Sometimes, we sign up for the race of our lives thinking the challenge belongs entirely to us. We train, focus on the finish line and convince ourselves this is our journey. Until somewhere along the way, we realise we were never doing it alone.
For me, two women became the real heroes of my Powerman journey.
One was my wife, Faizah, lovingly known as Fea. The other was my aunt, Aishah Hamdan, whom I call Mak Ngah.
One helped me prepare for the race. The other surprised me by racing it. Both taught me something I never expected when I signed up.
On March 1, 2026, I took the plunge and registered for Powerman Malaysia 2026. There was just one small problem. Actually, several.
I had no competitive bicycle, had stopped running some time ago and had no proper training plan. What I did have was a willing heart, a little madness and an optimistic belief that somehow, I would figure things out.
Most sensible people would probably recommend getting the equipment and training first. I apparently chose to register first and solve the problems later.
I do not recommend this for the faint-hearted.
So began the transformation. First came proper running shoes, followed by a second-hand bicycle and learning to ride competitively.
Then came the question: How was I going to fit everything into an already busy life?
My wife Fea quickly became my unofficial coach, nutritionist, scheduler, motivator and, when necessary, reality checker.
She helped put together a training plan and, more importantly, created the time and space for me to follow it.
Because training for this event sounds deceptively simple.
“I’m just going for a run.” Except that run might take an hour or longer. Then there’s cycling, strength training, recovery, eating and sleeping properly.
Suddenly, one race starts occupying a surprisingly large portion of our family life.
Fea helped me balance training with work, family commitments and everyday responsibilities, although her support occasionally came with some observations.
One favourite tease was that I had started treating my bicycle like another family member. Admittedly, I spent considerable time cleaning it, checking it, worrying about it and talking about it.
Then came the tri-suit incident.Wearing one for the first time requires a certain level of confidence, or delusion. I remember looking in the mirror, trying to convince myself I resembled a serious endurance athlete.
Fea’s assessment was considerably more honest.
Apparently, I looked like a seal. Not an elite athlete, not an Ironman, not even a promising amateur. A seal.
I laughed because I could see her point.
That’s the advantage of having a wife who knows you well. She supports your dreams while ensuring you don’t take yourself too seriously.
Fea also became my unofficial diet police, making sure I didn’t confuse training hard with unlimited permission to eat whatever I wanted.
When motivation dipped or work became exhausting, she kept me on course.
She understood that this goal mattered, giving me room to pursue it without letting me forget my family responsibilities. Because endurance sport may be an individual pursuit, but the life surrounding it is not.
When we see an athlete crossing the finish line, we see one person, a bib number
and a medal. We rarely see the people who adjusted their routines, sacrificed weekends and endured endless conversations about bicycles.
That was Fea. She wasn’t wearing a race number, but she was part of every kilometre.
Gradually, training became more structured. Some sessions left me feeling accomplished; others made me question my sanity.
But something changed. I stopped asking whether I could do it and started asking what I needed to do next.
I wanted to remind myself that life isn’t meant to be lived entirely within comfortable, familiar boundaries.
Some may call this a midlife crisis. I call it a wake-up call.
At 67, my aunt Mak Ngah decided to join me at Powerman. Her reason was simple: to accompany me.
No grand declarations, no podium ambitions. Although I suspected she also wanted to make sure I was serious about this rather ambitious project.
What I didn’t realise was that she would become one of my greatest inspirations.
When race day arrived, the excuses had run out. There was only one thing left to do. Start!
Endurance racing teaches you quickly that physical strength is only part of the challenge. Your legs start negotiating, your mind questions your decisions and you must somehow keep moving.
Meanwhile, Mak Ngah was simply getting on with it.
She showed up, raced and crossed the finish line, finishing second in her age category.
She is 67, and I was proud, amazed and humbled.
Because Mak Ngah had already faced battles far greater than any race course could offer.
A two-time cancer survivor, she had refused to let illness define her future. She continued living actively, travelling the world and saying yes to life.
Her second-place finish was more than a sporting achievement. It was a celebration of resilience, life after cancer and the possibility of new beginnings.
She reminded me that age tells us how many years we’ve lived, not how many adventures we have left.
Looking back, the race was never just my story.
There was Fea, who turned an impulsive idea into a workable plan while keeping our family life moving.
There was Mak Ngah, who came to accompany me and ended up demonstrating what perseverance really looks like.
And there was yours truly, who decided somewhat impulsively to attempt something completely outside his comfort zone.
I took the leap. Fea made it possible. Mak Ngah showed me what happens when you keep moving forward.
To Fea, thank you for the sacrifices, patience, encouragement and for still deciding I was worth keeping around, even when I looked like a seal.
To Mak Ngah, thank you for reminding me that it’s never too late to start, challenge yourself or discover another chapter waiting to be written.
I began this journey believing Powerman would test my endurance. Instead, it taught me about gratitude, resilience and the people who quietly make our achievements possible.
