Two Oceans Marathon: Revisited

Some call it the most beautiful run in the world; it would be hard to argue. All of the mundane city streets pass by while darkness prevails, and with the coming dawn runners find themselves approaching towering rock peaks, smelling the crisp, salty air, and approaching the forests that make this diverse route a holiday bucket list run for many. However, many will also agree that it is also one of the more difficult runs out there, at least from a course that is completely on road. At 35 miles (56km), it is a long pull, but beyond this, the fact that it is 28K of flat and downhill running which is then met by 28K of mountains, climbs, and descents, your legs will be toast by the end. It's a good thing South Africa does wine well.

Prior to our visit, I hadn't done much work. I was more consistently running, though not far. We were sent on our yearly trip with high school students and I ended up in the mountains.  While I hiked everyday and was exploring at altitude, I only managed a few brief runs.  A week of touring SA left us happy and nostalgic. We missed our once family home and were happy to be back. The emergence of craft beer and the incredible quality of wine (and cheap price) made for decent consumption.  The abundance of meat meant full bellies (and a little extra weight).  I ran the days that were not packed with events: petting cheetahs, holding lions, riding (and feeding and holding and eating) ostrich, zip line rides with chameleons climbing on us, walking with penguins on the beach, and touring the winelands.  In typical fashion, I arrived to the starting line less than prepared. Let the incondite adventure continue...

With plenty of time to kill before the start, I sat in my car and listened to wave after wave of the half marathon depart. It was a cool, Easter Saturday morning, dry - rain had pelted Cape Town the previous two days and it was feared the race would be a wet one.  Once the final gun had sounded, I departed the relative safety of the car and walked to the start line.  It was a mad house, with no possible way of joining the corrals.  Although I was a "B" entry, I went to the "A" corral as about 150 people were jammed outside of the entry to the gate. I found a similar situation up front but managed to squeeze close to the gate.  I was greeted with the SA national anthem and instantly the words (well, the English ones, anyway) returned, after not having sung them in four years. After the homage, the crowd burst into Shosholoza, may favorite pre-race song. I must admit, I believed Comrades to own this tradition, but Two Oceans, perhaps because of the smaller corrals, gave it a real run for its money. Check it out here (this is 2017, and the audio does not do it justice to the rising chorus, but it does give an idea of the people stuck outside the fencing.)

The cannon blasts and we were moving. Nothing is reportable about the first 10k of this race.  It is in the dark and down city streets with shops on either side. But the views over the next 25 miles are unchallengeable, so we tolerate the inconvenience.  My legs are flat from the gun - not a good sign of things to come. I soldier on, running into members of my former club, the Fourways Road Runners. We chat and return to our own paces. I see many others who I vaguely recall from my many runs of the past, but I am running slower now than then, and I soon see no more resemblance. It is an odd feeling having run an hour and ten minutes and see you have a marathon yet to go.

Once dawn comes we are moving through the course. I split the half marathon in a reasonable 1:43:30, and feel well in control. I would like to run 8:00/mile for a long while, and not faster. I know what lies on the other side of that mountain, and I don't intend to go harder than is necessary to arrive on schedule.  Soon we are rolling though Fish Hoek, one of my favorite views in SA.

The course here follows the shoreline and the mountains in the distance bring a unique dichotomy to the landscape of the country.  Just past town we cross my second favorite portion of the course: we drop, seemingly toward the beach but then angle away off into the land. Every year, the theme from The Chariots of Fire is played on a loop at this exact location. In one of my previous runnings there was a mist over the road and the runners in the fog, beach background, theme music, you get the picture....

Crusin' just outside of Fish Hoek

Those without a run under their belt enjoy the next portion. The veterans know the fun is soon over.  The last of the flat portions lie ahead, and then the halfway point marks the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end, however it helps to see it.  I cross 28K, halfway, in 2:18, a reasonable pace yet slower than ever before and far off the split required for "Silver," the hardest silver in the country to earn.  We meandered up Little Chappies and embraced the view as a drop in the road here could only mean the climb was near.

My climb up Chapman's was steady. I had been in check for 2.5 hours. Now, I wouldn't say I let the dog off the chain because that would imply that I had any aggression in me, but I ran with a purpose and clawed back a few runners.  It is quite a long climb with many turns and false summits, but it was lovely running.

