Runners dash out from the starting line.[Photo by Lao Yao and Kit NG/China Daily]

'Beginning of bliss'

"Hang in there," I told myself as I trudged on. The decision to not drop out was partly made out of expediency, because I had to at least get to the next checkpoint to call it a day.

But on the way there－as I was plodding on the mountain ridge of Ma On Shan, within sight of Hong Kong's concrete jungle of high-rises illuminated against the backdrop of the night－something happened. I still find it hard to explain.

The Chinese saying that "extreme adversity is the beginning of bliss" may fit the situation. Murakami describes it as "passing through a stone wall". As if a chemical change had occurred in my body, I gradually and surprisingly found my steps lighter and pains numbed.

Yes, I resumed my jog and started to overtake other runners. When I reached CP6 at 10:40 pm, I was excited to find I was only 10 minutes behind time.

Tender was the night. Runners' flashing headlamps shone like a never-ending line of diamonds that stretched deep into the darkness, along the trails, up to the mountains and down to the valleys.

I overtook nearly 200 people as I passed through the next checkpoints.

I started to enjoy the run again, cheering others along the way as I passed by. Never had I aspired so much to win, to make it my big day.

So on I cruised, with my favorite music, Chariots of Fire, resonating in my mind. Sometimes I even screamed to motivate myself.

Time flew by. At 7 am on Jan 18, after a full night of almost nonstop jogging and walking, I found myself on top of Hong Kong's highest peak, Tai Mo Shan. With only 4 km to go, there was no doubt I could make it within 24 hours.

I heaved a sigh of relief: I had swum through a sea of agony, exhaustion and depression to reach the bank of success.

So after straightening my hair and clothes－I wanted to look my best as a winner－I started my descent, bathing in the rays of the rising sun. I didn't run full steam because I wanted to enjoy this last moment, the climax of my story.

Step by step, I ambled down the slope. Then I saw the finish line, and heard cheers and my name announced.

The time shown on the huge digital clock suddenly seemed to have stopped, frozen and eternal: 23 hours and 36 minutes. I had thought I would cry. But no tears came. I just raised both my arms, fists clinched.

On one forearm bore the tattoo-inked slogan of the race: "Ordinary people being extraordinary."

I felt I had lived up to these words.