This is the tale of victory and humility. This is a long tale but the hits just keep coming. From a 5k to 3 marathons in one week, this is my story.
The 5K
The annual AISJ 5K fell on the morning of March 17 this year, and in addition to being my favorite day of the year, I had another reason to smile. Confident that this would be a walk in the park, Sarah threw me for a loop on race eve by telling me that all her students believed I would not upset Piet, the reigning champion, a student. I knew I would win and that he couldn’t touch me, but for some reason I was nervous like never before. It was just a 5K and yet I slept for a total of 4 hours the night before in fitful 2 hour bursts.
Piet went out like a madman for the first 400m and within seconds I knew the race was mine. After starting slower and working through a few ambitious high school students, I had Piet caught by 500m and did all I could to try to keep him with me for the next half a K but by the marker, he had faded fast. He would keep going backwards. I ran relatively conservative till 4K and tried to bring it home stronger. I felt that the mud, hills, and lack of opposition slowed me up and I crossed in 18:49. It was 2 minutes to the next finisher, a high school student, and on his heals was Sarah with the champ fading to 6th. I was pretty pleased with the time considering the relaxed effort (and in spite of the high anxiety).
The 1st Marathon
After a good holiday, we split for a vacation and the start of three marathons in one week. On the way to Clarens, we pulled into Standerton for a Monday morning marathon. The night before was a challenge in itself – finding good food in a sleepy town on a holiday weekend. After an hour of driving the streets, the best we could find was Spur (the equivalent of a Big Boy). The race itself was uneventful save the benefit of running with a 25 time -straight Comrades finisher who gave me some insight on the coming race. They asked jokingly in Afrikaans if I had a ticket for this bus, thinking I was latched on to the group. I just laughed knowing that by the end, they would benefit from me pulling the pace. They had a first timer and a girl who was a month past her debut. I hung with them as the pace gradually slowed. My knees and feet hurt from the slower pace and I wondered which was harder: pacing or racing. I ran in for a 3:28; felt fine but still a marathon. The normal knee aches and dehydration left me worried about the double coming the next weekend.
A quick shower, lunch, and a 3-hour drive later we hit Clarens for a few days of mountain relaxation. I can't say my short runs in the hilly town were comfortable. Come Friday, we had a 4-hour drive to Newcastle. Narrow roads were made even more nerve-racking by the large potholes, and not your run-of-the-mill bump in the road. We are talking huge holes in the road, some the size of a car hood and nearly 3 feet deep. It was like a video game dodging them at 65mph. I shuddered each time my wheels tagged a smaller one and prayed that I never would hit one of those car killers. Then the police came.
I popped over the hill and saw the cop car ahead and the police officers standing in the middle of the road. I pulled over to the side and was asked to come look at the radar. 126 in an 80kph. Bugger. It was the first hint of speed control in almost 300k of wide-open driving. No stop signs, no speed limits, nobody going to slow me down. Then this. They told me that if I had been going 124, it was a 2500 rand fine (about $400). But since I was over, it was arrest only. They said I had to go with them to the jail, wait 4 hours, Sarah would bail me out for 500 rand, and then Monday I would have to return for sentencing, which was 6 months in jail. They went to tell Sarah this while I played along. I started with the usual banter and told them I couldn’t possibly return on Monday because I was from another province. They said, yes, this was a problem (let’s ignore the problem 6 months in jail would pose and focus on my province of origin). I asked if there was another way to pay a fine now. They asked me what fine I would like to pay (as if there was a menu). So I checked my wallet and not wanting to undercut them and have them search me, I took 600 rand. I gave it to the cop who took it and walked me to my car and then gave me 300 rand back. “I’ll only take 300 because you still have more vacation to do.” Nice, a partial refund on my bribe. I was on my way, $40 lighter but with no jail time.
I registered for race #2 in a jail cell; not because of my previous encounter with the law but because this race was in a township and the police station was the venue. It wasn’t until later that I realized when they took my license for a copy, they never gave it back. Without ID, we stopped for groceries a la my Maritzberg experience and went to the ATM which promptly ate my card. After hitting buttons, punching it, and swearing more times than I care to admit, I called the number on the machine. They canceled my card and as a solution to my madness, kicked me over to telephone banking. Forty minutes later, still standing in the rain, they finally came to the conclusion that I could not enroll in phone banking without an ATM card (which they had canceled). I felt like I was trying to explain the situation to a monkey with down syndrome. I couldn’t have told them enough that the card was canceled, by them but still they couldn’t make this happen. After forty minutes of ID numbers, complaints about no money on vacation, and being told to set this up, my phone ran out of airtime, and soaking wet we left.