Heading up Chapman's with a Fourways runner

Runners heading up through the "tunnels" on Chapman's Peak (previous year)

That is, until the top.  Greeted by the usual band of crazies dressed all in green at the summit, I rounded the corner and saw about 60 people in front of me walking. I was puzzled only for about a second when the force of a huge wind blasted me sideways.  It was impossible to run, and people were weaving over to the aid station to get a drink.  I soldiered on, dealing with the wind as it slowed my pace to 9:30-10:00 per mile on the descent!  The first couple of kilometers off Chapman's is a relief, but after about 20 minutes I grew very sick of the relentless downhill.  The lay of the road is such that your hips and knees are way out of alignment as you slam down the steep pavement and most people pay for this section of the course, no matter how they run it. You are, after all, more than 20 miles in and it is a mountain you climbed and ran down.  Finally, the amazing town of Hout Bay, which had been below me for a long time, became level.  Crowds are great here (being the only point to drive to for quite some time) and it is flat.

Fighting the wind (hat backward) with runners blowing all over the road

My body held up as I worked through town and soon the 42K mark appeared. I crossed my marathon in 3:29:30, exactly the pace I wanted, but within a minute I knew that it was not to be. It was as if my body agreed to be cooperative for a marathon and not a step more.  My legs got really tired and heavy, the course was exposed and the sun got to me. The mix of Energade and Coke was starting to take its toll on my stomach which had gone sour.  I began the climb up Constantia Nek and planned to run it (less steep than Chapman's) but that didn't last long. I walked for the first time at about 44k, and it didn't seem to make a difference. People around me didn't pull away or catch up. It was just negative returns.  I alternated walking and running for a while but the running was less and the walking more. I turned in a 14:00 min mile. Yep. Legit. I crested the top and started down but the groin muscles were so shot that I had to be very cautious.  When I was running, I was back down in the 8:00-8:30 range, but anything up or down (and there is a lot of that from the top of Constantia to the end) and I would have to break it up with walks.  My body just quit.  People were going by me in waves and I cared not at all.  Looking at my watch again, I saw that I had lost most of the 90 minute cushion I had with 9 miles to go.

After the downhills, suffering on my way into Cape Town

After a murderous section of the forest behind me (I always have run poorly on that stretch and I think many would join me in that statement) I got out on the roads on the way to the university. I had about 30 minutes to run 5k to break the 5 hour mark and get the medal for doing so.  I could not have cared less, so I took it easy. Then I decided, nah, I can run this and would go again until a hill or the pain got too much. Then I would say, "Screw it!" and walk. Lather, rinse, repeat.  The pain was at its pinnacle, the will to push its lowest. It was haunting to think that I could no longer turn in a sub-30 min 5K.  Something in me said I could, and that this was more mind over body, so I limped back up to a run.  With 600m to go, I had 5 minutes in hand, and I turned to the guy next to me and said, "I have lost control of all other faculties. I think bladder control is next." It was a joke anyway, as there was nothing left to piss out.

Down the hill and into the lawn the guy said, "Relax, you got this." I laughed because I wasn't surging - I was unable to break because my quads were shot. The finish chute was a blur of noise but I managed to see my girls hanging on the fence.  I crossed the line and nearly collapsed, and grabbed a fence to hold myself up. The volunteers shouted for me to move on but I ignored them and the humming in my ears took over.  After a moment I waddled away and grabbed another fence and watched the last finisher before the 5-hour gun scramble across the line.  Many more were denied the Sainsbury medal, which I then collected.  Never had I suffered this much at a finish line. I found my family and crumbled into the grass - the pain was so intense I kept my eyes squeezed shut. It took several minutes before I could breathe without huge discomfort in my chest, and many more before I could sit up.  We wandered out of the stadium and up stairs (with breaks) to the bus. Sitting there, waiting to depart to the cars, I reached a new low. The hurt was so intense I thought I would puke.  Tears were close and I didnt see an end in sight.

Nothing but pain on the faces of this group

Ouch

Pain like I havent had in a LONG time

Finally in a sitting position

It was a long bus ride to the car, upstairs to an apartment, shower, and down to the waterfront. After nearly an hour there, my food came, at which point I was so destroyed I was laying on the bench. I couldn't order a beer or wine I was so messed up. But a bit of walking and hydrating and I resumed some form.  My overnight flight (17 hours) back to India does not rank among my more comfortable transportation moments either.   But, as Kirsten would say, it was job done.

I now realize that I can fake a marathon but I can't fake an ultra, and you can never be prepared enough for Two Oceans. I will do more consistent running and hope to add a couple of 20 milers before June 7th, the day I venture into the great unknown.



Promotional Video with clips from the 21k and 56k (in my opinion the people in this film are having too much fun).

