You start thinking of a topic in the middle of the month—“This month I’ll write an article on this,” you tell yourself—and you quickly jot down some points. Then suddenly, it’s the last day of the month, and all you have are the topic and a few bullet points. That’s exactly me right now, on the last day of January 2026.
For some time now, a question has been bugging me:
What does it mean to be strongest in world
Strength today is fragmented and specialized—no one dominates across domains like lifting massive weights, ultra-endurance running, or extreme climbing. We celebrate outliers in narrow fields, but the overall definition remains unclear: Does it mean raw power, survival grit, or versatile physical mastery?
Recent feats highlight this specialization:
Alex Honnold’s Taipei 101 climb: On January 25, 2026, Honnold became the first to free solo the 1,667-foot (508-meter) skyscraper in 1 hour, 31 minutes, and 43 seconds—using only his hands, feet, and chalk, no ropes or gear. Some liken it to the endurance of three elite marathons back-to-back.
Eliud Kipchoge’s marathons: The Kenyan legend set the official world record of 2:01:09 in Berlin 2022 and ran an unofficial sub-2-hour (1:59:40) in Vienna 2019—pushing human limits in speed-endurance.
World’s Strongest Man (WSM): The 2025 event in Sacramento featured events like Loading Medley (carrying heavy objects), Deadlift Ladder (up to 840 lb), Titan’s Toss, Overhead Medley, Stone Medley, KNAACK Carry & Hoist, and Hercules Hold—focusing on pushing, pulling, lifting, and holding extreme loads.
These athletes excel in their verticals, but none cross over: No WSM champ runs sub-2-hour marathons or free solo skyscrapers.
Contrast this with history, like depictions of Hanuman from Indian history. Hanuman is described with extraordinary strength: leaping across oceans, burning cities, carrying entire mountains to fetch life-saving herbs, and battling armies single-handedly. At least, that’s what the historical tales describe—one figure embodying all strength domains, from endurance to raw power.
Back then, historical tales portrayed universal strength in one being; today, we slice it into silos and crown specialists. True “strongest” might mean versatile resilience—handling boulders, marathons, and climbs—but that’s rarer than ever. Maybe it’s the era, maybe just the way we are, or perhaps it’s contextual and the world has become so complex that specializations have multiplied. Anyhow, if you find this stupid round of thinking interesting, I’ve made a podcast discussing the same, chatting it up with AI.
Now, after wandering up and down the airport—pretty much every counter empty for an hour—I finally found someone at the information desk. They weren’t so sure either, so they asked around. Turns out, my flight might be from another terminal. Off I went, hopped on the shuttle.
Met a guy on the bus—we swapped stories about his travels to India and my return trip home. He helped me with directions, and we parted ways. Got to the new terminal, same airline counter: empty again. Logged into my booking app, and boom—the flight from Japan to Malaysia was cancelled, but the onward flight was still active. I was like, “what the hell?” How do I even get to Malaysia now?
So, I cancelled my ticket and started hunting for alternatives. Found a flight at a similar price, tried to book it, and poof—sold out while I was mid-transaction. Went over to the airline counter, hoping to book on the spot—no luck, and other flights were four times the cost of my original ticket. Called my office, told my manager, “Hey, looks like I’ll be a day late thanks to the flight mess.” Searched for flights for the next day—finally, something showed up and I snagged it. After some chasing, I did get my refund for the cancelled ticket.
In the midst of all this, it dawned on me—my terminal for tomorrow’s flight was at yet another spot. I just slumped into the shuttle with my luggage, and there met a woman from Bali. She’d also had her flight drama but managed to sort an alternate route to Malaysia, then home to Indonesia. Helped her with the counter stuff, and realized maybe there could’ve been an alternate flight for me too… but since I’d already cancelled, oh well!
With an extra day in Tokyo thanks to all this, I had to figure out a hotel. My capsule hotel was sold out, so I just stashed my bags in an airport locker, asked ChatGPT for ideas (seriously, “I’m stuck in Tokyo for a day, been to xyz, what next?”), and hopped a train toward Meiji Jingu for a park stroll, shrine visit, and food hunt. Explored the leafy wonders, then zipped toward Akihabara—hadn’t bought anything for the family yet, and electronics were apparently tax-free and a steal for tourists.
Did some aggressive roaming and wrangling in Akihabara shops, picked up a bunch of watches, and tried searching secondhand stores for a charging box for my Nothing Ear 2 buds (no luck, but solved it back in India, thats another story).
Someshop in Akihabara
Then, I wandered to Yanaka Ginza Street. Man, it was like an anime festival—adorable shops everywhere, a fair-like vibe, feeling all romantic (and single), tasting treats and loving every minute of it. Most shops were closing by then, and I even ended up being a day’s last customer somewhere.
The beauty of Yanaka Ginza
Evening rolled in, the sun set, I moved toward the nearest train station for more food (yes, always more food), and finally headed back to Narita Airport for the night.
Sunset that day 🙂
No room booked—arrived around 10 or 11 PM, but with a 4 AM wake-up for a 7 AM flight, it was pointless to find a hotel, drag my bag around, bunker down for three hours, then run back. So I quietly staked out a spot by a charging station, sat, and waited for daybreak. Ended up chatting with a group of Chinese travelers in a similar boat, napped, woke when my alarm rang, grabbed my bag from the locker, freshened up at a washroom, and joined the check-in crowd around 6. Cleared all formalities, unloaded bags, got through security, and boarded my plane.
All this time, I’d been complaining about how that last onsen wasn’t up to my expectations, but you know what? Yanaka Ginza totally stole the show—the sunset, the wandering, the food. That’s the Tokyo memory I’ll treasure. Reminiscing, I conked out on the flight and next thing I know, arrived in Vietnam.
Vietnam Airport
Enjoyed some good Vietnamese coffee at the airport and also bought an authentic coffee powder to make some at home, hung out at a Vietnam lounge (tested a card that promised global lounge access—hey, it worked!). After another flight, I landed in “Namma Bengaluru” with so many memories, so many stories that I would always cherish.
Landing in Bengaluru 🙂
By the way, I’m closing this chapter, savoring coffee brewed from a powder I carried home from Vietnam. Strange how it all began with tea— and somehow, it ends with coffee. It would be nice to have a date end like this 😛
While I was tense with all this, I thought to myself—I changed the train towards Shizuoka, the place I had to go to, and then further on to Yaizu. So, I checked and got in line, only to see a looooong queue to get to Shizuoka. Surprise, surprise! Usually, there are just a few people going anywhere, and half the seats in the unreserved car are empty. But not this time.
With hope still alive, I arrived at the platform and hopped on the train—only to find no seats left. So, I stood for about 40 minutes. Turns out, it was festival season and more people were heading to Tokyo, Hokkaido, and other far-off places. Some of those super busy trains pass through Shizuoka to reach Tokyo, and the one I was waiting for was one of them. So much for my usual quiet commute!
After 40 minutes of standing, I finally snagged a seat, sat down, and dozed off a bit until we reached Shizuoka. After a little wait, I got off and caught my next train to Yaizu. To my luck—or misfortune—it was a local train, and guess what? Rush hour again, so back to standing.
Meanwhile, I remembered Airbnb and checked the app to contact my host. Surprise! A message popped up from her, sent just an hour ago, asking when I’d arrive and where I was. I told her I’d be there in 30 minutes, and she asked me to message her when I was 10 minutes away. Of course, I did.
I reached the station thinking she’d help me catch a cab or bus to get to the place. Nope. She told me to wait 15 minutes, then showed up in one of those tiny kei trucks. I’d heard a YouTuber rant about how she wanted one and how these trucks are a menace on Japanese roads, but for me, riding in one felt oddly fascinating.
The infamous Kei Truck
We chatted along the way and finally arrived at this lovely place—it had a house, a small cemetery in front, and a beach about 800 meters away. I went inside, settled in, freshened up, and changed. By then, it was already 6 PM, and I asked the host about dinner. She said, “I’ll lend you a bicycle (bike), you can go to one of the nearby restaurants, eat, and come back.” I thought, why not? It’d been ages since I last rode a bike, so I started roaming around the town.
I changed the code afterwords 😀
This town is known for supplying the majority of tuna across Japan, and I saw loads of fishing boats—big and small—around the water and beaches. I wandered along the coast and caught a beautiful sunset—the sun all pinkish and huey. As it started to get dark (FYI, in Japan, it gets dark around 7:15-7:30 PM), I began searching for restaurants nearby.
Around Sunset :), Fortunately, I forgot to capture sunset and just viewed the sun set.
I found a place with pictures of karaoke and some music videos uploaded. Thought, “This might be fun,” and went in. Honestly, to this day, I don’t know the name of the place.
I parked my cycle outside and sat down. I asked—in English—if they served food. It just flew over their heads. Then, they said something I guessed meant they didn’t understand Japanese. Unveiling my secret weapon, the Google Translator, we started communicating. I got handed a menu, all in Japanese. I tried translating the texts via image but it wasn’t great, so I ordered something I thought was curry. Nope. Just grilled fish. Still, I was happy to be eating.
Bar Menu & food
People in the room started chatting with me. I remember one guy’s name, Micky—like Micky Mouse. We talked a lot about him, his life, and what he wanted to do. He was over 55. He wanted to settle in France for a while and was learning French. We even talked a bit about India and Pakistan. It was fun.
Me & Micky 🙂
Suddenly it struck me—we were having dinner, I’d eaten a bunch, and I had limited cash because I’d forgotten one of my purses in the room. Panic! What if they didn’t accept cards? It’s not like India where you can whip out PhonePe. After a bit of tension, one of the orders came from the kitchen, and I saw a sign on the wall: cards accepted. Phew! Relieved, I ate my dinner.
Then another couple joined us and gave small souvenirs for wine bottles. Chatter continued. Micky was such a nice guy that, to communicate better, he switched his phone language to Hindi. I can’t read Hindi fast and had long forgotten the alphabets. It was quite the pickle to switch it back to Japanese.
The bar owner was enthusiastic, too. When I talked about Indian dishes and how we commonly have rice with curry, she pulled out her own curry and asked which I liked better. Fun times.
By around 9 PM, I bade goodbye—but honestly wanted to stay longer. Even Micky suggested having sake together. I don’t drink, so I politely declined. We said goodbye, I took a photo with Micky, wanted to include everyone but was shy, and left after promising to come back. Just as I was about to ask for the bill, Micky insisted on paying it. After multiple refusals, I gave in and promised to return, learn Japanese, drink that sake with them, and came out. Somehow, this felt like a deep bond. Maybe it was the inner “luffy” in me wanting to return, connect more, and share stories again.
