Foodie weather

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing" - Benjamin Franklin 

Today is really winter. Some super sized cold-front hit the Cape this week and we finally got the hit today. This morning, despite getting up and dressing for running, we opted to bunk. Not so much due to the cold, although it did contribute, but I suddenly realised that it is the last Saturday that we can skip track or running without feeling guilty. From the 1st of July, training will be back in full, committed mode. Not that we did nothing this week, but it was quite pleasant to just go shopping and sort out a few things around the house. All that extra time this morning inspired me to spend some quality time in the kitchen. I thought perhaps, I can do something today that is worth writing about.

Mission: Banting friendly chocolate
Due to the issues I have with many products on the market that claims to be "low carb" or "banting" friendly. Very seldom does one find a product that is truly "real" food only and one can see from the list of ingredients that many product labels are quite misleading if you don't know your stuff. I've really been thinking hard about making chocolate and have held off because I thought it might be hard to get the chocolate "real" and tasty. However, today's weather inspired me to try.

My first attempt this morning was a massive success among my testers. Three of us tested the results and whilst Carl and I eat low-carb all the time, his daughter is a "normal". She however agreed that the chocolates were delightful.

Recipe/Method
Isabel's Banting Chocolates

100 g cocoa butter (or 50g cocoa butter + 50 g coconut oil)
5-6 tablespoons of good quality cocoa powder
3-4 tablespoons of erythritol
1/2 cup desiccated coconut
3 tablespoons of grated pecan nuts (optional, but nice)

Melt the cocoa butter in double boiler (or like me in a metal bowl over boiling water in a pot).
Once molten add the sweetener and stir a bit, then add the rest of the ingredients.
It thickens up a bit but keep it over the hot water until nicely mixed.
I used silicone moulds for my chocolates, but you could just pour it into a sheet out and let it set in the freezer. If you use the sheet principle try keep it about 3-5 mm thickness. It makes a nice rustic type of chocolate if broken. I just stuck in the freezer and then pop them out of the silicone moulds. Happy chomping.

If you used coconut oil, the melting temperature is lower than that of cocoa butter so be careful about leaving it outside the fridge. The 50:50 blend is still ok, but will melt when you hold it in your eager paw for too long. Cocoa butter and coconut oil are both healthy fats, although cocoa butter has the higher melting point, so the two together is a very nice "fat bomb" for runners. Both oils make good chocolate and I plan to keep experimenting with this, but I am pretty happy with the first batches. The desiccated coconut not only adds to the taste but also stretches the pretty expensive cocoa butter a bit. I also added a few drops of peppermint essence to the second batch and it's truly amazing how much it reminds me of peppermint crisp. The crunchiness of the coconut, chocolate and erythritol is magical.

Banting burgers for lunch! That was the next mission for today. 


Making our food from scratch is fun and I always feel like I am getting in touch with  my inner foodie and child when I attempt new things in the kitchen. Low-carbing also gives me a kick, there is some engineering in this way of cooking, but also a lot of creativity. It really focused my mind on cooking real food with fresh ingredients. Today for lunch we had our first burger in more than a year. I took the LC burger to the next level though. I made the patties from scratch (mince 500 g fresh mince, chopped onion, 4 eggs and 2 tablespoons of coconut flour). They tasted great and looked so good. I also made some Banting bread buns and we had the most lovely, luxury burger ever!




My final foodie act for the day was to roast some baby tomatoes in preparation for tomato soup for dinner. While baking the buns for the burgers, I also roasted the tomatoes until properly caramelized and squishy.


Creamy tomato soup recipe

1 can of chopped tomatoes or 2 large fresh ones chopped into chunks
250 g of baby tomatoes (roasted if you can)
1/2 a medium onion, chopped and cooked in butter until translucent
500 to 700 ml homemade broth (chicken broth is my preference)
250 ml cream
Salt, pepper (cayenne is best if you don't mind the bite)

The tomatoes, onion and broth mixture should cook nicely for at least 30 minutes. Add the cream and use a blitz stick to make it into the dreamy, creaminess. The roasted baby tomatoes add a delicious flavour. Sprinkle a bit of feta when serving for extra decadence.Creamy, dreamy tomato soup for dinner! I highly recommend this for a feel good meal. I make the broth from the chicken carcasses from Friday night dinner and store it in the fridge for soup. Packed with healthy minerals.




And thus I hope after all of that, that my "do" today was worth "writing".

Note to self

For this year's Youth Day I decided to just breathe. It's something I don't do often enough. It's always such a mad rush and sometimes self-inflicted. The day started with a beautiful run with the Boskruin Group. We just kind of slotted in and had one of those really enjoyable runs. Saw the sun come up. Chilly morning, but not icy. Just lovely. Reminded me what I like about running. Body is just ticking over and one is out with good people, no stress, just enjoying life. Two weeks ago we ran Comrades and now we have to move on, find new goals, enjoy our running. If feels less like work again, more like a passion. Last year we came back so broken, I just gave up until September. So far this year's wind-down after Comrades has been really nice. A week of total rest, then we had 3 gentle runs during week 2, and today we did 15km, basically the start of week 3. The legs feel okay and the best thing is the joy, the joy is back! I am so blessed.

Just breathe...

