Comrades and Western States 2016

The start and finish arch for WS100. Never thought I'd be so involved with the race I'd sponsor it. A very proud moment. Photo: Amy Sharman

Rather than a standard race report for the past couple of events, I thought it'd be more helpful to spell out what I learnt. Ultra running is about constantly improving and avoiding making past mistakes in training and racing, so that process never ends (it's one of the most fascinating aspects of ultras).

I've doubled up on two of my favorite races four times now and they're four weeks apart on totally different terrain. Comrades in South Africa is at the end of May and is the biggest and most competitive ultra in the world, then Western States 100 in California at the end of June and is generally considered to be the premier ultra in the US. Comrades is a hilly road race, WS100 is a hot, rolling trail race with a mid-range of vertical gain and loss.

This year I'd hoped to really go for it at Comrades and break six hours for the 55.5 mile course, but it didn't happen thanks to an injury in the build-up and illness right before the race while on vacation in Paris. So what did I learn from that? Mainly I learnt that just getting to run Comrades at all is still a huge thrill and that without the pressure of running hard it's more relaxed and fun. However, I'm driven by competition and seeing how well I can run so the relaxed race days will mainly have to wait til my 40s (or maybe 50s). I also learnt that with around one hour of sleep a night for the week before the race (due to coughing non-stop through the night), I was able to run fairly normally and not feel too tired. Probably good news if I ever run some multi-day, non-stop race like Tor des Geants. But that's not on the radar for the foreseeable future.

Anyway, continual coughing fits during Comrades didn't annoy me as much as I thought they would since I'd already adjusted my goals and accepted the reality for the day instead of the race I'd dreamed of having. This is a lesson I've learnt before and one that's vital to getting the most of out a given situation in a race.

So Comrades ended up being a hard training run for WS100, which gave it a useful purpose and kept my motivation up. 6h25m (Strava data here), over 24 mins slower than my best, but that's still pretty close and was at a reasonably comfy effort for the most part. Next time...

In the weeks between the races I knew that recovery was the most important and useful factor for performing well at WS100 so I let my body heal with hiking and easy running. In 2015 my heat training was inadequate so that was another area I could work on without harming my recovery. I had some dizzy, energy-sapping slow hike/runs with up to nine layers of clothing, plus another four on just my head. Not the most fun, but it paid off in a huge way on race day.

Heat training - hiking at Lake Tahoe in my winter gear. Photo: Amy Sharman

Pre-WS100 I was invited to take part in the Veteran's Panel, which was a great chance to question my own race day strategy. Here's the video, which includes some excellent info from he panel of Gunhild Swanson, Erika Lindland, Danny Westergaard and myself.



Then on to race day, which was hotter than average (a high of around 100F in Auburn compared to around 90F as a median). This was possibly the first time I was genuinely felt excited on race morning instead of a dread that I have to run a full 100 miles and that part of it will feel horrible, guaranteed.

The biggest story of the race was how aggressive Jim Walmsley ran, despite the blistering heat. It was an impressive run to get so far ahead of the course record splits for a long period, but the beauty of a 100 miler is that there's a lot more to deal with than in a shorter ultra. The three favorites (Walmsley, Sage Canaday and David Laney) all had difficulties and it ended up with many of the slower, experienced 100 milers in the top positions, plus relatively slow times for the top 10 in general. The right tactic was to avoid reacting to the fast pace of the leaders, but it takes discipline to stick to a game plan, especially when it looks like someone else is rapidly pulling away. Luckily, the same mentality that helped at Comrades also helped here - I knew I'd not run enough on trails or enough vertical to be particularly fast, so there was less pressure internally to try to move quickly and more focus on saving the legs for the latter miles so my pace wouldn't fall off a cliff. This was painfully brought home to me by four nasty falls in the high country, a personal record compared to one minor fall maximum in the previous WS100s I've run. Basically I was uncoordinated and below par on anything remotely technical. Not much I could have done to fix that, but it did force me to be more conservative, which I should have done earlier on. Again, playing the conditions and the fitness I actually faced would have been better than going for things regardless and wishing I'd been able to train differently and be more agile. But that's an easy one to fix if the next build up is injury-free.

Duncan Canyon at mile 23. A few cuts and bruises from being uncoordinated. Photo: Greg Lanctot. 

Another lesson here - always look out for the markings even when it's the seventh time you're running a race. I got lost soon after Michigan Bluff since I expected the road to go upwards and forgot it goes downwards first. A few minutes of running by someone's house and I had a group of 3 large dogs running with me. They didn't go away for miles and the detour meant that fellow Brit, Paul Giblin, caught me up. The dogs then distracted us when we were looking for the turn to Volcano Canyon and we missed it by half a mile, then doubled back due to a lack of marking meaning we clearly had gone off course.

The next lesson resulted from this - when shit happens, move on quickly and don't dwell on 'could haves' and 'should haves.' It's annoying, but adapt to the new reality. I felt I did that pretty well and tried to avoid bitching to my crew about it since dwelling on negatives doesn't help my mindset or lead to good performance.

Then the final lesson of the day was that it ain't over til the fat lady sings (or John Medinger announces your name as you cross the finish line, at least). Despite only moving at a moderate pace, I was running a good portion of the race for the last 38 miles and the only people I caught were the leaders for most of the day, both of whom were walking - Sage then Jim. Last year it was 100-mile legend, Francois D'Haene, who I caught as he walked it in after getting food poisoning pre-race. If guys of that caliber can have things go wrong but still gut it out then the only excuses I could use for slowing down or stopping involved something like a bone sticking out my shin or an arm hanging by a thread after being ripped off by a cougar. Neither of these scenarios had occurred to sucking up the final miles was the only reasonable way forward. Final result: 16h55m for 6th. Not what I wanted back at the start of the year, but solid and not easy at all so I'm very satisfied. Strava data until the watch ran out of memory are here.

So that was a longer write-up than I'd intended, but I know I'll read this before WS100 next year and this will help me appreciate the fitness I have and the opportunity to line up for my eighth run at the storied event. Three more top 10s to be the first man to get top 10 in his first 10 attempts. But I really want one of them to be a win (or, ideally, three).

Thanks to all the organizers, volunteers, crew and pacers at both these incredible world ultras. Dave Pearse was my legendary local crew (again) at Comrades; Amy Sharman and Rob Tucker crewed expertly at WS100 and Altra's Brian Beckstead got in some pre-Hardrock miles by crawling along with me for the final 22 miles.

Gear (all worked perfectly and will be used in exactly the same way in my next ultra):

Shoes -
Comrades: Altra One 2.5
WS100: Altra Lone Peak 2.5

Nutrition -
Comrades: Clif Bar gels
WS100: Clif Bar gels, Shot Bloks and Organic Energy Food pouches

Hydration/lights -
Comrades: Water and Energy drink pouches along the course (no handheld bottles)
WS100: UltrAspire Isometric pocket bottles and Lumen 600 waist light

Socks -
Comrades: Drymax Max Protection Road Socks
WS100: Drymax Max Protection Trail Socks

Shades -
Comrades: Julbo Venturi with photochromic lenses
WS100: Julbo Venturi with photochromic lenses

Some more photos that capture the beauty and trials of WS100:

Cruising in the middle of the race. Photo: Paul Nelson.