Entrance to the bar, where I made thomodachis ( Friends) :))
After coming back, I started riding the cycle, putting my map and phone in the front carrier. I rode for about five minutes, through mostly empty streets—no people, no vehicles, just me on the road. The main roads were still alright, but as I traveled further, after about 20 minutes or so, the streets became even more deserted. Streetlights grew sparse, and I wasn’t even sure if I was on the right path anymore. Sometimes it felt like I was crossing the same streets again and again. Inside, I wondered if I was about to become one of those foreigner-vanishing stories.
Then, just when I was doubting myself, I found a small bridge I’d crossed before—that was a relief. I pedaled for a few more minutes and reached my Airbnb. The host had to leave for another job but mentioned there was one more person staying there, though the door to his room was like a kid’s door. That piqued my interest. As she left for her night shift, I wondered—did she say that just to put me at ease? I quickly freshened up and slept.
Room before I slept off 🙂
Next morning, freshened up, I decided to visit the beach. Borrowed the cycle and rode there—it was so calming. The ride itself was fun, passing small shrines and temples. At the beach, many families were letting their kids swim. This was a swimming beach, with those four-legged, star-shaped concrete structures you see at Marine Drive in India, letting some water in so it was safe to swim.
Swimming Beach
Some folks were resting, listening to mellow music in huts by the shore. I went to check out a small concrete structure built to divert water flow. A person fishing nearby told me I could go to the end, and though I couldn’t see it then, Mount Fuji was to the left. I made it to the end, sat by the crashing waves, listened a while, then headed back toward the sand and stones.
Mount fuji from..faar far away, tucked in the fog 🙂
I scooted a bit more on the beach before returning the bike and heading back to my stay. Freshened up, went to a nearby breakfast spot, had some amazing food. The staff asked where I was from, and we had a nice chat. Then, back to the Airbnb, packed my bags, and walked to the station.
Food..food and more food 🙂
I took the train to Shizuoka. This time, I didn’t book ahead—I didn’t want to miss the train. At the station, I bought a ticket back to Tokyo, boarded, and started traveling. At Tokyo main station, I went to Shinjuku, had good food, then took a bus to Narita Airport—about 1.5 hours from where I was. I reached the airport at 4 PM.
Capsule hotel
I stayed at a capsule hotel in Narita Airport. Checked in—it was quite the experience. They gave me a robe, toiletries, earbuds, an eye patch—the works. I’d booked it for the experience. After freshening up, at about 5:30 PM, I had some time, so I decided to use it fully. I visited a huge nearby shrine, bought souvenirs, wandered around, then went to an onsen for one last soak. But it was too crowded, so the vibe wasn’t great. I thought, this isn’t a great way to end the trip. Anyway, I went back and got some sleep, setting an alarm at 5 AM for my 8 AM flight.
The shrine, I visited
The next day, I woke up, collected my luggage, and went to the airline check-in around 5:50–6 AM. Barely any staff around. I searched for my airline, checked my email—and something was off. The email asked me to check my flight from the layover point to India but didn’t mention the Japan layover leg, which was in Malaysia. Confused, I looked at the information screens—it said my flight was cancelled.
I stood frozen. What’s happening? How do I get home? What do I do now? How do I go back? How much would it cost me? Do I get a refund?
After a lot of contemplation, the train finally reached Hiroshima. After stepping out and walking for a bit, I found the JR Pass ticket counter, where a bunch of foreigners and tourists were lined up—just like me. I queued up, got my ticket changed so that instead of heading directly back to Shin-Osaka (where I would’ve taken a train to Osaka and reached my hotel), I’d detour to Onomichi station—changing a few stops along the way. My plan was to get to Shin-Osaka a bit late, around 8 or 8:30 PM, by way of Fukuyama after spending some time at Onomichi. With that sorted, I stashed all my luggage in a locker at Hiroshima station and made my way to the Peace Memorial Museum.
Once again, I had to rely on the bus. For some reason, figuring out buses in Japan (other than in Kyoto) was always a bit of a puzzle for me. I’d misread stops, couldn’t find the right platform—something always tripped me up. This time was no different: I just couldn’t spot the platform for the museum stop. Thankfully, a local stepped in to help. He was a bit confused too at first, but after asking around, managed to point me to the right bus and even put me on it.
What amazed me most was what he said next—he apologized for not figuring it out right away. I was just happy to be on the correct bus, but his sincerity struck me; he owed me nothing, yet he was so polite and genuinely helpful. I thanked him, wished him well, and got on my way.
Then I finally reached the museum. Stepping inside, the images of the nuclear bombing and its aftermath were just horrific to look at. There were photos and accounts of children, men, women—everyone affected, hurt or injured. What happened when Hiroshima was bombed was unimaginable. The trauma, the horror, the scale of suffering—none of it was for the faint hearted. Every image had a story. At times, it was children just playing before the bomb dropped and, after, they had vanished—vaporized in an instant. Even worse were the stories of those who weren’t right at the epicenter, but close enough to be hit with the radiation: many suffered painful, lasting injuries, their bodies damaged beyond healing. Some survived for years, enduring agony before eventually succumbing—it was a bloodbath of suffering and terror unleashed in a single moment.
Video of what happened when Atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima
One story that really stood out was that of Sadako Sasaki, a girl who was impacted by the bombing and developed leukemia. Hoping for a cure, she tried an old Japanese belief: folding 1000 origami cranes (折鶴 orizuru), in hopes her wish would be granted. She ended up making around 1300, but her classmates continued folding after she died, and eventually, the local government built a Children’s Peace Monument in her honor. This act of folding 1000 orizuru to wish for something is called 千羽鶴 (senbazuru). The park symbolizes peace and hope, and it helped fuel Hiroshima’s peace movement against nuclear power.
Over a Million Orizuru, can there be world peace now?
There were other accounts, too—people living 70–100 km away saw the dark pink cloud from a distance and even managed to capture photographs of the bomb. There were “before and after” images of many popular spots in Hiroshima, showing the city’s transformation.
Photo of Nuclear aftermath captured distance away from Hiroshima
Every problem is human made, can’t solutions be?
What struck me most, though, wasn’t just the devastation—it was the comeback story. Every time I feel down, I think of Hiroshima. The epicenter is now nothing more than a small stone marker with writing on it; if you didn’t read the plaque, you’d never know what happened. Today, you’ll find bustling restaurants, arcades, scenic spots to take in views of the city, and the museum, even at night. The city’s revival after a disaster is the ultimate proof of the human spirit: we have the capacity to create, to feel, to make music and art and meaning from tragedy. Hiroshima’s rebuilding is a testament to that. As a city that now draws tourists from around the world, it stands as a living monument—showing not only the impact of nuclear weapons but also our ability to outlast and overcome.
Hiroshima Today
Then I went to the orizuru tower, as the name suggests, one of the things in this tower is is a million orizuru made and dropped, in the side of the building which has glass covering, they are trying to create a world record creating these orizuru’s and also help and guide you on how to make one, there are screens displaying the instructions everywhere and then on the top of this floor is a building from where you get the view of entire peace memorial and the river and the building of bomb blast that was retained as it modifying a bit after the bomb blast as part of the memorial.
After wandering for food, I found out about a dish that was prepared often in Hiroshima after the bomb blast—when thousands of people needed to be fed with very limited resources. They made a dish using cabbage and whatever else was available; you could add oysters, egg, chicken—pretty much anything. That food is called okonomiyaki.
My share of okonomiyaki
After lunch, I headed back to the train station, picked up my luggage, and went to the platform. It felt nice to catch the train on time for the first time in Japan. Finally, sitting in my exact reserved seat instead of unreserved, I had this extra sense of relief and a wider smile on my face. Then I left for the Sengoku ropeway: I got off at the nearest train stop, and the bus stop was just outside the station—no confusion for once. I just waited a bit, boarded the bus, and although the driver didn’t understand much English, he nodded and made “ok” signs when I asked if it was going to the Sengoku ropeway. At each stop, I checked with him, and eventually recognized other tourists heading to the same destination who’d been sitting at the back—only then did we all start talking.
Climbing up Sengoku ropeway and some of my abysmal photography skills
View from the view point
I had booked our ropeway tickets prior only. While, later realized that the last ropeway down was just 40 minutes away. Wanting to explore more, even with a ticket, I took my time. With my big backpack on my back and one in front—about 25-30 kg total—I put them aside at the topmost viewing point, soaked in the views, took photos, browsed the shop on top, and slowly started descending.
Me slowly getting down from the peak point
On the way down, I found amazing things: small temples, little shrines, and a special spot where people write their wishes and attach lamp-like structures with glass, paper, and a small bell. When the wind blows, each bell creates a unique soothing sound. Sitting there, resting my back and laying down for a while made the weight of the bags vanish—it was pure relief.
For me, in that moment, it felt like I had made a discovery.
Next, I stumbled upon a “cat temple.” To know your fortune, you insert a coin and spin a wooden structure; it stops on a writing, so you read it, and then pick a “fortune” from temple boxes. No one guarded the money—visitors just contributed voluntarily, read their fortunes, and left. Such trust and automation seemed possible only in Japan.
My very first visit to a CAT temple
After that, I caught the bus and boarded the train to Fukuyama. Arriving early, I wanted to get to Osaka quickly since there wasn’t much else to do, so I took the unreserved car and reached Shin-Osaka, then the nearest Osaka station to my hotel.
A funny thing happened on the local train from Shin-Osaka to Osaka station: I offered my seat to an elderly man, even with all my luggage. He didn’t take it, which was very different from my Tokyo experience—there, when I offered a seat, a person thanked me profusely. This time, I was perplexed, and felt like, I had taken out of wall and put it on my feet. This is something, I’ll always laugh about in my head and thought will tell a few friends too. But soon noticed a lady nearby. I encouraged her to take the seat, and she did.
That evening, thanks to a recommendation from the hostel host, I had some of the best ramen I’ve ever tasted and settled in for the night, sleeping on a traditional futon in a compact Japanese-style room. The next morning, I got up, headed out 30 minutes away for a hearty breakfast, and then took the train to Osaka Castle. There’s quite a walk from the train or bus stop to the castle itself, and this time, a massive line—at least 400-500 people—was waiting to get in. At one point I considered giving up, but since I’d booked my ticket online, I was able to skip the queue; turns out the crowd was for offline tickets. Exploring all seven or eight floors of the historic castle was a lot of fun.
