That's pretty much a marathon straight uphill followed by a marathon on seriously rolling hills followed by a few kilometers of down and up to the finish. And of course, the cartoon profile provided by Comrades doesn't really show you how steep and nasty all those climbs really are. Here's the chart from my Garmin for comparison.
But that's getting ahead of ourselves. Let's turn back time to the day after last year's race. There we were, hanging out at Joe Cool's in Durban, having a few beers (okay, more than a few) to celebrate having conquered Comrades. Everything was all fun and games until our South African friends heard us expressing our relief at being able to cross the race off the bucket list. "Not so fast," they said. "You haven't really done Comrades until you've done it back to back in both directions. It really is a different race going down vs up." And with that, the seed was planted. By the time registration opened a few months later, there was no real question about if we were going to run again or not. Erin was certainly going to be back so she could get revenge on the course after finishing but not making the cutoff in 2014. Holly and I knew that since she was going, we were too, and Holly even managed to talk Desiree, one of her friends in Houston, into coming along as well. I was the last one to sign up, I think, mostly because I had some reservations about being able to train properly while living in Erbil. I hate treadmills in the base case and was not at all looking forward to having to do all my training indoors.
Fast forward a few months, and training wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, mostly because I got to spend time in Dubai instead of Erbil. I did have a few months of hours-long runs on a treadmill on both weekend days, though, and that certainly wasn't any fun. I only made it through by watching episodes of Game of Thrones. I'd watch one, stop to change my shirt and refuel, watch another, etc., etc. Thankfully, I managed to schedule a business trip to Houston at the end of April that allowed me to get my last three weekends of back-to-back long runs done outside and with other people. The peak weekend of 24 and 16 would've been really tough to do in the gym at the Divan.
About three weeks before the race, the race organizers (the Comrades Marathon Association) announced that due to road construction in Pinetown, the course would be 877 meters longer than the usual up-run course. Personally, I don't see much difference in running 86.9 km and 87.7 km, but I was clearly in the minority. The online moaning and wailing and gnashing of teeth was astounding. People were panicking about not being able to pace properly, how the extra distance would impact their strategy, and even going to far as to ask the CMA to extend the time limit for the race beyond 12 hours. All that fussing over an extra 8 seconds per mile. That's nothing more than a few minutes more running and less walking over the course of a 12-hour day. Nothing for us mere mortals to worry about, though it did cost the female winner a few hundred thousand dollars. She missed the course record by three minutes.
As race day approached, I was much more scared and nervous than I was last year. I knew what was coming (see those lovely course maps above) and also knew I wasn't as well prepared as last year. I had done all my workouts, but my overall mileage was down and I didn't have Heather's yoga classes to build my core and leg strength, two things absolutely critical for running uphill. Holly hadn't trained too well either thanks to a stress fracture in her foot that kept her from running most of the spring, though she got plenty of swimming and biking in to make up for it. Sitting on the plane from Dubai to Durban, I had some doubts as I whether I'd make it the whole way or not. I was most worried about getting to the top of Field's Hill and then to the halfway point. Three out of the five big and named hills are in the first half of the race, and I was afraid they'd suck so much energy out of me that I wouldn't have anything left for the rest. Thankfully, copious amounts of champagne banished those thoughts to another day.
Friday morning, we all met up for our traditional 5k run along the water in Durban followed by breakfast at Circus Circus. While taking pictures after we ate, we were approached by a team from the local paper asking us if we were running on Sunday and if they could ask us a few questions and take some pictures. The next day, we woke up to our smiling faces on the front page of the paper!
After breakfast, the expo beckoned. We grabbed our packets, did some shopping, found our names on the wall of entrants, and hung out for a little while in the International area. I felt bad for the poor security volunteers who had to keep kicking one of the local running clubs out of the area. They certainly knew better but kept coming back in over and over again. I'm sure all they wanted was a place to sit down and to have some coffee, coke, or water. Lots of the people running Comrades can barely afford the entry fee and a place to stay the nights before the race, so we left most of the stuff from our goodie bags on the table for them. They need the granola bars and energy drink powders and other stuff much more than we do.
