There are some race formats where you run from Point A to Point B.
There are some where you run from Point A to Point B, then question your life choices, then somehow reach Point C.
And then there is a stadium run.
Here, you run from Point A… back to Point A.
Again.
And again.
And again.
In our case, 157 times.
Welcome to the story of Kohlu Ke Bail, our three-runner relay team at the Beyond Milez Pune Monsoon Stadium Run 2026, where we completed 6 hours, clocked 157 laps, covered 62.80 km, and somehow ended up with Overall Rank 1.
Yes, Rank 1.
This is not a typo.
Even my Garmin paused for a second to verify.
The Tap on the Shoulder
It was a hot, humid May Saturday in Pune.
Stephen, Rohit and I had just finished our weekly long run. Stephen, of course, is my long-time running partner in crime. Over the years, we have committed many endurance-related offences together: early morning alarms, bad pacing decisions, and post-run coffee debates disguised as training analysis.
Rohit is not “Sharma ji ka beta”, but when he is in the mood, he runs like there is no tomorrow. Or like tomorrow has already filed a complaint against him.
I had finished my run, but I had not yet had my post-run coffee. Which means I was technically alive, but not yet socially functional.
That is when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
A familiar sharp voice said:
“Dikhta nahi hai tu?”
It was the kind of voice you cannot immediately assign a gender to. Not male, not female, just pure race-director energy.
I turned around and saw Murlai Pillai — the man who thinks he is a cross between Antonio Banderas from Mask of Zorro and a starved, bottom-of-the-pack African runner. Or, depending on the day, a top-of-the-pack Indian ultra runner.
He looked at us and said:
“We are doing a stadium run in AFMC Pune. Join us.”
Now, a normal person would ask for details.
Date? Format? Weather? Hydration? Medical support? Why?
But runners are not normal people.
We huddled.
Stephen looked interested. Rohit looked dangerous. I had not yet had coffee, so my decision-making ability was naturally compromised.
And just like that, we decided to sign up for the team relay.
The Birth of Kohlu Ke Bail
The next Friday, my Bollywood instinct got the better of me.
I sent what can only be described as a sattar-minute message on the group.
Not a motivational message.
Not a training plan.
A full-blown Chak De India meets Bhaag Milkha Bhaag meets three middle-aged men trying to understand relay logistics speech.
We trained together.
We discussed strategy.
We pretended we knew what we were doing.
Then, on Monday, I was given the responsibility to sign up the team.
This is where destiny entered.
While filling the form, I had to enter a team name.
Now, we were going to run in circles. Sorry, not circles. Let us be technically correct. We were going to run in an ellipse. But emotionally, it was still a circle.
And the only name that came to mind was:
Kohlu Ke Bail
For those who do not know, a kohlu ka bail is the bull that keeps going round and round the oil press.
No destination.
No applause.
No Instagram reel.
Just movement.
So, the team was born.
Kohlu Ke Bail.
Three runners. One track. Six hours. No escape.
The Organisers Deserve a Proper Salute
Before I start making fun of our suffering, let me say this clearly.
The event was superbly organised.
The three runners who put this together deserve real credit:
@runningsingh
@sushilsharma04
@murlipillai
From communication to execution, they did an amazing job.
The basics were clear: time, parking, reporting, format, expectations. That itself is rare. In many events, you reach the venue and discover that the parking plan is actually a spiritual test.
Here, everything was smooth.
And beyond the basics, they pampered the runners. Hydration, support, energy, encouragement, setup — all of it felt thought through.
A stadium run can become boring very quickly if the organisers do not create an atmosphere. This one had energy. It had warmth. It had enough support to make you forget, briefly, that you are voluntarily running around the same track for hours.
The Challenge of Running a Stadium Relay
On paper, a stadium run sounds easy.
Flat track.
No traffic.
No elevation.
No route confusion.
No stray dogs.
No auto-rickshaw uncle suddenly deciding that lane discipline is a Western conspiracy.
But that is the trap.
A track run is not easy. It is a different kind of difficult.
The challenge is not the distance alone. The challenge is repetition.
Every lap looks the same.
Every bend looks familiar.
Every 420 metres, your mind asks:
“Abhi bhi yahin hai?”
There is no new scenery to distract you. No hill to blame. No downhill to celebrate. No landmark to chase. No “bas next signal tak” trick.
Just the track.
And your thoughts.
Which, after a point, become more dangerous than dehydration.
The first few laps are fun.
Then you start counting.
Then you stop counting.
Then someone tells you your lap count.
Then you get depressed.
Then you recover.
Then you see the same cone again.
Then you begin a deep philosophical inquiry into time, space, life, truth, relationships, and why exactly you paid money to become livestock.
A stadium run is not just running.
It is meditation with sweat.
It is punishment with hydration.
It is a board meeting between your legs, lungs and ego — and ego usually has the worst presentation.
Check out my strava
The Eldest Bail Starts the Grind
Since I was the eldest bail, I was given the responsibility to start the relay.
