Comrades Marathon
Comrades marathon is not a race, or even simply a run. It is about discovery of the human spirit, pain management and survival. I stood on the start line of the ‘Ultimate Human Race’, alongside 21,000 other runners, with 89 kilometres of road waiting for me until my final destination of Durban. I had no idea what the day would bring.
At 5.25am on Sunday May 30, the birds started to chirp in Pietermaritzburg, well before the sun came up, and fractionally before the South African national anthem embraced the seven degree morning air.
Just before 5.30am, Chariots of Fire was blared through the loud speakers in its entirety, and a cock crowed - a tradition dating back to 1948 when race official Max Trimborn gave a loud imitation of a cock’s crow. At 5.30am, outside the famous red brick City Hall, the start gun was fired for Comrades marathon 2010. And so my journey began.
The first few kilometres of Comrades was very festive; the buzz of chatter, cheers, and the sound of thousands of feet taking their first of thousands of steps for the day.
The road was slightly uphill leaving Pietermaritzburg, giving a kind gradual introduction into the first of the five hills, Polly Shortts, which came after eight kilometres.
The roadsides were scattered with supporters, all wrapped up warm, some cooking food on their ‘braais’, (South African coal barbeques) and some even still in their pyjamas.
After 90 minutes of running, the sun was up completely, giving us the first proper chance to have a look at the surrounding area, and see the blue sky above us, with the off wisp of cloud for potential relief.
Just 29 kilometres into the race we reached the highest point, 870 metres above sea level. This was a telling sign that this would indeed be a ‘down run!’
The Comrades began as an honorary run, thanks to English born Vic Clapham, who moved to South Africa as a youngster with his family. With the outbreak of the Great War, he signed up with the eighth South African Infantry. He believed the pain of the war, and the physical suffering of his fellow comrades, had to be honoured. This honour was in the form of a long run.
The first 56 mile run from Pietermaritzburg and Durban took place on May 24, 1921, with 34 male participants. Bill Rowan became the inaugural winner, taking 8.59 hours.
Comrades has continued every year, with the exception of the war years 1941-1945. The race has become increasingly popular over the years. By the 1970s there were over 1000 entrants, and in 1975 blacks and women could take part.
These days, the race attracts about 12 000 runners, but this year, marking the 85th Comrades, saw nearly double the runners lining up for the challenge.
The majority of Comrades is run along a route commonly known as the Valley of A ‘Thousand Hills,’ made well known by South Africa’s Dr Alan Paton who was a leading advocate for change in the nation’s racial laws, and talked about the area in his 1948 novel Cry, the Beloved Country. The Comrades route involved five major hills, known as the Big Five, and constant undulations.
Each year the run switches directions, with the start line and finish line alternating between Pietermaritzburg and Durban, and this year was a ‘down’ run. This involved the first half of the run providing a variation of 170 metres above sea level, compared to the second half of the run with a variation of 650 metres.
The first 45 kilometres was a colourful and interesting experience of lingering chicken farm stench, beef farms, green rolling hills, red soil, areas of large beautiful houses, clusters of huts, stretches of road overflowing with spectators, music, towns, some quiet stretches of road, and the second hill, Inchanga.
Near Inchanga, children from the local Ethembeni Home, a school for special needs, lined the road and cheered us on. Every year Comrades raises thousands of rand for the Home.
Inchanga is just before the half way mark, among the area of ‘the Valley of a Thousand Hills,’ with red-roofed houses nestled among trees, or standing unobscured on vast bare patches of land.
By this stage my jogging rhythm was steady, but my mind was beginning to wander, knowing I still had more than the equivalent of a full marathon to go! A two kilometre climb, the official half way sign post, and a gradual descent led us to the very festive area of Drummond, which was full of music, spectators, physios, nutrition and an emergency first aid spot. Running the equivalent of two full marathons, plus a few kilometres tacked on the end for good measure, had to be approached with caution.
At half way I was feeling strong, and still running well within myself, happy to save my energy for the final 30 kilometres. My knee which had been feeling niggly during the previous two weeks, was causing no bother.
I was running very comfortably with the ‘nine hour bus,’ a bunch of competitors keeping with one runner who holds a flag, indicating the pacing for a sub-nine hour finish. But at 47 kilometres, my small right toe and heel simultaneously developed blisters, forcing me to adjust my running style to favour the discomfort.
At 50 kilometres, my right ankle felt this strain, forcing me to concede discomfort, and a mild injury. What a shame. Within five minutes the nine hour bus had crept ahead of and I was walking up a hill, which 10 minutes earlier I would have floated up.
