The Comrades Ultra
Posted on 10. Aug, 2009 by Malcolm in Uncategorized
It’s billed as the greatest race on earth. The ultimate challenge; It will define you. At 89.3km (56 miles), with relentless monster hills it defines many things. There are no comparable hills in eastern Ontario. A former Boston marathon winner said of the Comrades run recently “I didn’t realize how much a race could reveal to me. Of me. Some races are humbling. This stripped me bareâ€.
The course runs between Pietermaritzburg and Durban in the KwaZulu-Natal region of South Africa. The direction changes each year. This year it was the “down run†from Pietermaritzburg to Durban.
I’ve heard a lot about the race over the past few months from runners I’ve been interviewing for books I’m writing on marathons. If they hadn’t already run Comrades, they’d list it as one they’d most like to do in the near future.
To truly understand Comrades I felt I had to run it. I’ve run a few marathons (42.2 km distance) recently and thought I might have enough to get me through Comrades so long as I ran smart.
A friend – Martin Woock, a South African now living in the Kingston area, got me in contact with friends of his in South Africa. Gavin picked me up on the Friday morning and I immediately began my Comrades immersion. The race was to be held on the Sunday. Gavin and his brother Alan were both running Comrades this year. This would be Gavin’s 7th run and Alan’s 3rd.
Gavin and I complete final race registration at the Comrades Expo and quickly pass through the dozens of booths promoting or selling a variety of running related products or services. Thousands of runners, friends and family members soak in the atmosphere, enjoying the festivities and, like me perhaps, getting increasingly nervous about the oncoming day.
We head to Rovers Rugby club and I go for a light 5km run with Kevin, a mate of Gavin’s who has also run Comrades. I listen and learn. We return and a have a few drinks with other friends, talking about Comrades and rugby, among many other important things.
The Comrades race holds a special place in the hearts and minds of South Africans. It is much more than a run. It is about tradition, overcoming obstacles, commitment, goal setting and accomplishment. To run Comrades is to put yourself on the line, to look deeply, to push your limits and to find new ones. It commands respect. It can hurt you too. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
Saturday morning. After a restless night, Gavin, his partner Fiona, and I head to Pietermaritzburg along the Comrades course. After just 20kms Fiona notices I’ve got pretty quiet in the backseat. It’s no wonder. Now seeing the course – the huge hills especially, I’m thinking I’ve made a big mistake.
We meet Alan midway for lunch at the Tala Game Reserve. We talk some more about Comrades. I’m looking for any advice that will help me beat the monster coming. We drive around the reserve passing Rhinos, Hippos, Giraffes, Buffalo, Springboks, Warthogs and Wildebeest. Wisely, I think, they won’t be running Comrades tomorrow.
We drive back onto the route and I return to my earlier state of shock. We get to Alan’s home and I meet Dawn – Alan’s wife, and the rest of their family. Dawn is more pumped up about Comrades than the rest of us combined. She has run it in other years but can’t run it this year due to an injury. There is lots of laughing, comments about feeling strong, and the role of Vaseline. Great build up.
We go to the Natal Carboneers Running Club which is hosting a Pasta Party. This is a tradition of all marathons – eating pasta the night before the run to load up on Carbohydrates that will provide some much needed fuel for the race. Runners from all over South Africa are present. There is a buzz. There is already a celebration of comraderie, friendship and good health.
We return early to Alan and Dawn’s to get our gear ready for the morning. We’re still laughing. Nervous energy perhaps.
Race Day: 3:45am. A deep sigh. This is it. No matter what happens, I’ll do the best I can. I have no idea if that will be enough.  A hearty oatmeal breakfast, a cup of coffee and we’re out the door.
There’s a festive air at the Start line. It’s a cool 5 degrees and dark. Hand-shakes and much well-wishing. Many runners wear light jackets or plastics bags that they’ll discard along the route as the day warms up. African music flows through the air, and then, as the start-time gets closer, the Chariots of Fire soundtrack plays, as it does every year. Another tradition, a loud cockle-doodle-doo, comes over the loudspeakers and then the cannon shot. We’re off.
Gavin has a race strategy that see’s us finishing with a 10:30 time. He knows how to run Comrades. My own strategy is simple. Stick with Gavin for as long as I can. Hopefully that will be enough to give me a fighting chance of finishing in time. It’s a 50/50 chance at best. Alan meanwhile, has his own race strategy. For all of us there are different strategies to achieve a common goal.
Soon after the start, Gavin and I are running together with Alan slightly behind.  I don’t see Alan again until after the race. The roads are already lined with spectators. Further along the course many of them are setting up tents, chairs and barbeques as they prepare to make a day of it. As it does every year, the race is also being televised live across the country.
We start with a long and gradual climb out of Pietermaritzburg. We pass markers showing the distances left to run. A spectacular sunrise casts an orange glaze over the valleys below us, as by now we have climbed out of Pietermaritzburg. Gavin and I are running at a good pace. We intersperse this with short walking ‘breaks’ – these give our legs valuable respite which will be important for later in the race.
We run pass cheering school children from the Ethembeni Home. These children are physically disabled and line the road enthusiastically, some on crutches or in wheelchairs. In other years, Gavin tells me, they may be watching from their beds placed along the road. These are emotional and spiritual moments for the runners.