Comrades 2014

or the race that never happened in my book...

The story of my latest 100 miler attempt starts with Comrades. After all, Comrades 2014 was what this year was supposed to be all about. I had trained so hard, sacrificed so much, all in the attempt for the elusive silver medal. My prep and arrival were ideal, but it was not to be. My entry is late to come due to not wanting to relive the tragedy. But in order to prepare for the future, we must study the past.

Roused by the typical start line energy and experiencing lower temps than 2013, everything started according to plan. Fearing too fast of a start, I began splitting each kilometer on my watch to be certain I did not burn out. In the dark of Pietermaritzburg, this proved to be a daunting reminder of how long the race actually is, but I was hitting just under my desired pace, so all was according to plan. Resolute not to let anyone run my race for me, I still managed to hook up with a man from Israel. He, too, was attempting his 4th Comrades and did not yet get silver.

No problems at table 1 as I take my water bottle from a club member.  See Israel in the back ground (blue).

We rolled on, hitting the desired pace. I was determined to walk at prescribed points and did while he preferred to run straight on (perhaps his problem), which caused some chase games for a while. I continued to be on pace although we separated in the run into halfway when I walked up part of Inchanga, catching and passing him at the top when he stopped to pee. From then on, I was alone. My halfway split of 3:37 proved to be a bit faster than I wanted but not too fast, and it allowed me to walk much of the nasty climb out of Durmmond. I passed 50K with no problems, still well on pace. Coming over Botha’s Hill, I felt funny, and pulled up to speak with Lindsey Parry, Comrades Coach and one of my training partners, expressing my fear that it wouldn’t hold up. He assured me it would and sent me on.

Within 2K I was suffering. A small hill left me in pain and feeling heat flashes. I was weaving as I walked. I soldiered on but running was becoming a chore. I went from sailing along at under 5 min/K to barely running a few hundred meters before stopping to walk. The more I did, the less I could run. By the Green Mile – the point on the course with perhaps the most energy from the spectators - I was taking ice massages and walks through the whole thing. My jogs shortened from a few minutes to a few seconds, and the cramping in my legs was incessant. Stumbling through Kloof I hit the pavement and had to be stretched by volunteers for about 10 min. Barely able to stand, I was encouraged to keep moving, though I wanted to bail. For the next kilometer, the course meandered slightly downhill – a feature welcomed by most but for me it was unrunable. I couldn’t even jog without cramping. I stopped with 24K to go. In my mind I knew that at the 23K mark the road dropped for 3K down Field’s Hill which is torture even on a good day. For me, it would be the end.

I hitchhiked a ride to the finish and despite two massages, still looked and felt like death. I was in worse shape after my 39 mile effort than I had been in any of the previous 54/56 mile efforts. Something was seriously wrong with me. It seems as though any running past 35 miles or 4.5 hours does me in. Has it always been this way? No, I could do WSER on tri training. So what has happened? Since the stomach issues of Victoria Falls two and a half years ago, I have been unable to go weeks without stomach pain, liquid fecal matter, or finish a long race (well). Last year’s Comrades was total muscle failure around 60K. I DNF’ed at Burning River 100 at 65 miles (but effectively stopped running around 50). This year the problems hit hard 55K in and that was it. My fatigue and reaction are nearly instantaneous. One expects the body to go through highs and lows in an ultra, but what I am experiencing is not a cycle but a shutdown and it happens much faster than a normal depletion of energy and onset of muscle fatigue should. I am now seeing that many of my struggles in the past 2 years are due to this issue, and question if it doesn’t date all the way back to the onset of the 2nd Leadville 100 I attempted. What I do know is that unless it clears, this is a futile journey.

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.

Comrades 2013

Did you ever have something go so well, only to watch it crumble before your eyes? That is the way it goes sometimes. My Comrades 2013 was the culmination of a year of hard work and 4 years of planning, but it didn’t end how I expected.

Michael and I got down to Durban, did the expo, and readied ourselves well before the girls joined. Dinner with Kirsten and some guys left us ready to rock. The morning was quick but we stood on the line for the obligatory national anthem, Shosholuza, and Chariots of Fire before we were off into the dark. It dawned hotter than anyone could want, and with sweat dripping off our bodies in the pre-dawn haze, it was a sign of things to come.

Michael, Kirsten, and I stayed together for a good 25k, up and over Cowies and Fields with no problems. I asked Michael how he was doing, and with a thumbs up he replied well, and I never saw him again. The next time I looked over he was out of sight and I was left to run with Kirsten, wondering all the while if Michael stopped to poop and would be coming back. He never did.