So I am sitting in front of the heater with the two puppies (I know, people look at us funny when we call them monsters puppies, but if you raised a puppy (even a big dog), they stay babies in your mind). The puppies are perfecting their afternoon nap techniques, whilst I am playing my entire iTunes music collection via my Bluetooth connection from my iPhone (don't you just love technology). I love listening to good music, drinking Nespresso and relaxing, doing things on my computer I never get time to do normally. No where to go. Nobody in my office. An entire day to my own devices. And the public holiday sort of crept up on me this year so I made no plans apart from this morning's run. Nothing to do but breathe.

Note to self: I should do this more often.

Running is a gift, not just for the gifted

I started running in 2008, at 38 I was overweight, unfit and totally not sporty. For 38 years of my life I had not owned a decent pair of running shoes or even proper training attire. Ask anybody in my family, I am known for being a bookworm. My weight was always an issue, and being diagnosed with Hashimoto's in my mid-twenties, resulted in a thyroidectomy (removal of the thyroid) at 28. Apart from being able to swallow without feeling like someone was trying to throttle me, the removal of my thyroid did not magically heal me or solve my weight issues. I then started on a long journey of self-doubt, depression about not being able to solve my problems and general unhappiness about my body and health. I felt, that somehow my body's failings was my fault, I couldn't be strict enough or "good" enough for prolonged periods of time to maintain low-fat, low-carb, high-lettuce diets. After some additional upheaval in my personal life in 2008, I started running. I just ran on a treadmill every night to cope initially, but also noticed that suddenly I lost a bit of weight. I introduced a new habit (after about 6 weeks of regular running). Soon I walked less and ran a bit more, but I was still skittish to run "outside" on "roads" and with "people". I discovered my iPod and listened to music, or watched TV whilst working on my treadmill.

The Randburg Valentines 10km Night Race was my first. I remember the overwhelming crowds and people and the sheer magic of the carnival-like atmosphere. As an inexperienced newbie I just got into the batch at the back and started plodding. It's big race and congested, but I didn't mind. This was just to see if I liked it. I did. I finished in just under 75 minutes and received a coffee mug at the finish. My first race, I was proud and not broken, but I was still and outsider. I just sort of stood around, didn't know anybody, did not know what to do and then wandered off to my car to go home. Great experience, but I did not feel like I fitted in. Little did I know that this was the beginning of something that would become a major part of my life. I could not have guessed the many gifts running would and still bestows on me.

The next day, everything was sore, mostly my joints. The switch from treadmill to road, catching up with me, but I didn't feel discouraged, just kind of surprised that I managed it. After that race, I found the treadmill boring. I wanted to run on the road this was the first warning sign. I started jogging in my suburb, alone and very nervous, At first a bit hesitantly, but I slowly found my way and shortly started rewarding myself with gadgets (first a new iPod, then a polar heart rate monitor and finally I upgraded to my first Garmin GPS watch in 2010). I look back today and I know, after that one 10km race, I was hooked, even though I did not know it yet.

In 2008, I ran 5 races (all 10s), in 2009 I ran 19, including my first 15km, my first half marathon and then my first Tough One (32km). It was the beginning of the trend. Set a goal, train for it and then do it. At that stage, race times were still very abstract to me. Mathematically I understood the concepts but sub-60 minutes for a 10km race meant little to me. I slowly gained confidence though and even though I was still racing alone, and not thinking of myself as a runner nor as a "runner", it became my weekend thing. I looked for races on the calendar and these to train for goal races. In 2009 it was the Tough One. Races were and easy way to train, because I was still running alone. Honestly I thought the Tough One would be the longest race I would aim for (ever), a small part of me thought, maybe a marathon one day, way way in the future. And in 2009 I started a friendship, my best friend, Lesley and I met at pottery. I had started pottery to try and branch out, make friends, in an effort not become the lonely cat-lady in my suburb. I was fortunate. Lesley noticed that I was a lonely, lost, broken girl and adopted me. We soon became training buddies. We ran together 3 times a week after work or on a Saturday morning and found that we were soon part of each other's lives. Sometimes, she'd tell me about her glory days, and her Comrades training and her runs and I'd be in awe. Today she is a very part-time runner. Injuries and pushing herself too hard for her goals during her peak years almost caused her to have to stop running altogether. We've however managed to make adjustments to our training lives to always keep her part of our training. She gently pushed me to try longer distances, that is races beyond 10 kms. Which in my mind had been my limit. My first 15km (Khose 15km) nearly broke me. Those hills! But she also ran the then Township 15km with me and we pushed the last km and I discovered the concept of pacing. I was such a novice, but hidden in the training sessions, was a surprise gift, running gave me the gift of friendships.

My first half marathon (21.2 km) was the Wally. I finished in a respectable time of 2:11, I was much younger then :-) and as I finished a 70 year old oomie, finished behind me and told me well done. My first introduction to running conversation. I smiled and said it's my first 21 Oom. He smiled and said it his 100th or something in that order of magnitude. The number was huge, I forgot the actual number, but he said, he kept a record of each race he's ever run. I immediately started my own and have been keeping track of races since then. Once you've start, it's the coolest thing. I have a sheet that tally my races (date, finish times and distances). Since 2009 for example, I've run 53 half marathons and wait for it, 6 Tough Ones. I've been fortunate to have been able to run the Tough One every year since 2009. It was my first ever goal race! After the second one I noticed some people with different numbers and I overheard that one gets a special number if you've done 10 Tough Ones, so it became a goal. I want to run 10 of those! It was one of my first big running dreams, another running gift, the gift of dreaming. It's where it really started for me - in retrospect of course. The true engagement with what running is all about. Commitment to a goal. Another running gift, the gift of discipline, building towards something far in the future, the gift of commitment. I've not had a few really tough, Tough Ones, and the finish times are almost irrelevant, it's the dream that counts. So my tally of races (and I only count formal ones) and distances via races grew from five 10km races in 2008.