Osaka Castle
Afterwards, I visited the Museum of Housing and Living, which turned out to be even more fascinating than the castle. The museum showcases how homes and culture in Osaka changed over centuries, with interactive displays and curated setups that transport you to life in the city during the 1800s and 1900s. After so much walking, I’d built up quite an appetite. Luckily, the street below the museum was packed with food joints and hotels. With about 1.5 hours left before my train, I figured if I left within 30 minutes, I’d be alright.
Museum of Housing and Living
I wandered through the shops and finally found a spot selling donburi and other treats. At a cozy café, I tried some momos and a dessert that was a creamy pudding with soya, coconut, and more. I expected a small serving, but it arrived as a huge chunk. Every bite was so delicious, I lost track of time—sitting there, mesmerized by the taste. Only when I dropped my mobile did I realize how late it was: just 40 minutes to catch my train! I scarfed down the last bite, paid, and rushed out, telling myself, “I can still make it, I can still make it on time…”
If food could seduce you
I made it onto the train, got back to the hostel, grabbed my bags—and by then, there were only about 15 minutes left. I was pretty sure I’d miss my reserved coach, but I told myself not to stress and figured I could always just catch the next one. But instead of worrying about that, my mind was already racing ahead to the next challenge: figuring out how to reach this remote spot in Yaizu, which was at least 3 km from the station.
While moving, it struck me that all my communication with the host had happened through the Airbnb chat—no phone calls at all. The only message thread we’d had was me saying I’d arrive on a certain date at a certain time (which I’d already missed), and her acknowledging it—nothing more after that. What if I reached the location and it turned out to be nothing? What if the host wasn’t there, or had already left because I was late? All these thoughts began spinning in my head as the train sped towards Shin Osaka.
For those of you reading this for the first time, this is the third part in my series of blogs where I’m sharing all the twists, turns, and memories from my travel experiences across Japan. If you want to follow the journey from the beginning, you can start with my first blog here.
As I rushed toward the train, it pulled away just as I reached the platform. I stood there, sweaty and confused, when a Japanese station inspector approached. I explained my situation—how I had missed the train and wasn’t sure what to do next. He asked for details about which train I was supposed to catch, then calmly said there would be another train in 30 minutes that I could take.
Using a handheld device, he did something with my ticket, wrote a seat number on it, and assured me I could board the next train. When I later examined the ticket from the back, as I had mentioned previously, I noticed an “A” written manually in pen at the top—his notation to ensure I got into the first compartment. He even guided me on exactly how to use the modified ticket and where to sit.
Only later did I realize this wasn’t standard procedure. Typically, if you miss a reserved train, you can only board the unreserved coaches. But this kind station staff member went above and beyond, helping me access the reserved compartments even after missing my original train. His kindness made what could have been a stressful situation remarkably smooth.
Then, I enjoyed my first-ever high-speed train experience in Japan. The ride was incredibly smooth, and one thing that struck me was how spacious the seats in the ordinary cars were—comparable to the EC (Executive Class) section of the Vande Bharat train. However, the cost for an ordinary ticket in Japan was much higher than Vande Bharat’s EC class. In my case, the Japanese train ticket cost around ₹8,000, nearly three times the price of an EC seat on Vande Bharat. Of course, the trains in Japan also run much faster.
Another interesting difference is the onboard service. If you travel on Vande Bharat and opt for food, you’ll be served a steady stream of meal options: lunch, evening snacks, and more, and even a newspaper. So in a way both are unique and good in their own ways. The goal here isn’t to compare which is better, but to appreciate how each train system offers a distinctly unique experience. All in all, exploring both the Japanese and Indian high-speed train systems has been a memorable journey.
When I reached Kyoto, the hostel I had booked was very close to the metro station, something I had checked beforehand. I then went to the JR West counter to collect my Shinkansen pass, which I had booked in advance. This pass cost about 10,000 INR and covered travel between Hiroshima, Kyoto, Shin-Osaka, and several places in between for five days. The pass also included some extras like tickets to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial and Orizuru Tower, an origami-making class, a Senkoji Ropeway ticket, and even a 5% discount on a few Japanese clothing brands. I found this pass to be very useful—definitely worthwhile if anyone plans to travel in Japan.
How the Shinkansen, Hiroshima Kansai Pass looks like
After collecting the pass, I visited the information center to get additional items like the Tokyo city bus/train pass and to gather more useful information. It was impressive—they handed me a well-prepared booklet along with the bus pass. The staff explained that the pass was day-based in Kyoto, unlike in Tokyo where it lasts 24 hours from the time of first use. She was very considerate, and I thanked her warmly for the detailed explanation.
Since it was already evening by the time I reached Kyoto, she also advised me to pay for individual bus rides if I only planned to take one or two rides that day. The cost would be just one-fifth of the pass price. This helpful gesture made a big difference, and I was very grateful for her thorough guidance.
Then I headed to the hostel and laughed to myself, surprised to find it nearly empty at that time. There was only one other tourist there, quietly reading a book. She kindly helped me open the door and explained the stay instructions. Apparently, there wasn’t much to do; along with the key, there was a paper note telling me which room to go to and which bed to use—it felt a bit funny. She simply said, “You can just walk in and out as you please, there isn’t much more.” The hostel staff might eventually contact me about a small daily tax of around 200 yen levied in Tokyo.
We had a fun chat and exchanged where we were from. I asked her for some travel advice on places to visit around Kyoto. Then, I unpacked my bag, freshened up, and headed out to Nishiki Market to try some local delicacies. A friend had advised me to visit early, before 6 PM, since most stalls start closing by 7. So I left around 5 to 5:15 PM and reached the market before 6.
Instead of taking the bus, I walked slowly so I could soak in the streets and atmosphere of Kyoto. When I finally arrived at the market, I sampled a variety of foods—octopus, donburi, yaki dango, takoyaki, and several other dishes whose names I can’t quite recall. It was a feast, and even though I was solo, I had a great time.
On the way to Nishiki Market
Though Japan is often seen as antisocial, this particular spot was lively and fun. It felt like a pirate buffet where many pirates were enjoying sake, food, and good times. The music was drowned out by lively chatter, but overall, it was an unforgettable experience
The pirate buffet like place I was talking about
Then I realized that I had limited time left in Tokyo, so around 7 PM I set out to visit some of the city’s monuments and shrines. Even though my friend had suggested I should only pick one place for the evening—since I’d probably arrive late—I wasn’t sure what would still be open or if there would be anything left to see. But instead of just lying around in the hostel, I figured it was better to get out and explore.
Somewhere in Kyoto
If you know Kyoto, you’ll recognize that Nishiki Market is on one end, while Fushimi Inari and several other shrines are at completely different locations. My plan for the day was simple: stroll through the city, no excuses.
Additional ornaments( lazer) to make the city look even more beautiful
When I got to Fushimi Inari, I found it was closed—probably just for the evening—but the view was still incredible. The entire pathway was lit up with a green laser-like glow, making the walkways look magical and almost straight out of a Naruto anime. For a moment, it felt like if I’d stayed long enough, I might’ve spotted Itachi popping out from behind one of the glowing light poles.
I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Afterward, I wandered across some small river bridges and visited a few more shrines. All in all, the night was unexpectedly eventful and memorable.
Bridge in kyoto that I passed through
At times, the paths—even though they felt straight out of an anime—were pretty eerie, since there was no one else around. The city really does shut down by 7 PM; there were no people, nothing happening, and no shops open near the famous shrine areas. I guess it was beautiful because it was empty, it was absolutely worth it.
If you know me, you’ll know I always pack ultra-light—just enough clothes for a few days. That meant I needed to wash and dry my clothes, and luckily the hostel had a washing machine and there was a dryer close by. I had planned to visit the ‘Thousand Torii Gates’ the next day, but by the time I got back, ate, and finished laundry, it was already 11 PM. So I decided to switch things up, get some good rest, and maybe visit the gates another day. I shuffled my plans a bit and called it a night.
The next morning, I wandered through some streets of Gion, though I didn’t spot any geisha. That wasn’t really the goal—I just wanted to see the streets and soak in the atmosphere. I was fascinated by the different architectural styles and the way homes were built. The concept of private roads was entirely new to me and felt quite unique. These private roads in Kyoto are narrow lanes owned and managed by residents, temples, and merchants, serving as exclusive pathways leading to homes, geisha residences, and traditional tea houses. Due to overtourism and some misbehavior by tourists in these narrow alleys, access to these private roads is now restricted, with hefty fines ranging from 10,000 to 30,000 yen for trespassing. Historically, aristocrats, temples, and merchants owned and maintained private roads, a tradition still preserved today. The reasons for limiting access may evolve, but what deserves privacy often remains private.
streets of Gion
Following that, I visited Yasaka Shrine, which was beautiful as expected. Like many shrines in Japan, it had ema—wooden plaques where visitors write their wishes or prayers to ward off evil or seek blessings. This was something new for me and I found the concept quite intriguing. There’s something about the act of writing down your hopes or struggles that makes you feel like you’re seeking support or guidance, almost as if someone—or something—is there to help lighten your worries. The process seems to create a subtle clarity, as saying things out loud can be powerful, but writing them down always brings a deeper sense of understanding and relief.
In and around Yasaka Shrine
After multiple train confusions, switches, and finally spotting the right station, I made my way to the Hozugawa River boat ride. The water levels weren’t particularly high, and it wasn’t cherry blossom season—so there wasn’t any pink blanketing the scenery—but the lush greenery was breathtaking. The rowers were fantastic, full of stories about the river, which itself boasts a rich history spanning over 1,200 years as a vital waterway for timber and goods that helped build temples and castles in Kyoto and beyond. Their boat-handling skills were impressive and often playful, using poles to maneuver away from rocks—a tradition that’s been passed down through generations. Even when the commentary slipped into Japanese, I picked up anime-style expressions like “oooooh” and “sugoi”—it was a boat full of Japanese locals, a couple of Chinese tourists, and me soaking in the scene.
Rowing technique and group I travelled with
Some comedic gag by the rowers to keep us engaged
Since it was summer and quite hot, the crew handed out special cooling packs; you had to smash the packets to activate them—something I would have botched if not for the person beside me explaining how it worked. Midway through the two-hour ride, I assumed we’d end up where we started and I’d catch a train to the next spot. But to my surprise, the tour docked in Arashiyama, right where I wanted to go. This was like a dessert you get after a good dinner, sometimes life surprises and my ignorance make the combination people can only dream of.
It’s funny—when you hear something like Yama in an Indian context, it doesn’t usually bring positive vibes (for context: Yama is the god of death who comes to collect your soul if you’ve sinned). But Arashiyama was so stunning, it almost felt sinful not to visit. I strolled along the river, crossed bridges, and found some of the cutest and most captivating cafes along the way, all leading me to Tenryu-ji Temple.