The joyous American River crossing at mile 78. Photo: Gary Wang.

More river crossing fun. Photo: Gary Wang.

Medical tent at the end, having pieces of grit pulled out my arm. Get all the pain out the way on the same day! Photo: Rob Tucker.

Comrades Marathon 2014 - All About Ellie

Ellie in her moment of victory.

It's three years since I was last in South Africa for Comrades and I almost forgot how much I enjoy the event and surrounding atmosphere. This was my sixth run, my fourth 'down run' and it was the first time I hadn't focused 100% in my training on peaking and nailing the 89.3km road course. So I felt much more relaxed for starters and managed to treat it as a surprisingly fun 80-90% effort training run for Western States 100, four weeks later. I've done that with marathons to use them for training in the past, but I wasn't sure how it'd work out for something much harder like this. Judging by how I'm usually a cripple after Comrades, but am walking normally today, I think I got the balance right.

With around 4,000ft of ascent, the down run isn't exactly flat or purely downhill, but it does have a net loss of about 2,000ft. My Strava file gives a good idea of what it's like.

However, the real story was Ellie Greenwood's spectacular win. I've been lucky enough to help Ellie with coaching in the build-up, although what made the difference on the day was undoubtedly her iron will to push to her maximum.

Ellie had a lot of pressure on her with local media expecting her to break the decade long Russian winning streak. Last time Ellie ran was 2012 when she ran one of the fastest times in race history in 6:08, but eight-time winner, Elena Nurgalieva, ran 6:07. Having had injury issues through 2013, Ellie was very hungry for this race (a massive understatement). She set off at a good pace, settling into third while the Nurgalieva twins went off fast like always. She was four minutes back at 45k in 3:07, which was well within striking range.

Unfortunately Ellie wasn't feeling great and lost a little time over the next 15k to be as far back as 8 minutes. For most people racing against such dominant and successful siblings, it'd be easy to accept a solid third and a very respectable finish. But that's not the way Ellie races.

I was lucky enough to see the action first hand, although I didn't expect to. Per the plan, Ellie should have stayed ahead of me the whole way by a large margin since I was aiming for 6:30, which was far slower than her expected time. So it wasn't a great sign when I caught her at 69k with just under a half marathon to go. However, I'd seen Ellie running down the huge Fields Hill as I approached her and she was clocking off a solid pace around 6-6:15/mile and was moving well. Just as I was going to give her words of encouragement she briefly walked and I couldn't help but run past, still egging her on but with no conversation.

I kept looking over my shoulder to see if Ellie was moving well but lost sight of her within a couple of miles and hoped she wasn't cramping or injured. At 7k to go I rapidly came upon the twins who looked exhausted and kept walking uphills. If only I could have let Ellie know that they were spent then I know she'd be spurred on, but I suspect the crowd told her that as she ran by anyway.

Just 3k from the end I noticed the lead vehicle for the women was visible behind me, which it hadn't been since I passed the twins. It was approaching me fast despite the fact I hadn't slowed and was still moving the same speed as all day long. My first thought was that Elena must have found a second wind and was somehow closing fast to make sure she stayed ahead of her sister. Yet that car was approaching me rapidly and I couldn't see how she'd have turned that around so much. With 800m to go the car and lead motor-bikes went by then a green bullet shot past instead of a Russian in red. It was Ellie and she was closing with a steely focus that only champions have. I cheered and shouted out to her but she didn't even look to her left due to her single-mindedness of purpose. Looking behind I couldn't see any women so knew she'd won and achieved her biggest running ambition.

Running into the stadium I got out my phone and aimed to take a shot of her crossing the line but she was charging so hard that she finished before I rounded the final bend into the finishing straight. It was inspiring and exciting to run in behind her while Chariots of Fire played through the loud speakers. I must have been almost as excited as she was then I crossed the line and congratulated her before she was whipped away to TV interviews and drug testing.

It was one of the best running experiences of my life to cap a really enjoyable personal run throughout the day.

Durban beachfront.

Nedbank elite team, including Camille Herron, Amy Sproston, Ellie Greenwood and several others who got gold (including the first two men, just out of shot)

The start pre-dawn.

Finish selfie just before crossing the line.

Ellie receiving her prize on the big screen in the stadium, plus live on national TV.

My own race:

I'd aimed for around 6:30 but didn't intend to push since I didn't want to jeopardize Western States. So 6:18 with a negative split (3:12/3:06) and a 5:40 through 50 miles was really encouraging, especially since I've never felt that good in a race before. It also makes me hopeful that one day I can come back and run a gold medal for top 10...which required a 5:40 finish time this year.

For those who haven't considered this race yet, I couldn't recommend it highly enough. Here's a more detailed race report with plenty of stats about the race from my 2010 run.

Gear:

Scott AF Trainers
Clif Shot Gels x6
Julbo Dust shades

Professionalism - Ultra Race Of Champions 100k Pre-Race

So the Ultra Race of Champions ("UROC") 100k is almost here, and with it the biggest push towards professionalism in our sport in North America. Prize money has always been non-existent or small in ultra-running (outside South Africa - I'll mention this more below), except in a few 'pedestrian' races from 18th and 19th century Britain which were popular for gambling crowds. And maybe a couple of other long multi-day events (I believe the Melbourne-Sydney races in Australia often put up a lot of cash). In particular, there's a good history of ultrarunning, which covers the early gambling start, in Professor Tim Noakes' 'Lore of Running'.

We do already have the North Face Endurance Challenge series with a $10,000 first prize in the final and these races are great, particularly the final. Last year's final was almost certainly the most competitive 50 miler ever and this year's will probably be even more so. So I should give credit here to this series, but it doesn't push the elite profile of the race much and it's only the money that makes it any different. UROC is much more focused on raising the profile of the runners, selling the race on the back of who will be there and purposefully opting for a more professional set-up for the runners, with some costs covered to some runners ('appearance fees') just for showing up. This is a move towards the more normal set-up for track and road races.

I know plenty of people have speculated, particularly in blogs, about whether it's good or bad for the sport to have more prize money and to make it possible to make a living from ultrarunning. Even about how possible it is to get enough interest in a sport where a dramatic move can still take hours to play out, often in remote locations.

Well, technology has certainly moved on dramatically in recent years to maybe make it possible for this to be a spectator sport. I never would have thought that following a race through one line updates on Twitter for hours could ever be interesting, yet this seems to have taken off in the past couple of years. With webcams along courses and instant updates online, maybe the time has come. Ultras have undoubtedly grown in prominence and popularity recently and stars like Kilian Journet even get their own adverts in Times Square, plus his well-known Kilian's Quest series of online shows.

Without the money from gambling that the pedestrians benefited from, it'll be interesting to see whether UROC successfully achieves its aim 'to create the Championship Event for the sport of Ultra Distance Running' (quote from the UROC website, and here's the list of elite entrants). Money is only part of the equation given that there's no doubt that UTMB attracts the world's best mountain ultrarunners with no prize purse, just like Western States which has nearly the same profile from a North American perspective.