Somewhere along the line, I became a runner. Without knowing it or even realising it, I slowly started to believe. Slowly started to dream and then set goals. Some goals were kind of stretch goals, but somehow each time you finished a race, it felt like a little more belief grew in that dark corner of your mind. In 2010, I finally joined a club. I've been a Randburg Harrier ever since. The trouble was, I was not a Comrades runner and this is a club very much Comrades-centered. So I felt a bit "left out" or on the sidelines, not being a natural integrator an not really believing I am a real runner. I started helping out but never got the courage together to actually join in on the club runs. I just felt I was too slow, and I didn't know any runners.  I did not know runners and did not realise how easy it would have been to do this, but I know this was all part of my journey. It was a strange period in my life and even though I was a member of a running club, and even though I was running many races, I really did not find my groove within the club until much later. It is hard when you don't know people to just become part of a group by osmosis. This has never been my strong suit, socially, but I am persistent at least. I am still a Harrier and have integrated and received another gift, the gift of belonging. I am truly a club member now. I feel like a member and most of all, I feeling like a runner.

Running is a gift. Many gifts in fact. Running saved my life in many ways. It's given me the gift of belonging, the gift of dreaming, the gift of achievement, the gift of friendship and the gift of acceptance. Joy and pain are part of being a runner and a human being. Running's gifts, to all, not just the gifted, is why we run. It is greater than the individual, but it is all about the individual.

I wonder if it was meant to remind me this year especially, with Gift winning the Comrades and me having people around me that are starting their personal journeys and working on their own running goals. It's time to think and accept the gifts. It's time to share. It's time to be.

This morning I read Bo's blog how she's not planning to run the Comrades ever (maybe), never (perhaps), possibly (not planning it) and I laughed. Out loud. I remember those days. I remember when I thought, running a marathon is beyond my ability. I also remember the day I ran my first marathon, the day a tiny seed was planted in my head; somebody said: "If you can run this race, you can run the Comrades." I brushed it off and thought, not me (for sure, maybe). I shrugged politely and said, shew it's such a big commitment...

Making chutney the LC way

Cooking is one of my hobbies. Just like I don't refer to myself as a "runner" I also don't use the word "foodie" to describe myself either. Yet, I do tend to "design" and "reverse engineer" recipes. I have enjoyed cooking before Masterchef made it trendy for amateurs to cook in the open. I've always been experimental in the kitchen and thus are able to accept failure. What I am not, is a precise cook. Every recipe I try, is tweaked. I may use a complex recipe accurately once to learn a new technique, but I am notorious for colouring outside of the lines of recipes. Cooking is a creative process for me. I love creating things and it's like playtime. Over the last few years, TV chefs have exposed us all to new ideas and concepts so my fairly experimental nature combined with these influences generally added to my fearlessness in the kitchen. Before Masterchef I was unaware of stuff like ice cream makers and fancy puréed veggies! Not having any formal training, I've just been cooking by the seat of my pants and things I've read about. I read recipes for fun, like some people read news articles, I read recipes.  Once I made the switch to LCHF eating, I've also started experimenting with find some alternatives for the things one might miss. I discovered that converting foods we know to real food versions, were often quite fun and easier than one thinks. First off, we don't regularly buy pre-made low-carb or Banting products. I try to make and bake our own food from first principles. Just because inevitably, very few products have no unwanted additives. There are some, but you have to find those and often they are not easy to find. I am not a Banting Purist, but I think all of us that believes eating like this is the right way for them, should take responsibility for yourself, know your reasons for eating like this. This is not a fad diet. Despite the "fadness" associated with it. Always know why you choose to eat certain things and why you avoid others. I have a few fixed rules apart from the obvious carbs, I avoid soya, seed oils, sugar, fructose, maltitol and additives with chemical names you cannot pronounce; I aim to eat carbs only from veggies and nuts. My first principle is to keep it real, and to eat mostly fresh food. Yes it limits "fast food" options, but I have several tactics to make sure we are covered in this regard. I stock the fridge with mini-quiches, cheese, cream and we always have seed crackers and homemade low-carb bread in the house. There are some things we miss. And it's not pasta or potatoes. It's a bit of chutney on the side. I don't trust most "sugar free" products on the market, it is horrifying how often these things have additives from my forbidden list. 