Hanging out with Holly, Erin, and Desiree at the apartment after the expo made me feel much better about the race. None of us felt completely confident, but as a group, we were all certain we'd get to the starting line and find a way to finish. Nerves and anxiety were giving way to the normal pre-race excitement and anticipation. We talked about our plan for the hills (run/walk at 3 minute/1 minute intervals), our fueling (bring on the salted potatoes!), and our bio breaks (when one stops, we all stop). There wasn't much talk about the weather because we knew it was going to be warm and sunny. We didn't do much on Saturday either - pancake breakfast at Circus Circus (along with dozens of other runners), lounging around the apartment, and one last dinner of pizza and pasta before heading to our room in Durban for the night. Staying in Durban the night before the race was one of Holly's more brilliant decisions this year. Being able to sleep in a few extra minutes and simply walk to the start sure beats having to drive in and deal with traffic.
I woke up Sunday morning not feeling very rested. Desiree says I slept pretty well, but it sure didn't seem that way to me. After a Clif bar for a snack, some Powerade to wash it down, and half a dozen trips to the bathroom, it was time to get moving. I put on my racing outfit, threw a Qatar Airways PJ top over my head to keep warm on the walk to the start, grabbed my fuel belt and drop bag, and away we went. Ten minutes later, we arrived at bag drop just outside the corrals. Holly and I had the purple numbers signifying that we were international runners (foreign runners get their own tent and bag check area at the finish), but somehow Kim, Erin, and Desiree never got them at the expo. The guys at the truck handed them yellow numbers, and no matter how much he claimed otherwise, we knew their bags were going to end up in the general tent and not the international one. Not much we could do about it at that point, so we handed over the bags and entered our corral.
Kim and I opted for the first visit to the porta-potty while the others stayed behind and watched our stuff. When we got back, the other three left while we kept an eye on everything and kept people from crowding into our spot. With a strict 12-hour gun-to-gun cutoff time, there's a strong desire to get as close to the front of your corral as possible, and people will squeeze into whatever space is available. Somehow through the noise of the crowd, I heard Holly yelling for me from outside the fence. Kim and I grabbed all of our belts and belongings and ran over to see what the problem was. "They won't let us in the gate! Security won't let us in!" Holly was a little panicked, as were the rest of us, and it didn't help that right at the moment, they dropped the ropes between the corrals and thousands of people surged forward like at a general admission rock concert. Fortunately, she was able to pry apart two sections of the fence, and they all squeezed in next to us. Some calming breaths later, we shuffled forward with the crowd and began to look forward to the pomp and circumstance of the start. Even after experiencing it last year, the singing of the national anthem and Shosholoza, the playing of Chariots of Fire, and the recording of the cock crows still gave me goosebumps. By far the best atmosphere at the start of any race I've ever done. You can see for yourself in this video starting around the 30:00 mark.
Bang! And we were off. Okay, not exactly off because we still had to make our way to the line, but our watches were running. Four minutes later, we were running! Another four minutes later, we were not running, as the 12,000 people in front of us ground to a halt. The roads in Durban are much wider than those in PMB, but we sure seemed to do a lot more stopping and starting this year. In order to keep an eye on each other, we quickly fell into a system where you'd raise your hand over your head if you wanted to find out where everyone else was. Empty hands while dodging around people or spreading out on the hills, full hands with water sachets to pass back and forth - this worked really well all day.
The first few miles were really crowded. The hills were just steep enough to keep people from running too fast but not steep enough yet to separate the runners from the run/walkers from the walkers. We held ourselves in check (not much choice, really) and ran along mostly in silence. We'd laugh at something here and there, but most of what we said was "are we all together?" and "do we have everyone?" I felt okay, not a really good sign this early in such a long race. By the time we passed over the top of Cowie's Hill, the first of the big five, I could already tell that the hills were going to wear me out. Thankfully, one of us needed a nature break heading through Pinetown shortly thereafter and I was able to catch my breath for a few minutes.
