It has been called the ultimate human race. World famous and notorious, the Comrades Marathon The race began in 1921 and has run since, with the exception of 1941-45 when the 2nd World War took precedence. Starting with 34 runners who ventured out in homage to fallen countrymen in the first World War, now thousands run in fraternal steps. Comrades has a legacy rivaling any major world marathon, Boston, New York, and London included. But what makes Comrades unique cannot be captured in words. It is the combination of exceptional circumstances that make this South Africa’s Gem and world famous. The course winds the road from Durban to Pietermaritzburg (or vice versa) and while every major race defines itself to an accurate distance, say 26 miles, 385 yards, Comrades doesn’t care. Could be 87 or 89k. Doesn’t matter. It’s Comrades. And to make it more ambiguous, let’s run it one way this year then flip the course the next. The whole nation respects this event with 20,000 contending for a spot to run and the other millions watching the race on television; all 12 hours of it are broadcast nationally. And everyone knows it. While the marathon in most places is for skinny people with something wrong with their cranium, Comrades is expected in South Africa. No one thinks you are odd for wanting to run it because thousands of others go for it each May and many more resolve to one day mark it off their life list.
The race has a 12-hour time limit. Given the hills and heat, this can be viewed as a strict ending. But to add insult to injury, if you don’t finish within the time, you don’t get in the official records, and you don’t get a medal. You literally are turned away when the clock strikes 12:00:00. But hey, with 20,000 starting, you have some extra time to complete the course right? Wrong. There is not chip time at Comrades. In fact, a man in a suit walks to the line, turns his back on the course, and silently watches the clock expire. The thousands of fans chant the remaining seconds, urging every single brother and sister who trained for months, years, to sprint if they can, to crawl, to pick up that runner who has fallen and cannot summit the energy to make it the final meters. And then, without compassion or emotion, the man fires the gun into the air, and the Comrades Marathon is finished, be you a mile short or mere inches. There are four people who receive extreme attention each year at this race: the male winner, the female winner, the last person to officially finish, and the first to not. In no other race does the person who fails to be records, the person who cannot do what was asked of them, receive so much fame. At airports and in malls, the first non-finisher of the Comrades each year is recognized by passersby due to the overwhelming media coverage of this tragic tale. But I will tell you this: no runner who wears that glorious number bib and grinds the 55-miles for 12 hours would ever trade the notoriety of the first non-finisher for that coveted Comrades Marathon medal. Not one.
Want a taste of what this race means to people? Check out this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLYxVL_qpl0
It is amongst the masses in the starting coral I am reminded of the famous speech in Shakespeare’s Henry the V called St. Crispen’s Day. The king begins by denying the need for more participants. “The fewer men, the greater the share of honor.” I look around and care little about the number that are here. Whereas about 600 people run the largest 50-mile race in the US, nearly 18,000 toe this line, 99.9% of them not to steal my glory, but to find their own. Even though there are six medal/award categories and we all hope to get one, the fact is, nearly every runner wants to finish this race, and only the bold, genetically gifted few will risk failure of completion to go for the win. So I heed these words:
And I know that together we each will bleed today for our victory, that no man nor woman who shall leave this course in under the cutoff time that did not consider themselves blessed to finish, and that we all survivors of this day will go forth as brothers, united as finishers of the 86th Comrades Marathon, and that those without our medal will feel, if even just a tinge, envious of that feat.
From the Comrades Marathon site:
The Comrades Marathon medal has remained true in size and design since its inception in 1921. There are some that speak slightingly of its size and general appearance as being insignificant, but as Morris Alexander wrote in his book ' The Comrades Marathon Story':
'No sports medals have ever been so dearly won and cherished as the Comrades Marathon medals. It was surely an original stroke of genius on the part of Comrades founder Vic Clapham to reward with these medals the efforts of all those who completed the course within the prescribed time.'
The medal is 29mm in diameter and depicts the words 'COMRADES MARATHON' and 'MARITZBURG - DURBAN' encircling a striding figure of Hermes with winged feet and helmet. It would seem that the figure of Hermes was chosen as the emblem of Comrades Marathon on the basis of his renown as the messenger of the gods according to Greek mythology. He was also the god of land travel and the patron of roads and his relevance to Comrades can perhaps be drawn from this connection.
