the dream
on september 26, 2015 i ran the hamptons marathon, a small local race in new york. at the time, i thought i had permanently traded in my running shoes for a surfboard. the flat course took me almost 5 hours. i had run about 10 miles in the 4 months leading up to the race. i ran the race only because i signed up and paid 8 months ago. at the finish line, they gave me a medal and announced on the microphone to everyone that my next goal was to run the comrades marathon - an ultra of 56 miles - in south africa. i was so embarrassed! i had written that goal on my form 8 months before and forgotten all about it. in my mind, i was hardly a runner anymore - i wasn't training and my times were getting slower, yet here i made public the most gigantic running goal of all...
on june 4, i ran those hills i had been dreaming about for two years to complete the comrades marathon for the first time. the 87 km course was 27 km longer than my furthest run ever, my first marathon in africa, my first time traveling to south africa solo.
the fear
in the weeks leading up to the race, i wasn't dreaming as much as i was waking up in the middle of the night with panic- was i prepared? will i ever get there? does it really matter? and what i fail?
the appeal and terror of the comrades is really that it's more possible to 'fail' the 56 mile course between Durban and Pietermaritzburg than any other race i have run. in casual running, there's a strong spirit of participation. everyone gets a medal for finishing. courses stay open until the last runner finishes. the comrades marathon is kind of unique within this culture. on the one hand, it is such a long hilly race, most people, like me, participate for the accomplishment. on the other hand, there are strict time cut offs that make it harder to do it at a casual pace. after 12 hours, a gun is fired to close the course and no matter how close you are, you may not finish after this. no medals or names in the paper, just a DNF - did not finish- as your result.
at the starting line, all i felt was the fear i would not finish. i had so long to go. all around me were racing bibs with friendly, fat zeros in the corner, representing 0 comrades finishes prior. even 1 or 2 prior finishes was no guarantee on the 90 degree Fahrenheit UP run.
talking strategy and training plans exacerbated this fear. some people run 30 miles a week to train, some run 100. i wasn't even sure how many i had been running. i never ran with a watch, i barely knew the course beyond the names of the hills i had written in a notebook, the distance was so new and obscure to me i could hardly say what time i expected to run it in. i knew since i had signed up for the race, i was so excited and scared i had been running everyday, sometimes twice a day, and more than i ever had in my life. i knew on the day of the comrades i would be running all day and if i stopped, i might not finish. i couldn't remember if i had 14 hours or 12 hours to run the thing until about 30k into the race, when i asked someone.
soul running
one of my biggest sport heros is bethany hamilton, the famous american surfer who continued her professional career even after losing her left arm to a shark attack. her story was famously made into a movie called "soul surfer".
in a way it doesn't make sense, to me anyway, how well she surfs with one arm. surfing is a sport where you rely so much on your balance and the strength of your arms working together. and then there is the courage to return the ocean after being attacked by a shark almost fatally- many people's greatest fear.
all this is to say, it really points to the soul of the athlete- the spirit, the mind, the heart, the mental toughness, is just as important as the body. to assuage my fear about the race, i told myself to be a soul runner. i didn't see the hills or know their grade or train precisely, but i would take them as they came, like waves in the ocean, which i also had no control over.
forgetting what lied behind, i realized i could not chat about splits or america or watches on the course and keep my head. so i followed the sound of a tambourine instead. when i found the running percussionist, i wordlessly joined the pack of runners following him and their coach.
the comrades is a massive event. the whole race, especially if you're running slowly, is crowded. people naturally move into groups, "buses" following either official pacers with flags or running with friends.
friends for the journey
in many ways, i was running the race alone. i planned this trip alone. but i wasn't lonely. when the starting gun went off, i was by myself. but i didn't feel alone. i realized in my journey from new york to joburg to durban to the start, new and old friends were coming along to help me with each leg of the race.
on the long flight from new york, i was saved from my anxiety and boredom by new friends - pair travelling to the western cape on a rock climbing trip. they shared their stuffed unicorn with me and via the flight attendants and other passengers walking to the bathroom sent me notes, games of tic tac toe and swedish fish in vomit bags between our economy seats. so instead of worrying for 14 hours about the race i had ahead and how i would travel around alone, i was comforted to have people to talk to and a lovable stuffed unicorn.
then, on my flight from joburg to durban, i sat next to a veteran comrades runner from durban, who happily filled me in on the race and realizing i was by myself, offered to be an emergency contact.
and from point to point between, kind comrades just kept turning up before i had a chance to be nervous or scared.
go softly until inchanga
at the start of the race, they gave the simple advice to start out slowly and conserve energy until you reached inchanga, the middle of the 5 major hills the course runs up.
it's hard not to go fast when you start in any race, but in comrades, because of the distance, it is especially important.
so in the first 30 kilometers of comrades, my friends with the tambourine helped me get by. it was easier to run slow if i followed the rhythm. we chanted things like, 'full moon, half moon, quarter moon" then just the word 'kilometer' as a call and response thing, then some zulu words i couldn't translate. we passed oranges and water to each other from the sidelines. they never asked why or who i was. they gave me the courage to move forward when i felt paralyzed by the fear of how many miles i had ahead of me.
following this group helped me keep my head and hold steady while the adrenaline of the race surged by.
a thinking ride
near halfway, a piece of advice from my old horseback riding coach popped into my head.
