My Comrades Marathon 2010
I don’t intend for this Comrades Marathon story to be a step-by-step account of the whole 89kms/56 miles because that is an awful lot of steps to account for. Plus, the fact that I’m writing this almost three months after the event means there is no guarantee I’m going to remember every single step! But I do want to record and share my experience of the journey which could well turn out to be a once in a lifetime event.
This is it
“This is it” – my first thoughts as I awoke at 3am on the morning of Sunday 30th May 2010, the day of the 85th Comrades Marathon, an ultra-marathon ‘down’ run from Pietermaritzburg to Durban in South Africa. (The route changes direction between the two cities each year).
It had been a restless night as I lay contemplating the 89.2km of tarmac road that was ahead of me, and all the while I was envious of the fact that, beside me, Dave was seemingly managing to get some sound sleep. But sleep, or lack of it, was not going to stop me from feeling ready to take on the challenge of this ultimate human race.
In silent respect for each other, both Dave and I began our usual morning running rituals to get ready for the day ahead. The preparations of course had started long before today. It was when we were leaving South African in December 2007 that we promised ourselves we would return in 2010 for both of us to run Comrades and to experience the first FIFA World Cup on African soil.
Why run Comrades?
To help you understand why I had this goal of running Comrades, I have to go further back in time. I lived for a while in South Africa in the early ‘90’s where I met a few ‘lunatics’ who had run this legendary race, and I was awestruck at them accomplishing such a feat. Then when I was studying in Sheffield a few years later, it turned out my tutor, Dave Bagshaw, had not only run Comrades, but won it! He won it the first time he attempted it in 1969 in a time of 5hrs 45mins 35secs. He won it again in 1970 and in 1971 – the first man to win Comrades in three consecutive years. And of course when ‘my Dave’ ran it in 2007, I was further inspired, and I dreamed of the day we would take on this challenge together.
Comrades camaraderie
The day was here, and together with five other runners who we’d met only the day before, we travelled the 40-minute journey to the start line in Pietermaritzburg. We’d been staying in Kloof for the week leading up to the race, and cannot begin to thank Heather, a friend of a friend in Colorado who had herself ran Comrades in 2008, for putting us in touch with her cousins. Susie & Michael Pottinger and their three lovely kids, Emma, Alex and Sam, could not have us (strangers) more welcome in their home. We were thoroughly spoiled, and it was the perfect place to relax before the big day.
The camaraderie that the race is so famous for, was already evident when Brian, a neighbour of the Pottingers, offered us to join his family and friends for a pasta supper, and to watch the Super 14 rugby final, the evening before the race. Brian was also the one who got up at the ungodly hour in the dark of night to drive us all to the start. He had run 10 Comrades Marathons, so he knew what we were going through.
Qualifying for the start line
We made it to the start line with only a few minutes to spare and jostled to get a space in our seeding pen. Thankfully we were both starting in the same pen, but more by luck than anything else. All runners must enter a marathon time of under five hours to qualify for Comrades. Your qualifying time determines where on the line you start – the faster your marathon time, the further up the field you start. Since I had only ever run one marathon in 4hrs 52mins, I had to use that as my qualifying time, and it put me right at the back of the pack in seeding pen H. At the time of entering back in October last year, Dave used his qualifying time of 4hrs 14mins, putting him ahead of me in pen F. But a few weeks before Comrades Dave asked to be upgrade his seeding based on completing the Southland marathon in 3hrs 49mins. Comrades kindly obliged, but instead of upgrading Dave, they changed me to pen D! Dave requested his change a second time and conveniently failed to mention their error on my entry. They amended his seeding to D, and so it was that we were destined to start together!
Race day
Back on the start line, well before sunrise, the tension was mounting as almost 16,500 runners of all shapes and sizes, tried to squeeze into the starting pens. The smell of deep heat permeated the chill in the air, while runners limbered up to the tune of the South African national anthem, followed by the spine-tingling sounds of Chariots of Fire.
My emotions were running high as I thought not only of the enormity of the challenge that lay ahead, but of all the obstacles I’d overcome, and the effort I had put in to get to this point, As I stood there trying to compose myself and conserve my energy, I knew it was not just my efforts that got me to the start line, but the support I received from all the people who believed in me, and of course, one special person in particular. There was no way I could hold back the tears as I felt the loving arms of my darling husband wrap around me. It was Dave who got me here, and I knew this was my day to make him proud as I joined the unique group of athlete who define themselves by conquering the ultimate human race that is the Comrades Marathon.
At 5.30am the cock crowed, and a single gunshot signalled the start of my first ever Comrades Marathon. All I could think was the time is now, I’m going to do it. My mission was to cross the finish line before another single gunshot would be fired exactly 12 hours later to signal the end of this legendary gun-to-gun race.