Silver Medals 6hrs 00min to sub 7hrs 30min
Bill Rowan Medals 7hrs 30min to sub 9hrs 00min
Bronze Medals 9hrs 00min to sub 11hrs 00min
Vic Clapham 11hrs 00min to sub 12hrs 00min
The small Silver medal is no joke. While there are 6 medal classes available, only the most elite of all can get gold, and those amazingly close to the win take the Wally Hayward (since the winner goes about 5:35, after 10 Golds have been awarded, there aren’t many left under 6 for the next medal – less tend to get the WH than the Gold). Only 5% of the field will walk away with a Silver medal or better. And with an amazingly low DNF rate (about 1%), it is no wonder you wear this medal proudly. But from the moment I started looking at doing Comrades, I wanted the Silver. It is the best I can hope for with my training and ability.
The South African Idols (yes, I can hear your giggling) arrived to sing the South African national anthem, a rousing tune incorporating the many languages of this country. Upon conclusion, the sea of runners and spectators near the line broke into a chorus of Shosholoza, the Zulu-adopted Zimbabwean song meaning roughly go forward, make way for the next man, and is a fitting anthem for this race. Though I only knew the title word, I still sung with them, united in anticipation. This is followed by a chilling portrayal of the Chariots of Fire song. Upon completion, Max Trimborn’s rooster crow filled the speakers. Back in 1944, Max belted out a crow on the starting line, a tradition he repeated for 32 years and is still played today at the start on a recording. After the cackling ceased and the cheers subsided, the pristine silence was broken only by the starting signal. Though no one really spoke, the lack of silence was deafening. The starting cannon was nowhere near as loud in comparison. After this I knew it was going to be a great day.
It wasn’t. Now listen close because I am going to make 65k seem really short. I just wasn’t in it from the gun. My A seeding meant nothing as I was overtaken by B and C runners early. It made no difference as I knew how few people would make it as this pace (sub-7 hours). But something just wasn’t right. I don’t know why but it was difficult for me. The Big 5 hills (Cowies Hill, Field's Hill, Botha's Hill, Inchanga, and finally, Polly Shortts) started with Cowies which was nothing spectacular. By the bottom of Field’s I caught the top runners in my club and joined with them. We worked up Field’s with one preemptive walk break, and two of the big ones were down. But I just didn’t feel solid. The legs were sore (probably my shoes) and the heart was racing. Inchanga posed a bigger problem as it climbed into the sky across a valley. We took several 1 minute breaks to walk and maintained an excellent pace. Crossing the marathon in about 3:20, I was a bit worried about the early pace being too fast. We hit halfway in 3:31:30, translating to a 7:03 time pace having the hillier first half behind us. My plan was closer to 3:35-3:40 and although this doesn’t seem like much, it felt too fast.
We grabbed a rose to leave for Arthur at the top. Arthur Newton (5 time winner), trained on the course and stopped frequently on his training runs at this point. He is immortalized at Arthur’s Seat where runners leave a flower in hopes of good luck in the 2nd half of the race. I needed it, but caught up in the people, I didn’t realize I missed it and threw it to the side of the road. I had missed his seat, but I figured Arthur would appreciate the sentiment. He didn’t.
Somewhere about halfway I passed Bruce Fordyce, 9 time winner of this race. He was on a quest for Silver having not run a fast time in recent years. Meanwhile, I had been yo-yoing off the back of my clubmates for some time. They were running consistent, but consistently too fast for either my training or the way I was feeling. I let them go with about 30k to go when I ran into Sarah. Grabbing Hammer Gel I confessed that I had to start running my own race or I would not end well. There was time in the bank. 10k later I arrived at the 67K mark and, admitted to Sarah my race was done. I knew that with the way I was feeling I would not make my time, though I would be oh so close. But with Little and Big Polly’s to come, I was going to lose just enough to miss it. I had been running in the red zone for about the last 2.5 hours, on the brink, and it wasn’t my day. Even with 10 miles left, if I had just been able to run 8 min miles, I would have got silver. The problem was, I just couldn’t.