Kirsten and I rolled along through Hillcrest and up Botha’s Hill with ease. I felt extremely strong and confident. Kirsten looked in trouble. He kept quiet and complained that his glute was in poor shape. There were times when I thought he would abandon the race. Not that I would wish this on my training partner, but my confidence was high knowing that I was good and this great runner was not. That would change.

We hit halfway in a brisk 3:30:20, about 6.5 minutes ahead of the preset pace. While this was not a good move, I had everything going well for me. I was feeling perfect and had all my legs and body about me. But what looms directly after halfway is the mighty Inchanga. Normally, two walk breaks are warranted on this monster of a hill. But we cruised up it, and only near the very top could I convince Kirsten to talk a walk break. Soon after this walk we were out onto the infamous Harrison Flats. While moving along, I started to feel a bit dull. I though perhaps a gel and some calories just needed to kick in and I would be solid. But sadly, this just never happened. What began as a low point in the run continued downhill into a terrible spiral of pain and struggle.

After Camperdown I began to really have trouble feeling good. Kirsten stayed with me, both of us convinced it was just a nutrition problem, until Umlass Road, where I sent him on. Immediately I struggled. The cramps began at 19k to go and never let up. Groins and calf muscles would twinge on both ups and downs, and I rarely could manage more than a kilometer, but often about 200m, without a walk. And let’s not forget Polly Shorts lies in the stretch to the finish. I limped, hobbled, seized, and shuffled to the finish. Every time I felt a cramp I pulled up to a walk. As soon as I did, I immediately became dizzy and wobbled across the road, nearly passing out about 5 times. I made it into the stadium and across the line in 7:53, a terrible performance for my training and early pace.

Pale, dehydrated, and cramped up at the finish, short of Silver again.

Exhausted and fearing medical attention, I crashed down but soon rehydrated. I couldn’t have been more disappointed. Everything was for this race. Silver had been on my radar for 3 years and I put in so much work, so much sacrifice this year, all for one race, something I have never really done before. I laid it out all for one effort. Now, I am never going to be disappointed in finishing an ultra, I have learned that, and I am thankful for my 3rd Comrades Bill Rowan. However, I am truly saddened by this result and it has taken a lot to get back to it (I have a 100 miler coming up and I need the head back in the game). What happened? I must admit I probably went out too fast. However, this could not account for the sudden blow up. In 2011 I was out just as fast and was struggling throughout the race with that pace, slowing, and still finishing in 7:45. This time I cruised, with no issues, through halfway only to instantly blow up around 70K. Why? It was as if the nutrition wasn’t going it. It was one of the hottest races on record, with temps exceeding 90 degrees on the course. Perhaps that was the issue as I am repeatedly having difficulties in hot races. The body isn’t responding.

Comrades Looms

2 weeks to go.

What do you do for inspiration?  As I get ready for the big race, I need to pump myself up by reviewing all the awesome things this race has to offer. Sure, I will watch the obligatory movies in Remember the Titans, Prefontaine/Without Limits, and Invictus, but I need to draw some more race-specific motivation this week.

Above is a video I made to pump myself up for the big day.



For a really inspiring visual tribute to this great race, check out the YouTube video below.

Captured here is a telling reality of the UP run from Runners World and former elite Amby Burfoot.

In a 7-part Runner's World YouTube series you can see Bart Yasso take on the Comrades
Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

I am even venturing out into the fiction realm, as long as it is Comrades related. On my Kindle is In the Long Run by George Stratford.
 
I have been reading throughout the year, a book on Comrades. It is called Comrades Marathon by John Cameron-Dow and covers the history of the race, year-by-year.  Inspiring to read about the greats, though not a through read as it is more of a coffee table book.


Check out this rousing performance of Shosholuza by the Drakensberg Boy's Choir.  This song is sung by the masses at the start of Comrades every year.

The race plan:
Step one: Eliminate mistakes from previous years. Prior to the race, jog and get out of the hotel room.  Last time was too much down time.
Next, wear the right shoes.  Every single person who knows about running will tell you to run in the shoes you have been wearing.  Then why did I wear flats last time without training in them?  Because I am a jackass, that is why.
No hero stuff:  It is supposed to feel easy at the start. Don't go faster than the plan, especially since the first 60% of the race is mostly uphill. I got hooked up with some fast guys last time and although they pulled me along and made time pass, I was through halfway in a bit over 7 hour pace and suffered from there, losing Silver. Get up and over the hills to half way, negotiate Inchanga, and use the next part to cruise.  Power through Camperdown and work to Pollys.  Let Pollys be what it will be and lock in for the ride to Maritzburg.  Don't ever give up.
I expect a half split in the neighborhood of 7:20 (overall time) pace and either hang on or push up for a negative split. I must negotiate maximizing my fitness (somewhere in the 7:00-7:15 range) with the best odds for a Silver (halfway in 3:44 or so).  It is hard to say.