After turning the corner to begin the long climb up Field's Hill, Desiree and Kim steadily moved ahead of us. They were off to a great start so we wished them well and sent them on their way. Their training had obviously been better than ours, and it wouldn't be fair to hold them back. Erin, Holly, and I kept on plugging away and eventually reached the top. This was one of the big milestones I had in my mind since it's the longest climb in the race, but the mental boost I expected never materialized. Just the opposite happened. I began to lose confidence and get depressed thinking about how much farther we had to go and how much energy I'd already felt drain away. I was exhausted and still had 40 miles to go. Seeing Erin and Holly out in front of me didn't help any either. Not that I wanted to beat them. I'm as competitive as they come, but I do have my limits. No, this was more of a realization that I was struggling and they weren't, and that just made me feel worse. A few more miles of this seemed to take forever. I knew I had to do something or else I wasn't going to make it to the end. I grabbed Holly and told her that she absolutely had to stay with me, right on my shoulder, until I came out of my funk. She agreed without hesitation and reminded me that we were in this together no matter what. I'd like to say that hearing this from my running spouse was all it took to snap me back to normal, but that'd be a lie. Another hour or so passed before I was happy and cheerful once again.
The three of us soldiered on up Botha's Hill (one of the steepest climbs of the day) and down into the halfway point at Drummond. We managed to pick up our pace pretty well on the first real downhill stretch of the race thus far. Once again, it was a huge success that we crossed halfway (5:29) before the winner finished the race (5:38). Our excitement and enjoyment of the easy running was short-lived, though. Inchanga starts not even half a mile later and is a bitch of a climb (2 miles at 6%) even when you don't already have a marathon on your legs. By this point, we'd given up on our strict run/walk intervals and had moved to "run when we can and walk when we must," as Holly put it. For Inchanga, that meant mostly walking with some slow running (me) and power walking (Holly). Finally, with 30 miles behind us, we reached the top, and I knew I was going to finish. I'd told myself before we started that if we could get to the top of Inchanga in under 6:30, we'd have 5:30 to make it through the last 25 miles with nearly all of the climbing behind us. We crested in 5:56.
We cruised down the back and made our way to Harrison Flats. Don't let the name fool you. Harrison Flats is not flat. It's rolling hills that felt as much uphill this year as they did last year. About this point in the race, we got passed by a huge 11:30 bus (they call the pace groups over here "buses") and fell in behind them for a little while. They had a nice routine of running a few minutes followed by a short walk break, but they were going way too fast for their expected finish time. We fell back and let them go, as did a lot of other people around us. Either our math was wrong (after last year's debacle that wasn't entirely out of the question) or theirs was, and it wasn't worth the risk to find out. [side note: they were way off and finished in 11:12. I'm sure a lot of people blew up and had trouble even coming in under 12 because of that.]
Running along towards Cato Ridge, Erin began drifting back slightly and then catching up to us as we slowed down to wait for her. Like last year, she was having a hard time getting a full deep breath. Holly and I started to have the conversation that no one running with their friends likes to have - how long do we stay back with Erin before leaving her and running our own race? Knowing how she didn't make the cutoff time last year and not wanting to see her miss out again made our decision all that more difficult, but in the end, we knew we had to move on. To her credit, Erin knew what we were thinking and asked us if we wanted to keep going before we could bring it up. I gave her a huge hug, cried a little, and told her we'd see her at the finish.
Holly and I settled into an easy pace as the miles ticked by. By the time we hit the Lion Park timing mat, we knew we weren't going to be sub-11 but were certainly going to be sub-12. We crossed in 9:03, leaving us just under three hours to travel the last 11 miles. Not wanting to cut it quite that close, we decided to try to keep ourselves under 14 min/mile so we had plenty of time to spare if the wheels completely fell off down the road. No problems with math this year.
