For Pharawus Achuan, MANTRA116 wasn’t about racing the clock.

It was about surviving it.

31 hours, 51 minutes, and 29 seconds. That’s how long it took him to cross 116 kilometres of unforgiving Indonesian mountains, battling over 7,400 metres of elevation gain, freezing temperatures, and the quiet war inside his own head.

“People look at the medal, but they don’t understand the hours in between,” Pharawus says. “The suffering, the survival, the small moments where you’re this close to quitting.”

The hardest moments came early. Somewhere deep in the first 55 kilometres, after brutal climbs through the night to altitudes above 3,000 metres, his body started fighting back. Headaches. Dizziness. Nausea. His legs burned from the endless uphill, his knees screamed on slippery, technical descents. “Everything hurts, but you keep going. One step at a time.”

At those altitudes, warmth becomes a strategy. A good running jacket and gloves bought him some protection, but even then, he felt his energy drain faster than he could replace it. “Above 3,000 metres in the dark? No joke. The cold just eats away at you.”

What fuelled him through those long, silent hours was a structured plan, at least at first. Electrolyte capsules. A 40ml pack of DEVER Energy Gel every hour. Hydration balanced between plain water and DEVER Electrolyte Tabs. By 70KM, however, his body rejected gels altogether. Survival meant adjusting on the fly, relying on solid food at aid stations, eating whatever he could stomach just to keep moving.

Those aid stations became his anchors. They were not just for calories, but for sanity. Volunteers greeted runners with warmth, food, and efficiency. “I just had to sit, ask, and they handled everything. Their energy kept me going. It made a difference.”

Still, no checkpoint, no calories, and no jacket mattered more than the presence of Mohd Roslan Idrus. He was Pharawus’s friend, his pacer, his steady companion through it all.

“We’ve done this before at Chiangmai Thailand by UTMB. He knows my pace and my mindset. Out there, you need someone like that. Someone who keeps you moving when it would be easier to stop.”

Together, they broke the race down into something more manageable. Not 116KM. Not 7,400 metres of gain. Just the next checkpoint. Just one more section. Forward, always forward.

“There’s always that voice telling you to stop. Your legs hurt, your knees ache, your body’s numb. That’s the real fight, not against the mountain, but against yourself.”

By the time they returned to Kaliandra Resort nearly 32 hours later, Pharawus wasn’t the same runner who had started. Somewhere between the peaks of Arjuno and Welirang, he had found something quieter than triumph: relief, gratitude, and the quiet pride that only comes from not quitting.

“I’m proud of finishing, yes. But more than that, I’m proud I didn’t give up. I kept fighting through every doubt, every setback.”

If he could change anything, he would train his legs harder for the climbs and prepare better for the punishment of endless elevation. Still, he doesn’t regret a thing. “I gave my best. I enjoyed the pain in some weird way. It’s what we sign up for, right?”

 

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What’s next isn’t urgent. Pharawus is focused on consistency now, on staying healthy, and on keeping the fire alive without rushing toward another start line. Quietly, though, there is a dream: the UTMB Finals at Mont Blanc someday.

“Maybe one day,” he says. “For now, I just want to keep running. Injury-free. Consistently. That’s the goal.”

And for anyone looking at MANTRA116, wondering if it’s possible, wondering if they’re capable, Pharawus offers the same advice he carried through those long hours. Believe in yourself. Prepare well. Trust the work.

“Malaysian Boleh,” he says.

Because some finish lines aren’t won with speed. They are won with patience, resilience, and the stubbornness to keep moving forward until time runs out.