#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.