By Tomorrow, I Run
Tomorrow morning, I’ll stand at a starting line with hundreds of other runners, waiting for the gun to go off. Twenty-one kilometers stretch out ahead of me—my second half marathon, but it feels like the first one that truly matters.
Because tomorrow isn’t just about covering distance. It’s about celebrating every single step that got me here.
Where It Started: The Decision
A year ago, I couldn’t run a kilometer without feeling like my lungs were on fire.
I remember one of my first runs vividly: I was gasping for air after just 100 meters. One hundred meters. To put that in perspective, I was already playing badminton three times a week. I thought I was reasonably fit. Turns out, there’s a big difference between court fitness and running fitness.
That moment—bent over, hands on my knees, wheezing like I’d just sprinted a marathon—that’s when I knew something had to change. Not tomorrow. Not next Monday. Right then.
I started with LCIF (low-carb intermittent fasting), traded my all-day snacking habit for one earlier dinner, and laced up the ukay-ukay running shoes I owned. Nothing fancy. Nothing expensive. Just me, some thrift store shoes, and a decision to try.
The goal wasn’t to become an athlete. It was simpler than that: just feel better. Move better. Live better.
The Messy Middle: Hits and Misses
Let me be brutally honest—there were weeks I didn’t run at all. Times when I thought, “Maybe this isn’t for me.” Times when I seriously considered giving up.
I remember setting my alarm at three specific times every morning—3 AM, 4 AM, 5 AM—convinced that one of them would get me out of bed. Instead, I’d turn off the first two alarms in my sleep and completely forget about the third. I didn’t budge a single inch from my bed. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
The belly fat didn’t just melt away because I wished it gone. That’s not how this works, no matter what Instagram ads promise you.
I had badminton games where I moved so slowly across the court that I could feel my doubles partner’s frustration radiating toward me. I’d miss shots I used to make easily because I was too tired, too sore, too… heavy.
Running longer distances left me sore for days—not the good kind of sore that makes you feel accomplished, but the “I can barely walk down stairs” kind of sore that makes you question everything.
Some cycling routes absolutely kicked my ass. I’d have to get off and walk my bike up hills, watching other cyclists breeze past me.
Sleep? Still working on that one. Some nights are better than others.
But here’s what I learned through all of this: progress isn’t a straight line. It’s messy. It’s two steps forward, one step back, then sometimes three steps sideways.
It’s showing up on days when you absolutely don’t feel like it. It’s choosing the vegetables when you’re craving literally anything else. It’s running one more kilometer when your legs are screaming at you to stop, when every fiber of your being wants to walk.
Progress is made in those moments when you don’t want to do it, but you do it anyway.
What Changed: More Than Numbers
Twenty kilograms lost.
That’s the number everyone asks about. That’s what people want to know when they see my before-and-after photos. And yes, it’s impressive. I’m proud of it.
But you know what really changed? You know what actually matters?
I can climb stairs now without getting winded. I used to have to pause on landings, pretend I was checking my phone so people wouldn’t see me catching my breath. Now? I can take them two at a time.
I fall asleep faster and deeper now. I used to toss and turn for hours, my mind racing, my body uncomfortable no matter which position I tried. These days, my head hits the pillow and I’m out.
My mind feels clearer, sharper, more focused. Turns out all those articles about exercise improving mental clarity? They’re actually true. Who knew?
I look at myself in the mirror now and see someone who keeps promises to himself. Someone who said he’d do something hard and actually followed through. That matters more than any number on a scale.
The belly fat? I’ll be honest—there’s still a bit there. I’m not a fitness model. I’m not shredded. But I’m leaner. Stronger. Healthier.
The physique has changed, sure. But the real transformation was internal.
I proved to myself that I could commit to something genuinely difficult and see it through. In a world where I’ve quit so many things before they got hard, that proof means everything.
Tomorrow: The Celebration Lap
My goal for tomorrow is beautifully simple: finish within the allowed time.
That’s it. I’m not chasing podiums. I’m not gunning for a Boston Marathon qualifying time. I’m not trying to beat anyone but the person I was a year ago—the guy who couldn’t run 100 meters without stopping.
I’m chasing the finish line that felt absolutely impossible 365 days ago.
Will it be hard? Absolutely. Will there be moments around kilometer 15 where I question every life choice that led me to this moment? Probably. Will my legs feel like concrete somewhere around kilometer 18? Most likely.
But when those moments come—and they will come—I’ll remember that guy from a year ago. The one gasping for air after 100 meters. The one who couldn’t climb stairs without wheezing. The one who set three alarms and still didn’t get out of bed.
I’ll remember every early morning I dragged myself out of bed when I didn’t want to. Every meal I prepped when I would’ve rather ordered takeout. Every “I don’t feel like it” that I turned into “I did it anyway.”
And I’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because that’s all running really is—one foot, then the other, repeat 21,000 times.
This half marathon isn’t just about the distance. It’s about honoring every single step of this journey. The good runs and the terrible ones. The weeks I crushed my goals and the weeks I didn’t run at all. The meals I got right and the pizza I demolished after telling myself “just one slice.”
It’s about celebrating the journey, not just the destination. Because the destination—that finish line—is just one moment. But the journey? That’s been 365 days of becoming someone I’m proud to be.
To Everyone on Their Own Journey
If you’re reading this and thinking about starting your own journey—whether it’s running, losing weight, getting stronger, or just getting healthier—here’s what I’d tell you:
Start messy. Start slow. Start anyway.
You don’t need the perfect plan. You don’t need expensive gear. You don’t need to wait until you’re “ready.” I started with thrift store shoes and no clue what I was doing.
You don’t need to run a half marathon. You don’t need to lose 20 kilograms. You don’t need to transform your entire life overnight.
You just need to start.
And then start again the next day. And the day after that. And on the days you fail—because you will fail, we all do—you start again. That’s the secret. There is no secret. Just consistency, stubbornness, and showing up even when you don’t want to.
One year ago, I took one shaky, uncertain step forward. I gasped for air after 100 meters and wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Tomorrow, I’m taking 21,097 more steps—one half marathon at a time.
If I can go from there to here, trust me: you can do whatever you’re thinking about starting.
See you at the finish line.
Race Day Prep: What I’m Bringing Tomorrow
Physical Gear:
- Running shoes (finally invested in proper ones)
- Race bib and timing chip
- Running shorts and moisture-wicking shirt/sando
- Body glide (chafing is real, friends)*
- Hydration plan: water at every station
Mental Prep:
- Running Playlist (90s)
- Mantras for when it gets hard: “One year ago, this was impossible”
- Permission to walk if needed (finishing > perfection)
- Gratitude for a body that can do this
Post-Race Plans:
- Biggest meal of my life- “FoodYum Finish” (earned it)
- Ice bath (or at least cold shower)
- Celebrate with people who supported this journey
- Start thinking about the next goal (maybe a full marathon?)
Last modified: November 3, 2025
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