Such is the battle of an ultra marathon. Self-negotiation is now critical, because if morale dropped at this point, it would be almost impossible to recover it. I had a quick chat with my own brain, and promptly decided it was more beneficial to shuffle along an attempted run, rather than walking.
This was the less painful alternative, and although I was still embracing the vibe, high-fiving the rows of children cheering on the roadside, and having banter with other runners, I just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible!
A fellow female runner had the same idea, but was seeking extra pain killing for her battle. On her cellphone, while shuffling, she instructed orders of “and please can you have two pills ready, the blue and red ones!” to her road side support team. I was happy enough with the chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches from my road side helpers. Ten kilometres later my ankle was better, and it was now the burning hamstrings and quadriceps that kept me entertained.
With 12-noon approaching, the air was warm, around twenty degrees, and the streets were filled with support. This sideline support was invaluable. Its positive distraction provided serious morale uplift. Seeing a friend on the on the side of the road with a hand-painted sign ‘Go Belles!’ worked wonders.
That vibe was a firm reminder that it is not only yourself you would have to answer to if you pulled out because the discomfort got too much, but you would also be letting down those who got up at before sunrise to come and support you in your crazy venture.
Everyone supports each other in Comrades, because 99 percent of the runners were only competing against themselves, not against each other. A grimacing face was given words of encouragement, a stumbling body was lent a supporting hand. At a glance, the support networks on Comrades looked a bit like this:
4500 volunteers, 1 000 000 plastic bottles, 1 900 000 water sachets, 105 000 litres of coke, 600 000 energy drink sachets, 200 jars of Vaseline, 1 300 Deep Heat tubes, 6 000 kg of oranges, 10 800 kg of bananas, 2000 kg of chocolates, and 31 000kg of potatoes.
Chowing down a salted potato works more wonders than I would have ever thought possible. This wonder was expressed in full force when tackling the three hills we were dealt in the second half of the race.
Between Drummond and Bothas Hill is Arthur’s Seat, where it is believed the ghost of Arthur Newton, five times Comrades winner in the 1920s, sits to greet the runners on each Comrades day.
There is also the Comrades Wall of Honour, with many runners’ names on plaques, reminding me that many a thousand running shoe has graced this road before mine.
Bothas Hill was a painful experience of 2.5 kilometres of downhill. The hamstrings screamed, the quadriceps wept.
The road then changed to a relieving uphill into Hillcrest, an area of more sideline festivities. I then displayed a 10 kilometre organised shuffle, before reaching the fourth hill.
Fields Hill was another gut wrenching three kilometre downhill hobble, followed by a three kilometre flat. Many were walking by now. My mind was working along one channel, to shuffle hobble, and sometime run, my way until the end. I was afraid that if I was to walk, I may not be able to run again. Walking was not an option, this was a running journey.
Cowies Hill, the fifth and final hill, marked eight kilometres to go, and was illustrated by a 1.5 kilometre descending cringe on the fatigued legs. In fact the rest of the race was virtually a descent.
We had met back up with the main highway at about 25 kilometres to go, so at this stage of the race the picturesque quaint sights were well behind us. It was pure determination and roadside support which kept the legs turning over. The feeling was almost surreal, I had never imagined running for this long.
The tall man with the lanky legs I ran with for the final two kilometres, through the loud cheering streets of Durban, was completing his eleventh Comrades.
“I’m so excited because we’re almost finished!” he exclaimed.
It was refreshing to hear such pure excitement.
I was surprised how low some of the runners’ spirits were during the last two hour haul, considering self confidence was a key ingredient to crossing the line. We ran stride for stride, reducing our 6.5 minute/kilometre average pace down to four.
The final kilometre was electric with emotion, sound, pride, and relief. I crossed the finish line smiling, just the way I had started it, 9.19.36 hours later. I stood for a minute after I crossed the line, as my bronze medal was put around my neck, as I received my rose, giving me a chance to properly embrace the atmosphere. At the same time, every muscle in my body seized.
I was a happy hobbler now though, because I had completed the ‘Ultimate Human Race’ and was humbled by my own body’s ability, willingness and forgiveness.
The human body is an amazing machine that will keep providing for us, and keep digging deeper then we would even think possible.
It demands from us only one condition, an abundance of grit, determination, and a heck of a lot of self belief.
Caption: Finally, the finish! To describe the feeling of reaching this point would be impossible. You must take part in Comrades to appreciate the relief and accomplishment
Credit: E-Image – Comrades Marathon Association Official Photographic Agency for 2010