Utmb Lake Toba - the AI charm is just a unfolding theory.

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With just a few running events that I've been able to attend amidst the work schedule is something I look forward to and help keep my love for trail running intact. While the strength training doesn't take a back seat, the travel and explore ideology also helps me stay curios about different running events organised in distant locations that one could least think of. No doubt, the cost of exploring nature does grow exponentially but is all worth it.

So this is how the series of event unfolded, movie script style :)

Runners burst from the Trail of the Kings starting arch at Lake Toba, cheered by a crowd and photographers as UTMB World Series' Indonesia ultra-trail race begins.

Striding past traditional Batak-roofed houses and a hillside church, solo on a quiet mountain road.

Powers up a steep grassy ridge with trekking poles, Lake Toba's misty waters and a forested peninsula unfolding below. The climb is punishing, but the reward is a sweeping, cinematic vantage over Indonesia's largest volcanic lake — a defining moment on the Trail of the Kings ultra-marathon route.

I continue to grind down a knife-edge ridge trail, poles planted for balance, Lake Toba stretching out hazy and vast below. Sweat and strain shown on my face, but the smile stays — a snapshot of grit meeting scenery on one of the world's most dramatic ultra-trail descents.

The fog rolled in thick as I fought up the ridge, poles punching into wet grass with every step. My legs burned, lungs screaming for air, but I kept climbing — one more runner grinding through the mist beside me. I just had to keep going.

I threw my poles up and let out a shout — above the clouds, above the doubt that crept in somewhere on that brutal climb. Bib 2016 on my chest, a sea of white below me, runners still pushing up behind. This is why I do it. This is the moment.

I raise my poles high as I run down toward the trail, that rugged green ridge rising behind me like a wall I've already conquered. My legs ache, but my stride feels light. Sunglasses on, heart pounding — every rock and ridge on this course is mine to earn.

The red carpet is finally in sight, cones lining the path like the last gate I need to pass through. Beside me, my fellow runner in orange has matched my pace for miles now — mud-streaked, spent, but still moving. We don't talk anymore; we just breathe and push. Behind us, Lake Toba's hills watch quietly, the same ones that tried to break us hours ago. Officials line the barricade, cameras ready, someone waving us in. My poles hit the ground one more time each. Legs screaming, mind clear. Whatever this race demanded, I'm about to hand it back.

I throw my poles up the second the finish line breaks the horizon, the UTMB arch framing everything I fought for. My legs are streaked and heavy, but I barely feel them anymore — just the red carpet under my feet and Lake Toba stretched out behind, the same water I circled for hours. Beside me, a fellow finisher moves quietly, mud-caked and steady, no need for words between us now. Cameras, cones, a small crowd waiting — none of it registers except the tape ahead. Arms up, breath ragged. Every climb, every fall, every doubt — it all led here.

I pass under the UTMB arch with both poles thrust skyward, the "Trail of the Kings" banner blurring above me as I finally let go of everything I'd been holding in. The clock behind me reads the truth in red digits — every hour, every ache, every moment I wanted to stop but didn't. Altitude 2026m, it says, like the mountain itself is keeping score. My legs are done arguing with me now. Somewhere behind, another finisher closes in, but this moment is mine — bib 2016, arms up, chest heaving, home. 

I tip my head back the moment I cross under that red arch, chest heaving, poles still gripping the ground beneath me. My name's right there on the bib — 2016, Yuvaraj, India — and for a second I just breathe, sunglasses fogged, sweat and dust on my face. I don't look at the crowd or the cameras. I look up, like I'm asking the sky if it saw what I just went through. It did. Lake Toba's hills are still behind me, quiet now. I gave that trail everything I had, and somehow, I'm still standing.

Then the trophy. A slice of real wood, the lake etched into it in blue resin — the same lake that watched me struggle up every ridge, the same water I circled for hours wondering if I'd chosen a fight too big for me. 3rd place. 28K. Age category 40-44. Someone carved my effort into something permanent, something I can hold.

I keep looking at it, half-expecting the number to change. It doesn't. It's real. All those early mornings, the doubt I swallowed at kilometer twenty, the version of me that almost didn't sign up — none of it was wasted. I'm not just proud. I'm quietly, deeply grateful — to my body for carrying me, to the mountain for humbling me, and to whatever stubbornness in me refused to stop climbing.

This one, I'll remember for a long time.