The temple was beautiful, and honestly, visiting Tenryu-ji felt like my time in Arashiyama was just getting started. I made my way to the Sogenchi (Sogen Pond) Garden—an incredible treasure that happens to be both a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the first place in Japan ever designated as a Special Place of Scenic Beauty. Originally designed nearly 700 years ago by Zen master Muso Soseki, the garden is the perfect example of “borrowed beauty”: it harmoniously blends with the backdrop of the surrounding Arashiyama mountains, so the scenery never feels limited or contained.
In and around the Tenryu-ji temple
Sogen Pond
Every photo came out spectacular, but the real magic was in pausing to enjoy the stillness, the shifting light, and the calm, clear reflections on the pond’s surface. Walking along the quiet paths, it’s easy to see why this place is revered—nature and artistic design flow together seamlessly, creating a sense of peace that’s hard to describe. There’s even a wishing pond with a frog sculpture filled with coins: if you toss a coin and manage to land it on the base of the frog or right spot, your wish is said to come true. It took me six tries, but I finally made it—just another small moment of joy in a day full of them.
Frog that grants wishes 😛
Then the garden gave way to the famous Bamboo Forest—a truly stunning spot and the perfect place to enjoy some quiet time. Since it was summer and a weekday, the forest wasn’t crowded at all. Wandering beneath the tall bamboo, I found it peaceful and fun, but mid-way I somehow lost my way, ended up near some local houses, and, after messing around with maps, stumbled upon a café literally called “the most beautiful cafe in Kyoto.
You decide 😀
Afterward, I strolled around a bit more and came across several shelter points designated for earthquakes, and calamities. Apparently, since Japan receives such a high number of tourists (over 10 million annually, with the figure only increasing), places like Arashiyama serve as refuge spots in case of calamities. It was nice, how well-prepared the area is, blending scenic beauty with safety for all who visit.
Somewhere I wandered off to Arashiyama
After that, I grabbed more food at a few cafes and eventually wandered over to the renowned Katsura River and the iconic Togetsukyo Bridge. There are stone seats along the riverbank, so I just sat there for a while, watching the river, the fish, and people passing by. With some old Hindi music playing in my ears, it was incredibly calm and peaceful.
That’s when I realized one of the drinks in my bag had spilled everywhere. In Japan, finding a dustbin is a bit of an adventure itself, but after rummaging through my bag I magically found a single plastic bag that hadn’t gotten wet—so I cleaned everything up, separated my things, and sorted out the mess as best I could.
I almost missed the sunset because of the spillage fiasco, but made it back in time to catch the sky changing colors over the bridge. It was a beautiful moment—watching big fish swimming, runners doing laps along the path, and just soaking in the lively energy of the area. There seemed to be so many runners that evening, adding to the buzz around me.
Later, it was time for my first onsen (hot spring) experience in Japan. Honestly, this felt like an anime moment come to life—something I’d always imagined: lying back on warm stones, gazing up at the sky, soaking in the moonlight and stars. I hadn’t realized you have to be completely unclothed in an onsen, I mean completely—with just your skin and you—which was definitely a cultural surprise!
I fumbled with towels and, seeing my unease, a local stepped in to explain the process: first, you wash thoroughly before stepping into the hot spring. The onsen had both artificial baths, where salts were added, and natural baths, fed by mineral-rich spring water. By the time I got the hang of things, almost no one else was left in the bathhouse, so I found myself in a moment of private relaxation under the nighttime sky—just absorbing the warmth, minerals, and letting everything slow down.
The moon that day 🙂
It was the perfect way to unwind after a day full of wandering, mishaps, and fun moments in Arashiyama. Afterward, I walked back to the train station—about 2 or 3 kilometers—and quickly realized there was almost no one around. I started looking for people just to ask if trains were still running at this hour, but hope arrived in the form of a distant headlight: a train approaching in the dark. I checked the signboard too—it was still on—so I hopped on. It was just me and the driver. I confirmed with him that the train was headed where I needed, and eventually made it to the stop near my hostel.
Train on the way back
As I walked the last bit to the hostel, I met a fellow traveler who was planning to climb Mount Fuji. Since I’d already done it, we swapped stories—he had arranged his trip with impressive precision, staying just 20 minutes from the sunrise spot, and planned to stay a few days to catch that perfect sunrise. I was genuinely impressed with his preparation and then finally called it a night, eager to get some rest.
My alarm was set for 3:45 AM. I wanted to catch the sunrise at Fushimi Inari-taisha, so I decided I’d just run there—no luggage, just my casual shoes and a small backpack. I started running through the quiet streets and reached the torii gates in about 30 minutes, even though the maps said it should’ve taken 50 on foot. That early, Fushimi Inari felt almost empty.
The first Tori Gate
But I soon realized that to catch the sunrise, I’d have to pass through thousands of torii gates, all the way to the top. It felt almost impossible in the dawn gloom, but I ran as fast as I could. A couple of times I thought I’d found the sunrise viewpoint—pretty city views, but not quite the spot. So, I ran even harder, occasionally asking the other early risers if I was going the right way. Vending machines were my salvation: I tried nearly every drink available to keep myself hydrated, pushing through dehydration and soaked in sweat.
Where is the final Gate?
Finally, I got a decent glimpse of the sun—it had already risen, but the view was still spectacular, even if I hadn’t quite made it to the summit in time. I figured—next time, I’ll get it right.
What I could capture from what I saw 🙂
Glancing at my watch, I realized I had to hurry back to the hostel. The morning train was at 10 AM and it was already 8:30 by the time I got down. I caught the train, then hopped on a bus to the hostel. Quick shower, quick change—I looked set to be on time for once.
But as I left the hostel with a comfy 40-minute buffer for the station, the inevitable travel curveball hit me: halfway there, I remembered I’d left my watch in the washroom. I got off the bus, walked all the way back with my bags, then caught another bus back to the station—arriving just three minutes before departure. My water bottle fell and broke right at the train gate. I fumbled with my train pass, which started throwing up an error. I stepped aside to ask for help, and in that short window, my train left.
There was no time for disappointment. I switched trains, changed at the next stop, and finally found myself on a train to Hiroshima. As I settled in, I started planning—what should I do in Hiroshima? Maybe visit the museum for some history, check out the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, orizuru tower, maybe grab some lunch? Most of the sights were pretty far apart, and since I’d already booked a ticket back to Osaka for the evening, I needed to use my time wisely.
I remembered I had a pass for the Sengoku ropeway, so I considered if I could tweak my plans—thanks to the Kansai pass, which made traveling around Hiroshima and the whole western region a lot easier. I also thought about trying an onsen experience near the museum, which was just a few minutes away. But with limited time, every choice counted. The Sengoku ropeway was pretty far off—about an hour and twenty minutes away—while the onsen sounded much more manageable, practically right next to the museum. So there I was, mid-way in contemplation, weighing my options and trying to figure out how to make the most out of the hours I had in Hiroshima.
I made two to three rounds around Shibuya Station, trying different directions but ending up exactly where I started. At that point, I wasn’t even sure of my own mind. I found myself wondering: Was I walking more than I would have to trek on Mount Fuji? Could this be the irony of my life—completing the distance of Mount Fuji just by wandering around Shibuya Station?
Then something clicked in my mind, and I just thought, “What’s the next station? Let me just go there.” I figured I could probably collect my luggage from there instead of Shibuya, which is more central and on the way to where I was staying next. So, I headed to Shinjuku, still carrying all that stuff. By this point, I was completely sweaty and even hesitant to get on the train or ask anyone any questions because I wasn’t sure what they might be thinking about me—I didn’t want to scare or agitate anyone.
When I got on the train, I was confused if it was the right one. As the train started moving, I asked a stranger, “Is this going to Shinjuku?” I really didn’t want to travel any further with those heavy bags. He said yes, and I felt relieved.
Then, from a distance, I saw some big white boxes that I couldn’t quite make out. As I got closer, I realized they were lockers. I just had to place my stuff in one. Maybe because I was nervous or already tense, I lost my patience trying to find the translation option for the instructions. All the lockers I’d seen in Japan so far were self-check-in and check-out. Considering my condition and also how sparse the crowd was, I hesitated to ask for help, but after trying 3-4 times, I mustered enough courage to ask a lady walking by. She kindly showed me everything—how to open the locker, etc. It turned out there was a translate button available, but I simply couldn’t find it earlier.
Then, I wanted to load some money onto my Suica card, which turned out to be a puzzle because the direct card-to-Suica option wasn’t available at the station at that time. So, I withdrew some cash and loaded it manually. Again, the JR West/East team at Shinjuku Station helped me through the whole process.
After that, I went to the bus station, got my ticket to Kawaguchiko, boarded the bus, and started heading toward Kawaguchiko Station. When I got off at Kawaguchiko, I found a line to catch a particular bus. I thought, “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded. Why is this happening? Maybe it’s just the time of day and being Sunday with so much rush.”
Finally, after waiting for 10-15 minutes, I boarded the bus. A person sitting next to me started telling me about a crazy roller coaster available just before the Mount Fuji Subaru 5th Station. Maybe it’s something I could try next time—if I’m ever here again.
Mount Fuji View from the 5th station, the starting point of the trek
Finally, I reached the 5th Station and visited a shop that had sticks for the iron burn stamps. Nearby, there were some cafes, and one interesting find was a café that served Mount Fuji-shaped pancakes. When you leave the café, it’s as if you’ve eaten Mount Fuji itself—you’re ready to climb Fuji-san.
Also, they had these small remote devices that beep when your food is ready, and the number on them showed how long you were in the queue. This is common in crowded Japanese restaurants, but for me, it was my first time seeing it.
After completing the initial formalities, I received the climbing permit band. The person issuing it was from Nepal, and we chatted briefly about treks in Nepal, which ones I had done, and where he was from—a bit of small talk before the climb.
Entrance to climb Mount Fuji
If you register online for the pass, you receive this as a token of appreciation—a wooden souvenir. Rest of the things are bought by me XD
The wooden stick on which you get Iron clad stamps
Then, I started climbing the mountain around 12:40 PM. Surprisingly, I was worried for nothing since the cutoff time to start was 2 PM. Along the way, I met a variety of people—many Chinese visitors from nearby prefectures like Saitama, as well as people from Denmark, Malaysia, Sweden, the US, and many other places. ( It’s true there is over tourism in Japan :”) )While talking and engaging with them, I reached near the 7th Station in good spirits—not too tired despite the earlier locker saga, especially since I had eaten, somehow fueled by the Mount Fuji pancake, I was all right.
