The first time the idea for The Long Walk fluttered into my head, I waved it off. A walk around Singapore’s perimeter just didn’t seem like a good enough story. What’s the point? I thought to myself. There’s no angle.But after both my editor and a friend raised the idea in the same week, I had to reconsider. I mulled it over, poked at it to see if it gave, but the idea stuck. I did my research. I read running blogs, checked out routes on running apps, and scanned news websites to see if anyone else had done it. It turned out that no one was crazy enough to walk the entire 150km perimeter in three days and write about it. I knew then that I had to go through with it.
The Plan
Day 1
All that was left to do was start. So we walked.The first 10km was easy enough, and before we knew it, we had reached the Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve, meandering walkways stretching around a 130-hectare mass of mangrove forests. We dismissed signs advising visitors to stay away from the water, where estuarine crocodiles lived, and edged deeper into the forest. We stopped at a clearing.The water level was high and the wind sent ripples towards us. I saw a stir in the distance, small enough to not cause a splash, but big enough to create its own set of ripples. Then all at once, we saw a triangular head emerge out of the water. There, not 10 metres away from us, was a 2-metre-long croc, careening silently through the water with such subtlety you could miss it or dismiss it for a log.As if aware of the eyes trained on it, the croc sunk back into the muddy mangrove just as silently as it arrived. It was humbling to witness a creature of such placidity, in its natural habitat. I looked to my right and I saw Pravir inelegantly losing his shit. The duality of life.I tried to find some poetic connection between the start of my journey and the proximity of Malaysia, but I couldn’t muster anything.
This was a side of Singapore I had rarely encountered. Towering chimneys bellowing pillars of smoke, rising up to meet the clouds. Desolate shipyards with rattling rusted ships, grinding against each other, like shackled inmates waiting for the noose.
Day 2
That long stretch of road took three hours to clear but, to the victor go the spoils, and at around 9 PM we reached Changi Village Hawker Centre, a precursor to the end of the day's walk. After filling our bellies with nasi goreng, sambal stingray, and super cooler upsize (one litre of coconut water, coconut slices, and wheatgrass syrup), I knew I would have to walk alone for another 5km to my night’s accommodation.Every minute stretched to an hour and every metre walked like a mile. Apart from an unexpected respite in the form of a scenic beachside lookout, I and the mad lads who joined me only had the road in front of us to look forward to.
Day 3
It seemed that sometime during the night, my mind had formed a husky exterior, now more focused on the goal, and more impervious to thoughts of giving up.
Three kilometres shy of the finish line, a searing pain shot out from my right heel and seized my leg. From a canter to a trot, I dropped to a full stop as the slightest bit of weight on my right heel caused a roar of pain that demanded attention. I dropped to the floor, Jovan crouched to my side, and as I described the pain, the words “stress fracture” and “muscle tear” drifted in and out of earshot. ‘Tis but a scratch I thought to myself.We were walking roadkill, resembling something more from the Night Of The Living Dead than Rocky. But make no mistake, beneath the surface of those jangly, rattling bags of meat and bone, the opening riff of “Eye Of The Tiger” was pumping hard in our chests. We were going to finish strong.
I had walked the length of an ultramarathon — nearly 160km — with next to no training. What a mindbogglingly dumb thing to do. But I did it, and around Singapore no less. Upon seeing the finish line, I slowed my pace and tried to take everything in as best as I could.The jetty pushed out towards a wide channel in between Singapore and Malaysia. Once clear of the trees and out onto the elevated walkway, the sea breeze immediately hit me, strong enough that I had to lean into it. Along the jetty, there were people with fishing lines cast far into the black water, teenagers doing wheelies on fixies, and couples revelling in romantic anonymity.It was 9 PM when I placed both hands on the wooden railing at the end of the jetty, back where I started. It felt weird to stop walking without feeling an urgent push to keep moving.If the last 10km was euphoria, then the last 1km was unadulterated joy.
Looking back at the days before the walk, I was filled with fear and doubt, aware that a million things could go south in a second, and in a way they did. But it also showed me that just because things are difficult, doesn’t mean they aren't worth it or shouldn't be done. It only means that the end is going to be so much sweeter. I’m trying my best to take that same attitude with the coronavirus lockdown.I think I did it because I could, because it was out there, and because once I thought about it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I’ll remember those three days for the rest of my life. If I had stayed in the office, those days would have been as inconsequential and as undefined as the next three. So maybe I’m asking the wrong question. Maybe instead of asking why I did it, I should be asking, why not?The Long Walk taught me to feel overwhelming appreciation for things that I usually take for granted. It taught me that I was tougher than I made myself out to be and that I was capable of so much more than I gave myself credit for.