As I crawled onto the train, half-awake and bleary-eyed, the lazy part of me that was still in bed grumbled: Why am I doing this? I could find no answer. It was 6am on a Sunday morning and the train was rather empty, as most sensible people would be still snug in bed and dreaming happily, perhaps of Jake Gyllenhaal doing yummy things to them. I was not one of them; I was decked out in my running gear and on a train to Nicoll Highway, where I would join hordes of other equally insensible women at the Shape Run 2011.

I had signed up on an impulse barely a month before the event. It was only 5km, I told myself, easy peasy. It’d been just like a run around the neighbourhood. When I told my boyfriend about it, he looked at me, mentally rolling his eyes (I know he did), and said, “Why?” I muttered something about not having gone for such an event before and how it was free (compliments of my company). To his credit, he didn’t comment (much) on my latest exhibit of idiocy and quietly went for a 4km run with me two weeks before the event — the only ‘training’ I did for it.

When I alighted at Nicoll Highway, a sea of other similarly attired women poured out of the train with me. An army of blue, we marched towards the start line, where loud music blared and an enthusiastic woman was leading the crowd in a stretch. It was already 7.15am, and the sun was just coming up, sending hazy rays of early morning light over the crowd. I joined the crowd at the back, marvelling that what looked like 2,000 women had voluntarily woken up early to participate in a mass run, something that should not be anyone’s idea of fun in a sane world.

Flag-off was anti-climatic. The enthusiastic woman shouted “Are you ready!”, the crowd answered “Yes!”, and a horn was blared to mark the start of the run. However, there were so many people, that everyone started by walking instead.

As we cleared the start line, people began to run, or at least jog, though there were some who continued strolling and chatting — perhaps they had signed up to simply walk for 5km. I decided to follow a girl weaving in and out of the crowd in an attempt to get ahead. Soon, we reached a break in the crowd where it was less dense and there was space to run properly. The sun had come up fully by then and I could feel its warm light between the shadows cast by the leaves of the trees along Nicoll Highway.

As I was still energetic, I had time to observe people around me. There were the walkers, who came in packs and seemed content to walk. They chatted and laughed as they strolled along, oblivious to the serious runner trying to break through their ranks. The serious runner is usually armed with an mp3 player attached to an armband, hair tied up by a headband, and staring straight ahead, with a laser focus on getting ahead of the rest. Then you have the backpack warriors running with their little backpacks or sling bags. I wondered what was in those bags. I had opted to carry simply an ez-link card, some cash, my phone, and a towel. What else was needed? I also spotted a lone man, trying to disguise himself in a StanChart marathon top in the same shade of blue, jogging beside a woman who was probably his girlfriend or wife. He looked vaguely uncomfortable as he was getting questioning looks from everyone else, because it was supposed to be a female-only run.

Every now and then, I would see volunteers, in twos or threes, stationed beside the road. I’m not sure what their roles were exactly. Some stared at us blankly, as if watching not-particularly-interesting animals in a zoo exhibit. One duo had attempted to hide themselves behind a roadblock, sitting on the road and chatting as if they were in a cafe. I passed by three enthusiastic teenagers shouting “Go go go!” and whooping and cheering, a stark contrast to a lone boy further down who said to me in a monotone, “You can do it” rather sheepishly.

The first water stop at 1.8km appeared sooner than I thought, and I was still relatively fresh enough to continue without stopping. At the 3.6km (?) stop, however, I was thirsty and tired enough to take the excuse to stop and treat myself to a cup of 100 Plus. Looking at the mounds of discarded cups dotting the grass along the road after the booth, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a better way to dispense water that didn’t involve creating huge paper wastage. (Perhaps a topic for another post…?)

The route then took me to a track beside Kallang River, which was the nicest part of the run. There was wind, which cooled me considerably, and the welcome sight of the blue sky against the calm water of the river. By now, at around 4km, everyone was just concentrating on running the last stretch, and I could hear only the panting and the thuds of rubber soles on concrete. (Or perhaps I had simply left the chattering walkers behind.) At 4.5km, we left the track to rejoin the road, where a string of volunteers stood bellowing “Only 500 metres left, don’t give up now!” I must say, knowing that the end was in sight did make my legs move faster, just so they could stop earlier.

Soon, I saw it — the finish line! I could feel runners beside me perk up too, and one woman said to her friend, “Let’s race to the end!” However, for me, ending was as anti-climatic as starting: There were no cheers or applause or people shouting out my timing to me, just a last step across the line and then slowing down to a walk and looking around for where to go next.

I joined a queue to get my medal. As a volunteer passed it to me, she said, “Well done.” Upon hearing that, I thought, yeah, it was, wasn’t it? I had completed a 5km run in 42 minutes — perhaps it’s dismal, considering the winner took 18 minutes, but I’m someone who doesn’t even like to run! It’s a far cry from a proper full-length marathon, but hey — one step at a time.

And perhaps that’s why I did it — because I can.