In my previous life, which included sugar of course, I made jam and chutney every year from the fruit from my own trees (a totally organic apricot and peach tree). Once we switched to a low-carb lifestyle, I was a bit at a loss during fruit season, the sheer volume of fruit is astounding. Between Carl and myself we could eat maybe 3-6 peaches each in the season. My trees bear about 20 to 30 kg fruit per season! Not counting the losses (dropped fruit) and my donation to the birds. Just fruit suitable to eat or cook with. We normally strip the tree at some point to prevent wastage. However, it is way too much to eat whilst fresh. My general thoughts on fruit: We eat seasonal berries mostly with the odd peach or melon (low-carb fruits predominantly) and I don't eat them daily. I eat fruit as a treat.  So the obvious thing to do with a fruit tree is to find ways to save the fruit in a sensible manner that allows us to have some access to the fruit later in the year. So I decided to freeze some peaches during the fruit season to give me some time to think on it. I chopped and cleaned and weighed batches and froze the fruit in my freezer, ready for a day of experimental cooking. And this weekend I attempted to convert my traditional chutney recipe to a low-carb friendly version by replacing the sugar with a sweetener. Even though it is dense in fruit sugar, at least it has no "added" sugar. I also did not add raisins as per traditional recipes. Clearly this is not a big challenge, but I was still curious to see how the sweetener and traditional recipe would meld. 

In the pot...

Cooking slowly....

From 1.5kg of frozen peaches, I made my first batch of low carb friendly chutney. I am very happy with the outcome. It tastes delicious. Looks like the real thing. And was pretty easy to make. Happiness. 

If you've never made chutney before, I will include my recipe in this blog. With  my tips and tricks. Chutney is far easier than jam in my opinion, but I do have a few tricks. 

The product, bottled and ready for use.

Isabel's Peach Chutney

(no added sugar)

For my first batch I used xylitol. Just because I had some available to risk on a large experiment. I generally prefer using erythritol. The studies I read confirmed that dogs can tolerate erythritol and if they ingest the sweetener, it usually would be in very small amounts. My understanding is however that xylitol has some impact on insulin and is toxic for dogs. I'd rather be safe in this regard. I do not recommend eating an entire bottle of my No sugar added chutney. This is a condiment, and should be used in this way. As long as one keeps the carb content in mind, I don't think it will do much harm. A spoon-full on a hamburger or as a side to a curry should be just the thing. Basically life is good! 

Here's my recipe, for the sake of completeness. Any recipe will work. Just know, it's been tested and was a great success. Happy cooking! 

Isabel's No Added Sugar Chutney

1.5 kg peaches, chopped into pieces and pips removed
300 g onions, chopped (chunky is fine)
2 small sweet peppers, chopped
400 ml vinegar
350 g sweetener of choice (xylitol or erythritol) or sugar if you don't follow low-carb
5 ml ground ginger
2 ml fine garlic
5 ml chili (paste if you can)
2 ml cayenne pepper
3 ml salt
10 ml garam masala or mild curry powder
2 ml turmeric
2 ml ground cumin

Note on spices: this is just my mixture, it is actually really flexible, less or more spice as per your choice.

Place all your ingredients into a large pot. It works easier if the volume of the fruit and fluids are half of your pot's volume. This makes cooking easier (and less risk of burning). I prefer using a larger pot and the smaller burner on my stove, this helps with heat control. Slow and steady is the secret to a nice colour and preventing burning. Hopefully you have empty bottles and lids in the house...Make sure they are clean, I wash mine on the hottest cycle in the dishwasher then rinse it with Vodka. Especially the lids.

Cook your chutney over a low heat for at least 1 hour, but this is where the judgement comes in. The fruit should be soft and "translucent" in appearance. You can risk a taster to make sure your flavour is in the right area. Once you are happy with the fruit, a quick tip is zap the mixture for a few seconds with a blitz-stick. This helps to thicken the chutney. Some people use thickener and you could also sprinkle a pinch of Xantam Gum powder, but be very careful. It is easy to mess this up. My preference is to thicken it with the fruit. You can also just squish it with a masher, the fruit is soft enough at this stage. Don't over do the blitzing. You still want it to look like chunky fruity chutney.

Let it cook on low heat once you've done your assisted thickening bit. Be careful of splashing and burning, now that the viscosity is higher.

Sterilize your bottles again with boiling water and rinse the lids with alcohol. Set all ready for use. I use a 500 ml plastic jug to fill my bottles. If you are lucky enough to have a jam funnel, use it. I hold the bottle by the neck (with metal tongs) whilst pouring in the chutney into the bottle - over the pot. Slightly less messy. Also once filled, put it down and wipe the top with a clean (vodka soaked) cloth. If your lid is old or you intend to keep your chutney for a while, cut a piece of cling wrap and cover the bottle before putting the lid on. This prevents the lid from rusting. Especially with chutney. For a small batch like this I used about 5 bottles of varying volume (250 to 350 ml) - you can easily use 2 or 3 bigger ones, but I intended to give some away so I use smaller bottles generally for the "boutique" batches.

The best feeling is hearing the lids "pop" as they cool down. I always get a kick out of that! If you don't feel like doing it the "hard way" you can really just put it in plastic containers in your fridge. Should last long, but I would halve the recipe or plan to give some away. It is too much to keep in the fridge as one batch (in my opinion). 

Where is the summer sun?