But given the huge effort involved in training and high cost of attending races far from home, it seems only fair that the runners who provide the entertainment and help to sell sponsor's products don't do it all on their own dime. It's true that many do have sponsorship deals, but these generally just cover the main costs and very few people come away from a race cash-neutral, never mind having earned even as much as if they'd worked at McDonald's for the few days they were away from home.

Personally I hope UROC is a big success and that our sport grows and grows. It's a great way to push your boundaries and find out about yourself, while shorter distances rarely have those epiphanic moments. The more people who run ultras, the better for society. Ok, it means more lotteries in classic races but it also means more races to choose from. Choice in this sense is a good thing and there'll always be races around for 'purist' runners who want to avoid the crowds and fanfare. I wouldn't want to be without these for a second, but the opportunity to race against the best and to have everyone really focusing on that race is something that excites me both as a runner and as a fan of the sport.

One last word has to cover the South African ultras which are on a scale of their own and dwarf any other races out there. Having run the two prominent ultras over there, once at Two Oceans 56k (my blog) and five times at Comrades 89k (my 2009 blog, 2010 blog and 2011 blog), I can say that the significant prize money at both of these only enhances the races. Helicopters provide live TV coverage, as do lead vehicles (admittedly easier for road races).

Comrades is on national TV for the full 12 hours of the race, plus before and after. Yet the celebrities it makes of the runners and the extremely high quality organization only add to the experience for the thousands that participate and millions who watch. To put it in context, the winners of this race earn at least US$80,000 including sponsorship bonuses, plus more money for being the first to particularly points on the course, being local or a course record. If a local won in a course record, I estimate they'd win over US$140,000 at current exchange rates!

I expect I might prickle a few people's sensibilities with this posting and will have many negatives pointed out to me, but I'd certainly like to hear all the (non-troll) points of view.

Also, irunfar has put up coverage of the men's elite race and will probably do the same for the women.

Giving it everthing at Comrades 2010

The winning painting in the Comrades Art Competition, by Henk from Kearsney Striders

I did a little hiking in the Drakensberg Mountains prior to the race

The lead men

Josh Cox soon before he started walking

Me in my fetching Kearsney Striders kit

Mike Wardian with 12kms to go

Near the end and really feeling it

Peter was a lifeline through the race and here he helps me stumble around after

Kami coming in strongly for 4th

A handful of people wore fancy dress - nice work!

So how was this year’s 55.5 mile Comrades Marathon different? Well, for starters it had been marketed as a big deal with twice as many entrants – around 23,000 of them. But for me, it was number four and the first where I felt I could really go fast and be nearer the gold medals for the top 10. I’ve written a lot about the race and it proved again why it’s my favourite race and why I keep travelling so far to run it in South Africa, as I’ll explain.

This time I had more friends coming over from the UK and Ireland and the fact that the race was much bigger than previous years meant I knew a lot more people who were running. The organisers had convinced everyone that 2010 would be special due to the FIFA World Cup being in South Africa two weeks later plus it being the 85th running of the race. I can see that the former meant the world spotlight was on the country but the latter reason seemed a bit dubious. However, the marketing had paid off and the race had sold out very quickly and had double the number of entrants in a typical year, with around 24,000 signed up. It also promised to be the Guinness Record for the biggest ultra in the world...but one thing I’ve learnt about Guinness is that any non-professional records are often dodgy (like all my weird records). In 2000 there were over 20,000 finishers at Comrades, but Guinness weren’t there to certify it so whatever the number in 2010, there would be a ‘record’ even with the Comrades organisers admitting it would be the second largest race in history.

But never mind the technicalities, it was billed to be something even more amazing than usual and I was very excited in the build up. I had some left knee niggles in the couple of weeks before race day, but these proved to be unimportant (they may be more significant for Western States since my knee is currently buggered, but I’m writing this just a day after the run so there’s bound to be aches and pains).

Comrades is the most elite ultra in the world, bar none. The quality of the field for the 89.3km (55.5 miles) is better than any other by far and includes ex-Olympians. Previous winners include running legends from South Africa, obviously, plus Alberto Salazar (quoted saying it was his best win) and Ann Trason. They were the only American winners in the race’s history but there had been two male Brits winning as well, back in the 60’s and 70’s. No British women had won. So I’d set myself the ambitious goal of getting a sub six-hour time, which I don’t think had been done by a Brit since that last win in the 70’s.

It would have been easier if it wasn’t for the hilliness of the course, but I’ve done it three times, with two in the downhill direction from Pietermaritzburg to Durban (4,700ft of climb, 6,600ft of descent) and one in the other direction (with opposite elevation changes). 2010 was another down run, making it two in a row instead of the usual alternating annually. I’m not sure why this was but it allowed the marketing people to offer a ‘double down’ medal to first timers (‘novices’ in Comrades-speak) in 2009 who came back.

Never have I wanted a result more, since breaking six hours gets a particular, rare medal – the Wally Hayward medal. Comrades has a lot of unique features, which I’ve mentioned previously, but one which is a real motivator for a lot of people is the medal system. There are different medals for the top 10 men and women (gold), sub 6h (Wally Hayward), sub 7h30m (silver), sub 9h (Bill Rowan), sub 11h (bronze) and the final cut-off of 12 hours (Vic Clapham). Some of those medals are named after previous winners. Bill Rowan was the first winner in 1921 and did it in 8h59m, so those breaking 9h are beating the time of the first winner. But my medal was named after Wally who was the first to break 6h as well as managing wins in the race 20 years apart.

My Durban friends were in attendance as usual and I stayed with Peter Pearse and his wife Annette. He was meant to be running but had been off-form in the recent Two Oceans marathon so decided to crew for me instead (‘seconding’ for me, as it’s referred to at Comrades). Another friend, Paddy, had also meant to be running but had just had eye surgery which wasn’t healing fast enough to allow him to get to the start line, so he also joined my seconding team.

Race morning started stupidly early, as always. I was up at 3:30 then we were off shortly afterwards with Peter’s brother, Mark, also in the car and going for his 12th finish. Both of us were running for Kearsney Striders, a club based along the route with a maroon kit, in the same flimsy style as all male Saffer kits. We got there slightly later than planned and when I jogged from the car to the ‘A’ seeding pen I only squeezed in with a minute to spare, at 5:14. The pens were closed at 5:15 and music blared out into the huge crowd of runners and spectators in the pre-dawn, flood-lit blackness. It was a little chilly but promised to be good running conditions and not peak at a hot temperature.

Some people bounced up and down with the beats, some stretched with focused gazes, but all looked excited. It was the moment I’d been waiting for for a whole year since the finish line in 2009. Only a thunder cloud can emulate the electric atmosphere of a Comrades start line and there was palpable nervousness and anticipation in the air. I bumped into some friends just as we got closer to the 5:30 kick-off and I could see they were as up for it as me. We had the two iconic songs which epitomise the race for me – the local song ‘Shosholoza’, which I think has mining roots, and Chariots of Fire. Both permeated through my bones and I stopped bouncing around and stood transfixed on the invisible horizon as I thought about the task ahead.