All About the Numbers

 1 Month Until Comrades Marathon!!!

Coming off of the worse stomach bout yet, I absolutely destroyed the RAC Loooong Run. 57.3Ks of hilly Joburg action at 5am on a Sunday morning. Just me and a couple of thousand fellow runners joining up for a “fun” run, all of us Comrades bound. And do you know how I can tell they are all Comrades runners? Because who else in their right mind would be out there in the cold, crisp air that early in the morning?

A bit under 5 hours for the run had us through the marathon mark in 3:38 and at the Comrades “halfway” of 43.5K in 3:44, which is spot on Silver pace. While I can’t say every step was flawless, I was absolutely in control and enjoying the run through the streets. Just 3 days later I jumped in the Wally Hayward Marathon. While flat from Sunday and uninspired most of the way, we ran together as a training group in the most unaggressive run of the year. A simple 3:28:30 was my slowest of the year and just another notch in the belt. But when given an emergency day off for a burst water pipe, you have two options: sleep in or run a marathon. Which one gets you a Comrades Silver?

This year I have worked diligently to improve my overall training to be ready for Comrades. First, I have made Comrades my only goal. All I care about this year is finishing, and preferably with a Silver medal, the Comrades Marathon. Looking at my numbers, I have done that. Not including 2012, where the goal was Ironman, a comparison of 2011 and now shows the improvements. I have run over 400 miles more in the same time period (the equivalent of almost 2 months extra training). I have gone over 50K 3 times this year, but just once in 2011. I managed a high week of 91 compared to 84 in 2011, and that was in a week of 3 marathons and essentially no other running. In the 2011 season, I ran 6 marathons at an average effort (1-10) of a 7. This year I ran 11 and most of them a 4-5 in effort. This year I have run 6 days a week most of the time, and even a few 7s. Formally, I would skip runs as my schedule dictated. I take a day off after most marathons and hit it again. The negative effects are not compounding. In posted an average of 28.2 miles per week in 2011, 44 in 2013. I had may weeks in the 55-63 mile range and multiple 70+ weeks.

Stats (Sept-May)	2011	2012	2013
Number of Miles	1128	756	1541
Number of Ultras	1	0	3
Number of Marathons	6	4*	11
Highest MPW	84	40	91
Comrades time	7:45	8:21	????

* Plus 1 Ironman

But the real results are in the intangibles. I never dreamed I could cruise a 56k, then do a marathon days later. Each of my ultra distances have ranked among my easiest runs of the year by feel. I am not worried about a fast marathon or quick 8K. I just run solid and move on. In 2011 I was undertrained. I went out too fast and crossed halfway far too quickly, setting me up for failure. This year is different. I am a solid, mature runner who has the base and will pace correctly.

Putting in the Work

With my “A” qualifier out of the way and a training group not letting me off the hook easy, I embarked on a solid month of running. A canceled marathon disrupted my push for 7 marathons in 6 weeks, but I still got in some running. First I hooked up with Lindsey for a casual 3:17. A week later I cruised a nice, even split 3:12. Two marathons, 6 days apart in under 3:20, giving me confidence for the long race. Things were going well.

A year ago I ran the Deloitte marathon in Pretoria but missed the start by more than 8 minutes due to poor parking and inconvenient registration. Determined not to make the same mistake this year, I arrived 1 hour early. It didn’t help. After the obligatory 1 mile walk (past the start) to the registration, I stood in line for 40 minutes, inching forward to packet pick-up, past it, and into the end of a line. It never moved, so as I looked ahead I saw chaos. A guy was standing on the table shouting out names. Since only about 100 people of the many that entered could fit in the room, most of these didn’t get taken. Meanwhile, people started grabbing the boxes with numbers and flipping through them on their own. They would look then pass most into the crowd. This couldn’t end well and the people tightened around me. I squeezed out content to not have a number when an official traded me a sticker for my confirmation. At least I was in.

I staggered through the hills conserving as much energy as possible. After all, it was a double marathon weekend, and the first of the races was one of the hardest in the country. While I can’t say it was an enjoying experience, it was a great simulation for the climbs of Comrades. As the heat climbed, I pounded on, mostly alone, and ran 3:23, quite well for that course.