We’re closing in on half-way now. Half-way. 45km. I’ve never run more than 42.2 km before. The rest of the race will be an adventure into the unknown. My left calf starts throwing wobbly spasms. Not good. I tell Gavin to carry on and I’ll catch-up, but I know it’s unlikely. He probably realises that too. I won’t see Gavin until after the race. He run’s a ‘blinder’, finishing in a sub 10-hour time.
I walk for a bit. Then as I start running again my right calf throws a wobbly. I walk some more. I’m now at the foot of the notorius ‘Inchanga’. Hardly anyone is running up this hill. I’m now getting cramps and feeling thirsty at the same time. The high sun is starting to take its toll. I take an electrolyte pill hoping it may restore some balance. I still have 44km to run. My legs are threatening to call it a day.
I spend the next hour mixing walking with running. I take a painkiller. I must keep moving because there is a bus further back on the route picking up runners who have not passed certain points before specified cut-off times. The more I walk the less likely I’ll finish in less than the maximum allowed time of12 hours. Anxious moments.
I don’t know why exactly, but almost suddenly I am able to run again. It feels good. But it’s still a long way to go.
I talk to other runners. We face the same challenges but address them on our own terms. We look inside for the strength that will take us to the finish line. Enduring friendships are made. Runners open up their arms and hearts. We are all equal. We are privileged guests in other people’s lives; the adversities faced and overcome, the hopes and aspirations. Some people, like Gavin, raise money for charities by running Comrades. Some people dedicate their run to loved ones. For others it is an annual rite of passage, a reawakening of the soul.
By the 60km mark my quadriceps feel like rocks; each step downhill sends a jarring pain to the thighs. Mentally we all put this in a place and carry on. My calves continue their tricks. I’ve been running the race longer than a regular work day and still have almost 30km to run.
Thousands of spectators now line the course into Durban. There are offers of food and drink – this, in addition to the 50 official aid stations placed along the route. At each of these stations there are 175 mls sachets available of water and Energade, a sports drinks, as well as coke-cola and cream soda. Food is provided at the stations – typically bananas, boiled potatoes, and sliced oranges, and sometimes chocolate. Sweet and gooey Gels are also available. These help to replenish electrolytes in your body.
I reach a huge psychological turning point when I pass the ‘21km to go’ marker. A half-marathon. It feels like I’m almost finished. I can see downtown Durban in the distance. Plenty of hills left but I’m getting more optimistic. I keep running and walking. Talking to other runners, and mixing it up with the crowds along the route. I do high fives with dozens of children throughout the day. With several hours on a run you have to mix things up; to keep active mentally.
By now there are many runners pulling up, having done all they could do. It furthers my resolve to finish.
The hills are relentless – up and down. I keep reminding myself why I’m doing this. But I’m within reach. It feels good. With just 5km to go I now realise I can even walk the remaining distance and still be within the 12-hour time limit. Everything I’d committed to and sacrificed seems so incredibly worth it now.
An Irish runner beside me calls his father in Ireland to say he’s going to make it. An emotional moment at both ends of the call. Another runner – Pradeep from Durban – invites me to dinner when I come back (he insists) next year. Wonderful moments.
And then the most emotional moment for many runners – entering the Sahara Kingsmead Cricket Stadium and running the last stretch around to the finish line. I sprint now. I don’t feel any pain. I want to run faster but I want to savour the moment. The Stadium is full of runners, supporters and spectators. They cheer us on. A deafening sound. A Jumbotron screen shows to the entire stadium each runner finishing. I finish and a medal is placed over my head. Wow. I’ve really done it. Days later I still can’t believe it.
I meet up with Gavin, Dawn and others from the running clubs and we watch the closing minutes. Everyone – everyone – is cheering the runners on now. We are all together. A common bond. At the 12-hour point the race will be over. Anyone coming in after 12 hours officially does not complete the race, and does not receive a medal. It’s heartbreaking. Soul destroying. It could’ve easily been me.
In the final minutes some runners are being carried in by others. One man collapses in front of us only to be immediately picked up and supported by others to the finish line. At the 12-hour limit there are still runners entering the stadium. They won’t finish in time. We continue to cheer and applaud. Then the lights go down, the Jumbtron screen goes off, and the commentary finishes. It’s over.
Two runners died at the Comrades run this year. Both in their thirties. It’s suspected they must have had heart conditions. No-one feels good about this. There have only ever been five others that have died since 1921.
I will never forget this experience. I’ve been tested on many levels. I come away with no serious injuries.  I’ve been lucky.
It’s much more than a long run. I’ve been to places in my mind where we don’t go enough. And I shared this with wonderful people. They made it possible. Our lives are full of long runs. It’s who you share these with that makes the difference.
Comrades Race Facts:
The Comrades ultra-marathon began in 1921 to commemorate comrades who died in World War I. It is run in June of every year.
In 2007, 12,006 runners started the race. Just over 10,000 finished.
Leonid Shvetsov of Russia won the 2007 men’s race in a record time of 5 hours and 20 minutes. The Women’s winner was Olesya Nrugalieva, also from Russia, finishing in a time of 6:10.
If you complete 10 Comrades races you get a green number for all future races and effectively ‘own’ your number forever. No-one else will ever run with your number even if you no longer run in the event.