It’s easy to aim for a time and to concoct a training plan which you think will get you there, but in those seconds before the starting cock crow and gunshot I fully appreciated what I was about to attempt. I’d have to run near to my marathon pace up and down big hills for six hours, averaging four minutes per km, or 2h50m per marathon. I’d also have to knock off 30 minutes from my 2009 time and that race had been near perfect for my shape on the day. So for just a few seconds I took a deep breath to set me up for the task ahead. A task which I’d talked up for months and which I finally had to back up actions. I wanted the challenge and knew I was in good enough condition to do it, but I’d have to absolutely nail my tactics. There could be no room for error, I’d have to push harder than ever before and I’d need a portion of luck. This day was a big, big deal to me.

So, no pressure then, eh? As that gun went off I just went over the start line in the mass of runners and settled into a pace which felt ok. After a few minutes I could check to see what that pace was, but I wouldn’t be adjusting it for a few kms until I’d warmed up. It was pitch black apart from the street lights and it felt like the usual midnight riot as we charged along the streets of Pietermaritzburg. Lunatic runners shot off like they only had a 10k to run. I allowed the crowds to surge past me and didn’t let them upset my pacing. Then I saw Kami Semick after a few minutes and had a quick chat before wishing her luck in her attempt at a gold medal before I went off ahead to start aiming for the pace I’d need to sustain all morning. There were three other top Americans running as well so there were potentially four gold medals which might head back over the Atlantic.

The supporters were well wrapped up in the morning cold but I was just about warm enough from the running. Many were huddled around fires and I loved the commitment for them to get up so early to watch the hordes of runners stream past and send us off on our epic day. I know the kids will remember it for the rest of their lives and that many will reach that start line themselves and think back to their first memories of the race and how it became an annual tradition to be involved.

But while they cheered I was finding things tough. That’s not the ideal start to the race when it’s such a long one, but I just couldn’t stick to the pace I’d planned on without it feeling really hard. You can’t push the pace early and feel like you’re racing in an ultra and need to generally get at least half way without it feeling too strenuous. But I felt like the constant climbs (the first 20kms are predominantly uphill to the highest point at Umlaas Road except for the killer downhill of Polly Shortts) and cold were making four minute kms feel like marathon pace, which is not sustainable for an entire morning.

Soon after the sun rose I saw Peter and Paddy in Ashburton at 15kms after a particularly challenging hill and told them that things were looking bad and that 6h10m-6h15m was a more likely target. I was three minutes over pace after that first hour and it hadn’t felt easy so I was probably being optimistic even telling them that timeframe. It’s always hard to predict how an ultra will go early on, but you can get a feel from the first miles. All you can do is keep running and see how it goes.

The day rolled on and I caught up to the gold medal position women. After passing third place (a Russian lady, unsurprisingly, since they’ve dominated the ladies’ race, in particular), I decided that it would be more sensible to change my target to chasing down the Nurgalieva twins who have won most of the Comrades runs this century, usually around 6h10m. It helps to have something to focus on and I just didn’t think there was any chance of gaining the lost time back, even if I could get back on the required pace. The hills were proving too much of a drain and were slowing me down more than I’d planned on. They don’t relent and even the down run has significant climbs other than the five major, named hills. It may end at sea level, but it still totals 1,400m (4,700ft) of ascent. Not much for a trail race but a lot when compared to fast road races and enough to make it noticeably harder on the legs than a flat race of the same distance.

Somehow my legs seemed to warm up and start functioning better so that as I went through nearer to halfway, I was comfortably clocking kms just under the four minute pace I needed. It seemed quick but my breathing was relaxed so I just knocked out the distance and saw Paddy and Peter a couple more times before the first major uphill of Inchanga, which started at 39km in. I was able to let them know that things had improved and that I was maybe back in with a shot of the finish time they were expecting.

Inchanga was a beast, as always, but I managed to keep up a fair pace and pass people, especially those on walking breaks. The sun was out but it wasn’t too hot and there was a light breeze to keep it comfortable. Just after the top was the ‘47km to go’ marker, meaning 42.28km had been completed – a fraction over a marathon. I hit it around 2h51m. I could hear the speakers and MC at halfway from around a km away so I heard them announce the Russian twins going through just under 2h59m. That’s course record pace (5h54m for women) since the halfway mark is marginally over the true halfway by around 400m and faster than they’ve gone before. But at least I had an idea of where they were now as I went through in 3h02m.

It was a relief to go through the halfway corridor of balloons and Flora advertising boards and to be on a good pace, feeling fine. I’d told myself in advance that a negative split would be possible, like in 2009, and that I’d still be in with a shot of six hours if I went through in under 3h03m. But I’d hoped to not be too close to that time. In the year leading up to the race I’d heaped pressure on myself to improve and had made sure I let people know what my aim was, so that it would be more motivating and easier to stick to the training. At three hours into the race I seemed to be living up to the run I knew I had the fitness to pull off, but there was still the hardest part left and any problems could still add buckets of time to my finish.

Next was the long, hard climb from halfway up Alverstone and up the third big hill, called Botha’s. This is probably the hardest climb of the day on the down run as it’s far enough in that the legs are tired and has multiple climbs which sap the energy out of the legs. As I passed the ‘42km to go’ sign I saw I had exactly 2h48m to break six. Dead on four minute kms and the course is a big net downhill from that point, losing almost 2,300ft to Durban. Paddy and Peter saw me and handed me another gel, which helped, but my calves started screaming at me on that long climb.

Luckily one of the highlights of the course was up next. With around 38km to go there’s Kearsney College, the home of the Striders who I was running for. As I had a local kit on, I got a lot of extra support from those living in the area, mixed in with some surprise that one of the Striders was relatively near the front with the pros. The kit has lots of tiny white dogs on it and I have to admit I’m not sure the significance of dogs to the club, but it gives some supporters an opportunity to shout at me ‘Who let the dogs out?’ in various states of drunkenness while they sit by their braais (barbeques) lining the street. Another surprise around this point was passing the elite US marathoner, Josh Cox, who had aimed to win, but I went past him with 37 kms to go and he was walking (he finished in 6h51m, so did get running again, but his heart can’t have been in it any more).

As happened last year, I was handed a balloon shortly before the college so that the lines of school boys would see their runners coming and cheer loudly. In 2009 this had been a real pick-me-up and saved my race, but this time round I was already going well, even if my legs were complaining a lot more sharply than before. High fives were exchanged along the line of kids and I couldn’t help having a bit more spring in my step.

The next time I was due to see Peter and Paddy was soon after, around Hillcrest, where Peter lives. The support was most vocal over these kms due to the proximity to the college and I also saw Peter’s wife, Nets, and daughter, Em, around here. I only just caught them in the thick crowds and if people didn’t shout my name I had no chance of spotting them. This is a relatively flat section and I was flying, but trying to save something for the longest downhill of the day on Field’s Hill, from about 25km to go.

Finally I caught sight of the Nurgalieva twins ahead and a few guys who were sticking with them for pacing. I’d expected to see them within the first 10km, but they’d really pushed the start and opened up an unsurpassable lead in the ladies’ race. At 26km to go I was in their ‘bus’ (as a pack is called over there), watching their unmistakable waddling style of running and the lead car with cameras and entourage attached. I’d planned to run with them for a bit, just for the novelty of running with race leaders in a professional race, but they’d slowed from their initial cheetah pace. I only ran with them for about 100m before deciding they were going too slowly and would upset my time goal since they clearly weren’t going to make six hours this time and were running about 15 seconds per km slower than I wanted.