Polly Shortts kicked my ass. It was a long climb, steep, but no monster. The crux is that it summits at about 80k into the race, and on dead legs and crap stomach, this is a killer. I walk/ran the thing but was humbled. Near the top were photographers and I posed with another guy for a picture but we were still too far away from them so they told us to keep coming. I jokingly said they could paint us we were going that slow. Language barrier aside, I don’t think he understood my joke. Like all good derailing, the down run is worse than the up, and the final 5 miles were painful. My stomach was tight and all gusto had been zapped. I even walked briefly on the descent from Polly’s!! That was how bad I hurt. But I wanted to leave it all on the course so I kept running, albeit slow. I had pushed and pushed my body (not smart) till it wouldn’t yield times anymore, and then I pushed more. The final 2.5k hurt more than any other section, but I wanted to finish vertically. I sprinted (sorta) into the stadium and finished shaking the hand of an African man in support of his 10th finish and green number (a permanent bib number awarded to those upon their 10 finish). I ran 7:45, just shy of my Silver goal, but pleased nonetheless. They say a novice silver is rare, and an American novice silver unheard of. So I know I can do it. 616th place out of many thousands.
Maybe I didn’t train well enough (isn’t 35 miles per week with an occasional marathon good for a 54 mile effort?), or maybe I “tapered” too much in the final days and was flat. Perhaps I should not have worn racing flats (my legs hurt from early on and I wasn’t used to my shoes. My foot strike could have used muscles that I wasn’t training and more cushioning would have been nice. That was in my head the whole time.). But I finished the Comrades Marathon and that is worth writing about.
Click below to see footage of me on the course (note – this link will not load so you have to go to the web address it takes you to and add the = sign to the end of what is there. Hit enter and it should load my videos).
http://media.comrades.com/mysports/?e=CO11M&n=Justin+Walker&r=12597&nt_s1=00:00:00&ct_s1=05:30:35&nt_s2=01:22:48&ct_s2=06:53:23&nt_s3=03:31:26&ct_s3=09:02:01&nt_s4=05:01:51&ct_s4=10:32:26&nt_s5=07:01:07&ct_s5=12:31:42&nt_s6=&ct_s6=&nt_s7=&ct_s7=&nt_s8=&ct_s8=&nt_s9=&ct_s9=&nt_s10=&ct_s10=&nt_s11=&ct_s11=&nt_f=07:45:39&ct_f=13:16:14&l=EN&tp_f=
The race has a 12-hour time limit. Given the hills and heat, this can be viewed as a strict ending. But to add insult to injury, if you don’t finish within the time, you don’t get in the official records, and you don’t get a medal. You literally are turned away when the clock strikes 12:00:00. But hey, with 20,000 starting, you have some extra time to complete the course right? Wrong. There is not chip time at Comrades. In fact, a man in a suit walks to the line, turns his back on the course, and silently watches the clock expire. The thousands of fans chant the remaining seconds, urging every single brother and sister who trained for months, years, to sprint if they can, to crawl, to pick up that runner who has fallen and cannot summit the energy to make it the final meters. And then, without compassion or emotion, the man fires the gun into the air, and the Comrades Marathon is finished, be you a mile short or mere inches. There are four people who receive extreme attention each year at this race: the male winner, the female winner, the last person to officially finish, and the first to not. In no other race does the person who fails to be records, the person who cannot do what was asked of them, receive so much fame. At airports and in malls, the first non-finisher of the Comrades each year is recognized by passersby due to the overwhelming media coverage of this tragic tale. But I will tell you this: no runner who wears that glorious number bib and grinds the 55-miles for 12 hours would ever trade the notoriety of the first non-finisher for that coveted Comrades Marathon medal. Not one.