I've gone from feeling like an champ mere hours ago to feeling this cruddy? Must be that virus alert that was sent out: Here she is, all confident and happy, let's get her! A truck ran over me. Funny how a cold can make you feel so terrible so quickly. Head pounding. Eyes puffy. Sigh. And how is it possible to have a runny and blocked nose at the same time? I don't like winter. I like long days and warm summer evenings. I struggle with winter running, the dark mostly. I don't mind the chill, but it's always night? I get up, go to work, it is night. I go to running, I get home, it's still night. Where is the sun. After Comrades, we were back at track on Monday, glorious easy running and I had hope. Maybe this winter will be better. I won't be so useless. If we can keep fit throughout, it will be the perfect base for the coming months. This is merely 48 hours ago...this stupid virus knocked my front teeth out. All I want is to go home and sleep. My main aim for today is not to give in to the urge to close my door and sleep under my desk. I am achieving this via double-podding my Nespresso coffees. I think I may be on my 10th pod for the day already and it is only lunch time. So far it's achieving the target of keeping me more or less upright.

Why I don't like winter:

the second toe on my left foot itches
my fingers are always cold
my toes hurt
I never see the sun
winter PJs throttle me in my sleep
cats are selfish sleepers
(see throttling issue)
all I want to do is snack even if I am not hungry
I drink too much coffee
my skin is so dry it burns and I look like I am ashing
(despite all the moisturizer I use)
it is always dark
my birthday looms
hibernation seems like a feasible vacation destination
days are shorter
cleaning out the fireplace
washing dishes
getting out of the shower
the dead garden
cracked lips

And because I promised myself that I would try to be a more balanced person...

What I love about winter:

hot chocolate, sugar free of course
(but I drink this in summer too)
creamy soups
fires
you always have a cat on your lap
my birthday presents
wearing long coats
(need to get a matrix leather one)
the winter solstice
(because it is the first step towards summer)

Clearly I am not a great candidate to go and work in  Scandinavia or Canada, but at least I know what I like.

#Comrades2015 (Part 3) - I've been a little preoccupied...

So back at work, two days after my run. Things quickly fell into normal. I have 2 medals in my pocket and a grin on my face, but most people at work do not run. No fanfare, no flowers, no music... And 1..2..3.. I am back to reality...sigh. A few friends and colleagues come by, phone say congratulations. Most of the day is quiet, catching up with work stuff. My office feels like a prison. Maybe coming to work was not such a great idea after all! Midday I check my phone. Facebook exploded with pictures. As people got home and started uploading pictures, suddenly I remember the feeling again, I feel like I am riding a wave again. I am cool again. I post, I tweet, I blog and phew I remember that feeling. I just did something fantastic. Even if nobody really cares! Sigh, I am my own champion. But the realization of my littleness in this world brought to mind the story of Part 3. How do I say thank you? During race day there is very little time to say thanks to the people along the way that helps you, whether it is supporters or co-runners, random strangers. Sometimes it only hit me later how much a gesture or word really meant to me, I never had time to say "Thank You!".

The real champions are the supporters, the strangers on the road but mostly your willing, long suffering friends who travel the entire day in heat and traffic to see you for 5 seconds next to the road, merely to pack up and trek to the next meeting point. The supporters who patiently sit in the car while you slog on the road to fetch you at the finish. The friends who greet you on the road as if nothing is as great as doing this one thing today. I love you all forever. I know I can never say thanks the way I should say it. The shouts and encouragements next to the road echos in my mind, more than a week after the race. I am so humbled by the people, many non-runners, who just commit fully to the runners. As you move towards the finish, you see people next to the road, some in front of their homes, just camping out for the day, watching the parade of runners go by. The amazing thing is, that many supporters stay for the guys at the back. Some supporters, clearly not runners say silly things. I think it is the enthusiasm that counts not the words. I know it is sometimes tough to here "It's all downhill from here" when you know Polly Shortts are still awaiting you. Just smile. All I hear is the crowd. Even where people crowd too close to the runners it just adds to the atmosphere. It reminds me of the Tour de France on the mountain stages where cyclists are literally cheered up the hills. Some places are like that. It's just people, noise, a beautiful noise.

My ode of thanks is to my supporters, the many anonymous supporters of the Comrades, my fellow Junkies, the runners on the day and my family and friends who supported me via Facebook-Likes and messages. My thank-you-anthem really should be as powerful as an anthem. A long list of names, just hauntingly listed in awe, because without you I would never have been able to make it to the start, never mind the finish.

Christopher Torr wrote a song, Hot Gates. An unbelievable, haunting anthem that chills and inspires at the same time. A piece of music that just captures sin the fewest possible words the essence of the message, so powerful and it echos in your mind. (YouTube - Hot Gates.) 

I wish I could be as eloquent as Christopher Torr. I wish I could write something so powerful. Alas, all I have is a slightly cliched...Thanks for being the wind beneath my wings.

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Hot Gates

London Paris Rome Berlin
Barcelona Washington
Moscow Beijing Tokyo
Jerusalem Jericho
Srebrenica Sebokeng
Sarajevo O Saigon
Hiroshima Rubicon

I can see a fiery, fiery glow
Even as the sun is sinking low
I can see a horseman on the run
Oh my daughter, oh my son

Frankfurt New York Lockerbie
Amajuba Bellevue
Chappaquiddick Waterloo
Heilbron Hobhouse Gettysburg
Belfast Budapest Baghdad
Berchtesgaden Stalingrad
Sharpeville My Lai Boipatong
Delville Wood El Alamein
St Helena Mitchell’s Plain
Belsen Buchenwald Auschwitz
Nagasaki O Versailles
Armageddon Thermopylae
Waco Waco Bethlehem
Dunkirk Dover Normandy
Bucharest St Petersburg
Carthage Dresden Babylon