"have a thinking ride" she used to tell me. it means you must always be focused on the present, pay attention to your horse, and adapt and adjust over your ride based on the feedback you are getting. it's not enough to have a plan or strategy for a ride - you must also check in and change up as needed.
so at about halfway, i checked in on how following the tambourine was going. i realized the leader of the group, in my mind, the coach, dropped off the course without explanation. the sub 12 hour pacers started passing. this was when i realized the cut off time for the race was 12 hours. i realized though it was comfortable to trust and follow this group, i was putting myself at risk of not finishing to keep going so slowly when i had energy to push ahead. there were no guarantees this group would be "in the money". i decided i was better off catching up with a sub 11:30 bus while i had the energy to accelerate and holding on with my teeth to the end.
so around inchanga, the big gnarly hill at halfway, i found a faster group to follow. the new group was an official 11:30 pace group led by a guy with a german accent and backpack who looked like he could go for 187 km. i fell hard trying to catch up to this group but was too scared to stop or slow down.
when the music changes, so does the dance
when i caught up with the purple and blue flagged bus, the music changed. easy easy one two one two, easy easy one two one two, we sang. the leader told us when to walk for a bit and during these rests let me and another woman hold on to the straps on either side of his backpack like little children, comforted not be left behind. but never asking why.
i stayed with this bus until pietermaritzburg. when i felt good- spectators called my name from the side, "hey new york"! or i caught the beat from music blasting from a roadside party - i ran ahead. when i got tired, i drifted to the back of the pack but caught up when they started walking to hold on to our leader's nylon backpack straps with my teeth.
i told myself if i could make it to 21k to go, i would be there. that's 13.1 miles, a half-marathon, a distance that i know well, and makes sense. but the kilometers tick by incredibly slowly when you're tired, and running, like, 12 minute miles.
our pacer was making good time, and we had almost an hour to run the last 5k. the sun was setting in the sky, and the neighborhoods we ran through in pietermaritzburg looked like home. the 2k and 1k to-go marks were unreal, and i pushed myself to break away from the group and finish ahead. i knew we would make it as a bus, and i might even learn who my fellow runners were, or their names, if we finished together, but i was so tired and wanted so badly to finish, i would spend all my energy just to be able to stop three minutes sooner.
one by one
i entered the stadium alone and started to cry. there were several turns before you could see the finish line, but i knew i had made it. i sprinted the best i could when i saw the finish line and pretended the hoards of spectators were cheering for me.
and then i felt a real, deep sadness as i wandered forward with my finishing medal and maybe the most depleted body i have experienced in my life. what have i done to myself? i thought. was it worth it? i looked around at runners reuniting with their families and friends and thought of my own family. i left my phone in the hotel safe and didn't know what time it was in connecticut- were they sleeping? would they know i had finished? i am so weak, and so far from home, i suddenly realized. what will i do now?
i cried and cried. a lady with a french accent helped me up the stairs to the international tent. i thought about how i liked being brave enough to come to south africa alone and do this race - but what was it for? maybe the reason other people didn't do it alone wasn't because they were scared, but because it was so much better to share the experience with people you loved.
in retrospect, i think what i felt was something truly close to death. the sun setting, and the extreme physical weakness, watching the final gun go off, realizing that although i had made many friends and had the cheering crowds to take me along the way, in the end, i had to pass through the finish line alone and alone contend with my exhausted body -'one by one we must all file though the narrow aisles of pain'
life goes on
but of course, for that grim feeling. i did not die. my journey was not over, and in another stroke of luck, a woman i had met the night before at the hotel picked me from the crowd and helped me to the waiting area for the bus home. my existential crisis lasted about a minute more - before i was reminded i was still alive by friendship and food!
i had stopped feeling hungry hours ago on the course - i had taken lots of half bananas and salted potatos until about 60k to keep going and was pretty full. but the first thing to pull me back to the land of the living was the idea to retrieve lunch for my friend - who had a long day of waiting and watching - from the international tent.
being able to show one kindness in my exhausted state lifted my spirits tremendously. within a few minutes i could chat and eat pringles with relief.
it will humble you
looking back on the Comrades and the rest of my time in South Africa, i feel so humbled to realize how the spirit of camaraderie shared by everyone who runs and watches the race and the friendship of countless people- named and unknown- who carried me the distance.
strangers that shared handfuls of salt, the lady on the sidelines who let me lean on her to put my shoe back on when the simple accident of someone stepping on the back put me in tears, children who held my hand and ran 100 meters alongside me laughing, a little boy at the handicapped school whose arms were amputated from the elbow yet still reached out to every runner for the touch of a high five, new and old friends along the course that accepted my sweaty hugs-
the experience is as much 20,000 people and almost 100 years as it is 87k. i will forever be grateful for the friendships i made in the incredible spirit of this race.