Hand in hand we shuffled along, and six minutes later we crossed the start line. It was time to let go, and now I was on my own. Dave would run his race and I would run mine. We arranged to meet at the international tent in Kingsmead Sahara Stadium in Durban sometime later that day.
My first few kilometres were fraught with nerves. It was dark and congested and I had to watch my every step to avoid tripping over rubbish, kerbs, or someone else. I had a slight niggle in my right hip, a dry mouth, and a desperate need to have a pee. I had attempted to use the port-a-loo at the start, but the stench and the darkness was too much to handle. I’m not a fan of running in the dark and just told myself to hang in there until daylight.
The streets of Pietermaritzburg were thronged with supporters lifting spirits, and definitely helping me to warm up on the gradual uphill, but it was at least five or six kilometres before I felt I was in any kind of rhythm. About 10kms later it was time to pull off to the side of the road for that much needed pee. I didn’t care that a man squatted down next to me to do more than a pee – when you gotta go, you gotta go, so I left him to it!
As the sun rose, so too did my confidence, and I felt comfortable with my pace as ahead of me I could see runners for what seemed like miles, and glancing behind, the winding trail of runners looked never-ending. I was loving this.
The well wishes from other runners on the course was just fantastic, particularly the South Africans, who were from all walks of life, and were so proud to share this experience with international runners like me. (The colour of my race number denoted I was an international runner, and it had my name and country on there). I chatted to so many along the way who welcomed me to their beautiful country, and this legendary race. I felt humbled and privileged to be a part of it, and it made all the training worthwhile.
Training for an ultramarathon
My training for Comrades started with very small steps and goals back in 2008, having run my first official 10km race in Queenstown in December that year. I was doing half-marathon distance by February 2009, and I completed my first (and only) marathon in Christchurch in June. After a bout of winter blues, my training started in earnest in September, and I decided to follow a training schedule for novice runners who wanted to completed Comrades in 11 hours. The programme was time based with four days of training – hill repeats on Tuesdays, fast runs on Thursdays, and long runs on both Saturdays and Sundays.
In October, along with Dave and 23,566 others, I registered to run the 2010 Comrades. For me this was the moment I was committed to the cause, and there was no turning back.
All was going well until late November when I suffered a stress fracture of my tibia and I had to stop running. I was devasted at the prospect of not being able to achieve this goal I’d set myself, and it was Dave could do to console me. Thankfully the combination of rest, physiotherapy, and massage, healed the injury, but it was mid-January before I could get back on my feet, this time staying off-road as much as possible. Losing those eight weeks of training at such a vital stage meant it was going to be touch and go if I would be ready in time.
Dave adapted my training programme, and together we decided it was best I follow the ‘finishers’ programme – designed to complete Comrades inside the 12-hour gun.
The valley of a thousand hills
Meanwhile back in the R103 road to Durban, I was on target to achieve this as I got through the first few cut-off points with time comfortably on my side. There were five official cut-off points on route – the first around the 30km mark, then at the halfway point, one after 60km, one at about the 72km market, and then another with 9km to go. Runners that don’t make these points are pulled out of the race and taken to the finish by bus.
Writing this post almost three months after the event, I realise how much of the detail of the race I’ve sadly forgotten, but there are the poignant moments that will remain with me forever. The first was after about 25km when I overheard a female runner complain to her companion about the hill ahead. He replied “if you need motivation have a look at this guy coming up” – the guy he was referring to was Jappie, a runner I recognised from Queenstown in the Eastern Cape, and who has only one leg. If that wasn’t motivation enough for her, I don’t know what was.
Running through Inchanga I was again reduced to tears as the children from a special needs school, many from their wheelchairs, cheered us on with singing, clapping, and high fives. At one stage or another, I thought of every single one of our family and friends in the UK and NZ who generously sponsored us to run this race in aid of raising money for a much loved and deserving community in the Eastern Cape.
The crowd support was truly amazing with the road lined the majority of the way, and there was barely a dull moment. The music, singing and dancing from the locals was real entertainment, and the generosity of the South African people was overwhelming. As well as the 46 official refreshment tables providing water, coke, energy drinks, oranges, bananas, chocolates, biscuits, and my absolute favourite, potatoes, the local people were offering their own sweets, chocolate and home baked goodies.
I was in my element at Comrades enjoying every minute of it. Conditions were great, thankfully not too hot (it reached about 22 Celsius), and after 40kms of running I was working up an appetite. Salty spuds were my order of the day and I munched on a handful here and there to keep my energy levels up. I kept myself hydrated alternating with water, energy drinks, and flat coke. All stuff I’d taken during training so I suffered no ill effects unlike many other runners I saw.
One man running behind me was being terribly sick so I stopped to try and help him, but after rubbing his back for a minute or two, I had to leave him as it was making me feel sick too.