Somewhere in the trail 🙂
Some refreshing music when climbing
The trail itself was quite something, and the people I met were even more amazing. Along the way, I met someone from the same security domain I was in at work. He was attending an expo in Osaka and had come for that. His name was Ose. I mentioned to him that I might try to catch the sunset if I reached the hut I had booked early enough, then start the summit climb the next morning.
Finally, I reached my hut around 3 PM, and dinner plus the next day’s breakfast was scheduled for an hour later. This might surprise you, but this is how it works there: they provide packaged food that can last for days for breakfast, and something hot for dinner, which you have around 4 or 5 PM. This system is designed considering that many people stay in these huts, and the limited space has to be used efficiently 4-5 times to ensure everyone is fed. Life up there is tough—you have to get all the materials up, cook, and manage everything. Given the constraints of being in the mountains, I believe they are doing the best they can.
What the sleeping room/space looked like in the hut
Then, I thought I’d try to sleep for a bit but couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned for about two hours. Since the sleeping areas have only thin wooden partitions and are pretty open, I could hear other people—when they planned to sleep, if they spoke English, or otherwise it was mostly gibberish to me.
I then took out some food and dry fruits I had packed for the trek, hoping I could nibble a bit, stay awake a little longer, and maybe get some sleep afterward—but nothing worked. I took some photos instead. Around 7 PM, everyone came outside to take pictures as the natural scenery was so breathtaking, it felt like we had somehow gained access to Earth Premium—something no camera could ever do justice to.
Then, I went back and tried sleeping, but still couldn’t fall asleep. I came out a couple of times—at 9, at 10—and still had no sleep. I even started talking to the hosts of the hut, thinking it might help me relax, but nothing worked. So, around midnight, I thought I might as well climb to the top and maybe get some rest up there. At the same time, someone mentioned that it would take about 3 to 4 hours to reach the summit. I packed everything and started climbing.
Trails at night around 1.30- 2 AM
Ah! I thought it would take much longer, but I reached near the summit around 2 AM with two college students from Saitama. I then climbed for about 10 more minutes to the summit while they waited below. I was the first person that day to reach the summit.
Climbing solo for the first person to be on Summit that day, believe me its not flex but just a way to comfort myself so I don’t feel sad :”)
Now, I was looking for a place to sleep while setting an alarm for 4:45 AM, as the sunrise was scheduled for 5 AM. I tried sleeping on the stone benches at the top, on wooden benches, and even beside the statue—but still couldn’t fall asleep. This time, it wasn’t just restlessness; the cold wind was rushing through, making it impossible to sleep.
One surprising thing I saw was a Swedish couple who had brought a tent and set it up to sleep for a while. I thought to myself, “Next time, I need to be better prepared for this.” What a cool place to sleep and wake up to a sunrise!
There were also many people wrapped in aluminum foil-like blankets to keep warm. They were mostly Japanese. I’m not sure what it was exactly, but it seemed like something popular in Japan.
Then, after about an hour of walking and observing, I stopped and made my way to a stone hut nearby, standing in a spot sheltered from the cold wind. I stood there for about 20 minutes when another person came in—I don’t remember his name now (I’m terrible at remembering names; you’d know this if you were my friend). But the conversation we had is one of the best I remember. It wasn’t particularly inspiring or funny, but for me, it was eye-opening.
We talked a lot—about what he did, what I did, where he was from, and countless other things. I mentioned my obsession with getting eight hours of sleep but how I hadn’t been able to sleep properly since arriving. Then he said one thing that stuck with me: adrenaline. He said, “If you can keep your adrenaline under control, you’ll fall asleep faster and sleep better.” That was an eye-opener for me. I realized if I could just calm down a bit, not get too excited about the places I was going to visit or the things I wanted to do, I wouldn’t overthink everything and could fall asleep more easily.
After that day, I slept well almost every night—except for a few days when I intentionally cut my sleep short to visit places.
The funniest thing was that the sunrise that day wasn’t clear—we didn’t see the sun at all. People made noise whenever they saw even a tiny bit of redness in the sky. It reminded me of a quote a guide once told me during the summit of the Kedar Kantha trek in India:
“On summit day, Hum samajhte hai ham kisi tirtha yatra par ja rahe hai, par vo nikalta hai jatra.”
Meaning, when we go climbing popular mountains, we think we are on some sort of pilgrimage, but it turns out to be just a crowd of people.
This rang true at Mount Fuji in many ways. It was considered a pilgrimage journey a long time ago, and the crowds are immense. You can see in the images below that there wasn’t even time to take pictures.
The descent was crazy. I was sleepless, tired, and just wanted to get it done. If I could roll down like a panda and sustain minimal injuries, I was open to that option because of my lack of sleep. I started the descent around 6 AM and was already down by about 8:15. That’s how badly I wanted to sleep.
From Mount Fuji 5th Station, I took the tourist bus to Kawaguchiko, then back to Shinjuku. I slept through the entire journey, and the relief I felt waking up from that bus nap was indescribable and deeply satisfying.
After getting my bag from Shinjuku, I went to the hostel where I was staying. Check-in was late, so I just put my bag in storage and headed back towards Shibuya. I had booked a ticket for Shibuya Sky that day, so after lunch at a nearby ramen shop, I went there. Shibuya Sky was amazing—one of the activities I was eager to try. The photographs, views and the gift shop were impressive. I bought a lot of stuff from the gift shop thinking I’d gift some items, but ended up using some myself, like the Sakura tea bags.
Me in famous Shibuya sky picture spot
Tokyo from Shibuya sky
Then I wandered around Shibuya and nearby areas. By accident, I found those famous transparent toilets that had received so much praise. I had dinner at one of the most amazing ramen places in Shibuya—it was the best ramen I’ve had to date. After a little nighttime roaming & shopping I headed back to the hotel where I was staying.
Best Ramen of My Life 🙂
I freshened up but had no clue about what to visit the next day. I said hello to the hostel host, and she suggested Akasaka, Kappabashi, and Akihabara. She also advised visiting just one area since my next train was booked for around 1 PM, so I might not have enough time to fully explore everything.
However, I thought I could see all three. So, I went to Akasaka, then Kappabashi where I had some food, and finally to Akihabara. I roamed a bit in Akihabara and lost a lot of time and track of time too.
Asakusa shrine
Waterfall inside the Asakusa Area
Kappa bashi street
That was my exact reacting seeing Akihabara
I started searching for a way to reach my hostel. The map showed it was about 20 minutes away, but I had to get to a nearby station first. I hurried toward it, hoping to make it on time.
There were two metro entrances close by, so I ran over and asked a guy waiting there, “Which entrance leads to Akasaka-Mitsuke Station?” He looked at me, shook his head slightly, and said something in Japanese I didn’t understand. I went inside one entrance, checked around, then came back out and tried the other—but neither seemed right.
After about 10 minutes of wandering around, it finally hit me—what I was looking at was actually a bus stop, not a metro station.
Now, I wasn’t sure how accurate the bus schedule was, so I hurriedly checked the map again to see how far the hostel was from here. It was just a 22-minute walk, so I started running toward my hostel, hoping to make it before my train departure. I managed to get there in 15 minutes.
With only 25 minutes left on the clock, I thought taking the metro might be risky, so I decided to try a taxi. I told the hostel host, and she arranged one for me. The wait time was seven minutes, and during all the back and forth, I lost another 7-8 minutes.
When the taxi arrived, I urged the driver, “Can you hurry? My train leaves in 10 minutes from Tokyo Station.” He just shook his head and said, “mudi”—meaning “not possible.” I sighed and sank into the surprisingly comfortable seat. It had adjustable backrests and iPads for entertainment—quite the luxury amid my rush. Still, he said it would take around seven minutes to reach Tokyo Station. And the price—oh my god—it was around 1.6K INR. Damn, taxis in Tokyo are costly! With that much, I could make two round trips to the airport in Bengaluru, which is 60 kilometers away.
Crazy Cab experience
Now, with just three minutes left, I had no idea where to go. Suddenly, a random guy nearby noticed my confusion. I showed him my ticket, and without hesitation, he grabbed my arm and said, “Run!” We darted through passageways and crowds, finally reaching the ticket gate where I had to insert my ticket. “Climb the stairs and go!” he urged.
In my mind, I thought, “This is incredible—I’m actually going to make it on time.” And with that hope pushing me forward, I sprinted toward the train.
What do you think? I got into the train I had booked?
I’ve just finished the second-to-last sachet of Sweet Sakura Tea that I brought back from Japan, and now only one remains. I remember buying it at Shibuya Sky, initially thinking it might make a good gift for any of my friends. When I returned home, I just took one sachet to see what it tastes like and now I am the second last sachet. That’s the thing about there is no better gift than the self gift.
The Sakura teabag box
This reminds me of a lot of things from this incredible trip I have had so I thought why not write it down, the only way to make it stay beyond my stay on this planet right? Also, I find myself wanting to share some of these experiences with you, because sometimes the best way to honor a beautiful trip is to let others glimpse the magic that happened.
So here it goes—let me tell you about my adventure in Japan…
Mostly Mount Fuji from the flight or some other mountain on the way to Japan
This trip wasn’t even supposed to be to Japan—it was planned for somewhere else but got cancelled. It was meant to be birthday travel, the idea of spending the 29th, the first day of my new year, in another country. I had already taken leave for about 8-9 days, including weekends and everything. So, I turned to the best source for booking flights—the OG Google Flights, in incognito mode. There were plenty of options within my budget, but I wasn’t sure some of them were safe. Then came the silver lining—traveling to Japan was way cheaper than I expected. I started thinking, why haven’t I tried this before if it was this affordable? I was still contemplating, so I closed the window, asked a few friends if they were interested, and came back to search again the next day.
The next day, reality hit – those dirt-cheap flights came with a catch. Multiple layovers, bizarre departure times, hopping between countries like a ping-pong ball, and zero cancellation options. However, I didn’t have much time to spend on the trip, nor did I have the appetite for that kind of risk on my first solo international journey. So when I searched for a few more options, the cost had suddenly increased by 40%, but the tickets were cancellable and the price seemed manageable. I thought, let me just go ahead and book. I have been a fan of Japanese culture and a huge Anime fan.
Then came the whole visa process. I researched extensively, created my VFS account, and reached out to a mutual friend who’d been to Japan last year. He mentioned he got his visa without using any agency or third-party site, so I decided to do the same. I gathered all the necessary documents and even went to the bank myself to get an attested statement—for the first time since I opened my account. About 10 days before the trip, on a Friday morning, I nervously approached HR with my last-minute request. Miraculously, they had my back, and the NOC was ready the same day. My chaotic planning was saved by incredibly supportive colleagues.