So I pushed on again and soon hit Field’s Hill after a couple of bridge crossings over the M13 highway. I couldn’t see the twins behind me and the runners were now very well spaced so I could barely see a single runner ahead or behind. From this point the aim is always to catch all those people who went out too fast and I was gradually catching each runner who came into view.

The hill lasted almost four kms and really pounded the thighs. Some guys were walking down it, and these were speedy runners. The big danger in the race is to run Field’s too hard and end up with exactly a half marathon left but no legs to do it on. For many, this is the hardest section, but I always look forward to a chance to catch up some time. I’d lost maybe a minute from the climbs in the second half, so wanted to use the downhill to catch this up, plus a bit extra, then I’d still be needing the four minute kms for the last 21km. If it had been dead flat, I think this would have been possible, but at the bottom of the hill I could feel that my thighs were causing almost as much tight soreness as my calves had for a while.

I had a decision to make – to go for the 1h24m final half marathon and hold nothing back or to just jog it in and accept a slower, easier time, but still aiming to beat the twins. Since I’d already gone through several decision points in the previous hours and had cranked it up each time, it was a foregone conclusion which I’d choose. Motivation was the key now. How badly did I want it? One question showed me the way forward – could I live with a half-arsed attempt once I finished? If I felt I hadn’t given every last drop from my heart, I knew I’d have to think about it until I returned to the race. But if I used the after-burners all the way, I’d know I’d given it my all and could be satisfied.

The fatigue and pain was making me more emotional, as was the elevated heart rate from the higher effort level. Suddenly I knocked out the pace I would need for a few kms through Pinetown. If I just took it 5km at a time, maybe I’d make it. This soon switched to taking it every km at a time as I needed immediate feedback and targets to stop me dropping off at all.

Unfortunately, the task then became harder with Cowies Hill looming ahead. Although not the biggest hill, it is steep and added more seconds to a km which would mean all the remainder would need to be faster. Doubt crept in again as the task seemed impossible. I was going as fast as I could and barely breaking the four minute kms, but would now need to eat away at the additional time added on in the last few uphills.

The road kept going and I didn’t slow down as it was generally flat or easy terrain. Paddy and Peter were at 12km to go and gave me my last two gels. The first one went down immediately and gave me a huge boost with a faster km. Another fast km followed it and I saw I’d have 38m30s to do the last 10k. Doubt entered my mind again, but all I could do was take what I could from the day. Maybe I couldn’t run almost six minute/mile pace to the end and maybe I could, but I was definitely going to try.

That’s exactly what I did for a km and I started to believe I might actually pull off my target time. I’d never have believe it after the first hour of running, but I’d pulled things back to this point. However, Comrades wasn’t going to be kind to me and out came one of the nasty, sharp and unnamed hills which I’d completely forgotten about, at 45th Cutting. What needed to be fast was instead a hard slog uphill and meant I’d need to get around the speed of my 10k personal best for the last 8kms. I’m an optimist, but not enough to think I can finish an ultra with a fresh-legged 10k time. From this point I knew the finishing time would start with a ‘six’.

But what’s the point of wasting a hard day’s work? I kept on hammering along as if that slow km hadn’t happened and it paid off with an unexpected twist near the end. Of the two elite male runners from the US, I’d passed Josh Cox earlier but not seen Mike Wardian. I thought he might be in amongst the gold medallists, but then I caught sight of him at 6km to go. Given I’d not seen him before, it meant I was catching him so I had one last incentive – to overtake him. He was still passing other runners, but they were all so spread out and it took me a km to catch him. I said hi but was unable to manage much of a chat and he clearly didn’t want to be overtaken by a white boy (only two guys ahead of us at this point were white and both were Russian ex-winners), so sped up.

I had just enough left in me to go clear of Mike (he finished just over a minute behind me), then I could only see two more people ahead on the long straight on Pine Street, so set off after them to take my mind off the cramped, screaming muscles. On the final turn I caught the last of them and I could barely hear the roar of the crowd as the cricket stadium lay ahead with the finish. Looking at my watch, I’d almost got under six hours, but instead I heard the countdown for the Wally Hayward medal cut-off just as I started running round the inner side of the cricket ground and before I broke inside on to the grass. Each cut-off time on the finish has the race director face away from the runners, do a countdown then fire a pistol. I was nowhere near but was still the only one in the stadium, making me the first of the silver medals – a dubious honour.

My friend and one of the race commentators, Helen Lucre, later told me that she’d had a minute or so of TV footage focused on me as I ran through the stadium and missed the medal cut-off by 73 seconds, so I’ll have to look that up. But it was a victory for me as I ran my best ever race, the hardest effort of my life. I didn’t get the time I wanted but I was within spitting distance of it. And I did a negative split, overtaking people non-stop from about 90 minutes into the race and not being passed once from then. 24th overall, out of over 16,000 starters is something I’ll treasure...until next time as I know I can go much faster (but not until I’m better trained and definitely not this time around). As ever, the race left me more highly motivated than before and with a desire to reach the highest level I can. I’ll never forget it and I’ll return every single time I can. My addiction to Comrades is total, but also totally understandable to those who’ve ever been part of the race.

Kami finished 4th for the ladies race in 6h32m and Lizzy Hawker from the UK was 6th in 6h39m (both are past 100km World Champions). The Nurgalieva twins finished within a second of each other in 6h13m and Stephen Muzinghi of Zimbabwe won his second consecutive Comrades in 5h29m, with the last male gold medal being 5h48m, just 13 minutes ahead of me...

Two Oceans (Ultra) Marathon Easter Weekend

View from Chapman's Peak around 32km (I think)

Noordhoek beach, just before running up Chapman's Peak

The 18km trail run

Finishing the 18km trail run with Dave Pearse

Great views on Table Mt with Helen, Gwen and Dave in the trail run

More trail run shots

Trail running again

The finish line of the trail and ultra runs

La Med bar with sunset reddening Table Mt

Often windy in Cape Town

Expo fun with too many free hair products

There are many, many races on my ‘must-do’ list, but one which I’d been particularly looking forward to since I first heard about it is the Two Oceans Marathon in Cape Town, South Africa. As is clear from previous postings about Comrades, I’m a big fan of the venerable and huge Saffer races and Two Oceans has a great history of 40 years (this year was number 41 and one guy was racking up his 40th finish). It isn’t quite as big as Comrades but still had over 8,000 ultra runners, plus around 10,000 running the relatively new half marathon course instead.

As with Comrades, the race has different medals for different times, giving a huge incentive for runners to speed up if they’re close to a medal cut-off. These cut-offs are at each hour from four hours to the final cut at seven hours – four hours is a silver medal, five is a Sainsbury medal (named after a previous winner), six is bronze and seven is blue. The top 10 men and women get gold medals, just as with Comrades. But since the race is a fair bit shorter, at 56km (35 miles) instead of 89km (55.5 miles), it’s not nearly so taxing on the body.

