Comrades 2019

So there we have it! After 23 weeks of relentless slog, early January mornings, balmy February weekend run camps, April tune up marathons and Double Top ultras, the Comrades 2019 Up Run is now in the books. And what a journey it has been for 12 determined runners from Jersey in “the world’s oldest and biggest ultra race.”…

The brainchild of WW1 veteran Vic Clapham, the first Comrades took place in 1921 with 34 runners taking on the route between the towns of Durban and Pietermaritzburg (87kms) as a show of respect to the fallen of WW1. WW2 aside, the race has taken place every year since with the route alternating between the “Up Run” (Durban to Pietermaritzberg) and the “Down Run”. Today the race boasts a field capped at 25,000.

As soon as we touched down in Durban on a bright Friday morning, the sense of pre-race excitement and anticipation was palatable. Up and down the North Beach esplanade, there were runners as far as the eye could see, jogging away the pre-race nerves, making sure the well tapered legs were up to the task ahead. There was a truly international flavour to proceedings with packs of Brazilian, Russians and Indian runners regaled in national colours, competing to capture the onlookers’ attention. Not to be outdone, the African runners lite up the early morning, combining rhythm and song whilst gliding gracefully along the beach front.

The sense of occasion continued in the Expo hall

where excited runners waited in line for race numbers and goodie bags

Much like many Expos I’ve been to, the exhibition centre was littered with stalls promoting every type of running accessory from race nutrition in all kinds of weird and wonderful flavours to marathon underwear – who knew!? What stood out within the exhibition however was the history and heritage of Comrades, the pride with which South Africans hold the event and the impact the race has had, not only on the running community but South African society as a whole. From the inaugural race in 1921 where only 34 runners took part, to 2019’s event which sold all of it’s 25,000 spaces in a matter of hours, through the years of Apartheid to the first black finisher to be recognised in 1975, the Bruce Fordyce glory years to the iconic green number (completing 10 runs), the event sits alone amongst ultra races as the oldest, most historic and prestigious.

Along with the heritage of the event and the 5 big hills a runner a must conquer in an up year as part of the 1700 metres net ascent, the race is infamous for it’s strict time limits with those that finish outside of the 12 hours, even by a few seconds neither being allowed to finish nor getting awarded a finisher’s medal. As the drama unfolds in the final few minutes, the race becomes compulsive viewing with runners stumbling, crawling or being dragged towards the finish line. It’s heartbreaking to see runners that miss out by the narrowest of margins after 12 hours of gruelling effort. As one commentator describes it, the scenes at the end of the race with exhausted bodies strewn along the finishing straight, resemble that of a battlefield. Indeed, it’s claimed that the on site medical facilities are only out-scaled by those in an active war zone. A comforting thought and pretty sure this fact wasn’t advertised in the pre race literature! What a fine mess you’ve got yourself into this time Bryan!

Race day eve started with a nice 5k warm up

at North Beach parkrun, which was billed as the world’s biggest with almost 2,000 runners taking part.

With Tom Williams (COO of parkrun and Marathon Talk founder) in attendance, his Dad, Brian and Bruce Fordyce undertaking tail walking duties, it felt like a really special 5k. In fact, it was Brian’s journey to run his first Comrades at the age of 73 that inspired me to sign up for the event in the first place. After a few weeks of tapering and with energy to burn, it felt good to open up the legs at parkrun, finishing with a sprint over the line for 23rd place.

A relaxing day in the Durban sun followed by an early night was the order of the day in preparation for the 3:30am alarm call. Managing to get a couple of hours shut eye, I woke up tired and disorientated but the race day adrenaline soon kicked in and after forcing down some obligatory porridge with lashings of peanut butter, I found myself amongst the throngs at the start line. Having researched the pre-race rituals, I had an expectation of the atmosphere but nothing prepared me for the electricity in the air amongst 25,000 expectant runners as we bellowed out the famed Comrades marathon anthem “Shosholoza” (translated broadly as “to go forward”). So popular the song in South African culture, it is often referred to as the second national anthem! As my emotions got the better of me, I put it down to the sudden realisation that I had a full day of hill running ahead of me!

It’s not long before the infamous cockerel sounds

and we’re off into the dark Durban morning, pushed along by hundreds of runners from the pens behind, vying to get an early advantage.

I promised myself a slow and steady start but it didn’t take long to get caught up in the excitement, running the first few kms well below my target splits. Eventually finding my grove, after an hour or so, we’re approaching the first of the big 5 hills; Cowies. Having just seen my wife supporting from the sidelines in Pinetown, my spirits are high as I embark on the long ascent. As we approach the top, I’m feeling in good shape and can’t help questioning what all the fuss was about. As we scale the second of the big 5 a few kms later and I’m already fighting the urge to walk, I realise this could be a long day at the office! My first interaction with a fellow Comrade does little to raise my spirits – dressed in the colours of a local running club, my new friend Willoughby seems to be taking it all in his stride, floating along and waving to the crowds. He is vying for a silver medal himself (sub 7hours30mins finish) so when he casually skips away from me like this is a jog in the park, my head immediately starts to drop.

I strive to make the next few kms about getting myself together, digging in and taking on fuel. I finally concede to walking the next of the big hills but when we reach the first marathon distance I’m buoyed by the time on my watch reading 3:37. It’s well reported that the first half of the up run is tough so to be on pace for a 7:30 finish despite how I’m feeling lifts my spirits. Perhaps a silver medal is not out of the realms of possibility after all! This is only reinforced by one local supporter’s show of faith in my new found freshness – reading the name on my race number he confidently exclaims that “my efforts today will not go unnoticed.” By who, I’m not sure but it certainly gives me the lift he was clearly intending if only for a few short strides and as we approach Inchanga (hill 4), my legs have stopped working and my usually bouncy gait is replaced with a that of a turtle wading through peanut butter!

One of the many novelties of Comrades, unlike other long distance events, is that the distance markers show the number of km remaining, not the number already run. This little psychological nuance does not help my mood and when I look up to read 38km to go, I’m starting to question if I’ll ever make it!

A fellow international runner (denoted by blue race number) is adopting a similar walk/shuffle strategy to me although his shuffle resembles a much much more of a jog than mine and as we criss cross for the next few kms we strive to encourage each other on. Australian Ashton is also running his first Comrades but if I think I’m finding it hard going, it pales in comparison to the drama unfolding in his race. Conscious that I haven’t seen him in a while, when he taps me on the shoulder and informs me that he’s just returned from wretching at the roadside. This must have done him some good and he wishes me luck as he strides off into the distance with a renewed sense of vigour. Thinking I won’t be seeing him again, it’s only 10mins later before I pass him on the roadside keeled over in a whole world of trouble.