The next morning I was back at it. Thankfully it was a flatter course that wound throughout a township area of SOWETO. Content to go it alone, I ultimately hooked up with a triathlete in his first marathon. We held a good pace through the half and then decided to roll it in for his Comrades “B” qualifier. While I cannot say it was 100% easy, I did manage to run pretty smooth and put a 3:17 for my 2nd marathon of the weekend.

My week’s mileage was 91, my highest for a non-ultra week ever, and I had done a month worth of solid running. But I paid for it and my next week of running was very poor. Then I went to Kenya, and while there, took 3 days off on safari. When I could run, I did 4 days of 30-40 min on a beach or road in amazing humidity. Throw on all you can eat buffets, free drinks, and a respiratory tract infection, and you could say I was in bad shape. Then after traveling 13 hours home, I arrived at 1:30am, was asleep by 3am, and the alarm snapped me away at 4:00am with 90 min of shuteye for 42 hours. I had a race to run.

While I can say that I have felt loads better, my latest marathon was uneventful. Running with some club mates, we passed halfway easy. I had zero ambition to up the pace and ran continently with Cliff, a guy I ran with back in the 1st of the 4 marathon push. We ran 3:17 flat and I realized two things: first, I can run a marathon off of a week of damn near nothing, and second, it hurts like a bugger to do so.

Either way, I am doing plenty of work and after these two down weeks, and my plan is to have a very strong March and April. That way, I will feel that I have done ample work going into Comrades.

Ironman South Africa

"Before the race I wasn’t sure I was going to finish, and during the race I was struggling like everyone else, but in the race the goal was to not fall off the bike.”

-Clememynte Alonso-McKernan (ESP), 2012 Ironman SA winner

  

Rain pre-race

The Ironman. 2.4 mile open-water swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile marathon run. As if it wasn’t hard enough. Port Elizabeth thought differently. Race morning welcomed us with gusting winds, hammering rain, and soaking the bikes, post-race gear, and all who braved the early morning start. I began laughing about 30 minutes prior to the start because it was funny. This wasn’t just poor weather; this was insane weather. Rumblings throughout the crowd said that we might be canceling the swim. I sprinted to the tent along with 300 others to escape the rain and change into my wetsuit. There was space for about 50 of us so this was a bit rough. When I tried to stand, I realized I had put my leg through the arm hole of the wetsuit. Not a great start. A quick pee and I joined the start mass to a rising sun, dancing Africans, and 1800 nervous people.

The start, and the calm before the storm, again

As if continuing the joke, the skies relaxed and the ocean calmed. It was going to be a perfect day after a questionable start. I hit the water about 100 feet back, determined to be ahead of the slower people but not crushed by faster swimmers. It retrospect, the first lap (1.2 miles) didn’t feel all that bad. I never really found a rhythm as my stroke and rotation did not feel natural, but that was common in open-water swims for me. My split when I exited the water should have been between 30 and 33 minutes. It was 38 flat. Hmm. That didn’t seem right, but not a time to panic as I could totally pick up my swim on the second lap, expending more energy now that the field had sorted itself out.

Nope. What actually happened is the sea spit back. My first leg of 300m went ok, but when we turned left for a 700m segment, all hell broke loose. The current against us, every stroke was a negative. After a few hundred meters I could see the next buoy, but every time I looked up, it was further away. I was going backwards. When I fought harder, my strokes wouldn’t catch water when I was on top of a wave and I would only feel air as I splashed down into the bottom of the swell. My breathing was only to one side as when I would try and alternate breathing to the left, I would swallow a mouthful of salty ocean water. Turing seemed to make no difference and I found myself running into people if I drafted or swimming wide and alone. It was an exercise in poor strategy that’s for sure. The last 150m was the longest of my day as I made my way along the pier towards the shore. Swimming in high swells and tides like this was like running a marathon in sand. It was like being in a washing machine and trying to swim straight. Eventually this tumble cycle caught up with me and I vomited chunks into the water mid-stroke.

Me in blue, post vomit, post swim

When I exited the water and saw my watch (almost 1:22), I nearly quit. My projected time was 1:06-1:07:30. This was way off and my heart sunk even though Sarah was right there at the exit to try to motivate me onward. Given my projected time, I am surprised that she waited around, but we were all struggling. Only 4 men broke an hour, when in most Ironman competitions, all the contenders go under 50 minutes. Six-time Ironman World Champion and eventual female winner Natascha Badmann described the swim as “brutal.” From that moment on, my resolve was to forget the time and focus on finishing this race strong, though the initial goal was to simply finish. My transition was solid (4:18) given the long distance to run between grabbing my bag, showering, changing, and getting my bike.