Want a taste of what this race means to people? Check out this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLYxVL_qpl0
It is amongst the masses in the starting coral I am reminded of the famous speech in Shakespeare’s Henry the V called St. Crispen’s Day. The king begins by denying the need for more participants. “The fewer men, the greater the share of honor.” I look around and care little about the number that are here. Whereas about 600 people run the largest 50-mile race in the US, nearly 18,000 toe this line, 99.9% of them not to steal my glory, but to find their own. Even though there are six medal/award categories and we all hope to get one, the fact is, nearly every runner wants to finish this race, and only the bold, genetically gifted few will risk failure of completion to go for the win. So I heed these words:
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
And I know that together we each will bleed today for our victory, that no man nor woman who shall leave this course in under the cutoff time that did not consider themselves blessed to finish, and that we all survivors of this day will go forth as brothers, united as finishers of the 86th Comrades Marathon, and that those without our medal will feel, if even just a tinge, envious of that feat.
From the Comrades Marathon site:
The Comrades Marathon medal has remained true in size and design since its inception in 1921. There are some that speak slightingly of its size and general appearance as being insignificant, but as Morris Alexander wrote in his book ' The Comrades Marathon Story':
'No sports medals have ever been so dearly won and cherished as the Comrades Marathon medals. It was surely an original stroke of genius on the part of Comrades founder Vic Clapham to reward with these medals the efforts of all those who completed the course within the prescribed time.'
The medal is 29mm in diameter and depicts the words 'COMRADES MARATHON' and 'MARITZBURG - DURBAN' encircling a striding figure of Hermes with winged feet and helmet. It would seem that the figure of Hermes was chosen as the emblem of Comrades Marathon on the basis of his renown as the messenger of the gods according to Greek mythology. He was also the god of land travel and the patron of roads and his relevance to Comrades can perhaps be drawn from this connection.
Medals Currently Awarded
Gold Medals First 10 men and first 10 women
Wally Hayward Medals Position 11 to sub 6hrs 00min Silver Medals 6hrs 00min to sub 7hrs 30min
Bill Rowan Medals 7hrs 30min to sub 9hrs 00min
Bronze Medals 9hrs 00min to sub 11hrs 00min
Vic Clapham 11hrs 00min to sub 12hrs 00min
The small Silver medal is no joke. While there are 6 medal classes available, only the most elite of all can get gold, and those amazingly close to the win take the Wally Hayward (since the winner goes about 5:35, after 10 Golds have been awarded, there aren’t many left under 6 for the next medal – less tend to get the WH than the Gold). Only 5% of the field will walk away with a Silver medal or better. And with an amazingly low DNF rate (about 1%), it is no wonder you wear this medal proudly. But from the moment I started looking at doing Comrades, I wanted the Silver. It is the best I can hope for with my training and ability.
The South African Idols (yes, I can hear your giggling) arrived to sing the South African national anthem, a rousing tune incorporating the many languages of this country. Upon conclusion, the sea of runners and spectators near the line broke into a chorus of Shosholoza, the Zulu-adopted Zimbabwean song meaning roughly go forward, make way for the next man, and is a fitting anthem for this race. Though I only knew the title word, I still sung with them, united in anticipation. This is followed by a chilling portrayal of the Chariots of Fire song. Upon completion, Max Trimborn’s rooster crow filled the speakers. Back in 1944, Max belted out a crow on the starting line, a tradition he repeated for 32 years and is still played today at the start on a recording. After the cackling ceased and the cheers subsided, the pristine silence was broken only by the starting signal. Though no one really spoke, the lack of silence was deafening. The starting cannon was nowhere near as loud in comparison. After this I knew it was going to be a great day.
It wasn’t. Now listen close because I am going to make 65k seem really short. I just wasn’t in it from the gun. My A seeding meant nothing as I was overtaken by B and C runners early. It made no difference as I knew how few people would make it as this pace (sub-7 hours). But something just wasn’t right. I don’t know why but it was difficult for me. The Big 5 hills (Cowies Hill, Field's Hill, Botha's Hill, Inchanga, and finally, Polly Shortts) started with Cowies which was nothing spectacular. By the bottom of Field’s I caught the top runners in my club and joined with them. We worked up Field’s with one preemptive walk break, and two of the big ones were down. But I just didn’t feel solid. The legs were sore (probably my shoes) and the heart was racing. Inchanga posed a bigger problem as it climbed into the sky across a valley. We took several 1 minute breaks to walk and maintained an excellent pace. Crossing the marathon in about 3:20, I was a bit worried about the early pace being too fast. We hit halfway in 3:31:30, translating to a 7:03 time pace having the hillier first half behind us. My plan was closer to 3:35-3:40 and although this doesn’t seem like much, it felt too fast.
