Name: Tapesh Chintada

⁠Modulate Your Voice

Title: My marathon experience 

Time: 3 - 4 Minutes

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Good morning everyone! Today, I want to tell you about something that really tested me — running a 20-kilometer marathon.
(~10 seconds)

Now, you might be wondering — what is a marathon?
A marathon is a long-distance running race. The full marathon is about 42 kilometers — that’s like running across the whole city! I ran a shorter version — 20 kilometers — but trust me, that’s still a lot of running!
(~20 seconds)

When I was standing at the start line, I wasn’t thinking about medals or finishing times. I was full of energy — excited, nervous, but ready. My heart was racing, not from fear, but from the thrill of what was ahead.
(~20 seconds)

The place was buzzing with life — [gesture wide] music blasting, the announcer shouting, runners chatting, shoes tapping. It felt like the whole world had come together to run. And then… [pause] the whistle blew.
(~20 seconds)

At the start, it felt amazing. My legs were light, my breathing was easy, and even the music felt like it was carrying me forward. The crowd clapped, kids waved banners, and for the first few kilometers, it felt more like a party than a race. I thought, “Hey, maybe this won’t be so bad.”
(~25 seconds)

But halfway through, everything changed. My legs started to feel heavy. Breathing got harder. The cheering, which was fun at first, now felt like pressure. And the music that had pushed me forward earlier? Now it felt like it was teasing me, going too fast, reminding me of how far I still had to go.
(~30 seconds)

That’s when the real fight began. My legs said, “Slow down.” My lungs said, “Stop.” And my brain kept saying, “Why are you doing this to yourself?” The road ahead looked endless.
(~25 seconds)

Every sound felt like an attack. The bass from the music pounded in my head. The shouting of the crowd blended into one giant roar. My steps felt heavier and heavier. I wanted silence… but there was none. My breathing was rough, my legs shook, and for a second, I thought I might give up.
(~30 seconds)

But then, something changed. In all that noise, I found a rhythm. My feet hitting the ground, one after another. The cheering turning into a steady beat. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy. It was messy and uneven. But step by step, I matched the rhythm. Slowly, my body stopped fighting, and I started to move with the chaos.
(~35 seconds)

By the last stretch, everything hurt. My calves were burning, my shoulders were tight, and my head was pounding. Honestly, I wanted to stop. But then a little voice in my head said, “You’ve come this far. Don’t stop now.”
(~25 seconds)

So I pushed harder. My legs moved faster, my arms pumped stronger, and I could hear the finish line before I could see it — music blasting, the announcer shouting, the crowd screaming louder and louder. And then finally… [pause, big smile] I saw it. The finish line.
(~30 seconds)

Crossing that line wasn’t about a medal or the time on the clock. It was about proving to myself that I could keep going, even when everything inside me wanted to quit. That marathon taught me something big: life’s challenges will always feel noisy, messy, and sometimes painful. But if you don’t give up, you’ll find strength you never knew you had.
(~40 seconds)

So the next time you face something tough, remember this: every step counts. No matter how far the finish line looks, you’ll get there if you just keep moving forward.
(~25 seconds)

Because in the end, the real victory isn’t just crossing the finish line. The real victory is refusing to quit before you get there.
(~20 seconds)