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Mr.Z I am so glad the monkeys didn't de-rail you - great result - revenge is sweet:-
We had a great 5 days there
And yes, I'll be back next year for my back to back
lowrez - great report. I couldn't remember the course in such detail.
Congratulations to everyone who made it and to those that didn't. I still can't quite believe I've run 55 miles. Surely it's not natural.
My legs, though completely shot to pieces Sunday evening were much better than I thought they'd be on Monday. Our friends were amazed I was walking normally when they picked us up on Tuesday am. Did a 7 mile walk during the week and Parkrun in Jo'burg on the Saturday.
For anyone wondering about this race, just go for it. It's amazing and very sociable.
SS - It is perfectly natural - we are tapping in to an ancient process - its in our genes - we all evolved from a time when this activity was how we survived
Thanks JAR and Becca - I was contemplating putting in a bit more physical effort for next year to get over the line a little more safely - but would it make very good reading - maybe I should just keep eating the pies and drinking the Guinness?
I must aim at getting slower! 2015 was rather a bad year at 11:52:32, 2016 was the best so far, although I was a bit cavalier improving on my 11 seconds inside the half way cut-off to 11:57:58 (nice 22 minute negative split though) and this year it was 11:56:46, so my running total at 3 years is 12m 44s inside the 36 hour barrier.
The proper perspective though is 2015 I treated the run with massive respect and quite naturally achieved the finish, 2016 I was a stupid space head and very nearly blew it at half way; that was such a shock; proved I was up to the job getting home though - the run of my life. This year I was aiming to be safe like 2015 and got into the worst difficulties I've ever had. Under trained, disrupted campaign due to those qualification attempts. Mind and body giving out on me. Determination got me home, I was aiming for much earlier and safer.
Would be interesting to see if anyone is less than my total over 3 years though!
Wishing you the best repair ever Dannirr (I hear you can come back stronger than before from these as the rehab properly strengthens the whole area making you surprisingly resilient)
great picture Lowrez. Have been looking at the videos. The official one from the website says you can watch the whole thing, but it's 11h 55 mins long!!!! It stops way short of 12 hours
Going for a good run tomorrow. Really feel like I need it. Must stop eating rubbish too. No excuses anymore
Although I couldn't run, I had a grand holiday and managed to tick some other boxes. I completed my PADI advanced scuba certification and enjoyed some wonderful diving and great conditions throughout. Also climbed Mont aux Sources in the Drakensburg - to a max height of 10,100 ft per my Garmin - spectacular scenery.
I suspect that most of us will be back again next year - I certainly hope to be there, especially if I can avoid any mishaps or further surgery!
Danniir, good luck and a swift recovery after your surgery. I've had both knees done over the years and never found that to interfere with running after orderly recovery and physio.
I now need to look for the 2018 blog to help stay motivated and watch everyone's progress!
Somewhat - okay, very - late, here's my report:
It’s five am, it’s dark and I’m standing on a road in central Durban surrounded by more than 17,000 other runners, listening to the Chariots of Fire theme music blaring out from loudspeakers. It can only be Comrades.
Last year, having come out to South Africa but, due to injury, not been able to run Comrades, I stood in the start pen in Pietermarizburg in sandals and ordinary day clothes, and listened to the South African national anthem, then the ‘second anthem’, Shosholoza, then Chariots of Fire, with my heart speeding up despite my knowing that I was not going to cross the start line. Last year, after the gun fired, I stood off to the side and watched the runners go past. This year I’m dressed in my running gear, the Champion Chip that will confirm my run is threaded through the laces on my right running shoe, and I’m going to run: 87 km (54 miles) of hilly road stretch ahead of me. Having been driven along the route two days earlier by Mike – or Mac3 as I know him on the Runner’s World forum – I have been reminded of just how much of the route is hilly: almost all of it. With 6030 feet (1938 m) of ascent and 3,992 ft (1,217m) of descent on the ‘Up’ run, there is very little of the route that could be considered flat or even flattish. I remind myself that I have previously run several 50-mile races, including the North Downs Way 50 (5600 ft of ascent), the South Downs Way 50 (5700 ft of ascent) and the Lakeland 50 (3,100 m of ascent). But those were four years ago and before a torn posterior tibial tendon, fractured fibula and stress-fractured pelvis. And they were on trail. This will be further than I have ever run before, and by far the furthest I’ve run on road. And it will most definitely test whether those injuries are truly healed. The music fades. The famous recorded cockerel crow, originally voiced by Max Trimborn, sounds out. A moment’s pause, then the gun goes off and I jump and a cloud of birds explodes from the nearby trees (I feel bad about that and hope they all alight again safely). And we’re off. Or at least the front runners are. It’s three minutes before I and my fellows in D-pen cross the start line. Crowds line the roads, shouting encouragement as we set off on the long miles to Pietermaritzburg. A couple of turns, right and left, then we’re heading up an incline and out of the city onto the main highway for a short while. Here there are fewer spectators – but still some hardy souls. We trot on steadily. Having felt quite cool as we left the hotel, after only a few minutes of running I’m already well warmed up and wondering what it’s going to be like when the heat hits. I remember the advice to avoid the cats’ eyes and I refuse to give in to the temptation to follow the white lines on the road. Over to my left I see someone trip and fall, possibly a victim of those hazards, but other runners quickly grab them and set them back on their feet.Veering off the modern highway we join the scenic route, the R103 we will basically follow for the rest of the race. Even in these sections we have supporters who have set up by the side of the road with their chairs and picnic tables.
