#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.