It all started with a simple comment from a friend: “Writing on a Blog is a marathon, not a sprint.” That line stuck with me. It echoed in my mind like the rhythmic pounding of footsteps on the pavement. It made me pause and think—he’s right. Writing isn’t a quick dash to the finish line. It’s an endurance game. A long race.
I often compare life to the activities we do. Maybe it’s my way of making sense of things. And the more I thought about it, the more it made perfect sense: writing on this Blog feels like running a marathon.
The Starting Line: Hesitation and Excitement
I remember the day I decided to write for this blog. There was no grand announcement or dramatic decision. It was more like an itch—a slight, persistent urge to share my thoughts on IoT and smart cities, which have consumed my professional life.
“Will anyone even read this?” I wondered. The same nervous question runners ask themselves as they stand at the starting line, surrounded by experienced athletes with years of effort etched into their confident postures.
That feeling? Overwhelming. But I started anyway.
Finding Your Rhythm: The First Few Kilometers
In the running, the first few kilometres are deceptive. The excitement tricks you into thinking you can sprint the whole way. But reality sets in quickly. The excitement fades, and you’re left with nothing but your breathing, the sound of your footsteps, and the mental battle against self-doubt.
Writing is the same. My first few articles barely got any views. I’d refresh the stats page often, hoping for a miracle.
“Why aren’t they reading?” Frustration bubbled up. But then I remembered: the first kilometres aren’t about speed; they’re about finding your rhythm.
Each article became a step forward, a chance to refine my voice. It wasn’t about the views. It was about showing up, day after day, word after word.
Small Wins: The First Checkpoint
One day, I posted an article about IoT applications in agriculture. I wasn’t expecting much, but then a comment appeared.
“This is exactly what I was looking for. Thank you!”
That small comment felt like crossing my first marathon checkpoint. Someone was reading, and someone found value in my words.
“Keep going,” I told myself.
That simple acknowledgement shifted everything. I stopped focusing on metrics and started writing because I enjoyed it.
Preparation: The Invisible Work
No marathoner wakes up and decides to run 42 kilometres without training. They prepare, practice, and test their limits.
Writing is no different.
“Do I really have to do this every day?” I’d groan, staring at a blank screen, especially when ideas were hard to find.
But I knew the truth: consistency beats talent. Skipping one day makes it easier to skip the next. So, I wrote. Even when the words felt forced. Even when the drafts were not my best.
Those drafts? They were my practice runs. Not pretty, but necessary.
Pacing: The Art of Sustainability
In a marathon, going too fast too early guarantees burnout. Writing has its version of this, too. At one point, I tried writing articles daily, thinking more output would lead to success.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
I learned to slow down, revisit drafts, and refine my ideas. Quality mattered more than quantity. It was like perfecting my stride, finding that balance where effort meets ease.
The Crowd: Finding Support
No marathoner runs alone. There are fellow runners, spectators, and coaches cheering you on.
For me, that support came from the Blog community—fellow writers, readers, even the occasional critic.
I’ll never forget the day I received a message from another writer: “Your story inspired me to start my own business. Thank you for sharing.”
That message? It was my crowd, cheering me on when I needed it most.
Hitting the Wall: The Toughest Part
Every marathon has “the wall”—that dreaded moment when exhaustion hits, and quitting feels like the only option.
For me, that wall was writer’s block. Days when ideas refused to come. When motivation disappeared, leaving only a nagging sense of failure.
“Why am I even doing this?” I’d mutter.
But then I’d remember: you don’t stop because you’re tired. You stop when you’re done.
The Finish Line: A New Beginning
Looking back, I realise writing and running a marathon are deeply personal activities. They test your limits, reveal your strengths, and force you to confront your weaknesses.
But they also offer immense rewards.
Today, as I continue to write, each article feels like another kilometer in the marathon. Some are effortless. Others are tough uphill battles.
But with each word, I grow stronger.
Someone once asked me, “Would you do it all over again?”
Without hesitation, I said, “Absolutely.”
Writing has given me resilience, discipline, and the joy of connection. It has reminded me that success isn’t in the destination—it’s in the process.
So here I am, still running this marathon, one article at a time.
And just like every marathoner knows, the finish line isn’t the end. It’s just the start of another challenge.
Dr. Mazlan Abbas 