We grabbed a rose to leave for Arthur at the top. Arthur Newton (5 time winner), trained on the course and stopped frequently on his training runs at this point. He is immortalized at Arthur’s Seat where runners leave a flower in hopes of good luck in the 2nd half of the race. I needed it, but caught up in the people, I didn’t realize I missed it and threw it to the side of the road. I had missed his seat, but I figured Arthur would appreciate the sentiment. He didn’t.
Somewhere about halfway I passed Bruce Fordyce, 9 time winner of this race. He was on a quest for Silver having not run a fast time in recent years. Meanwhile, I had been yo-yoing off the back of my clubmates for some time. They were running consistent, but consistently too fast for either my training or the way I was feeling. I let them go with about 30k to go when I ran into Sarah. Grabbing Hammer Gel I confessed that I had to start running my own race or I would not end well. There was time in the bank. 10k later I arrived at the 67K mark and, admitted to Sarah my race was done. I knew that with the way I was feeling I would not make my time, though I would be oh so close. But with Little and Big Polly’s to come, I was going to lose just enough to miss it. I had been running in the red zone for about the last 2.5 hours, on the brink, and it wasn’t my day. Even with 10 miles left, if I had just been able to run 8 min miles, I would have got silver. The problem was, I just couldn’t.
Polly Shortts kicked my ass. It was a long climb, steep, but no monster. The crux is that it summits at about 80k into the race, and on dead legs and crap stomach, this is a killer. I walk/ran the thing but was humbled. Near the top were photographers and I posed with another guy for a picture but we were still too far away from them so they told us to keep coming. I jokingly said they could paint us we were going that slow. Language barrier aside, I don’t think he understood my joke. Like all good derailing, the down run is worse than the up, and the final 5 miles were painful. My stomach was tight and all gusto had been zapped. I even walked briefly on the descent from Polly’s!! That was how bad I hurt. But I wanted to leave it all on the course so I kept running, albeit slow. I had pushed and pushed my body (not smart) till it wouldn’t yield times anymore, and then I pushed more. The final 2.5k hurt more than any other section, but I wanted to finish vertically. I sprinted (sorta) into the stadium and finished shaking the hand of an African man in support of his 10th finish and green number (a permanent bib number awarded to those upon their 10 finish). I ran 7:45, just shy of my Silver goal, but pleased nonetheless. They say a novice silver is rare, and an American novice silver unheard of. So I know I can do it. 616th place out of many thousands.
Maybe I didn’t train well enough (isn’t 35 miles per week with an occasional marathon good for a 54 mile effort?), or maybe I “tapered” too much in the final days and was flat. Perhaps I should not have worn racing flats (my legs hurt from early on and I wasn’t used to my shoes. My foot strike could have used muscles that I wasn’t training and more cushioning would have been nice. That was in my head the whole time.). But I finished the Comrades Marathon and that is worth writing about.
Click below to see footage of me on the course (note – this link will not load so you have to go to the web address it takes you to and add the = sign to the end of what is there. Hit enter and it should load my videos).
http://media.comrades.com/mysports/?e=CO11M&n=Justin+Walker&r=12597&nt_s1=00:00:00&ct_s1=05:30:35&nt_s2=01:22:48&ct_s2=06:53:23&nt_s3=03:31:26&ct_s3=09:02:01&nt_s4=05:01:51&ct_s4=10:32:26&nt_s5=07:01:07&ct_s5=12:31:42&nt_s6=&ct_s6=&nt_s7=&ct_s7=&nt_s8=&ct_s8=&nt_s9=&ct_s9=&nt_s10=&ct_s10=&nt_s11=&ct_s11=&nt_f=07:45:39&ct_f=13:16:14&l=EN&tp_f=
 |
| Glad to be done! |
 |
| Starting to feel the effects |
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| Props to my true running club! |
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