My slot was 4 pm to 6 pm.
This sounds simple until you remember one small detail.
It was Pune.
It was humid.
And it was 4 pm.
The track was hot, the air was heavy, and the body was asking serious questions.
The challenge in that slot was not just pace. It was control. In a relay, you do not run only for yourself. You run knowing that your teammates have to continue after you. If you overcook it, you may look heroic for 30 minutes and then become a WhatsApp sticker for the remaining five and a half hours.
So I started with the responsibility of a senior citizen and the enthusiasm of a man who had named his team after an oil-press bull.
Lap after lap, the track began its magic.
The mind becomes strangely mechanical.
Bend. Straight. Bend. Straight.
Pass the timing mat.
Repeat.
Somewhere in between, you stop being a runner and become a moving Excel sheet.
Pace. Lap. Hydration. Breathing. Sun. Sweat. Repeat.
Stephen Takes Over
After my shift, Stephen took over.
Stephen and I have run together for many years, which means he knows two things about me very well:
One, I can suffer.
Two, I can exaggerate suffering better than most people.
He brought calmness into the relay. Every team needs one runner who looks like he has read the manual. Stephen often gives that impression.
I say “impression” because all runners are internally panicking. Some just have better face control.
His job was to keep the engine running, keep the team in the fight, and not let the track win the mental game.
In a stadium relay, the middle leg is critical. The excitement of the start is gone. The drama of the finish has not yet arrived. It is the place where races quietly get built or broken.
Stephen kept us steady.
Rohit Finishes Like Rohit
Then came Rohit.
Rohit had the final slot, roughly 8 pm to 10 pm.
By then, the weather had become kinder, the lights were on, and the race had entered that strange evening zone where every runner suddenly becomes cinematic.
This is where Rohit is dangerous.
When he is switched on, he runs like there is no tomorrow. Or like he has borrowed tomorrow’s legs also.
He took the baton, metaphorically speaking, and went after the remaining laps.
By now, Kohlu Ke Bail had become more than a funny team name. It had become a mission.
The three of us had gone round and round and round, but somewhere inside that repetition, a story had formed.
Not a dramatic story.
Not an underdog story.
A very Indian runner story.
Three friends. One stupid idea. Two weekends of training. One well-organised event. One track. Six hours. And a team name that was far more accurate than we had planned.
The Numbers
The finisher’s certificate says it better than my memory can.
Event: Beyond Milez Pune Monsoon Stadium Run 2026
Format: 6-hour team relay run
Team Name: Kohlu Ke Bail
Laps Completed: 157
Distance Covered: 62.80 km
Overall Rank: 1
Each lap was around 420 metres.
Which means we did not just run a relay.
We performed a six-hour practical demonstration of circular economy.
Or elliptical economy, for those who are still being technical. The “Bails being Bails” finished with this photo.
Why Stadium Runs Are Special
Road races give you a city.
Trail races give you nature.
Ultras give you existential crisis.
Stadium runs give you yourself.
There is nowhere to hide.
Every weakness comes back every 420 metres.
Bad pacing? It returns.
Wrong hydration? It returns.
Mental fatigue? It returns.
That same bend? It definitely returns.
But there is something beautiful about it too.
You see your teammates again and again. You see other runners fighting their own battles. You see organisers encouraging people lap after lap. You see fatigue becoming rhythm.
And after a point, the track stops feeling repetitive.
It starts feeling honest.
No drama. No distraction. Just movement.
One lap at a time.
Kohlu Ke Bail, But Make It Podium
The funniest part is that we had chosen the name as a joke.
Kohlu Ke Bail.
The bulls who go round and round.
But by the end, that name had become perfect.
Because that is exactly what endurance is.
Not glamour.
Not heroic slow-motion.
Not always finish-line arms in the air.
Sometimes endurance is simply showing up again at the same point, slightly more tired, slightly more sweaty, slightly more doubtful, and still choosing to continue.
That is what we did.
For 157 laps.
For 62.80 km.
For 6 hours.
And somehow, this herd of three bails finished Overall Rank 1.
Final Thank You
A big thank you to Beyond Milez and the organisers — @runningsingh, @sushilsharma04 and @murlipillai — for creating a race that was challenging, warm, well-managed and memorable.
Also, thank you to Stephen and Rohit.
Stephen, my long-time partner in running crime.
Rohit, not Sharma ji ka beta, but definitely the man you want finishing your relay when the lights come on.
And Murlai Pillai next time you tap me on the shoulder and say “dikhta nahi hai tu”, I will first have my coffee.
Then I will still probably say yes.
Because runners are like that.
We complain.
We overthink.
We send sattar-minute messages.
We name teams badly.
Then we run in circles for six hours and call it joy.
Kohlu Ke Bail. Overall Rank 1.
Sometimes, life does not move forward.
Sometimes, it goes round and round.
And still, somehow, you reach somewhere.
One questionto the organizers..
Bhai is ka kya karna hai? My wife saw this in my bag and said “did you go out to drink with your friends to Bopdev?”