I hopped on determined to ride a strong bike. It was not to be. Instantly upon entering the road, the winds blasted us across the lanes. You know those large plastic barriers used to block traffic for construction or concerts that are the size of a couch? Minutes into the bike one of those blew across the road in front of us, causing riders to bend around it. It didn’t get any better from there.

Suffering on the bike. The picture looks nice, but for an indication of the wind, check the palm tree over my right shoulder bending nearly sideways. 40mph sustained winds, gusts of 60+mph.

The course is three loops with a major rise in the first 13km of each loop, rolling after that until about 35km, and very flat from there until transition. However, the cross- and headwinds made cycling nearly impossible for about 25 miles of each 37 mile loop. We plowed up the hill in large groups, barely hitting 15 mph on the first loop, and falling to 12 and 10 mph on the next two. After climbing at this slow pace for 13K of each loop, normal Ironman SA athletes welcome the summit and last major climb of the course with a 9K descent with rolling hills before the turn around. On this day, the normal blazing downhill at 40mph was replaced with a hard pedal at 20mph, and got slower with each progressive loop. Small rises that should have been ripped over thoughtlessly were all-out sprints at a crawl. Never have I been so excited to reach a checkpoint in a race as I was to hit that turnaround each time.

When I rolled to a stop at 2nd Avenue to say hi to Sarah upon completing my first lap, I nearly quit. In my mind, there was no way I could ride that course again, let alone twice more. The brutal ass kicking I took in the water coupled with a horrific first loop ended my resolve. Somehow, the cost of the trip, the 39 weeks of training, and many disappointing days of races forced me to remount the bike and press on reluctantly. My butt muscles weren’t firing correctly the whole first loop so I adjusted my seat, only to find that now my hamstrings had shooting pains and I stopped just a few kilometers later to adjust it again. But from that point on, all was well.

The second loop proved to be every bit as difficult as the first. The long, arduous trek to the turnaround was both silent and deafening. Few words were exchanged amongst riders during this stretch. The phrases in my recollection are “Are you kidding me?” “Unbelievable” and &^%$. Yet at the same time the wind blasted in my ears sounding like a tropical storm. A sustained wind of 35-40mph was accompanied by 50-60mph gusts. Later in my hotel room I sat bolt upright thinking I had gone deaf until I realized that I was just no longer outside and the wind was just a haunting memory.

Because the wind was so intense from about 6K before the transition/finish until the 22K mark, it was difficult if not impossible at times to drink or fuel on the bike for the period of an hour or more. The pressure on the bike meant riders had shifted sideways in the cross wind and forward in the headwind and unpredictable gusts could move the bike and rider across the road 20ft instantly. Such conditions made reaching down for a water bottle or fiddling with opening a Gu largely inadvisable. The effect on the body was evident as consistent fueling makes for a better race. After the turnaround point, a steady tailwind allowed most everyone to sit up and consume calories and rest their legs while still maintaining forward momentum. This should have been the fastest part of the course though I did not witness any rider pushing too hard here.

               
 After turning off the main drag, the riders had a short segment heading toward the ocean. This made for some very dangerous riding as the wind was directly 90 degrees to the rider. After going with the wind for several more miles, we returned for one last stretch toward the ocean. It was perhaps the most scared have been in an athletic event. The gusts took me from the far right side to the far left side of the two-lane road in under a second, and it was by sheer luck that I didn’t end up in the ditch each time I rode this stretch. My pace dropped to nothing as I fought to keep the bike moving forward and prayed for the worst to be over. Eventually it was, and we turned along the sea for a much (relatively) safer trip back to the city, often riding between 26 and 32 mph.

My last loop did not disappoint. Winds were higher now and the climb to the turnaround was all the more difficult. At one point a pack of riders were stood up by a gust a wind. One moment we are all hunkered forward pedaling for our lives, and a second later a blast of sea air had everyone in a full stand, faces screaming in pain, yet the bikes were motionless. It looked like a sprint race where guys are doing track stands and lurching forward. The suspended motion picture then returned to full speed as the wind abated and riders, suddenly recovering forward momentum, now had to fight to regain control of the bikes, some of which had shot left and right when life resumed. The final trip to the turnaround was welcomed since I was sprint up the hill at times and nearly vomited when I glanced at the speedometer only to see a “blistering” 8 mph! I gained some confidence on the last loop, controlling the bike better in anticipation of the dangerous sections, though I did not push home as fast in the final section as before, knowing a full marathon lie ahead, and a scant few minutes gained in the final 20km of a bike are often given back 10-fold during a crumbling marathon.