Balaklava Austerlitz

Words and music: Christopher Torr

#Comrades2015 (Part 2) - Race Day

Once you've run your first Comrades it is like gravity, you need the second one. Comrades will always be a race of two halves. I would struggle to feel satisfied with just an "Up" or just a "Down" run. After completing #Comrades2014, I was tired and a little shell shocked. Mentally and physically the training and the stress took it's toll. We took 3 months off, pretending to think about whether to do the race again or not. Carl did not finish the first time, thus he felt unfinished and came so close it was worth considering a second attempt. We entered again. It took me nearly a year (and 87 km) to really get to grips with the #Comrades2014. My conclusion? It was merely the beginning. My first Comrades was just an opening move in a very complex chess game. I knew from the beginning that the race would be different. I tried not to panic about the big "Up" part. As race day grew closer, I started worrying a lot about that 37km in the beginning that is just up.

#Comrades2015 start

On the 31st of May 2015, I presented myself at the start. At 4AM we walked into our batch (the last one) and sat down in a muggy, humid Durban street, waiting for 5:30. I was nervous and in the car down from PMB could hardly eat my breakfast of eggs and bacon. I nibbled a bit on the eggs and hoped it is good enough. My first Comrades, although life affirming and all that good stuff, was a blurry, fear and pain filled 12 hours affair. For the second Comrades, I was determined not to let the occasion overwhelm me, but I so badly wanted the back-to-back novice medal. I yearned for it like I cannot remember yearning for anything before.

Our training was very different this year. We found the Running Junkies. The coach and athletes became part of our lives, we saw them more than we saw our families - 3 sessions a week. I never imagined that this  would happen, but we ended up training for #Comrades2015 with a group of people that constantly inspire and push me - we found a running family. It's been the real magic for me this year. I worked harder than ever before in my life because they are all so fast and dedicated. The Junkies supported me, commented on each small victory and just generally became our anchor during the long hard training months before #Comrades2015.

The Comrades Junkies, Saturday
before #Comrades2015

At the start of this year's Comrades race (and the week running up to it), my nerves were shot. Sitting there from just after 4AM, waiting for the big moment was the scariest part of the race for me. We'd been up since 2:15, got dressed like robots, heated up our breakfast (prepared nervously the night before) and got into the car The drive down was about 1 hour and we got dropped off at the start with very little pomp or ceremony, a quick hug from Lesley and alone we were. As we walked towards the back, the last seeding batch, I kept thinking about the moment, the people, the stories, our story and the medal I so desperately wanted, and all I could smell was city decay, urine and rubbish, and heat. I immediately knew that the sacrifical layer we were wearing was going to be unnecessary. All the doubt and fears just nibbled away at my insides, but I reminded myself to be alert, try to feel the atmosphere, try to be in the moment. And don't panic. When finally people moved and squeezed together and the music started, the tears rolled freely. There is nothing like it. The experience of being part of something this magical is beyond dictionary words, it is all in the soul space. One is transformed to another plane of existence in a manner of speaking. A world where anything is possible. Even people like me can run the Comrades.

I want to believe.

The coach told us all to experience the start, but after the gun it is back to business. Everybody said the up run's start is faster than the down run (last year it took us 9 minutes to cross the starting mat), but due to the size of the race this year, it being the 90th, it took forever to get going. We crossed the mat over 7 minutes after the start and then still walked for a long time before the crowd could slowly spread out. All in all, not a great start, but we had planned for a slow start, I was fine. Our strategy was to break the race up into smaller pieces of 5km sections. Getting water in the first hour was not an option. The waterpoints were too crowded. I just managed the crowds as best I could. Tried not to despair and tried to Keep Calm. 

Our target was to get to halfway in 5:30 or less. Thus aiming to run a sub-11 pace in the first half, which by the way is 37 km (or so) of up hill. Not kidding! Ambitious I thought, but the safe play because of the extra distance and hills. The first half was 877 m longer this year due to Pinetown roadworks, and it thus meant that Drummond was actually a "logistical" halfway not the mathematical half. Up and up we went. The first few hours flew by, we were chronically bumping into the 11:30 Pink Drive bus, which disconcerted me because our calculations showed that we were more or less on track on our plan, a little behind due to the slow start mainly, so why are we constantly running with them. After a few discussions, and a few grumbles around me from other runners, I concluded that the bus was fast. I tried to push it out of my mind and just focus. On Fields Hill, Carl and I lost each other in the people. We had earlier seen Brenda and Werner, both amazing runners. It was fantastic to see them, we chatted, gave an update on our targets and I thought I was going too fast. I had assumed, because we were in the last batch, that we would never see any of our friends. Some of my favourite moments on the road was when I met up with some of our Junkie family and supporters. Weirdly enough, I met up with most of the Junkies in the race and some several times. I saw Bronwynne and Lisa, two fellow Junkies, supporting their Junkies on the day just after Pinetown and nearly cried. I saw them again later in the day and Bronwynne walked with me for a bit, I cannot tell you how much that meant to me. Talking to somebody that you know and who knows who you are and cares. My spirit just soared. The great story is that all of us who started the race, finished. This is quite phenomenal, each one had their own battle, the two K/Carls had to run under-trained due to injuries. Both of them are giants. I think each of us had a niggle or a cold or something, and all of us had to fight a demon or ten. Keep in mind that of the nearly 17 000 starters in 2015, about 4000 people did not finish the race in the allotted 12 hours. So the Junkies did really well, their hard work paying off. The spirit of the people I trained with carried me through. I met Joseph quite late in the day. I thought he was going to run away from me, but he just told me to keep going, because I was doing really well. I am so grateful for those small words of encouragement. For in that moment, I think I started to believe a sub-11 is possible. It was always going to be tight for me. I knew I had to run sub-7min/km for the last 25 km to get there before the cut-off. It sounds plausible, and if it was just a 25km run, I'd have no doubts. This 25km however needed to be under 7 min/km whilst crossing the infamous Pollys.

