The Comrades Marathon

That was the Comrades Marathon then. I finished in 6,050th place out of something over 12,000, so I am pretty happy, yet amazed that so many bloody people managed to run it so fast. These South Africans don't bugger about. In Britain, the London Marathon is the biggy, really and folk will do it once or twice. Here they double and a bit the length and folk do it 4, 5, double figures of times. First time runners are in the minority.

And it is really, really hard. Each year the direction changes from uphill (durban to pietermaritzburg) to downhill. This year was a down run. I had spoken to people who had done it before. EVERYONE said that down is harder. Yet I still managed to find some male arrogance to think that it can't be that bad and my knees are nails-hard. Running down hill takes less energy and pain is all in the mind.

Well, it just bashes you guts about like billy-o. Pain is not in your mind, it is in your knees and ankles and shoulders and stomach and back and toes and chafing... Every drop of liquid that has gone in gets sloshed about, as your internal organs splat around against the more solid bits of anatomy. Ankles that were previously reliable start to feel a bit edgey and knees lose their bounce.

Fields Hill was the real bugger. After about 40 and a bit miles, you start pouring down this long, sustained motorway hill, with an absolute bastard of a camber. My brain was already wrecked because I thought that I had already done Fields Hill (maybe I was aslo wrong to go in blind to the route!). Nope, that was another long sustained downhill. Little things like that really depress one when one is tired.

Kilometer markers lose their charm in the second half and your brain feels tired of figuring out how far and how long and how fast. Done 45k, only a marathon to go. Done 59, only 30 to go. Only 10 to go now but I am very tired and I am slowing down. The worst moment for me was when I was nearing a marker and I thought it was going to say "2k to go". It actually said "Screw you Pete, you have 3k to go. You are an idiot. Why did you not pay more attention? Why are you running so slowly? Why don't you just give up you worthless piece of...". Impressive that they could write all of that on one small sign. It was an upsetting time for me as I watched 10 and a half hours slip away from me.

Visualisation is very important. I started with visions of me tearing across the finish line with Kim there waiting for me for a big hug and a kiss. That was a good one and lasted me through halfway. Spurred me on big time. As time went on though, it disolved into daydreams of me just having a nice lie-down at the finish, which is dangerously close to "ooh, I could have a nice lie-down now". Put some music on and keep going.

The start had been ace. Everyone in paper t-shirts (to cast off) huddled together and listened to a blaring 'Chariots of Fire'. It was 05:30 and just to be hanging around a South African city in the dark felt like an achievement. My dreams came true when some zulu women did that awesome "Li-li-li-li-li-li-li" thing. I felt a bit like I was on the tube when some oak (guy) asked "can you please move down that way a bit so we can all get in?". And we sang Shosholoza, which is a stirring workmans song about moving forward (down the mines). The excitement was palpable. No nerves, just a good buzz and a setting of the mind to do your own thing. Then they go off and you go too fast anyway because doing your own thing is boring.

The first half of the race is undulating but hovers about 600-700 meters. When I went down Polly Shortts (the first of the big five hills), I thought that the up run would be absolute murder because you would meet Polly after 80k. After halfway you start to wend your way downhill towards 0, running into the heat, towards the big city.

The support is tremendous, with people offering all sorts of random fuel as well as big tubs of vaseline (thanks) and salt for the cramps. There are braais everywhere. Actually the most amazing support was near the start. The people of Pietermaritzburg got up early to cheer us on and it meant a lot.

Hydration is tricky to say the least. There is water, coke and Powerade at each station and they come every 2k. I took to mixing coke with water and chopping and changing that with Powerade. Sometimes I had to neck some straight water. Over the course of the race I ate about 2 to 2 and a half bananas, 2 baby potatoes with salt, 8 jelly babies, a (very) mini Bar One (Marsbar), a quarter orange. It was not enough and I had to batter in the Powerade to get calories in. Back to sloshing and the onset of nausea.

Stephen, thanks for the porridge for brekkie. I would not have made it without that. More about the Van Rensburgs to follow...

At 12:00:00 the gun was fired and the race was over. I clung to the fence and Kim and watched as the last guy (who happened to have overcome an 11 year heroin addiction - well done) crossed the line. The guy behind him collapsed as though he had been shot. I cannot imagine running for 12 hours and missing it by seconds. I nearly cried. Luckily I am not soft, so I held it together. We stayed to applaud the next few who looked devastated. It is a heartbreaking thing to see and they had it much harder than me because they were on their feet for longer.

Yes I would like to do the up run. But not for a while. And I will train much harder next time. I am delighted with my time and how the race went. The weather could not have been more forgiving. Also, I am very thankful for all the great messages of support people sent me. They mean so much.

After vomitting and feeling awful for an hour, I realised that the only liquid that I could feasably ingest (water does nothing, no salts; anything sweet was impossible) was beer. Yes, beer. Beer made me feel better. Beer for ultramarathon recovery. Beer is the ultimate sports drink. Beer? Yes. Beer.