As I continued searching for visa application details, the YouTube algorithm caught on, and my feed was flooded with Japan content. That’s when my mindset shifted—from “if I get the visa, I’ll go” to “oh, I really want to visit this country now; I just hope the visa doesn’t get cancelled.”
I had done everything digitally, and now it was time for the actual visit to the VFS center. I arrived 15 minutes early, feeling ready and prepared. Then came the question that made my heart sink: “Appointment letter?” “What appointment letter?” I asked, feeling like I’d just failed at step one of the entire process.
Scrolling through my emails while the staff waited patiently, I finally found the digital copy buried deep in my inbox and went inside.
I’d booked everything with cancellable options—flights, hotels, the works. The first week flew by as I obsessively planned every itinerary detail. But no visa. Monday the 30th came and went. Still nothing. Tuesday brought more disappointment. Now, with just 4 days left before the flight, I had only 2 days to cancel my bookings. To make matters worse, hotels began cancelling on me for non-payment—I had decided to pay only after visa approval, which seemed logical at the time. Hope was slipping away fast.
Finally the next day, at 7 in the morning, the doorbell rang. A delivery person stood there holding a package, with “wrong address” scribbled on it. My heart sank—had I messed up the address? Was this a rejection notice?
It turned out the delivery person had simply written “wrong address” after I missed his call—my phone was on silent. Inside that package was my approved Japanese visa. Finally, a sigh of relief. For two days, I hadn’t received the visa, and I thought it might have been rejected, so I stopped planning. Why spend time on something without any certainty? I decided to wait and plan at the last moment, like I always do.
With the visa in hand, I had to speed up and do in 24-36 hours what I should have done over the last 4-5 days. I started arranging and planning—Japanese yen ordered for home delivery—check. Zero forex cards activated—check. And numerous other tasks checked off. In the end, I decided not to stress: I just needed my wallet with cards, passport, Japanese cash, and mobile phone. Everything else could be figured out or bought there.
I hadn’t booked any activities, and it had completely slipped my mind. So, on the evening of July 3rd, I was booking activities for my second and third days in Japan while simultaneously trying to pack. Time slipped away, and before I knew it, I was still stuffing things into my suitcase at 2:30 AM. Sleep finally came around 3 AM.
I had set my alarm for 11:30 AM, giving myself enough time before my 3 PM international flight. But what actually happened? I jolted awake at 10:30 AM, caught between panic and excitement. I ended up ordering a bunch of stuff from multiple 10-minute delivery apps, convinced I had everything—only to realize later I’d left some items at home, forgetting to pack them in the cab.
I reached the airport at 1:15 PM. After check-in, security, and immigration, everything went surprisingly smoothly. I even had time for lunch in the lounge before heading to the boarding area.
I had taken up a challenge to walk ~2 km every day. So in Delhi, I completed my 2 km walk while checking flight info—and realized the flight was delayed by 2 hours. Two hours lost in Japan before I’d even left India. I was a little annoyed since I only had 9 days to explore.
I’d booked economy premium seats with extra legroom, hoping to catch some sleep. But the excitement of finally heading to Japan, combined with my complete inability to sleep in airplane seats, meant I didn’t get even an hour of rest. Eight hours later, bleary-eyed but buzzing with anticipation, I touched down at Tokyo Haneda Airport.
Picture taken from the flight at landing
At Haneda, I joined the immigration queue armed with a secret weapon—hours of YouTube research. It taught me about Japan’s QR-based immigration system, which helped me avoid manual verification and breeze through quickly.
My first mission at Haneda was to acquire the legendary Suica card, which is basically like any digital wallet in India but in the form of a physical card. With the help of a kind Japanese person standing behind me, I quickly purchased the card. You can use this card anywhere—in the metro, convenience stores, and pretty much everywhere.
What struck me was how effortless everything felt. Loading money onto the Suica card—whether with cash or my forex card—was intuitive, even with the language barrier. The system just… worked.
It reminded me of Bangalore’s metro cards, but with one key difference. Back home, fare discounts encouraged card use—a smart incentive to boost digital adoption. The Suica offered no discounts, just pure convenience.
That got me thinking: maybe that’s the natural evolution of digital payment systems. When adoption is low, incentives help. When it’s widespread, convenience alone is enough. India is already blazing ahead with digital payments—perhaps we’re only a few years away from dropping those incentives. Though knowing us, we might leapfrog right past cards to something even more seamless.
Now, I had no idea how to get to my hotel, so I spotted what looked like an information center—but I wasn’t entirely sure. When I approached the counter, I found out the staff member was actually selling bus tickets, not providing general information. Despite that, she was incredibly kind and went above and beyond to help me. She opened a map, showed me exactly where I was, and laid out the entire route, including where to change trains. She even drew the whole journey on the map itself.
In my excitement, I accidentally took one of the airport luggage carts way farther than I should have. For a moment, I panicked, worried I might be breaking some law on my very first day in Japan! I quickly returned the cart to its proper place and caught my train.
The trip to my hotel near Shibuya took about an hour and a half. Friendly strangers on the train helped confirm I was getting off at the right stops. After reaching Shibuya, I walked another 1.5 kilometers to my hotel.
Since hotel check-in wasn’t until later, I decided to visit TeamLab Planets—something I’d seen countless videos about and feared I might miss due to my delayed flight. Fortunately, I arrived just in time, and the experience was absolutely incredible.
The optical illusions felt otherworldly. The flow and design of the entire exhibition were stunning—featuring a water world, a forest section, and several other themed areas. The use of glass crystals and various elements created beautiful illusions that made the visit completely worthwhile. Below are some photos for you to see above.
After TeamLab, hunger struck—I hadn’t eaten anything substantial since a sandwich and coffee earlier that morning at the airport. I searched for nearby restaurants and decided to play it safe by choosing a vegetarian-friendly place.
When I entered, I noticed a small bell at the entrance that rang whenever the door opened or closed. It reminded me of something I’d read in the Japanese novel Before the Coffee Gets Cold (translated into English). As a fan, it was a wonderful moment—I couldn’t help but wonder if the author had taken inspiration from real restaurants like this.
The bell at the entrance
This place served the best tofu I’ve ever had, and the food overall was amazing—totally worth the walk. My mind was already buzzing, thinking, “Now the fun begins.”
Restaurant where I had the Amazing Tofu
After exploring Shibuya and shopping for my planned Mount Fuji trek the next day, I finally checked into my hotel. With my birthday approaching, the hotel staff kindly surprised me with a complimentary drink—actually two drinks: one for all guests and an extra one to celebrate my birthday.
And now I started to realize why Japanese people are so healthy—they walk a lot. I had to walk from the hotel to the metro, back and forth, then from the metro to TeamLab, the restaurant or café, and so on. Most places were at least a kilometer away. Just for your information, here’s how many steps I walked on my first day.
That night, I couldn’t sleep properly—half due to excitement, and half because my body hadn’t yet adjusted to the time difference.
I woke up at 7 AM, having bathed the previous evening to avoid rushing in the morning. By 8 AM, I was searching for the luggage locker I had booked through an app. My plan was to store most of the items I wouldn’t need for the Mount Fuji trek in the locker and carry only a small bag for the trek.
The first location turned out to be a 7-Eleven. I honestly thought these 24/7 stores might have lockers, but when I checked inside—no luck. I canceled that booking and found another location, but when I arrived, it wasn’t open yet. I had confused it with a neighboring shop, and a helpful shopkeeper kindly clarified the situation.
On this locker search saga, I had already traveled over 7 kilometers carrying 25 kg on my shoulders. After an hour and a half of wandering with that weight, I was stressed. The deadline to start the Mount Fuji climb was before 2 PM, and I worried I might not make it.
Then I thought maybe the Shibuya metro station might have lockers. I vaguely remembered seeing some lockers in a metro station, though I wasn’t sure if it was Shibuya. So, I started towards the metro station. After about 1.7 kilometers and half an hour, I reached the station and asked at the information center where the lockers were. He directed me, but following that direction led me outside the metro station—maybe I hadn’t followed it properly. I wandered around the metro searching for lockers, growing increasingly worried.
From here, I still had to get to Shinjuku, about 20 minutes away, then catch a 2-hour bus to Kawaguchiko, and finally travel about an hour to Fuji Subaru Line 5th Station, the starting point of the trek. Would I make it in time? The worry was overwhelming.
I almost started thinking, could this be one of those bad things that happen on international trips? I questioned my whole approach of not thoroughly planning everything. Should I change my style, or was this just part of the journey? So many questions flooded my mind, weighing heavily on me. Feeling pretty down, the weight on my shoulders while walking didn’t help, and I was sweating profusely.
I’ll write the next part whenever I feel like and whenever I have sometime.
Currently, I’m at a hostel in Panchgani, basking in the warmth of the sun while enjoying a soothing, cool breeze. The contrast is comforting—this interplay of warmth and chill creates a balance that feels just right, much like being tucked under blankets on a chilly day. Around me, cats linger, searching for scraps of food, while dogs lie farther off, lazily soaking in the sun. Observing their contentment reminds me of the peace I felt after running a marathon a few days ago—a different kind of contentment, but equally profound.
Dogs and cats having the time of their lives 🙂
Let me take you back to how it all started. I started from Dharwad via train and reached Mumbai at around 8-ish. I checked into a hostel I had booked earlier. Later that morning, I met Sujith, another marathoner staying at the hostel. We struck up a conversation and discovered we were in the same wave (Marathons use staggered wave starts to prevent crowding and chaos at the kickoff, ensuring a smooth, orderly beginning for all. The Tata Mumbai Marathon, especially, is huge. To put things into perspective, this year there were close to 12,000 full marathon runners and 15,000 half marathon participants, with a total of about 60,000 runners across all categories.) for the race and even in the same category of full marathon; to top it off, both of us were from the coastal part of Karnataka.
I, for one, am always scared that I’ll miss the marathon—or any event I have prepped for—because I might miss my buses, maybe I won’t find a cab, or even worse, just sleep through the timing and miss it.
In such instances, meeting Sujith was such a relief, someone who could just bump/remind me if I were to miss it. I even told Sujith, “Please give me a call once you wake up tomorrow so I don’t miss the marathon.” In my mind, I thought, “Shubham, don’t worry; you are meant to complete this marathon. The universe has made plans to ensure that you don’t miss it because you found a buddy who is running too.” Then we played TT for a bit—between him, me, and one more friend we made at the hostel—and parted ways to do whatever we had planned for that day.
I had also told one of my friends that I’d visit Mumbai. After reaching, I texted and got a call from her as well. She suggested that we go to the Sadguru session that was happening; coincidentally, she had also received that message the same morning, and we both decided to go there, collecting the bibs and t-shirt goodies from the bib collection venue.