About half an hour later, approaching the chicken farms, we ran into James's friend Carl. He was struggling a bit running by himself and was more than happy to join us for the last bit to PMB. With the pressure of chasing sub-11 long gone, we ran and walked and talked and enjoyed ourselves as best we could. Finally, we hit Little Polly's. It's not one of the big five named hills, but rather gets its name from the fact that people often mistake it for the real Polly Shortts. Polly's is steeper, longer, and closer to the end, making Little Polly's just a teaser for what's left to come. There were some terrific spectators along this stretch. Not that the ones we saw during the previous 50 miles weren't good too, but one group here really was wonderful. I stopped to ask them if they had any sunblock I could use, and instead of having me stand there and wait while they found it, they told me to keep going and they'd bring it to me. "You need to keep moving. No wasting time!" they said. Sure enough, about 20 seconds later, one of the women came running up to me with a bottle and sprayed some in my hands and on my face. Now that's the spirit of Comrades that people always talk about.
At last it was time to tackle Polly's. It's not the biggest hill in the race, but it sure is the most difficult. Climbing 400 feet in barely more than a mile when you've already run 50 miles is just awful. Holly was the only one of the three of us to be thankful to be going uphill. She developed a huge blister on her toe coming down Little Polly's and going up took the pressure off of it for a little while. Coming down the other side wasn't too enjoyable for her, requiring her to tread gently and take it easy. We had plenty of time to spare, so going slowly wasn't a concern. We had to, really, since the last five miles have a lot more up and down in them than we thought. At the top of one little bump, we could see big banks of lights up ahead and started looking forward to seeing the stadium. How wrong we were. Those lights were for the rugby field about two miles out of town.
Finally, we made the last big right turn into Pietermaritzburg and knew we were almost there. A quick left brought us right to the stadium with cheering fans lining the road the whole way. This was a much more enjoyable finishing stretch than coming into Durban on the highway and running through the commercial center. That was pretty empty, but the people in PMB turned out in force. We stopped walking and started running as soon as we approached the stadium. I have a personal rule to always run the last mile of a race, or in the case of this Comrades, the last half mile. Coming through the tunnel and onto the grass wasn't as emotional a moment for me as it was last year. I was just happy to have beaten the damn course and made it to the end. It was Holly's turn to tear up a bit as she waved to her parents and we made the final turn to the line. Fists pumping and arms raised in celebration, we crossed the line in 11:21. You can see the video here.
We hobbled over to the international tent, got our bags, and collapsed on the ground. I was absolutely freezing, shaking so hard I threw up a few times. Lovely, I know. I'm really glad Holly's parents were there to help us with food and drinks because I wasn't going anywhere for a while.
I stopped feeling sick and cold once I saw Erin come "walking" up. She made it! One of her friends from Doha grabbed her along the way and wouldn't let her not finish. She was as happy as I've ever seen someone at the end of a race, tears of joy running down her face. She also had really bad leg cramps and had to be taken to the medical tent, but let's focus on the positive, shall we?
Getting the medal for finishing was great, of course, but getting that extra medal for going back to back is what made it all worthwhile. Now I've done it both ways and never have to do it again. I'll certainly never do it again while I'm living in Erbil. There's no way to get the proper training in when I'm not allowed outside.
A few quick words on fueling and hydration because I know Mary and Ange want to hear about it. I used much the same approach as last year - fuel every hour, salt tab every hour, and water as often as I felt I needed it. I started out with gels and bloks for the first few hours until salted potatoes started being handed out by the race or by the spectators. I only had to take one or two more gels the rest of the way because there were enough potato stops to get me through. I drank a lot of water this year, much more than last year. Even drinking two or three sachets at each water stop, I could feel myself getting dehydrated around mile 25 and was thankful to get back to a better level a few hours later. It's never good to feel goosebumps on your legs when you're running in warm sunny weather. I didn't have any of the Energade sports drink available at the aid stations. To me, the stuff tastes foul, so I got my electrolytes from the salt tabs. I also drank a lot of Coke. Holly made me start drinking it when I was feeling nauseous and didn't want to eat anything. It might be horrible for you, but it sure is great ultra fuel, even if it wasn't flat like I've had in the past.
