It’s 5am, 5 degrees, and I find myself following the herds of other runners entering their seeded pens by the light of a full moon, to participate in what’s known as the ultimate human race – The Comrades marathon. 89km through the valley of a thousand hills, from PMB to Durban in south africa.
I’ve been awake since 2.30. The only alarm needed was the multitude of nerves, excitement and fear. I am aware of my heart in my chest as I don my race gear. Yesterday we had checked our resting heart rates – 46. Now 72! I smile to myself as I carefully put on my toe socks, a sign that I have become ‘one of those runners’.
The planned breakfast of two pieces of honey toast & a banana is only half eaten. I board the shuttle bus to the start with my running partner in crime. Through many long runs over the last 5 months we know each other too well. Neither of us talk when nervous, whereas the bus is full of nervous chatter & laughter. The driver announces to us all ‘you all look overweight & undertrained – perfect for comrades.’
Bags checked in, I hug my running partner good luck & goodbye. We have tears in our eyes. No words were spoken. I enter my pen. At 5.15 the crowd surges forward as the barriers between the pens are taken down. I throw my jacket over the fence. Luckily I stand shoulder to shoulder with 16,000 other runners to keep me warm. On one side is a fellow Perth runner, an experienced comrades runner, a friend, who I agreed to run the first part with. The other side is a wiry black south African man who wishes me a great race & tells me to smile & remember my family if things get tough on the road.
Suddenly the dark early morning is filled with the sound of the south African anthem. Then a choir of 16,000 runners singing sholsolza. The crowd surges again. Chariots of fire revs up the runners. I check the clock on the town hall. 3 minutes to go. My nerves have gone. I clear my mind. I have done the training & although with a bit of injury along the way, I’m happy. I can’t change any of it now. I’m racing with the blessings and support of a huge community. Most thinking I’m insane and despite this, still stood by me for it all. And although I want to run well to make them all proud, I know that ultimately today is my day. A day months in the making. I start my garmin.
The gun fires. The race is on! It takes me a few minutes to cross the start line, although I’m aware my time is already ticking.There is no chance of a running rhythm for the first few kms. The main aim is to dodge the discarded clothes, plastic bags & water bottles and go with the stream of runners.
The supporters line the streets all clapping and yelling ‘This way to Durban. It’s all downhill from here.’
I tried to run the first half with disciplined mind and legs. Over and over I had heard the horror stories of people going out too hard. It was difficult, as for the first time in months, I was running on fresh legs, properly hydrated and fueled. I’m also quite competitive in nature, so I just sucked it up while others passed me. After all, I had plenty of practice at this from BTRC’s Tuesday long intervals.
I felt good at the half way mark. I high fived a friend as we quickly congratulated each other. A thumbs up and a smile for the camera. I had stuck to my pace plan. This celebratory mood changed within metres as I then faced one of the tougher hills on the course.
On the route I stopped at the memorial wall scouring for a friend’s father’s plaque who had passed away recently. I made a small cross out of twigs and was placing this as my friend arrived. He was running with some of his dad’s ashes and he scattered these around the plaque. Soon we were surrounded by a few other Perth runners. I hugged my friend and told him his dad would be proud. I raised my eyes to the heavens and asked my own dad to watch over me. ‘Please bring me home to Durban’ I muttered to myself.
I won’t bore you all with a km by km rundown. To be honest, alot of it is a blur, and I couldn’t tell you what hill was where. But there were definitely hills, and I mean big hills.
The support from those on the route was phenomenal. People everywhere. DJs, dancers, Zulu warriors, bikies, cheerleaders in hammocks in the overhanging trees, physios rubbing down sore runners, students in tgeir straw boaters, and families BBQing handing out their cooked wares to runners.
A few supporters spring to mind. An overweight man with cigarette in mouth, beer in hand, cooking egg and bacon rolls for runners, while wearing a ‘I hate running’ T-shirt certainly gave me a laugh. The young African girl who yelled as I shuffled by ‘that white lady just passed a black man’ gave me a much needed boost at a difficult time of the run. And I particularly thank all the calls of ‘Go lady’ from all the wonderful female supporters.
I am proud to be a female runner. That is, until it came to the knowledge that somewhere on an 89km run, I’m going to need to pee. The vivid memory of a pitstop in kings park at 40km on a 50km training run, found me unable to get off the toilet! I will spare you the details, but it was no mean feat squatting behind some scrub surrounded by thousands of supporters, a helicopter hovering overhead & the fear of not being able to stand up again!
I talked to myself alot on the route – it may have even been out loud. Up hills was the unoriginal ‘I think I can, I know I can, I’m sure I can, I can’. I repeated my mantra of DEBT when things got tough – Drink, Eat, Balanced mind and Time management. When I felt I was getting emotional I decided it was a sign of hypoglycaemia and I ate something.
People have asked me what I ate and drank. It was like an ultra dining experience. Food was everywhere but I stuck to my rule of only eating and drinking what I had practiced on my training runs. Water was provided in plastic sachets. There was a knack of opening these with your teeth, and I provided my running mate with a great deal of amusement as he asked me exactly what was I doing. Every 10km I ate something, whether it was a mouthful of cold salted boiled potato, a gel or part of an energy bar. I tried a milk arrowroot biscuit at 70km but had no saliva to get it down.
At 60km I clearly remember thinking ‘This is not so bad. What’s the big deal? Only 30km to go. Just a weekend long training run. Here we go. The race is in the bag’.
Fast forward 5km of quad crushing downhill and I was a broken runner. The mind was numb but unfortunately my legs were not. Every fibre below my waist was screeching out to stop. I was done. And then I remembered what I had shared with Alex for her ultra. ‘In a long race, run the first third with your head, the second with your personality and the final third with your heart.’ And something clicked. I could do this. I don’t mean the pain went away. Oh no, it was well and truly still there. I mean I suddenly knew not only would I finish this but I could still hopefully run sub 10 hours. After all, my dad was watching, as were all the ‘trackers’ from home.
It was the slowest, most painful 25km of my life. I tried to break it down & work out how slow I could run and still make it under ten hours. My maths failed me miserably. I was an unhappy plodder. In this rut, I have Richard Russel to thank for some strategies he taught me to use for such occasions. I took it one km at a time. I picked an object up ahead and bargained with myself to run there and then allowed myself 20 walking steps. And I started overtaking people. In some sections I was the only person running. Just 10km to go. I tried to picture the bridges, a regular 10km run of mine. Didn’t work. Too hard to picture the swan bells when you are hauling yourself up a steep hill.
With 3km to go the tank was empty. But I really wanted this. I tried to convince my body and mind that I had run plenty of 3km when my legs were tired & sore. And this time there was a much bigger reward than breakfast. I’m not fooling myself, I know I didn’t suddenly pick up my pace and start lifting my knees. I know it was a grueling, slow shuffle but it was at least relentless forward motion!
And then I heard the roar coming from inside the Durban stadium as I came around the corner. There was no way I was not running into this stadium filled with 100,000 people cheering the runners home.
I’m usually an unemotional runner, but that final 400m I ran with my fist punching the air. A smile so wide. I could hear people yelling my name. I saw flashes of Australian flags and most importantly I saw the finish line. I had done it. 9hrs46 minutes.
The ultimate human race….
