their watches. The sound of conversations and excitement filled the early morning. Hubby kissed me good luck and went to his corral. I stood there, breathing it all in, feeling my heart pounding—not from fear, but from pure joy.
The Race: Step by Step
The flag-off was perfectly on time. No pushing, no chaos. Just thousands of feet pounding the road in unison, like a wave of determination.

The first 5KM was calm. We passed through the quiet streets of Taiping, guided only by streetlights and the occasional cheer from marshals. The air was cool, and the rhythm of footsteps around me was oddly comforting. We ran as one, each person chasing their own victory.

By KM3, we entered the iconic Taiping Lake Gardens. Even though it was still dark, I could feel its beauty around me—the faint outlines of ancient rain trees, the quiet stillness of the lake. A few kind runners used their phone lights to brighten the path, creating a trail of tiny stars in the darkness. That simple gesture reminded me that running, like life, is never a solo journey—there’s always someone to light the way.

From KM 7–12, the route stretched into quiet residential areas. No major hills, just gentle slopes that tested your legs but didn’t break your spirit. Here, runners greeted one another with nods and smiles, small gestures that carried big meaning. The water stations were perfectly placed, well-stocked, and manned by friendly volunteers who cheered like we were elite runners. Every “You’ve got this!” felt like fuel for the soul.


KM 13–17 was where the real mental game began. The sun was slowly rising, the world around us waking up. My legs were starting to feel heavy, but I stayed close to the 3:30 pacers. Their steady rhythm was my anchor. Time blurred. At 6:30am, I glanced at my watch—halfway. My thoughts went straight to my hubby. In my mind, I pictured him already at the finish line, (Probably a PB with a sub-2) medal around his neck, sipping on Milo, waiting with that proud smile I love so much. That image pushed me forward.


Then came the final stretch—KM 18–21. The finish line was close, but every step felt longer. And yet, something inside me shifted. I wasn’t just running anymore; I was fighting, pushing, proving to myself that endurance isn’t just physical—it’s in your heart. I could hear the cheering from the finish area, feel the music vibrating through my chest. My tired legs found new strength.

And then… I saw him and it. My “Sole”mate- my hubby waiting at The FINISH LINE. I gave it everything. One last push. One last surge. And I crossed it—with a smile so wide it hurt and a heart so full it could burst.
After the Race
Hubby was waiting for me, medal around his neck, grinning from ear to ear. We hugged, laughed, and celebrated our shared victory. The finisher tee was beautiful, the medal was unique, and the post-race food? Absolute heaven.


But more than anything, it wasn’t about the medal, or the tee, or even the run. It was about what this race taught me:

Every step is a lesson. Every kilometer is a reminder. Life isn’t about speed—it’s about endurance. And when you keep going, no matter how dark the road gets, there’s always light at the end.


To the organizers, the pacers, the volunteers, and the photographers—you didn’t just make this a race. You made it a memory that will live in my heart forever.

We will be back, Taiping. Stronger. Braver. Happier. Because this isn’t just running. This… is joy.
21KM. One finish line. A lifetime of gratitude.














































































