I’ve been meaning to write about this for a long time but
to be very honest, I haven’t been able to find the words. The experience for me
was so defining and so personal, I almost couldn’t describe it but I’ll give it
a try...
They say the night before the race you don’t sleep. Well
I did. I slept like a baby. Perhaps that had something to do with the enormous
lamb shank from Butcher Boys I almost inhaled that evening. ‘Excellent’
carbo-loading I know – but we really did try! I spent the night at a friend’s
house in Durban so as to be close to the start and not worry about traffic etc.
in the early hours of the morning. So that night Sean and I ventured out in
search of pasta. We literally pounded the streets (good behaviour for someone
intending to run 90km the next day? Possibly not...) looking for a pasta
restaurant. Where was a Panarotti’s when you need one? Eventually we gave up
and decided to attempt to consume our body weight in meat instead! Sean had a
T-bone that could have perhaps been an entire cow at one point and I settled
for a lamb shank. It was the tastiest shank I’ve ever eaten, but in hindsight
not the most intelligent choice. There were conciliatory mash potatoes
though...
My alarm sounded at 4am on the morning of the 29th
May 2011 and I was awake instantly. I was almost vibrating with nervous
tension. I put on my running clothes and pinned on my race number with
reverence. I tied my shoelaces about six times, convinced they were alternately
too tight and too loose. I tried to eat a piece of toast but my mouth was so
dry I could hardly swallow. Eventually I was ready, or really as ready as one
could ever be stepping into such unknown territory. Sean drove me to the start,
well as close to the start as we could get.
I found my starting pen surprisingly without much
difficulty. I just stood there. I didn’t know what to do. There were so many
people around me, a buzzing in the air, talking in groups, shifting uneasily. I
didn’t know where to go or what to do. I was so lonely and I’ve never felt so
young and inexperienced. I just found an un-cramped spot in my pen and sat down
with my head between my knees. I stayed there for a while as the start filled
up around me. I heard the announcer say the start was 5 minutes away. I had to
take a deep breath then. I stood up and started shuffling and stretching like
the 20000 people around me. I cursed the fact I didn’t make plans to meet up
with people I knew, I cursed the fact I had no-one to blame but myself for
getting into this mess and I cursed the fact I needed to pee for the fortieth
time that morning!
I’ve never before been in the presence of such energy.
20 000 people nervously champing at the bit for the race to get underway
is something of a phenomenon. The crowd starts singing Shosholoza with such
feeling, tears are streaming down my face. I can’t explain it. It sounds
ridiculous to even try. At that point I realised why I had entered, why I had
hit the tar come rain or shine for six months, why I had spent more time in the
company of my running shoes that with my husband. I felt a part of something.
Something bigger than trivial daily qualms, bigger than even the tumultuous distance
we were faced with. I was one with humanity, for that moment in time, I loved
everyone.
The cock crowed and we were off. Chariots of Fire played
as we wended our way through the streets of a sleeping Durban. A stillness
descends upon the crowd at this point and all you can hear is the shuffling of
feet and the sound of collective breathing. I started to relax into my stride
and felt good all the way to the top of Cowies hill. In the back of my mind I
probably knew I was going too fast. The crowd of runners and the shouting
spectators in their pyjamas seem to carry you along on a tide of liveliness
almost impossible to circumvent. Coming down into Pinetown was the first time I
admitted to myself that my legs were heavy and I didn’t actually feel that
great. Field’s hill, one of the mighty challenges of the race loomed before me,
I slowed to a walk and luckily at that stage I met two people I knew and we
ran/walked the treacherous hill. At the foot of Botha’s hill I had to confess I
was in trouble. I felt like every step was an effort, my hip flexors were on
fire, my feet were aching. Then I spotted Sean waiting on the side of the road
for me. My heart lifted as I stopped for a drink and a hug. I could tell he was
worried about me but just seeing his face gave me the energy I needed to put
one foot in front of the other and keep moving towards the ever elusive
Pietermaritzburg. I kept moving for what felt like many hours and was. Every
race plan I may have had went out the window. My fatigued brain couldn’t do the
simple maths necessary to calculate my pacing. I had nothing to do but keep
running forward.
