Nineteen Seconds and the Fine Print

It has been exactly a month since I ran my second full marathon at the Tata Mumbai Marathon. Mumbai is unlike any other Indian city when it comes to running. The crowds line up generously along most of the 42 km stretch, strangers cheer as if they have known you for years, and fellow runners become temporary comrades in a shared act of endurance.

This year, the route itself added personality.

The familiar grind of Peddar Road flyover gave way to the looping curves of the coastal road. At first glance, those rising tarred bends looked like something out of a Transformers film, dramatic, slightly intimidating, and undeniably memorable.

The heat began asserting itself after 8AM. As it always does, the real test arrived somewhere around the 30 km mark, when the legs negotiate with the mind, and the mind negotiates back. Yet I crossed the finish line in good time. There was relief, gratitude, and the quiet pride that only a marathon can give.

On most days, that would have called for a double celebration.

This time, the joy carried a small asterisk. I had missed my PROCAM Slam medal by 19 seconds.

For the uninitiated, PROCAM International, established in 1988, organises four of India’s marquee running events: TCS Bengaluru, Vedanta Delhi, Tata Steel Kolkata and Tata Mumbai. To earn the PROCAM Slam, a runner must complete the highest distance in all four races consecutively, 10 km in Bengaluru, 21 km in Delhi, 25 km in Kolkata and 42 km in Mumbai.

It sounds simple. Run all four. Collect the medal. Move on.

That is what I assumed.

I began my cycle with TCS Bengaluru in April 2025, followed by Vedanta Delhi in October and Tata Steel Kolkata in December. Mumbai was meant to complete the quartet. I showed up for every race. I ran every distance. I believed that was sufficient.

It wasn’t.

Like most meaningful pursuits in life, the PROCAM Slam comes with terms and conditions. Participation alone does not qualify you. Each race has a stipulated cut-off time. You must not only finish; you must finish within that window.

For Bengaluru, the 10 km needed to be completed within 1 hour and 25 minutes.

Last year, I crossed the line in 1 hour, 25 minutes and 19 seconds.

Nineteen seconds.

The oversight did not reveal itself at the finish line. It surfaced quietly when I did not receive the expected communication about the Slam ahead of the Mumbai Marathon. Only then did I revisit the fine print I had skimmed while enrolling.

I had signed up. I had assumed. I had not verified.

In fairness, the framework is logical. Cut-off times impose discipline. They ensure that distance is matched by preparedness. They convert participation into performance. The rule exists not to exclude but to elevate.

Thankfully, the story does not end there. Because I completed the other three races well within their cut-offs, there remains a narrow window of redemption. If I run TCS Bengaluru 2026 within 1 hour and 25 minutes, I can still qualify as a PROCAM Slammer. The medal, the lapel pin, the personalised bib number for four years, they are still within reach.

There is hope. There is also no room for slack.

Beyond running goals and commemorative medals, the episode carries a broader reminder. Whether it is an investment product, an insurance policy, a property purchase or even a race registration, the moment one signs up, the terms apply in full. There is rarely scope for negotiation after the fact. Assumptions do not dilute clauses. Effort does not override eligibility criteria.

The fine print is not decorative. It is decisive.

Nineteen seconds is trivial in conversation. In context, it is everything.

Come April, Bengaluru awaits. The training plan is sharper. So is the attention to detail.

Marathons teach patience, humility and resilience. This one added something more enduring.

Always read the terms and conditions.