WHACK!!! ________ (Insert your foulest swear words here). I was on the bed clutching my leg and looking at the inch-long hole in my shin after I ran smack into the extra cot in our hotel room. Blood started down my leg and I knew that I was going to need stitches to save this one. Two hours later and after repeated arguments about insurance numbers with the receptionist, I had two fresh stitches in leg. A nice chicken curry on my hotel bed and kissed this horrid day goodbye. My only hope was that the next morning’s marathon didn’t carry the same crappy luck.
The 2nd Marathon
I think everyone wanted to play a joke on me. I am in the back of a police paddy wagon, a short-bed pickup with a cab over it. Seven others are there with me and each has their own game. Two women are screaming in conversation even though no one else’s head is more than a foot from her mouth. The guy to my left is gently scooting closer seeing if he can take half the bench while the other three of us split the other half. The girl on my right keeps touching my leg which I let go because it is close. I draw the line when she lays her entire arm on my leg like an armrest in a car. The guy across keeps coughing into my face. Each bump sends us into the roof or against the fence that cover the windows. We hurtle down the pothole stricken roads at 70 mph, butt bones slamming down on the hard, wooden bench, and I consider it a miracle to tumble out the back of the truck 45 min later under a cool mist at the start line. Ever launched into a marathon right out of a car? Try doing it out of the back of a packed police wagon.
My plan was to over drink and excessively fuel on the Saturday race in order to be ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, or typical for this weekend, I lost my 2ndGu at the start and there was only three water stops for the 26.2 miles, so chuck that plan out the window. The 30 or so of us rolled down the country road for a few Ks then ran the remaining 23 miles on a rocky highway. There weren’t many people in the race; support crew and police easily doubled the number of participants. I enjoyed the many cheers, few high fives, giggles, and I am sure a few taunts from the locals as I hustled by. Everything held together well, minus the lack of water, and I crossed in 3:23:55, a negative split and good for 13th place, and the first white guy. Hit up the Spur for breakfast, a 4 hour drive home, and rested for race number three.
The 3rd Marathon
Why wouldn’t the baby wake up screaming at 2:30am? And why wouldn’t she go back to sleep at all? Oh, that’s right, because I had a marathon to run in a few hours. The tough part about running so much is being extremely exhausted. I have no comparison for the deep rooted tiredness and the aches and pains of the knees and back. These problems are exacerbated by steep uphills and sharp downhills. The Springbok Jackie Gibson Marathon had both. Dawning cool and wet again, a ridiculous first 10k of hills marked the first portion of the course. Never have I encountered such difficult hills in outside of an ultra. From the gun, the legs felt like I was at mile 20. By halfway, the legs felt like I had run a marathon. Every piece of my body cried for this endeavor to be over.
From the half on, the race really began. An already fast pace (well, relative to what I wanted to do) was met with even more pain over the comparatively easier 2nd half. The humidity left me drenched by 5k and although there was actually water this time, I had run out of GU by the last race. So going on no calories was the plan today. So proud of my body for the first 20 miles, I had moments of dizziness and fatigue ebbing and flowing in the final miles. As much as I wanted to stop, the pace was quick and the faster you run, the quicker you are done. Who did I pace off of from near beginning to end? A 61-year-old man. That’s right. I struggled at times to catch up to this machine after water stops; he was relentless. With 2K to go, he bonked and told me to go ahead, but why run that far with him only to leave at the end? Everybody knew this guy and we got lots of shouts on the way in. We slowed dramatically but I didn’t care, crossing the finish line in God only knows what place at 3:16:18. I lay on the ground and a tremendous amount of pain swept over me. It was over. I may have been beaten solidly but in my mind, today was a victory.
The 5K
The annual AISJ 5K fell on the morning of March 17 this year, and in addition to being my favorite day of the year, I had another reason to smile. Confident that this would be a walk in the park, Sarah threw me for a loop on race eve by telling me that all her students believed I would not upset Piet, the reigning champion, a student. I knew I would win and that he couldn’t touch me, but for some reason I was nervous like never before. It was just a 5K and yet I slept for a total of 4 hours the night before in fitful 2 hour bursts.
Piet went out like a madman for the first 400m and within seconds I knew the race was mine. After starting slower and working through a few ambitious high school students, I had Piet caught by 500m and did all I could to try to keep him with me for the next half a K but by the marker, he had faded fast. He would keep going backwards. I ran relatively conservative till 4K and tried to bring it home stronger. I felt that the mud, hills, and lack of opposition slowed me up and I crossed in 18:49. It was 2 minutes to the next finisher, a high school student, and on his heals was Sarah with the champ fading to 6th. I was pretty pleased with the time considering the relaxed effort (and in spite of the high anxiety).
