Well, we did it again. The madness that is the Comrades Marathon.
This year while attempting to finish my second consecutive Comrades Ultra on Sunday June 9, I had another realisation.
For a while now, when people ask me why I do what I do, referring to running, and more importantly, ultra-distance running, I realise I usually have different answers depending on who’s asking and why.
The truth may be that I don’t actually have a clue, but I know one thing, it always feels like something I need to do. I mean, doing this kind of stuff makes me feel alive in a pretty twisted way.
This thing I do is very challenging; it’s painful and exhausting both physically and mentally, but equally fun and fulfilling.
Running 86km is no easy feat and my mixed feelings about it are because that’s exactly what Comrades does to you. On that special day, you’re guaranteed to experience all sorts of emotions: you get excited, it gets painful, you want to cry, you get emotional, and you feel like a beast, it’s just one big roller-coaster of feelings.
At the start line, as soon as we began singing the National Anthem, Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika, I looked around at the faces of some of the athletes, it had been a while since I had seen and heard the national anthem being sung with such unity and passion. We move to Shosholoza and you hear some voices trembling. The sound of Chariots of Fire is where some start shaking, silent prayers and all, a lot of butterflies in the tummy.
With all that said though, I doubt there’s a single soul in the world who can convince me there’s a better feeling than pushing through all those turbulent feelings and pain we put ourselves through and emerging victorious by reaching the end goal of crossing the finish line.
A year ago, I successfully navigated my first Comrades Marathon, putting my body and mind through possibly the most exhausting challenge anyone can voluntarily attempt.
I made it home in 8h35min, with a Bill Rowan medal being the gift I got.
In running circles, there are always whispers that you’re not really a runner until you attempt the Ultimate Human Race, as the Comrades Marathon is billed.
But after breaking your Comrades duck, well, it’s customary to go for your back-to-back medal. It’s not really up for debate.
And if you did the down run, you have to also do the up.
So I had to be there again this year for the up run, from Durban to Pietermaritzburg.
And my take on it… it was gruelling and tested my grit at new levels.
I mean, I knew it was never going to be easy, I’ve done it before, but it wasn’t supposed to be that difficult and painful.
That said, and crazy enough, I don’t know why I was having so much fun while being in so much pain. Also, I do believe to run such a distance, one has to have at least one screw loose in the head, and I am no different as I again kept questioning my sporting choices.
Maybe the fun part in all the pain was realising I was not alone and everyone around me was having those doubtful thoughts.
For the up run… we knew there would be lots of climbing, but nobody told me we’d start hills barely 2km into the race, before the body even registered what I was about to put it through. They must have lied about the number of hills, by the way. I am sure I counted at least 86 of them, as the road to Pietermaritzburg is very steep. Initially, I said I’d move at a silver medal pace for the first 30km before relaxing and taking it easy to the finish.
I did start fast and bumped into a few runners with whom I have no business being that close to in distance running. When I was supposed to take it easy at my 30km mark, it was anything but easy as I was already at a near walking pace. My feet started burning way earlier than I had anticipated; they felt very heavy.
Climbing up Inchanga in particular, I actually saw a nice huge rock on the side of the road that looked like a very cool, shady spot to sit and relax and watch all these fearless heroes loosening up their strides.
I deliberated for a good five seconds about it, but by the time I made up my mind, I was already past and decided to just keep it moving. I, like the other 20 000 like-minded individuals, had to remind myself of the goal I had set for myself and why quitting is not in our vocabulary.
Marathon running is strange. Up to at least 55km of the race, I ignored my legs as they begged for mercy, and the best I could do was just slow down the pace. Then you have that so-called Polly Shortts hill, which comes about 10km to the finish. Suddenly, my legs and my brain were in sync, and I can proudly say I bossed that hill, forgetting about the others before. I suddenly had a burst of energy as I could feel the end getting closer with each stride.
What was even sweeter was meeting my clubmate from Khayelitsha AC, Ta Sbosh, running alongside one Melikhaya from running for Gugs. The new trio, without a word, decided that a photo finish was what we were going for, and the tough part was done, now we could sprint home. Possibly what also fueled me was having running neighbours besides me.
I had gone to a near crawl to unbelievably running below 4min/km when I joined forces with them.
We crossed the finish line, and I learned that I now have a time of under 8:30, nearly 20 minutes better than the last race. I must also share that my running watch died at about 74km. Surprisingly, that didn’t deter me at all, it wasn’t going to make much difference as at that point I needed no pacing but just responded to how the body felt.
I know so many were in as much pain as I was and the ones who were doing it for the first time are now lying to themselves saying, “Never again”.
To them, I only give you a month or so. Your mind will clear, and you’ll start thinking logically again, which means we are going back again next year to prove once more how warrior-spirited we are. It is just what we do.
A massive shoutout to the seconding team ladies from Khayelitsha who accompanied us. And such was the joy of seeing the little ones shouting “baleka, baleka malume” and then proceeding to request I give them my cap. And someone help me find those pretty ladies who cheered me on just after Cato Ridge and said, “wena, you’re mine”, promising to find me and rub my feet afterwards. Now that’s some motivation.
NB: I must have got the right shoes this time around. I’m yet to see anything to suggest I may lose a couple of toenails. To those who do, I’m sure it’s worth it, it’s just toes. Two-time Comrades finisher takes a bow. Nakanjani!