Another big similarity is the named, famous hills in the race. In this case it’s just two major hills, peaking at 34km (Chapman’s Peak) and 46km (Constantia Nek), but they are enough to slow you down considerably and to throw off your pacing for a particular medal. The generally acknowledged wisdom is that you need to be ahead of your desired pace at half way to allow for fatigue and the final hill.

There are only a few things I knew about the race in advance, but these were enough to excite me. Firstly, the Comrades-esque style of the race with medals, hills etc and that the silver medal is a lot harder to achieve than at Comrades. Secondly, that it’s a stunningly beautiful course. And thirdly, that it runs along the coastline of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans, which give it the name. However, it seems the actual meeting point on the coast is really Cape Agulhas, which is further east, so the eastern side is technically still the Atlantic. But that’s like fussing over the magnetic or true poles and doesn’t alter how special the race is.

When I arrived in Cape Town I have to admit I didn’t know much about the city either, except that Table Mountain is in the middle of the city. I didn’t realise just how beautiful the entire city is, especially when viewed from the Mountain or from Lion’s Head peak to the north-west. I was staying with my friend, Dave Pearse, again after having enjoyed his hospitality in Durban for the previous two Comrades. It was helpful to have a local to show me around and to appreciate the great lifestyle that the locals live, thanks to their incredible location.

As well as enjoying the area’s restaurants, bars and general scenery, I’d agreed to do the 18km trail race on Good Friday, which uses Table Mountain to great effect. The month of March had been one of high mileage and a lot of tough races for me so I came to Two Oceans with the aim of just enjoying myself and not facing much racing pressure (although I wanted a silver medal still for sub four hours). The trail race the day before the main event fitted in with this philosophy and led to some jaw-dropping views in the early morning sun.

I took it easy with Durbanites Helen Lucre and Dave as well as one of their Capetonian friends, Gwen van Lingen. We took almost three hours to get round the course, partly due to starting far back and being in single file through the narrow trails, but this easier pace certainly suited me. It wasn’t quite as relaxing for Gwen (and maybe Helen too) given she’s a former Olympian and captain of the South African women’s Olympic team (Helen is a mere triple winner of Comrades...). Both ladies have also won Two Oceans, in impressive times of 3h41m (Gwen) and 3h49m (Helen...note that time for later on). One thing you certainly notice quickly is that Saffers don’t take any crap and always say what they think. I’m sure lots of people are offended but it’s fun to get away from the overly-PC western world sometimes. Mind you, the way I’ve just worded that was very inoffensive, while I could have put it more rudely. It was certainly a pleasure to run with the three of them and it’s always inspiring to talk to athletes who’ve got to a top level.

The trail run was a massive photo shoot for me and I couldn’t stop taking photos given the views. It really got me in the mood for the main race, although the 6:25am start wasn’t quite as appealing. At least it’s almost an hour later than Comrades starts and is also 25 minutes after the gun goes for the half marathoners.

The start feels very much like Comrades as it’s pre-dawn and there are so many people around, with seeding pens too. A sub three-hour marathon gets into the first pen, ‘A’, and it felt relaxed as there was more space in it than I’m used to. Even though only gun times exist in order to make the cut-offs for medals exact, Championchips are used to give accurate and efficient timing. So in the few minutes before the race started, the ‘B’ pen athletes are allowed to move forward and quickly push right up. The start was delayed five minutes to allow the half marathoners to clear the part of the ultra course they use. Mining songs and the national anthem are played, but it doesn’t feel quite as magical as Comrades. Very close, but the best way to describe it all is like a ‘Mini-Me’ version of Comrades – less people, shorter and less intimidating. That’s partly due to the race being used as training for Comrades for many runners and also that it’s newer and has fewer runners. But don’t get me wrong, it’s still got a great atmosphere and blows away any normal city marathon except Boston. It also has better scenery than Comrades, although the first 16km is fairly average as you run to the first coastline.

When the gun finally went off, it had started drizzling but this soon stopped and it was refreshing in the surprising morning warmth. The start was even more like a stampede than Comrades. Runners with ‘B’ and ‘C’ seedings zoomed off into the distance as if it was a 10k race. I managed to resist the temptation to go too fast and stuck around my target pace of just over four-minute kms. The huge crowd of runners made the first kms fly by and this was the first time I used my heart rate monitor to stop me from exerting myself too hard. I wanted to stay well under my normal marathon heart rate so that it would all feel comfortable, even at the end. One day I’d like to race it all out, but 2010 was not the year I wanted to try it as other races are taking precedence.

The sun was up by the 10k marker and the course turned left after about 14ks and into a headwind. Cape Town hadn’t shown me much of its famous windiness up to this point and race day was really quite still, but the days afterwards showed just how blustery it can be and that could really upset your race strategy.

We soon hit the coast and had a pleasant run with great Ocean views. I’d run past a couple of groups of runners around the further back female gold medallists (called ‘buses’ in South Africa) and kept wanting to just sit on a bus but felt fine going faster so didn’t hang around with any of them long. For the first half marathon it’s almost completely flat and many people go much too fast as a result, trying to ‘bag’ a few minutes for the hills. I went through in 1h25m which seemed reasonable as it was only slightly above silver medal pace of 1h30m.

Things start to get more interesting from halfway at 28km as the first proper hill starts there. It climbs for about 2ks to Little Chappies, and then dips before ascending more steeply to 34km along the Chapman’s Peak scenic drive route. And it certainly is beautiful. Too many runners stuck to the inside to get a racing line but I made sure I was on the outside of the road so I could get a better view over the short wall by the cliff edge. Music dotted the route, either live or through speakers, and this helped boost the runners well. Many had started slowing much earlier and some were even walking this hill. The fact I was going strong gave me some confidence and also allowed me to fully take in the surroundings, which is something I often can’t fully appreciate when racing hard.

From 34km to the marathon mark was mainly downhill and fast. I’d been warned that going too hard is dangerous here as it tires the legs too much for later, but I just cruised down and was still able to gain a few minutes. There are more supporters around the 42.2km timing mat and the road is surrounded by trees and Cape Town’s specific brand of mountains. It would be a shame for anyone to not take these in, but by this point a lot of people were flagging. Supposedly there are a lot of marathon PBs as splits in the Two Oceans race, which sounds ridiculous, but the hill isn’t too high and having a downhill for the last 8ks of a marathon helps to negate the fatigue which can slow people down at that point.

The marathon mark also signals the start of the hardest part of the race, the steepest and biggest hill up Constantia Nek. It rises from sea level to around 220m (700ft) mainly over the 2.5ks to 46.5km. Most people were walking or jogging very slowly here, as would be expected. But because I had kept my effort level (and heart rate) down I had a good run up and got a lot of crowd support as a result. The hill never seems to end, but by this point in the race there are water tables every km, which means you barely go past one before you see the next. Most have water, Powerade and Coke, but a few have food. I’d done my homework and knew there was chocolate at the 46km table so looked forward to a reward for climbing the hill. I’d used up the two gels I’d decided to bring at 30km and 40km so the chocolate was my plan to get me in to the finish, which I expected to be 10ks of almost all downhill.