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| Pre-Race |
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| Post Race |
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| Sarah rocks 3rd place (1st female) at 9 months post baby. |
The 1st Marathon
After a good holiday, we split for a vacation and the start of three marathons in one week. On the way to Clarens, we pulled into Standerton for a Monday morning marathon. The night before was a challenge in itself – finding good food in a sleepy town on a holiday weekend. After an hour of driving the streets, the best we could find was Spur (the equivalent of a Big Boy). The race itself was uneventful save the benefit of running with a 25 time -straight Comrades finisher who gave me some insight on the coming race. They asked jokingly in Afrikaans if I had a ticket for this bus, thinking I was latched on to the group. I just laughed knowing that by the end, they would benefit from me pulling the pace. They had a first timer and a girl who was a month past her debut. I hung with them as the pace gradually slowed. My knees and feet hurt from the slower pace and I wondered which was harder: pacing or racing. I ran in for a 3:28; felt fine but still a marathon. The normal knee aches and dehydration left me worried about the double coming the next weekend.
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| Seeing my girls on the run. |
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| "T run like daddy!" |
The Worst Friday Ever
A quick shower, lunch, and a 3-hour drive later we hit Clarens for a few days of mountain relaxation. I can't say my short runs in the hilly town were comfortable. Come Friday, we had a 4-hour drive to Newcastle. Narrow roads were made even more nerve-racking by the large potholes, and not your run-of-the-mill bump in the road. We are talking huge holes in the road, some the size of a car hood and nearly 3 feet deep. It was like a video game dodging them at 65mph. I shuddered each time my wheels tagged a smaller one and prayed that I never would hit one of those car killers. Then the police came. I popped over the hill and saw the cop car ahead and the police officers standing in the middle of the road. I pulled over to the side and was asked to come look at the radar. 126 in an 80kph. Bugger. It was the first hint of speed control in almost 300k of wide-open driving. No stop signs, no speed limits, nobody going to slow me down. Then this. They told me that if I had been going 124, it was a 2500 rand fine (about $400). But since I was over, it was arrest only. They said I had to go with them to the jail, wait 4 hours, Sarah would bail me out for 500 rand, and then Monday I would have to return for sentencing, which was 6 months in jail. They went to tell Sarah this while I played along. I started with the usual banter and told them I couldn’t possibly return on Monday because I was from another province. They said, yes, this was a problem (let’s ignore the problem 6 months in jail would pose and focus on my province of origin). I asked if there was another way to pay a fine now. They asked me what fine I would like to pay (as if there was a menu). So I checked my wallet and not wanting to undercut them and have them search me, I took 600 rand. I gave it to the cop who took it and walked me to my car and then gave me 300 rand back. “I’ll only take 300 because you still have more vacation to do.” Nice, a partial refund on my bribe. I was on my way, $40 lighter but with no jail time.
I registered for race #2 in a jail cell; not because of my previous encounter with the law but because this race was in a township and the police station was the venue. It wasn’t until later that I realized when they took my license for a copy, they never gave it back. Without ID, we stopped for groceries a la my Maritzberg experience and went to the ATM which promptly ate my card. After hitting buttons, punching it, and swearing more times than I care to admit, I called the number on the machine. They canceled my card and as a solution to my madness, kicked me over to telephone banking. Forty minutes later, still standing in the rain, they finally came to the conclusion that I could not enroll in phone banking without an ATM card (which they had canceled). I felt like I was trying to explain the situation to a monkey with down syndrome. I couldn’t have told them enough that the card was canceled, by them but still they couldn’t make this happen. After forty minutes of ID numbers, complaints about no money on vacation, and being told to set this up, my phone ran out of airtime, and soaking wet we left.
WHACK!!! ________ (Insert your foulest swear words here). I was on the bed clutching my leg and looking at the inch-long hole in my shin after I ran smack into the extra cot in our hotel room. Blood started down my leg and I knew that I was going to need stitches to save this one. Two hours later and after repeated arguments about insurance numbers with the receptionist, I had two fresh stitches in leg. A nice chicken curry on my hotel bed and kissed this horrid day goodbye. My only hope was that the next morning’s marathon didn’t carry the same crappy luck.
