Every morning I would rise at the crack of dawn and after the

When Milkha Singh declared, “Every morning I would rise at the crack of dawn and after the usual ablutions, would get into my sports kit and dash off to the track, where I would run two or three miles cross-country, in the company of my coach,” he was not merely recalling a routine, but unveiling the sacred discipline that forged him into the legend the world would call The Flying Sikh. His words resound with the ancient rhythm of sacrifice, of rising before the world awoke, of consecrating each morning not to leisure but to toil, sweat, and the relentless pursuit of greatness.

The ancients too honored this rhythm. In Greece, the athletes of Olympia began their training with the sun itself, rising to offer their bodies to the gods through sweat and striving. Warriors across civilizations knew the same truth: discipline before dawn brings strength when trials arrive. In Singh’s simple memory of lacing his shoes and stepping onto the track, we see the universal principle that excellence is born not in moments of glory, but in hidden hours of preparation.

The act of running “two or three miles cross-country” is more than mere exercise. It is symbolic of life’s journey: the terrain uneven, the breath burning, the finish unseen. To run this path each morning was to declare war upon weakness, to train not only the legs but the will. The presence of the coach by his side reminds us that no champion rises alone; guidance, correction, and companionship are as essential as sweat. Together, athlete and teacher form a bond that echoes the timeless relationships of master and disciple, of mentor and student.

History offers us a powerful reflection in the life of Epaminondas, the Theban general, who trained his soldiers not only in arms but in music, rhythm, and discipline. He knew that greatness lay not in the battlefield alone, but in the daily practices that shape mind and body alike. Milkha Singh’s dawn ritual is the same truth in modern form: the discipline of the unseen morning becomes the strength of the visible race.

But his words also carry the fragrance of humility. He does not boast of medals or records, but of waking, washing, dressing, and running. This reminds us that true greatness is not built upon rare moments of triumph, but upon ordinary acts repeated with devotion. The crack of dawn becomes a temple, the sports kit a kind of armor, and the running track an altar where sacrifice is made each day.

The lesson for us is profound: if we desire greatness—whether in sport, in art, in wisdom, or in life—we must learn to love the discipline of mornings, the small rituals of persistence. We must rise when the world still sleeps, and sow effort when no one is watching. For it is these hidden labors that later shine like lightning before the world.

Practically, this means creating for ourselves a rhythm of daily discipline. Rise early. Dedicate time each day to the pursuit of your craft. Find a coach—a mentor, a guide, a voice that sharpens your effort. Do not wait for inspiration; let ritual become your strength. And when fatigue whispers, remember the words of Milkha Singh: that champions are made not by chance, but by the choice to rise again, each morning, at the crack of dawn.

Thus, Singh’s recollection is more than memory—it is an eternal teaching. Greatness is the child of discipline, the fruit of daily sacrifice, and the gift of humble beginnings. Follow this path, and though the race of life be long and its terrain uncertain, you too may run as one who flies, lifted by the power of unyielding devotion.