However, just a few minutes after peaking, the course heads up yet again in a hill I didn’t expect. That takes the runners to 50km before a few kms of steeper downhill, with a nasty camber. I went through the 50k split in 3h25m, which was a PB, but I’ve only ever done one 50k and it was a training run to pace for three-hour marathon pace, so if I didn’t beat it I’d have little chance of getting that silver.

Up to this point I’d felt much better than usual for a road race and it was good to feel like I could easily keep the pace up for longer than the required 56km. I’m almost tempted to do this more often, but I do already – most of my marathons are off pace, they just aren’t as pretty as around Cape Town. I’d highly recommend taking this course a little easy, since you need more energy for the later hills and it just makes the experience much more enjoyable. Once in a while, anyway.

I didn’t like the camber between 50km and about 53km, so tried running in the gutter so that my knees wouldn’t be strained. Then I saw the fourth placed woman ahead so sped up to catch her. Next was the third place lady, who was going a little faster. I checked my watch and saw that if I could go faster for the last 3km then I’d probably sneak in under Helen’s PB of 3h49m and that was more than enough incentive. As banter goes, saying that I sped up to beat her time was the ideal thing to do for the pub later (it’s a South African thing). I went for a big kick to the end and flew past the third lady and her bike camera crew (the whole race is on national television and she was the next gold medallist due to finish).

I’d sped up to around marathon pace and was overtaking a lot of people, even though they were very spaced out. It felt amazing to have so much energy left at the end, but the slight undulations did make it hard to sustain. The last 400m is on bumpy grass and that also made it energy-sapping to keep up, but when you can see the finish and the crowd’s cheering, the adrenaline comes to the fore. I finished in 3h48m14s with a negative split for the race. I’d expected to lose some time on the uphills, but the downhills had more than made up for it.

As I crossed the line I realised how much the silver medal meant to me. I’d been blasé about it in advance, but if I’d missed out I would have been dismayed and would have questioned my fitness. I didn’t need the sprint finish and it went against my plan to be conservative so that the previous month’s work wouldn’t be spoiled by a stupid muscle pull or overuse injury, but luckily I got away with it and the training benefit should help with Comrades.

I went to the tent by the finish for international runners and watched my local friends finish over the rest of the morning, as well as two other Londoners I knew, Angus Searcy and Cleo Oliver. All had a lot of fun and we foreigners enjoyed our first Two Oceans marathon. I’ll be back for this one, but it’s so far from the US that it may not be very often. A trip to Cape Town is an excellent holiday and I can’t think of a better race to add in while there (although they do have a few good ones in and around the city). There was only one thing left to do post-race, and that was to enjoy a few beers in the sun.

Comrades marathon, May 2009

Why no race compares to the Comrades Marathon

Now I admit that I have a bit of a ‘thing’ for one particular race, the Comrades marathon in South Africa. But I’m not the only one given that the average number of finishes is six, for men, and four, for women. So people clearly can’t stay away from it.

I only heard of the race back in 2006 when running an ultra marathon in the UK and chatting to a South African mid-race. When combining those two factors, his nationality and ultra running, one topic of conversation was always bound to pop up – Comrades. Despite its friendly-sounding (or communist-sounding, depending on your inclination) name, this ‘marathon’ is really an ultra marathon on roads, at distances varying around 89km (55 miles) each year.

That distance alone would normally be enough to put most sensible runners off and you might expect about 100 runners to attempt it if in any country other than South Africa. But the draw of the race is so strong that it attracts over 10,000 runners. That makes it one of the big international races and not many have more runners. So why does such a huge field get involved in such an extreme event?

Well, there are many reasons, but the simplest one is that it is the best race in the world, bar none. I’ll back this up with a(n admittedly small) sample of people I spoke to and know who ran it for the first time in May, 2009. They were all massively impressed by the quality of the organisation, the crowd support and the unmatched buzz surrounding the race. There is only one word which truly captures the scale and emotion of the race and I don’t use this word lightly. That word is epic.

What makes a race epic? It’s more than just scale due to the number of runners and the distance – plenty of races have that. It’s the excited conversation in the street with a stranger when they see you carrying the bag from the expo. It’s the chunky hills along the route which make most undulating road races look flat as a supermodel’s chest. But most of all it’s the camaraderie and support from fellow runners, the crowd and (it seems) everyone else in South Africa.

This solidarity really comes into its own as soon as you land in Durban, the home of the race. The city clearly looks forward to the race with eager anticipation and there’s sure to be plenty of runners on the internal flight into Durban. Then the expo has a sense of excitement mixed with trepidation and is so enjoyable that I went back to it three days in a row.

With a build-up over many months due to the training required, there’s almost a sense of relief when the race is just days away. No more hard hill sessions, no injuries and so much to look forward to on race day. So when I woke up on the morning of the race, was I bursting with adrenaline? Well, no, or at least not immediately. But that was only because it was 3am, the start of the race was an hour’s drive away and I’d just reached the point of full realisation that I had to stop talking about running 55 miles of hills and actually do it.

Although I’ve run many ultras and marathons, it still takes a lot of effort to not roll over and go back to sleep. Forcing myself out of bed at unusually early times of day with the prospect of a hard day’s work ahead is tough. But once up it is difficult to not get swept away in a sea of adrenaline. However, I usually try to save a little adrenaline for the race.

The 2009 race

2009 was my third year in a row at Comrades. It has become my most essential race of the year and a good run makes for a good year. PBs at other distances and other races are a bonus, but the whole point is to get better at Comrades. I’d felt this way since my first finish and even more so after meeting some of the elite runners after the race in 2008. In fact, I’d made a big promise to myself – to one day get a gold medal for finishing in the top ten.

Top ten finishes in ultras are generally not that prestigious. Some long races have barely more competitors than that number and rarely are there elite-standard athletes. In contrast, Comrades boasts the best line up of ultra runners of any race in the world. It includes Olympic marathon runners and many others who can break 2h20m and have the talent to translate this into fast ultras, which many can’t. So it means that finishing amongst those top athletes is extremely hard and requires under 2h45m marathon pace for over double the standard marathon distance and with some major hills.

Luckily I didn’t have to reach those levels this year to be happy with my race. Instead I’d set the ambitious target of breaking 6h20m since that was the equivalent of keeping up 3h marathon pace the whole way, which is a nice, round figure. I’d raced a bit too much in the build up to the event but was in decent shape and determined to run myself into the ground if necessary.

So as I lined up in my seeding pen at the start, I was focused and knew I’d prepared well enough to enjoy it fully. The guys around me were restless and dancing to the music booming out over the PA system through huge speakers just metres away. There were a lot of smiles and all runners had their race numbers on both back and front, as required. The numbers include details of their previous finishes and their seeding pen. There were many colours of race numbers, each meaning something different, such as for the number of times they had finished or to show they were an international runner. This is always a conversation starter during the race.

As we hit 5:15am the pen entrances were closed and anyone not there 15 minutes before the start had to go to the very back. That’s more of an issue than usual given that only gun times count and all the strict cut-offs during the race are based off the gun time. That includes the cut-offs for each medal category at the finish, of which there are five based on finishing times plus the hallowed gold which I coveted, but not that day.

