Rundefeated

DNF, But No Regrets: My Sydney Marathon Story Before It Became a World Major

Every runner dreams of crossing the finish line with their arms in the air, a medal around their neck, and dramatic theme music playing in the background. I had that dream too. And then I ran the 2024 Sydney Marathon — a race that gave me incredible memories, a minor muscle cramp, and an unexpectedly profound lesson in what running really means.

Sydney had always been on my running bucket list. The thought of pounding the pavement across Harbour Bridge, past Circular Quay, and finishing at the stunning Sydney Opera House was too tempting to resist. So when I finally signed up for the marathon, I was buzzing like a kid in a candy store… except this candy store sold pain and chafing.

Training in Indonesia’s eternal summer didn’t exactly prepare me for Sydney’s cool spring weather. But hey, how bad could it be? Spoiler alert: bad. Not because of the weather, which was actually perfect, but because sometimes your body just doesn’t get the memo on race day.

Race morning arrived. The atmosphere was electric. Runners from around the world were buzzing with excitement, selfie sticks were out in force, and I spotted no less than five people dressed as kangaroos. The sun rose over the harbour, the iconic bridge loomed ahead, and I felt unstoppable.

And for a while, I was. The first 10K was pure magic. The course was gorgeous, the crowds were supportive, and the volunteers were absolute heroes. I high-fived random strangers, grabbed water like a pro, and even managed a cheeky grin for a race photographer.

Then came the halfway point, and with it, a small twinge in my calf. No big deal, I thought. Probably just the usual mid-marathon ache. By 25K, it wasn’t a twinge anymore — it was a full-blown cramp party, and my left leg was the unwilling guest of honor.

I tried stretching. I slowed down. I took electrolytes, water, sports gels — you name it. But my rebellious muscle was having none of it. Every step felt like my calf was plotting a mutiny against the rest of my body.

At around 28 kilometers, after a stubborn limp-run hybrid attempt, I made the painful decision to step off the course. DNF. Three dreaded letters for any runner. Did it sting? Absolutely. Did I sob quietly into a banana at the aid station? Maybe.

But here’s the thing — even without a finisher’s medal, the 2024 Sydney Marathon was one of the most spectacular experiences of my running life. The scenery, the people, the thrill of standing at that start line under the Harbour Bridge — those are things no muscle cramp can take away.

And now, in 2025, Sydney has officially joined the elite ranks of the Abbott World Marathon Majors. The race slots are harder to snag than front-row Taylor Swift tickets, and the demand has skyrocketed. Everyone wants in, and honestly, I feel lucky that I had my Sydney moment before it became even more impossible to enter.

Sure, my calf betrayed me, and I didn’t get to cross the finish line. But I was part of history in the making. I ran across that bridge, soaked up the cheers, and experienced a city transformed by one epic race. That, my friends, is worth way more than a medal.

Also, let’s be real — every runner needs a good DNF story. It keeps you humble, reminds you why you fell in love with running in the first place, and makes for excellent dinner conversation. “Did I ever tell you about the time my calf exploded at the Sydney Marathon?” is a classic icebreaker.

And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll get back there, muscle cramps and all, and finally grab that Sydney finisher’s medal. But for now, I’ll cherish the memory of those first 28K — the crowds, the views, the vibe — and count myself lucky that I was there before it hit World Major status.

Because in running, just like in life, it’s not always about the finish line. Sometimes, it’s about the journey, the people you meet, the kangaroo costumes you see along the way, and the sheer audacity of showing up and giving it a go.

So to all my fellow tropical runners dreaming of faraway marathons — do it. Train in the heat, brave the cramps, embrace the unknown. Even if you don’t finish, you’ll have one heck of a story to tell.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll beat me to that Sydney Marathon finisher’s medal.