One of the most touching events of the whole experience
happened just before half way. The Ethembeni School for Handicapped Children.
The kids of this rural school line the road in their uniforms and cheer for the
runners as they go by. They hold out their hands in hope of a touch and a kind
word. I ran by these children and touched as many hands and I could with tears
leaking unceremoniously down my cheeks. (Noticing a pattern here?) These kids
are in wheelchairs, on crutches, some have no legs. Here I was, able bodied and
capable – I had nothing to fear, anything was possible! If they could drag
themselves to the top of this hill to cheer for random runners, I could sure as
hell drag myself to Maritzburg!
Coming down into Drummond, I passed a table handing out
roses. Not entirely sure what this was about I took one. A kilometre or so
later I realised why, the infamous Arthur’s Seat. I placed my rose at the niche,
said “Morning Sir” and funnily enough was filled with a sense of accomplishment.
I’d completed half the race. It didn’t matter that as I was passing though the
halfway banner, Stephen Muzinghi was passing through the finish one, it didn’t
matter I was dead on my feet and had still had more than a marathon to still go!
There was quite a crowd at this stage screaming and cheering and handing out
sweets. That’s another marvel of this race, everybody gets involved. People on
the side of the road give out sandwiches, bananas, sweets and even handfuls of
salt to runner’s passing by. Not just their family, everyone! It’s a superb
sense of community and belonging.
Inchanga – the monster.
This almighty hill broke me. I walked the whole way up. And not a brisk stride
either but a hands-on-the-knees, rattling stagger that literally took me 45
minutes. I was sure this was the beginning of the end for me. Throughout the
loneliness of the Harrison Flats I needed to stop, I needed this to be over. Only
the uncertainty of where the bail busses were and if they would pick me up kept
me going. To the next water station I thought. There someone would be able to
call Sean to come find me. I’d had enough. I was openly crying now. I was
literally breaking down. I crested the next hill and saw a watering table. There
were colourful banners, many people and music blaring from speakers. The closer
I got, I could hear the words of the song. Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars. Mine and
my husband’s song. I ran straight through that station and my thoughts were “At the next
station I’ll stop”. That was what got me through the next 30km. Just breaking
it down, station to station. Then suddenly I was 10km from the end and for the
first time since I took my first step out of Durban, I knew I would finish this
race. With that knowledge, I put my head down and hit the gruelling Polly
Shorts with renewed vigour.
That last 10km, I felt like I could conquer the world. My
body was broken, my feet felt like they belonged to somebody else but the
crowds lining the streets were shouting for me. Me! Because I had done
something great. The feeling was indescribable. My heart rose when I entered
the stadium, the clock was nearing the twelve hour cut-off and the crowd was delirious
with excitement. People were screaming and pounding on the stands. The sound was
deafening. The pain was gone from my legs as I rounded the final bend. That Finish
banner was the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on and with sweet
relief I crossed the finish line. An official placed a medal around my neck and
a badge in my hand. I had done it. Completed the ultimate human race! I promptly
burst into tears.
The experience has taught me so much about myself. It is awfully
humbling to be stripped bare, to be so hopeless one minute and so buoyant the
next. How little acts of camaraderie boost your frame of mind and allow you to
run that next kilometre. How seeing a spectator in slops and jeans run alongside
his friend for 30km in the hot sun to keep him going. To be offered jelly tots
and a kind word by a stranger at the precise moment I wanted to quit, and being
so touched by it, that it carried me through the next few kilometres and
through the worst of my melancholy. To start with strangers and finish with
friends. I know that I can tackle anything in life. I know this because I did
the Comrades Marathon and nothing will ever be as hard... or rewarding...