The music switched to the traditional starting tunes. Firstly a heart-wrenching rendition of a local mining song called ‘Shoshalosa’ which many locals joined in with the singing. Then the classic ‘Chariots of Fire.’ Never do the classic piano and synth chords of Vangelis sound better than when crowded into the start of Comrades in the dark. Because of the Comrades memories this stirs, the song stops me dead in my tracks whenever I hear it.

And every Comrades runner knows that as soon as the song is over, the agonising months of waiting for the start are over. The next sounds heard are the traditional cock crow of a past runner who started the race for many years until his death. Then silence and the gun lead to the shuffle over the line for over 11,000 people who are willing to try their luck at a distance most would never attempt by foot. Fools! But what glorious fools.

It takes almost an hour to get light and the field is well spread out by that point. I’d reached the first steep downhill, called Polly Shortts at 8km, except the marker said ‘81km to go’, as it counts down rather than up. It’s very pleasant to run down that early in the race but when the course is run in the opposite direction, as it is every other year, this is the hill that finishes most people off near the end. I’d just managed to climb it the previous year using a walk/run strategy but 2009 was a down run and that meant that the hills included nasty chunks of downhill running. This becomes particularly thigh-destroying later in the race and the constant pummelling leaves most people crippled for several days.

It was at this point that I was starting to get into the race and enjoy the company of other runners which defines the race experience. I chatted to a local guy on his umpteenth race. And we caught up with a bus, as a group of runners sticking together is called, for two elite women. Although I was tempted to stay with them and benefit from their pacing and experience, I decided to push on since I was already going a little slowly for the time I was aiming for. I’d stuck to my plan of going at a pace which felt very comfortable and allowed me to talk freely but had been forced to reassess my target time downwards.

As the sun rose there were plenty of small buses I joined, but I spent the most time with two runners in particular – an American, John, and a Swiss guy, Roman. Roman was getting even more support from the large early morning crowds due to his leopard spot hairstyle and the Swiss flag on his chest. He told me at the end of the race that his friends who saw him along the course with Swiss flags had been hassled by a lot of runners. They’d confused the white cross on a red background for the Red Cross flag and had assumed there was medical aid being given out. Many had then stormed off in a bad mood when the unreasonable Swiss fans had had to refuse them first aid.

But he wasn’t the only one getting great support since I’d entered for a local club who had plenty of supporters by the side lines. Kearsney Striders had 61 other runners in the race, including several of my friends, but the male running kit for the club (which is compulsory to wear in the race) looks dated to an embarrassing degree. As my British friends later described it, it looks like a negligee instead of a running top. At least it didn’t look out of place since many other clubs had similar fashion issues, but I did have fun with it posing for some catalogue-style photos before the race.

Anyway, I was very happy to wear it during the race since I got non-stop shouts of support. Many also read my name off my race number to support me that way too. One of the magical parts of the race for me was when I reached Kearsney College at 38km to go. That point is 51km into the race and I’d had a relatively easy time up until then. I’d chatted with many runners and overtaken a lot of the ones who’d zoomed through the first sections of the course. Most of the uphills were over but I knew that there was a long downhill section to come on Fields Hill – the biggest of the main five hills.

So I knew I had a lot left to do and my legs were feeling tired and sore. The camber on many of the sections of road had damaged my left Achilles tendon slightly and that had led to pain in the bottom of my left thigh. Much as I usually love downhill and know I’m much stronger at it than uphills, I wasn’t looking forward to the remaining long run down to the coast. In fact, I started to prefer the climbs since they hurt less.

Then I had a moment in the race which will stay with me as a real highlight of 2009. I was given a balloon half a km away from Kearsney College so they would see me coming and cheer earlier. I approached them certain that I’d have to slow down later and wasn’t certain whether my left leg would hold out for running almost another marathon. But then something clicked in me and I embraced the support to get a massive adrenaline boost. As I danced through the tunnel of Kearsney students, encouraging them to make as much noise as they could, I started to believe that the race wouldn’t just go well but that I could speed up too. After the whacking high fives I was a new runner with fresh legs and I sprinted off down the course, flying past runners.

I hadn’t expected such a big pick-me-up and was thoroughly glad to have worn the retro Kearsney kit. And somehow that boost lasted me through for almost three hours until the finish. It helped that there were even more Kearsney supporters from that point in the course, but I suddenly felt capable of maintaining a faster pace. I didn’t even get on another running bus for the rest of the race, but focused on pushing through for the best I could eke out of my resurgent legs.

The last 38km didn’t go quickly but the huge crowd support and the feeling of moving through the field at pace kept me motivated. I’m used to running the last quarter of an ultra on my own due to small field sizes but Comrades always has plenty of people within sight. I received and gave out supporting gestures and calls to those I ran by. It took all my concentration to keep the rhythm going but the almost clichéd quote from Lance Armstrong went through my head that ‘pain is temporary, quitting lasts forever.’ I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who used that thought to push on to the end. Besides, the faster you go, the sooner the pain ends. I also thought often about my fiancée and was finding the race very emotional in my jaded state.

Entering Durban was as memorable as the last down run I’d completed, back in 2007. However, this time I wasn’t cruising and had to fight for every step. I hungrily searched for each km marker, willing them closer. With just 1km left I knew I’d make it ok and pushed on to save every last second. The crowds were a hazy background to my delirious world but a welcome one.

When I finally entered the Kingsmead Cricket Stadium for the final victory lap it was a very satisfying finish. My legs were so wobbly that I’m not sure I could have gone much further and it seemed that every last drop of energy had been squeezed out during the previous six hours and 29 minutes. I tried to sprint finish but couldn’t increase my pace much. Then I crossed the line of the ‘Ultimate Human Race,’ as Comrades rightfully describes itself.

At the end I was too exhausted to take in the whole experience but I knew that the coming hours and days would be filled with real satisfaction. My legs were shot, but they’d held out. The crowd had spurred me on to push my body harder than ever before. Plus I’d met inspiring people before, along the way and also in the finishing area.

That evening, I was even lucky enough to have dinner with friends and two of the race’s greatest performers – three-time winner, Helen Lucre, and nine-time winner, Bruce Fordyce. Bruce is a living legend in South Africa and it’s impressive for a slight man to gain such prominence in a rugby-obsessed country. I’d read his book and have the utmost respect for his commitment and achievements. However, since he stills runs Comrades and had finished the day with a bronze medal, just under ten hours, there was plenty of banter about my shiny silver medal. His great quip was that silver does tend to tarnish, leaving unsaid that his 11 gold medals obviously do not.

There’s a unique feeling to Comrades which causes people to come back year after year and still be as excited as a five year old on Christmas Eve. It’s not just one thing, but the combination of everything to do with the race. And when a city truly embraces an event it creates an electrifying buzz. It also helps that Durban is a great city on the sea and that I have good friends living there.

Running the race makes you feel invincible and capable of anything. It inspires people to push themselves to new heights. Although there will be many credible athletes going for those top ten spots in races to come, I’m determined to give myself the best shot possible of joining them. I’ll be returning to the beautiful rolling hills near Durban every year possible because there is no alternative. This race is in my blood.