BellaJogga in action 

The Comrades distance markers count down. Basically always telling you how much is left, for longer races I find this very motivational and easier to digest and it definitely helps you fool your brain a bit. At 50 km remaining, I finally activated my Garmin Forerunner 620; that would be my target, to get home before my battery runs out (about 6-6.5 hours). I told myself: Hey, you finished Om die Dam in under six hours, surely you can do this 50 in less than 6 hours and 30 minutes. This was the pep-talk I gave myself - a few times. That was my goal. All I had to do was keep the pace constant and manage the hills well. I kept doubting my math. Did I get it wrong somehow. I got to the cut-off points on the route generally an hour ahead of the official cut-off times, it totally confused me. I kept thinking that I must be confused or tired or crazy. All I felt initially was relief that I was safe. Safe at halfway, safe, safe really safe. I was going to make it my brain started saying to me. I started to believe. I started to do the math in my head, kept counting the hours on my fingers to make sure I don't do it wrong. But over and over I came to same conclusion I will get my back-to-back. And if all goes REALLY well, it's going to be a tight finish for 11 hours! I kept thinking to myself, that surely I am making a mistake somewhere. Surely this cannot be real. It never changed. As I stuck with it, the calculations kept indicating that it's going to be a tight call for sub-11. All I had to do was keep it up, see how it goes and then when I get to 25km, do the calcs again. I told myself at 32 km remaining, that it does not matter what happens, even if I finish in 11:01 it would be a great story, if I am the last one in, it would still be a great story, if I am the first one not to get in, it would be a great story. I really, really did not care. 

Somewhere on the road....

Inchanga was tough and after I got over there I just kept ticking over, not focusing on anything but the next hill, the next waterpoint or the next time I would see a friendly face.  I knew that I would see Lesley at Camperdown. I'd forgotten how far that is from Halfway however, it just never came. I thought around every bend, maybe now? Then no, just another hill, in the heat of the day, all alone. I was so hot and so lonely, so in need of a friend. I kept flooding my head with ice cold water to cool down (this year's cap was extra hot I thought).

Whenever I got to a bad hill and there were many of them, I told myself that I can get a walk at the tree halfway up the hill, or that I should just run until the next waterpoint or the next marker or that blue banner or anything that was just a bit further than where I was. I rewarded myself with a walk, counting to 30 (probably 20 seconds or so). Then I ran again until my legs burned or I reached a "milestone". This kept my mind busy and made me focus on the progress. The hard part was Harrison Flats (not flat at all, but a story for another day), just the relentless loneliness and the heat. Runners were spread out here. Many people were walking by now, many just hobbling or shuffling, and the quiet, the deathly slog. In my mind I was running like a gazelle, but I know I was also just shuffling up the hills. At 32km remaining, a RAC running came past me, and one guy chirped "Just a Tough One to go now!" People giggled. I giggled. So funny. I think the poor RAC guy just nodded. It spurred me on. I know how to run 32 km. 

#Comrades2015 medals

Another breakthrough moment for me was when I checked my pace on my Garmin and noticed that I am running at 6:15 min/km down hills - nearing Pollys. I was pushing - not sprinting, but somehow I ran at this pace! Something I never did before in a long race (at the end). Then the stress hit again every time I started pushing a bit harder, my quad muscle went into a spasm just above my right knee. I held back a bit on the pounding and managed not to hobble too badly (I think). At the top of little Pollys I nearly cried. It's a dead drop straight down to the bottom of the valley and you know, the pain of real Polly is coming. This is when I thought: Oh well, I tried, Polly Shortts will probably cost me the sub-11. But I will finish and it will be great and it does not matter. That mountain of a damn hill is just so daunting. I buckled down again and continued with my "walk-run" strategy - yay me and Caroline! - and some way up Pollys, runners started shouting my name as I passed them. 

"Go Isabel!" the first time this happened I nearly tripped over my own feet! I pulled up a bit and kept going a bit longer and I smiled (maybe I grimaced) and I waived feebly. But I kept going. I think I walked twice up Pollys before I saw the traffic lights. I realized with a start that this is it. I did it. I looked at my watch. It was true, I was keeping the sub-7 min target. I was so tired. My legs ached, I did not realise it at this stage, but two fist size bruises had formed on my shins. I was so pre-occupied with getting to the finish that I had not even wasted a few seconds to check what the heck was aching so much.