Before reaching the venue, I had arrived at Dadar station by cab so that we could go to the venue together from there. Then I realized that I could switch to another nearby station on the way to reach the venue more quickly. I had to take the Mumbai locals (I had ridden with friends and family only a couple of times before—usually late at night or when there wasn’t much crowd—but this was peak timing, or so I thought). It’s true what I had heard about how people make you board the train and exit just by standing near the entry and exit of Mumbai locals. On these trains, you simply stand near the doors as people push you to board. When getting off—especially on express trains—you must disembark before the train stops, because as soon as it halts, people waiting to board rush in. I didn’t take any express trains there afterward.
At the venue, I learned that there are pacers who, for example, complete the marathon in exactly 5 hours—so running with the pacers helps you reach your target run time for the marathon. This was my second marathon, and I learned that pacers exist only in this race. For me, whatever I don’t know, ignorance is bliss. My mind can instantly justify not knowing that pacers exist by thinking, “Maybe you wouldn’t have completed your first marathon if you had run with pacers; you would have lost your pace and fallen out of the race,” or by reasoning that “you are your own competition and don’t need to abide by the timings; running at a pace that suits you is what matters most.” However, having given all this justification, I now see that pacers are very helpful—not only to keep track of where you are in the race but also to help you run along to reach your target run time.
A photo taken at BIB collection centre
By the time we collected our bib and everything, it was already past 4—or nearing 5, I guess. We hadn’t had lunch yet, and we were getting late for the event, so we quickly took a cab and headed directly to the Sadguru event venue, Bay View Lawns in Mazgaon. Along the way, we discussed what was happening in our lives( Dukh, dard, peeda and Khushi), as it had been a very long time since we last met.
Then we reached the venue around 6:30–6:45, I believe. I’m not great at remembering such details—and I doubt they will be useful in the future—so I rarely go back to trace the exact timings and document them. There’s a good chance that the timings in this article might be a bit off. So, don’t be surprised if you notice anomalies, like the journey from Dadar to Mazgaon never takes more than an hour or so.
Then we found a place to sit. Devotional music was being played live by some artists until Sadhguru arrived. After his arrival, he began talking about the current times, how these are rapidly changing times where you have to constantly upgrade yourself to remain relevant in your job and pretty much everything you do. This wasn’t the case for previous generations; they had to learn a few things, or one skill, in a job for their entire career until they retired.
He also mentioned that in some countries—or for some people—alcohol has become a shortcut to finding happiness and peace. Observing this trend, he argued that we should instead seek inner peace and joy without relying on external crutches. He questioned how we might engineer our inner selves to achieve that balance. In these times, he emphasized the importance of living fully in the moment, finding solace in the present, and being genuinely honest with those closest to us. “Do you have any friends or family members with whom you are completely straightforward?” he asked. That question made me wonder: Are we always truthful with ourselves, or do we sometimes deceive ourselves as well? Are we living up to the commitments we make to our own selves?
By the time the event finished, it was already late—past 8:30, I believe. We then booked a cab to CSMT. Remember, we hadn’t had lunch yet. We went to one of the best Pav Baji places she knew. I’m not sure if it was just my hunger or if the Pav Baji was truly exceptional, but I loved it—it was filling and delicious.
Then she wished me all the best and discussed how much time I might take. I recall saying, “My aim is to finish before 5, but I’ll complete the race within 6 hours,” I also, took some photos in front of the CSMT station for the memory. Then we went to train station and parted our ways.
I reached back to Dadar station and got a call from Sujith saying he was going to sleep. He asked me not to turn on sleep mode, as I might miss his call if I fell asleep. For your information, I usually have sleep mode on—activated late at night and active until 8 AM—but I turned it off that day.
By the time I reached the hostel, it was around 11 PM. I had only about 4.5 hours of rest ahead of me—a common scenario when there’s a marathon or running event. I freshened up and went to sleep. As I was drifting into a deep slumber around 1 AM, I heard some noise; it turned out to be the cold play-goers who had returned from the event. I sleep deeply, but I’m particularly sensitive to disturbances when I’m away from home. Perhaps a defensive mechanism gets activated in unfamiliar settings.
Apparently, there is research on this phenomenon, and it even has a name—the “first-night effect” (not the one you might be thinking of)—which indicates that when sleeping in a new environment, one hemisphere of the brain remains more alert as a protective measure, resulting in lighter, more disrupted sleep[1]. Being me, I read a little more about it and discovered that it’s not just a new environment that causes this effect; it can also occur when you change something as familiar as a bed you’ve used for a long time or even a pillow. I so wish I hadn’t read about this—just today, I changed my pillow cover, and if you are like me, now you know this too. Ignorance truly is bliss.
I was awake, unsure whether I had managed to sleep at all during those roughly two hours, and I had only about two to 2.5 hours left to rest. Then my mind drifted to how poorly the cold play might be managed—I mean, couldn’t they consider that a marathon was already happening and schedule the concert for another day? Even the hostels were fully booked and expensive due to multiple events. (These were just my thoughts at that moment; it’s not that I dislike concerts or have any issues with them.)
Although I’m not great at conveying my discomfort to new people—I usually keep it to myself—I mustered the effort to ask for a little more quiet so I could go back to sleep. Then, about 30 minutes later, someone started talking loudly to another person. This time, having gained some experience from my earlier attempt, I sternly asked him to be quieter, hoping he wouldn’t take it to heart. That was the only thing I learned during those two hours of lost sleep.
At exactly 3 AM, Sujith called, and we both got ready. We made coffee and had a banana for energy and to stay active. All compliments to Sujith’s pre-planning—he had gotten everything a day earlier from Zepto. We struggled to book a cab initially, but finally managed to find one and reached the starting point after a 45-minute ride. Upon arrival, we did a quick warm-up; then, somehow, we weren’t sure how to reach our wave. We did what any person would—follow the group—and eventually found our wave. For Sujith, this was his first marathon; for me, my second. Before the flag-off, as Sujith and I talked, I could feel the jittery mix of excitement and nerves hanging in the air.
Me & Sujith Before the Race
The race began at the iconic CSMT, and I started recording the initial moments, pacing myself steadily. I had set ground rules for myself:
I wouldn’t stop running until at least the 35-kilometer mark, except at hydration points and if cramps
I would consume food or drinks at every point to maintain my energy.
I wouldn’t compete with anyone and won’t be affected even if all the people in the race overtake me, just run at a phase where I am comfortable.
Race began here 🙂
Coming back to the race, the first 10 kilometers flew by effortlessly. I maintained a steady pace of around ±6 minutes per kilometer and made sure to grab water at every hydration point. Along the way, I noticed a fascinating array of early morning expressions of passion and purpose—groups of people standing together, someone constructing a small cardboard structure to raise awareness about child abuse, others engaged in discussions on sustainability, and a few even pausing for selfies. It was unlike anything I had seen at previous marathons; here, people were not just running, but actively showcasing their commitment to causes they cared about, despite the early 5 AM start. I’m sure some of these displays required meticulous preparation—perhaps even an all-nighter to set up. This experience was a real eye-opener, offering a glimpse into Mumbai as a city—its vibrant pulse and bustling culture on full display.
After 10 kilometers, I was in my happy zone—not too tired—and happily taking photos with every camera I found along the way. Around 12 kilometers, I came upon a downward slope and got so excited that I began sprinting down it. For those few kilometers, I felt as if I had achieved a true “runner’s high.” I’m not sure if it was the placebo effect or the real thing, but I was undeniably happy.
What’s runner’s high, you ask? It’s that amazing burst of euphoria that some runners experience when they push themselves—typically running at about 70–80% of your maximum heart rate for roughly 45 minutes[2,3] (though this can vary from person to person). The science behind it is pretty fascinating, and here’s my take on it based on what I’ve learned (there might be a few inaccuracies, but bear with me).
When you run at that steady pace, your body starts producing special chemicals called endocannabinoids—specifically, anandamide (AEA) and 2-arachidonoylglycerol (2-AG). Think of these chemicals as natural “keys” that are generated on demand in response to the physical stress of running. Your body has tiny “locks” on its cells called receptors. Most of these locks, known as CB1 receptors, are found in brain regions that manage mood and pain, while others—CB2 receptors—are scattered throughout your body to help regulate inflammation.
As you maintain your run, the rising levels of anandamide and 2-AG begin to bind to these receptors. When anandamide fits into a CB1 receptor, it essentially flips a switch that tells your brain, “Everything’s okay; you can relax.” This process reduces your perception of pain, lowers anxiety, and boosts your mood. Meanwhile, 2-AG also binds to both CB1 and CB2 receptors, reinforcing these positive effects by further dampening pain signals and reducing muscle inflammation.
In essence, during a run, your body releases these endocannabinoids as a natural way to cope with the physical demands of exercise. They help you endure the effort by easing discomfort and rewarding you with a sense of well-being—what many refer to as runner’s high. Of course, every runner is different, and factors like fitness level, genetics, and even the environment can influence how strongly these effects are felt.
So, while the exact science is still being unraveled, the bottom line is: a steady, challenging run might just unlock that natural high, making you feel fantastic despite the hard work.
This is a visual representation of the Runner’s high, bear with my ugly drawing :D. Also, in my case I might have achieved this after an hour and below the video ( mostly taken at that point in time)
Then, around 14 or 15 kilometers, I reached the Sea Link bridge. Initially, running there was fun—water on both sides, the sun hadn’t yet risen, and the morning sky had a bluish tint. There were plenty of people taking photos during the run; it was a sight to behold. I crossed one tower (one of those white towers that illuminate at night), then a second, then another, and it never seemed to end, like a mirage. Although I still had the energy to run, the thought of not crossing them all bothered me a bit. Yet, I kept on, remembering my ground rule of no stops until 35 kilometers, and quietly motivated myself with our house slogan from school: “When the going gets tough, the Vijayas get going.” Being from Sainik School and a member of Vijayagar House, I believe that motivation isn’t something you reason with—it can be anything, random, familiar, or just something that pushes you to strive forward in life, whether in a run or anything at all.
I think that even Daniel Kahneman in his book Thinking, Fast and Slow touches on this subject. He introduces two modes of thought: System 1 and System 2. System 1 is fast, intuitive, and emotion-driven—it produces quick, automatic responses based on past experiences, instincts, and simple heuristics. In contrast, System 2 is slow and deliberate, handling careful reasoning and complex problem solving. While running, simply drawing motivation from something in my past—without requiring extensive reasoning—helped me keep going. Its easier to fool the system 1 in such instances and achieve what you want to from your mind. There are a hundred ways to argue against this idea, but I choose not to, because it worked for me and will continue to.