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| Late in the evening with stitches in my leg, but at least I wasn't in jail. |
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| Post-marathon leg |
The 2nd Marathon
I think everyone wanted to play a joke on me. I am in the back of a police paddy wagon, a short-bed pickup with a cab over it. Seven others are there with me and each has their own game. Two women are screaming in conversation even though no one else’s head is more than a foot from her mouth. The guy to my left is gently scooting closer seeing if he can take half the bench while the other three of us split the other half. The girl on my right keeps touching my leg which I let go because it is close. I draw the line when she lays her entire arm on my leg like an armrest in a car. The guy across keeps coughing into my face. Each bump sends us into the roof or against the fence that cover the windows. We hurtle down the pothole stricken roads at 70 mph, butt bones slamming down on the hard, wooden bench, and I consider it a miracle to tumble out the back of the truck 45 min later under a cool mist at the start line. Ever launched into a marathon right out of a car? Try doing it out of the back of a packed police wagon.
My plan was to over drink and excessively fuel on the Saturday race in order to be ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, or typical for this weekend, I lost my 2ndGu at the start and there was only three water stops for the 26.2 miles, so chuck that plan out the window. The 30 or so of us rolled down the country road for a few Ks then ran the remaining 23 miles on a rocky highway. There weren’t many people in the race; support crew and police easily doubled the number of participants. I enjoyed the many cheers, few high fives, giggles, and I am sure a few taunts from the locals as I hustled by. Everything held together well, minus the lack of water, and I crossed in 3:23:55, a negative split and good for 13th place, and the first white guy. Hit up the Spur for breakfast, a 4 hour drive home, and rested for race number three.
The 3rd Marathon
Why wouldn’t the baby wake up screaming at 2:30am? And why wouldn’t she go back to sleep at all? Oh, that’s right, because I had a marathon to run in a few hours. The tough part about running so much is being extremely exhausted. I have no comparison for the deep rooted tiredness and the aches and pains of the knees and back. These problems are exacerbated by steep uphills and sharp downhills. The Springbok Jackie Gibson Marathon had both. Dawning cool and wet again, a ridiculous first 10k of hills marked the first portion of the course. Never have I encountered such difficult hills in outside of an ultra. From the gun, the legs felt like I was at mile 20. By halfway, the legs felt like I had run a marathon. Every piece of my body cried for this endeavor to be over.
From the half on, the race really began. An already fast pace (well, relative to what I wanted to do) was met with even more pain over the comparatively easier 2nd half. The humidity left me drenched by 5k and although there was actually water this time, I had run out of GU by the last race. So going on no calories was the plan today. So proud of my body for the first 20 miles, I had moments of dizziness and fatigue ebbing and flowing in the final miles. As much as I wanted to stop, the pace was quick and the faster you run, the quicker you are done. Who did I pace off of from near beginning to end? A 61-year-old man. That’s right. I struggled at times to catch up to this machine after water stops; he was relentless. With 2K to go, he bonked and told me to go ahead, but why run that far with him only to leave at the end? Everybody knew this guy and we got lots of shouts on the way in. We slowed dramatically but I didn’t care, crossing the finish line in God only knows what place at 3:16:18. I lay on the ground and a tremendous amount of pain swept over me. It was over. I may have been beaten solidly but in my mind, today was a victory.
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| Since I don't have a bedpost here, I use my lamp. Here hang the three in a week till the next race. |
Random thoughts while reading this:
ReplyDelete- Wait, did I just read 3 marathons in a week? Na, that's inhuman.
- Piet? I knew he was going down just by his name.
- Now when I hear "Spur" I can only think of the Big Boy statue with big cowboy boots and a 10-gallon hat. I know, not the same thing.
- Way cool to see you with the kids during the race!
- You grew up in O-ville, those pot holes don't have nuthin' on Granger Road in the spring.
- You maybe the only person I have heard talk/bribe your way out of a ticket without lifting your shirt or promising "favors." Lucky SOB! (Or did you omit that part?!?)
- I'm surprised that ATM is still standing. I'm sure it at least has a nice foot print on its side.
- What, cops weren't around when you were driving to the hospital? You could have deposited the remaining $40 in their wallets.
- Personal space. They just don't get it.
- Go white boy, go white boy, go! (And I was wondering that.)
- I think you slowed with the old man because you caught a glimpse of yourself three decades from now. (And you are a class act, through and through.)
- Referring to my first comment, I still think it's inhuman.
- I'm ashamed to call myself a journalist. I don't know if I could write this with as much enthusiasm and vim.
Bravo on the (frickin crazy and) amazing accomplishments!