At the 45km mark I began walking some of the uphill sections, and as I approached the 60km marker I was going into new unknown territory. The furthest I’d run during training was 60km – a day I will not forget in a hurry, nor will I forget all the friends who came out to support both Dave and I on what turned out be the wettest day in Queenstown for 10 years! It was that day at the end of April that I knew Comrades was within my grasp.
When I reached Kloof and the Nedbank Green Mile, I was feeling strong and happy, and enjoying this fantastic day out. I was elated when I recognised Susie supporting me from the side of the road. Running alongside me for a minute or two, she was able to tell me that Michael and Sam had spotted Dave much earlier and he too was strong. I was looking forward to seeing him at the finish line in just a few hours’ time.
I was on the long downhill section of Fields Hill now and my quads were working hard. It was difficult to watch so many fellow runners pull up with cramp and pain. All I could do was shout words of encouragement because I know if I stopped, then getting going again would be tough. I could see Durban in the distance, and as I got to the flat stretch through Pinetown my pace indicated I would be finishing in around 11hrs 15 minutes. I was delighted. The crowds were intense at this stage and fuelled by a day in the sun with plenty of liquid pleasures, they were entertaining to say the least.
At the top of Cowies Hill with about 16kms to go I had a real challenge. My left knee suddenly seemed to snap and I felt instant pain. The good news was I still had almost two and half hours until the gunshot would go at the finish (thank goodness I had my Garmin watch). With my poor mental arithmetic skills even I could work out that this was still possible if I could manage to keep moving. I stopped for a moment or two trying to stretch and ‘shake off’ the pain and to massage myself, and oh how I wished Becs, my massage therapist in Queenstown, was here with me!
No sooner had I stopped than an emergency vehicle pulled up alongside me offering me a lift to the finish. I could think of nothing worse, and politely told them so in no uncertain terms, but not before helping myself to one of their chocolate biscuits to get me going again.
I had worked hard to get to this race and I was determined to finish it under my own steam. I let the vehicle go and I focused on the finish line taking one step at a time. I used the sachets of cold water from the drinks tables and padded them around my knee for some light relief. I walked a bit and ran a bit, and reminded myself that pain was only weakness leaving the body – a motivation I’d received from an ultra-marathon runner in New Zealand.
It was not long until both my knees were hurting, but I ignored the pain again by joining in singing chants in Xhosa with a group of black guys who were running in a lovely rhythm. I stayed with them for as long as I could, but eventually had to resort to walking again.
My prayers were answered when supporters on the roadside were handing out ice cubes. I packed a load of ice around both knees and waddled my way towards the 45th cutting and the final cut-off point. I made it through and had an hour and five minutes left to complete the final 9kms. I knew I was going to do it. In all my training exercises I’d visualised myself crossing the finish line with no sign of the man with the gun.
The finish line in sight
When the 1,000 or so runners in the 12-hour pace setting group passed me, I instantly thought of Dave. He had warned me that whatever you do, don’t let the 12-hour bus pass you. From my calculations I figured that they were going to arrive at the finish line 10 minutes early, so from my perspective I had no need to panic. I let them go and kept myself composed. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Dave was waiting for me at the finish line, and starting to wonder how on earth he was going to console me if I didn’t make it within the 12-hour cut off.
I desperately wanted to be able to run when I got into the stadium so I thought it best not to do any more damage and to walk the final two kilometres. The crowd were going wild and yelling at me to run, but I knew I didn’t need to, and kept saying aloud to them “Don’t worry, I have it in the bag”!
As I saw the lights and entrance to the stadium I was overwhelmed with emotion and I knew I had made it. The noise was deafening and I picked up my pace and headed for the finish line thinking there was only 100 metres to go, when actually there were 400m – a complete lap of the stadium. Through tears of absolute joy I could see the clock counting down, and after 11 hours 59 minutes and 7 seconds I ran across the Comrades finishing line.
The best day of my life
This was the happiest and proudest moment of my life, and all I wanted to do now was share it with Dave and hear his Comrades story. First I found Susie & Michael waiting for me in the international tent full of congratulations, and with a cold beer that never tasted so good! The tears I shed with them were nothing compared to when I heard Dave’s voice on Michael’s mobile phone as he was trying to make his way to meet us. We were both overcome with happiness and relief, and it was THE best feeling ever.
For reasons still unbeknownst to me I knew it was my destiny to complete Comrades that day, but for many fellow runners it was not to be. Out of the 23,568 entrants, 17,627 met the qualifying criteria, 16,480 started the race, and 14,343 finished.
Dave, too, was one of those finishers. He did brilliantly, taking an hour off his previous Comrades (2007) time, finishing this year in 10hrs 8mins.
Drifting off to sleep later that night, I thought proudly “That was it, I did it, and it was the best day of my life”.