Down I went. I had ~55 minutes or so to run the 7 km. Clearly on a normal day, this is easy. I tried that tactic on my brain but even I couldn't sell that to myself at that stage. So, I just moved as fast as I could. I came into the Toyota stretch realizing that I could still make it. I was running like a rabbit. My pace increased to under 6 min/km and I just threw myself forward. Cramping leg be damned. I felt like I was flying. I somehow did the unthinkable. I ran the Comrades, my back-to-back in an hour faster than first try. My fastest lap? Over Pollys! 

Never would I have thought even in my dreams that I would be able to get a bronze. This, my secret dream. 

So many other things happened on this day, and wonderful experiences that should be shared, but that one moment will forever be my quiet moment of glory. Nobody was there to see it, apart from people watching the live app updates, but it did not matter. I smiled and smiled and sprinted into that stadium like I was a winner. I felt like one and nobody can ever take that away from me. #Comrades2015 was the most amazing experience of my life. The toughest and hardest thing I have tackled. The riskiest project I've undertaken, and we came out together on the other end. We looked each other in the eye and shook on it. 31 May 2015 was a good day.  

(Clearly Part 3 will follow)

#Comrades2015 (Part 1)

#Comrades2014 finish

A year ago, 1 June 2014, I ran my first Comrades. I finished in the nick of time with the final cut off a mere 128 seconds away. Overall, I was pretty happy with the outcome. Nobody aims for finishing the Comrades with 128 seconds to the cut off, but I am not very athletic and I had a medal in my grubby little paw. I couldn't believe it really. Growing up I remembered watching the race on television and always felt some kinship with the people, the race and the joy and sorrow we saw on our screens. But I am not a runner. I never really believed this could be my path even though year after year I'd watch the race on the day and then feel super inspired by the story that unfolds. And that is what I thought it would stay. I only started running late in my life. I ran my first marathon at 42, my first Comrades at 44. So, I am a late bloomer.  Although what I do probably should not be called running. I jog. Completing that first Comrades though, made me feel like a runner. I was very, VERY proud for surviving and pushing through to the end...but I was also slightly numb. I remember the day as one long blur of exhaustion, pain, and mostly FEAR. I was afraid of failing. I have to admit that even before the race I had my doubts, the nerves and uncertainty gnawed a big hole in my insides. Did we bite off something too big? Did I finally find something that is too tough for me to take on? I was so worried I hardly had time to experience any part of it. The jarring downhills at the end really just hurt, I had a blister the size of a palm under my foot. I also hardly ever knew where I was - those famous hills are NOT identified with big banners. When I got to the end (128 seconds before the famous, dreadful gun), it was joy but mostly relief that hit me. I had somehow persevered and SURVIVED. 

I was proud, but I did not feel complete nor did I have any wonderful insights about life or the Comrades. All I knew was that a question had been asked and I still only heard a whisper or an echo.

People ask me why do you even want to run this race? Why would somebody like me believe they can run this race? On some level, once I converted to being a runner, it was inevitable. As a runner, you run the Comrades partly because it's there, we have a crazy running culture in this country. Where else do you run several marathons to train for another race? The Comrades has a mystical power over most runners I know and I am mystically sensitive ;-). No runner I know responds to the Comrades in a mild manner either. It does not matter whether you vehemently state that you will never run it (again) or whether you think, like Alan Robb it is the best day of the year! 

I love the charisma of the race. I love the scale, the history and the stories. Us runners want to run it even if we don't know it. Once you've done it, you are suddenly part of a special society. There is no secret handshake. You join this society by standing at the start early on a Sunday morning, singing our beautiful anthem with 16000+ people and crying with fellow runners when Chariots of Fire is hauntingly flowing over you as you stand pushed together in huge crowd of like-minded souls. At the start of the race your soul is already marked, just the fact that you made it through 6 months of training and qualification and persevered to this point is already amazing. When you actually make it, and get over the finish and they hand you that tiny little medal, everything just fades away and you receive something that nobody can ever take away from you. A mark of achievement that is so far beyond just running. Comrades strips you of your masks and you have to deal with yourself, you meet yourself in a very, very intimate and honest place during the day out on the road. You've conquered the mighty Comrades. Hard is indeed what makes it great. I ran this monster of a race to prove to myself that I can. To test myself beyond the normal. I promised myself a few years ago that I would live my life to the fullest and doing hard things remind me to be grateful for the things I can do. In Comrades I found something that constantly reminds me of life, reminds me that only when I tackle the tough will I grow. Anybody can keep doing the easy. I choose to do the hard stuff. 

The race itself is is only a small part of the test. The road to Comrades day is the real adventure in my opinion. The slog and training, the early mornings, the bushes next to the road where you have to leave your business, the aches and pains, the sweaty smelly running clothes, the debates about food, running gear and training routes and your progress, the PBs (or the lack therefore), the interventions, the failures and the small victories. This is actually what makes Comrades hard. Just to be able to stand a 50:50 chance of running this race, you have to commit a large investment of time to your hobby. It is an unbelievable commitment, especially for us working folk. Few people on the outside understand this obsession and your friends and family impatiently wait for you to "get over this thing". You commit to the training for nearly 6 months of your life. You commit to running, you commit to your running partner and groups and somehow it just works. 

And that is why, I ran it again. I needed to go back for my special B2B medal, I really wanted to prove to myself that it wasn't just a 128 second fluke last year, and I really, really wanted to meet the Comrades, experience the Comrades and perhaps if I am very lucky, know on which of the big 5 hills I am some of the time at least.