Generally preferring trail races and events with smaller fields, the sheer number of other runners feels strange to me. I wonder who else is out here who I know. Simply walking to the start I had bumped into a couple of the other Brits that I knew, then spotted two more standing not far from me in D-pen. Now, out of nowhere a voice cries: “Debra! What are the odds?” and a runner I know from the UK, Mark, a member of the 100-Marathon Club who occasionally runs at Lloyd parkrun waves at me as he passes.
We keep running. The road climbs, then falls, then climbs again. Every couple of kilometres we reach an aid station offering pouches of water and Energaid, as well as cups of Coke and cream soda. I generally snag two of the water pouches, one to pour over me and one to mostly drink before squeezing the rest out on my head. I reach into my waist pouch for my energy balls and pieces of Kendal Mint Cake, and occasionally squirt some neat Elete electrolyte solution straight into my mouth from the 25ml bottle (tastes foul taken concentrated like that, but never mind). After a while I start spotting the salted potatoes, quarter oranges and half-bananas being offered and from then on take one or more of those at each aid station. As the sun rises higher I pull out my tube of sunscreen and spread it over myself, while running, particularly making sure I’ve covered my shoulders and the back of my neck: sunburn would not be a good addition to the experience. The sections where the road is tree-lined and shaded are much appreciated, but more of the route is open. I pull out my sunglasses and stick those on. More ups, more downs, although always more up than down. It’s almost a relief to reach one of the named hills, Cowies Hill. Fields Hill, Botha’s Hill, Inchanga, and Polly Shortts (with ‘little Polly’s’ just before it): run-walking up a seemingly endless hill, it’s good to know it -is- one of the named ones!One section of the route is manned by people giving out Remembrance poppies and mindful of Arthur’s Seat further on, I take one. Not too long after, we pass the Wall of Remembrance on the right, and I start to veer left, ready to greet Arthur: “good morning Arthur” I say and do my best to place the poppy if not on his seat (several runners have stopped and are taking selfies, so it’s hard to get near) then at least close by. I keep going.
[part 2 below]
The number of people lining the route is amazing. Even outside urban areas there are spectators, many set up for the day with chairs and picnic baskets – some even with barbecues. In areas such as Pinetown the crowds are several people deep and the noise is almost palpable. As a first-time runner, and an international one at that, I get lots of encouragement: “Well done, Debra! Keep going, Debra!” I flash back on the last time I heard such calls, while grimly limping my way through the last 10 miles of the London Marathon with what I later discovered was a stress-fractured pelvis. This time I’m running, and doing okay. We pass the boys of Kearnsey high school on the left, in their smart school uniforms including blazers, and I pity them having to wear those in this heat. Then we pass Ethembeni school on the right. Everywhere, children want you to high-five them and it’s impossible to comply with all requests. I target the youngest and the girls, hoping to encourage them to aspire to run this race sometime.
More hills, and I’m walking more of those by now. The 21km marker comes into sight and I run some mental calculations: for some time I’ve known that there’s no way I will finish in under 10 hours, but unless the wheels come off I should easily be under 11 and get my bronze medal – and I could walk from here and still finish in under 12 hours, which is a comforting thought. Polly Shortts is just one more hill by now, to be walked more than run. The kilometre markers tick down slowly and I’m mentally making my way from one aid station to the next.
Finally I reach the 5km marker: it’s only a parkrun from here! I can run a parkrun! Never mind the 82km or so I’ve already travelled today and my tired legs. From here to the finish line, I promise myself, I’m not walking. I’m going to run the parkrun. And I do, even on the slight uphill slopes, I keep running, or at least jogging. I trot down the last street and enter the racecourse, turning left. Down into a tunnel and up the other side, which tests my resolve not to walk, but I keep jogging. A little further. Over the timing mats… but runners ahead of me are still running and I realise we’re not actually finished! I see Terry waving at me over the barrier. Not far to go… at last, there’s the race clock ahead, reading 10:36… I cross the finish line and slow to a walk, legs going shaky now I’m no longer running. I’m given my bronze medal – small, but highly prized – and a red rose, which is unexpected. I keep walking, slowly and a bit stiffly, following the signs towards the international runners’ area. Suddenly Terry appears, ready to help me up the steps and down the other side, as I helped him a year ago, and to guide me. I negotiate the stairs one step at a time, then we show our wrist bands and go through into the International Runners’ area, where I collect my kit bag then wobble over to the chairs Terry has gathered for us, finally collapsing slowly onto one of them. I’ve done it. I’ve finished. I keep looking at my little medal.
It’s taken me several years to run Comrades – a DNQ (did not qualify) due to my posterior tibial tendon for my first attempt, a DNS (did not start) last year due to the stress-fractured pelvis, with the broken ankle in between. But on this third attempt, I’ve done it. As I look at my Comrades medal, it means more than 54 miles on road, covered on my own two feet in 10 hours and 36 minutes. It is also a line drawn under those injuries, confirmation that I can run ultramarathons again, set new goals (including the Down run next year, naturally), maybe even a 100-mile race. Who knows?