Video of me running in sea link initially
Then, I continued running, still frustrated that I hadn’t finished yet, when someone from behind shouted, “Look at the beautiful sunrise on the right!” I looked, and it was stunning—the sun rising amidst the high-rise buildings of Mumbai. Smog (or fog) isn’t good for lung health, and although it will likely remain a persistent issue, its only redeeming quality might be this view. It was one of the most breathtaking sunrises I had ever seen while running, and it lifted my spirits, serving as a reminder that even in negativity, beauty can be found. That pushed me to run with more enthusiasm. To complete the Sea Link, whenever I felt a little discomfort or considered stopping, I would look to the right at that beautiful view, which motivated me to keep going.
The beautiful sunrise to which the camera could never do the justice 🙂
By the end of the Sea Link, I was also nearing the 21-kilometer mark. The significance of reaching 21.1 kilometers—the half marathon distance—is that to qualify for the full Tata Marathon, you needed to complete the half in 2.45 hours. Although I had completed the full marathon in 7 hours—which was itself a qualification criterion—I doubted I could ever run a half marathon in 2.45 hours (I remember discussing this with one of my friends). I reached the halfway point in around 2 hours and 30 minutes, surpassing my goal of finishing within 2 hours and 45 minutes. This was a significant confidence booster that pushed me to keep going.
However, challenges began creeping in at this point. While hydration points were plentiful, food was scarce. My body was holding up, but my brain was screaming for sugar and carbs to fight off a growing headache. I regretted not carrying energy gels when Sujith had suggested it earlier. I pushed on, scanning for something—anything—to provide that quick sugar fix. Just then, I overheard two runners nearby talking about how the 20–30 km stretch is the hardest part of a marathon. I thought to myself, “Why did I have to hear this now?” and sped up slightly to get out of earshot.
After struggling for a while, I finally reached a turning point where a hydration station offered powdered chickies and water. I grabbed a chickie and a water bottle, continuing to run as I tried to open the sachet. Opening it mid-run felt like an impossible challenge, but after some fumbling, I managed to tear it open and eat it. I drained the water bottle, but immediately regretted not grabbing two or three more chickies. I think this was somewhere around the 23–24 km mark.
My headache returned, only offering brief relief before flaring up again. Once more, I found myself on the hunt for something sugary and sweet. I pushed on for a few kilometers, but the stretch ahead felt like a dead end—no carbs in sight, just endless running. It seemed like I was going for 1–2 kilometers straight without finding anything to eat. Then, at an exit near a flyover or covered road, salvation appeared: an aunty holding a plate full of dry fruits for runners. I’m not proud of it, but I grabbed the entire pile of dates and started eating as I ran. Those dates were incredible—the most delicious I’d ever had. Even now, my mouth waters at the memory of them.
I was curious about the cause of my persistent headaches and wondered if there was a way to prevent them and this is what I found out.
Glycogen is the primary form of carbohydrate storage in our muscles and liver, serving as a crucial energy source during prolonged exercise. As we run long distances, our bodies utilize these glycogen stores to fuel muscle activity. When these stores become depleted, our blood sugar levels drop, the brain’s glucose supply diminishes, leading to impaired neuronal function—a condition known as neuroglycopenia. This can result in headaches, as well as symptoms like confusion and dizziness. Additionally, the body’s release of stress hormones, such as epinephrine, in response to low blood sugar can constrict cerebral blood vessels, further contributing to headache development[4-6].
To prevent such issues, it’s essential to maintain adequate glycogen levels. Consuming carbohydrates before and during endurance activities helps sustain blood glucose levels, providing a continuous energy supply to muscles and the brain. This not only enhances physical performance but also supports mental function, reducing the likelihood of headaches and other symptoms associated with glycogen depletion.
Image is generated by DallE so please ignore spelling mistakes as long as you are getting the context
Slowly, after the energy boost from the super dates, I ran up to 30 km without much worry. I’m not sure if I took what I heard as a challenge, but I thought that if I could complete 20-30 km without stopping, the next step would be easier—so I kept running until I reached that point.
Buoyed by a sense of accomplishment—having conquered what one random person described as the toughest part—I pushed on until I reached 31 km. From around the 26–27 km mark up to 31 km, I ran with my hands behind my back. Then, at the start of the 32 km stretch, my left leg suddenly cramped. I stepped aside to a railing, stretched my leg, and did a few frog jumps to ease the pain, all while wondering, “After so much progress, is this my undoing?” A fellow runner urged me, “Come on, man, start moving!” I resumed running, and the pain subsided for a bit; however, after another 500 meters—with my hands still behind my back—my right leg cramped. I repeated my routine, but soon both legs cramped simultaneously. Then someone in the crowd shouted, “Don’t put your hands on your back!” Though I wasn’t sure if that was meant for me, I followed the advice, resumed running, and thankfully, my legs eventually stopped cramping. There is no scientific evidence to support anything that happened. I don’t know what it was but it certainly helped.
By the time I reached 34 km, the sun’s brilliance had intensified. Normally, I delight in the warmth and radiance of the sun, but at that moment, I was utterly parched—no water from my bottles could quench my thirst. I had relied on two bottles along the way to stave off dehydration, yet nothing eased my longing. Just as I teetered on the brink of giving up, a powerful message from a recent talk echoed in my mind: “How will you face yourself if you fail to honor the commitments you’ve made?” That inner query stirred something deep within me, reminding me that to surrender would be to betray my own truth.
Then I found a bucket filled with ice and large ice cubes. I immediately plunged in, dousing myself by pouring five or six mugs of ice water over my head and body until I was completely drenched.
That strategy helped me complete about 36 km. Then, facing the same challenge again—I couldn’t find any more water buckets but discovered a few ice blocks on a table—I grabbed the largest block I could and ran with it, every few seconds placing it on my head and face to cool down. I managed this until I reached the 38 km mark, by which time both the ice block and my motivation had dwindled. To top it all off, I had exceeded my goal of not stopping until 35 km (aside from hydration breaks or cramps). Then, after running another half-kilometre, my toes and the soles of my feet began to hurt so intensely that I was nearly unable to continue.
After that, I simply walked—slowly, steadily—until the end of the race. At that point, nothing mattered; despite the cameras snapping countless photos, I had neither the smile nor the energy to pose or even maintain a running gait. I just walked until I crossed the finish line.
Strava recording of my last 4+ kms on which I spent more that ~45 mins :O
After that, I had finished the marathon and was chilling in Panchgani, and was a tad bit proud of completing the marathon and met an investment banker, who had once thrived in consulting but had since quit it all to cycle across India. Already cycled more than 5000 Kms and had completed multiple half Ironman from the roughest, toughest to easiest. I love how life always has a way of humbling you 🙂
Why I Wrote This Article and Some Things to Note
I hope that by sharing my personal experience, someone out there might find a nugget of insight or inspiration that benefits them.
My timings are not record-breaking—there are far better runners out there. This journey was just a personal milestone for me.
I’m not a professional runner; these are merely my reflections and should not be taken as formal advice, endorsements, or prescriptions.
I felt compelled to document this journey, and this article is simply a record of my honest experience and might help grow personally.
Have you ever had the reddest of pomegranates? The ones that, if you wait another day, might get spoiled. Picture yourself being optimally hungry, seizing the moment to savor the fruit to the very last beats, completely immersing yourself in the act of chewing, and finishing it up with a smile on your face of contentment.
Now, consider how many of such moments you have in a day, week, month, or a year. I believe such moments, such experiences, define contentment in life. Whether it’s enjoying amazing food, having incredible travel experiences, or relishing in simple phenomena, these moments contribute to a fulfilling life. Don’t worry; I am not here to tell you that if you have had 20 such instances in a year, then you are contentful or not. Rather, this is just me gloating about such experiences of mine. Writing this is also an experience for me because I have wanted to do this for a long time.
I parasailed for the first time when I was in 8th standard in Bijapur, at my school. The experience of feeling my chest filled with heavy air as I took off and seeing the whole school, the entire city, becoming a tiny miniaturized version as I went higher and higher, and staring at the afternoon sun for a bit, was one of the best experiences ever.
I went on my first-ever snow trek to Kedarkantha. As expected, there was snow all over, starting from the second day of the trek. Upon returning from the snow trails and feeling the warm sunlight on my skin at the starting point, Sankri, in the afternoon, it was an amazing experience. The perfectly hot water bath at the hotel we stayed in after the trek was one of the best baths I have ever experienced.
Wherever it starts to rain in Bengaluru, my terrace gets a good amount of rain, and my plants start to look all lush green, making the weather cozy and cold. This is the time I get the urge to taste my own bhajis and chai. Often, I make these and have them while standing or sitting near the door, witnessing the rain and the lushness of my plants. It never fails to make me happy.
Sometimes, the simplest of things—and this happens very often to me—when I get a good 8 hours of sleep, I feel that I can go ahead and conquer the day. I feel that I am up for any challenges that are thrown at me. This is another level of happiness and energy that keeps me happy and content
There was an instance in Manali when a couple of my friends and I were visiting a temple. On the way back, we stumbled upon one of the best shops with heavy discounts on sweater jackets and other items. It was a small, cute shop, and even cuter was a grandma who was selling dried apples in a Himachali outfit. She was helping out at the shop, and given the crowd, I still remember exactly:
Me: “Kya hai ye? Sehat ke liye achha hota hai?” (What is this? Is it good for health?)
Grandma: “Achha hota hai, jitna jyada din rakho utna achha hota hai.” (It’s good, the longer you keep it, the better it is.) — with a smile, not able to explain exactly how it’s beneficial.
I probed a few more times, and she continued to say, “Achha hota hai, achha hota hai,” without explaining the whys of it. I then bought a few small bags of dried apples and gave her the cash. The smile on her face was something I’ll carry with me everywhere.
Well, I’ll end this blog here for now. Maybe, I’ll share a few more things in the future, such instances, but I’ll have to catch my good 8-hour sleep train and get up refreshed on a Sunday morning to do some amazing things. Also, please know that these aren’t any metric of happiness or anything like that—just a few things that made me happy and content. They may make you happy, may not, or there might be other things in the world that make you feel content.
It’s been a long time since I last posted. Well, a lot has happened since then and one of them is that I have started a youtube channel. I have started my youtube channel to educate everyone on the skills that I process. They are presentations, research, solutioning, problem-solving, & building reports.
Please go through my youtube channel and let me know if you have any feedback or suggestions. Also, please please like and share if you feel you or your friends can benefit from the channel
shubhs4258 