Sunday, August 25, 2013

Mandela Day Marathon

The Mandela Day Marathon commemorates South Africa’s first black president by running a race from a site in Pietermaritzburg where he gave his last political speech before imprisonment to the site where he was ultimately captured in the hills beyond Howick.

There were many indications that I was in an African race. I parked in the stadium near my hotel and boarded a minibus. The experience gave me a true appreciation for all of the people who daily queue up for rides home every day. After a long wait, we finally filled up and rolled off toward the start line which happened to be in a township.

Time to Starting Gun (1:00=1 hour, :58=58 min, etc.)

1:00 – People are warming up by doing plyos and sprints in the corral. That is with an hour to go.

:58 – People mob the corals reenacting what I can only assume are moves from Dance, Dance Revolution. Recognizing I have no rhythm, my butt remains on the cold concrete.

:48 – The first round of Shosholuza echoes through the crowd. I sing.

:44 – The barriers between the corals are removed causing the crowd to surge forward and initiating the steady flow of people pushing and cutting their way to the front. With three-quarters of an hour to go everyone is jammed up. I am at the very back having stepped out to take a pee at the moment this happens.

:38 – A taxi bus, carrying what I can only assume are elite athletes or dignitaries of the race, has made its way up through the corral toward the start. It is now 100m from the line and progress has halted. Immediately rivers of urine begin to flow past my feet.

:36 – Bus is moving again. I have tucked in behind it to move closer to the front. Looking at my reflection in the back window I notice the large stripe of toothpaste residue on my chin from brushing. It has only been 2 hours and a couple of hundred people since that happened. Classy.

:24 – Violence is breaking out. Runners refuse to move. The bus honks its horn. Runners revolt and pound on the bus. Race organizers plead for compromise over the loud speaker. I wonder if this is what Mandela would have wanted.

:18 – Sanity prevails and the car pushes through. People relax as a man hangs from the start line scaffolding and screams into the crowd. I am reminded of the ride in as we moved past shebeens (shebeens are most often located in black townships as an alternative to pubs and bars, where under apartheid and the Rhodesian era, black Africans could not enter a pub or bar reserved for whites – illegal alcohol was usually sold). I think maybe he was there recently.

:14 – Round 2 of Shosholuza breaks out. The national anthem follows, fists pump in the air. I notice some people sing parts of the song but not others (like the Afrikaans verse). I think it is not what Mandela would have wanted.

:05 - Round 3 of Shosholuza begins.

:03 – Dance party 2 breaks out and lasts until the gun.

Immediately I am 1000 people back and facing a monster of a hill. My first K is in 5:34 and I enjoy the slower pace. The next 5 km is a series of bombing downhills alternating with steep uphills but the paces settles to under 5:00/K (8min/mile). Hundreds of people make their way to the street’s edge in the soft dawn light to spectate. It isn’t long before we are on a main road, groups of people pack the shoulder of the road while cars and taxis race by in the other lane, inches away from the participants. To confuse matters two cows munch grass in the median of the 4-lane highway. At the next turn a cab barrels up onto the grass and over the berm, narrow missing oncoming commuters and the police officer there directing traffic, who don't even flinch. To my left a competitor blasts a snot rocket, the mist glistening in the morning sun. To my right, another runner coughs and blows his nose in his hand, then offers me a water sachet – I politely decline. I mosey on, a smile on my face with the recognition that this is Africa.

Never have I found a race that simulated the big 2 (Comrades and Two Oceans). I could have sworn I was climbing in the trees of Constantia forest or huffing over the Valley of 1000 Hills. The images of hyperactive locals emerging from shacks overlooking deep valleys and rolling hills reminded me of my favorite races in South Africa. However, the 6.5km climb starting at 6 miles proved to be both longer and steeper than either Chapman’s Peak or Inchanga. For nearly 40 min we climbed very slowly up and up, winding along the hillsides only to look across a valley to see the climb continuing far on the neighboring hills. Dead dogs lay in the ditch creating a significant stink. Finally cresting the top we returned to a normal running pace but in crossing the halfway point in 1:51, I knew there was no real chance of cracking 3:30 on the day.

I had built a nice little bus behind me and we started unloading 4:30/kilometer after halfway. However, this proved to be a bit stiff for these guys and I was soon alone. Having only run about 3 weeks at 30 miles a week since the ultra, I wanted to be conservative. With time out the window I was free to just run. I begin to focus on just passing people, catching large numbers as the race goes on. In fact, I snatch 87 people in the last 6K when people are strung out and I am tired. I was gobbling up 15-30 runners per K in the last half without being passed. From 14K in to the end I passed almost 300 people, and many more before that.
Sign marking the capture site sits below the finish line.

Discomfort, which had been benign until now, encroached in the final 2 K. This was very positive as I expected a struggle before this but was lucky. A final dirty climb pulled runners up into the field near the Nelson Mandela capture site. Instantly I walked out of the corrals and into nothing. I had no idea where to go. Eventually I made my way about 500m down the hill and into a field where buses (cabs) were waiting. I boarded one heading back to where my car was parked but we sat for 30 minutes until it was full. A bouncing, back roads journey took more than an hour to bring us back to the stadium as people kept requesting to be dropped at various stops along the way. When it was finally over, I started my 5 hour drive back to Joburg.  The best part was when I stopped for the obligatory post-race milkshake and a woman started miming running and pointing at me.  Since I was wearing a Comrades shirt, I thought she was just being silly, but then the woman next to her said, "We saw you on tv today."  I was the 4th white finisher so despite not being a hero in any form, I must have stood out on television.