My return to the city was a scramble in the wind but a welcome relief. Dismounting and free-wheeling my bike to a volunteer, I had my bag and was in the tent in about 30 seconds. After stooping to apply sunscreen (which I could not find prior to the bike) I was out. Transition was 2:32 due partly to the reduced distance to travel and less gear to acquire, but mostly as a result of just plain being glad to be free of that bike! With 26.2 miles to go, every minute spent sitting in transition hating the bike that was now over was distance on the road lost to me, and hence longer until that sweet finish line. Glad to be running, I couldn’t escape the wind. My visor was blown from my head and despite the sun on my face, I had to turn it backward.

Exiting transition with a smile glad to be free of that bike. (check the wind sock)

My pace for the first 10K was just under 8 min/mile, a pace that I knew I wasn’t likely to keep but I also wouldn’t blow up at either. Being a relatively flat course, the wind provided the only external factor, and I was feeling surprisingly good after such a strenuous bike. As good as the first 8 miles of a marathon in the Ironman can feel, I was flying high, especially after seeing my buddy Shawn go by on his bike when I was at the 10K mark.
My glory didn’t last too long after the start of the 2nd loop. After seeing Shawn on the out-and-back just 7-8 minutes ahead of me (but down one lap) I started to waiver a bit. The only significant climb on the course had no spectators on it, so things were pretty lonely as I started into a funk. Crossing halfway in about 1:45, I had a fine pace going but 13.1 miles left to brave. To this point I had not yet walked and in chatting with a fellow racer, we debated where to finally stop. Luckily, experience kicked in (or maybe it was my all-energy gel diet) a few miles later and I started the last loop confident of a strong finish. I had thought I would finish the lap and walk a bit on the rise to the turn around. But I was told to just get up there and get the white bracelet (signifying a runner on his last lap) and all would be good. But after I battled up that rise, it was downhill for a while, so no walking there. Of course, then there was the crowd – several miles of loud, drunken fans pushing people on, so why walk there? No, my walk break would come on the hill to the university – that windy, desolate climb where all fun stops and you are reminded just how long this race is. But wait, that hill is the last obstacle on the course, so if I crest it, I don’t need to walk at all. And crest it I did, but only to see an ominous black sky on the horizon.

A guy is trying to talk me out of walking (I am starting lap 3, he lap 2).

The thing is I never walked in this marathon, a feat I am proud of both because of my fitness level and my pacing and fueling. However, I define walk as more of a state of mind than a pace, because the course tired to slow me to a walk. Moments after seeing those dark storm clouds coming over the course the rain hit with a vengeance. Sharp, stinging rain blew in sideways (and once we turned the corner, head on) causing all life to be sucked from us. Dusk was falling and it was a low point for many athletes. I only soldiered on because I was wearing the white band (last lap) and saw many wearing red (first lap). One guy said, “Well, we started in the rain, might as well finish in it too.” It was a heavy reminder that the weather wasn’t going to cooperate once on this race day.

Rounding the turn to the finishing road I saw Shawn ahead. When I caught him, we exchanged words of encouragement. He hobbled a bit with some knee pain, but after about 500m of talking, I bid him farewell and pushed it home. I had a scant 3K to go which felt like nothing after 11 hours into the race, but proved to be quite a distance. And suddenly I was in the finishing chute, slapping hands with kids, and squinting into the bright lights. There was no more wind, no more rain, no more bike or ocean. There was only that finishing tape and a very loud voice saying, “Justin Walker, welcome back. You are an Ironman!”

                     A medal, a water, a picture and escort to the massage tent. I happily laid down for the rub down, and to this day am convinced that it upped my recovery by a week. Having never been a fan of massage, I may be trying it again. Also, I am not one to eat post race, but famished from the effort I scarffed a few slices of pizza, soup, hot chocolate, a hamburger, and a muffin before the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion caught up with me. The shivers set it and I started to zone, missing Shawn finish by just a few minutes. I then had to walk our bikes back to the shipping zone and on to our hotel, which felt quite good despite the cold.

Wetsuit rubbage left a scar and took longer to heal than muscles!

I’ll end this relatively long race summary with a reflection. The course was great, the fans spectacular. The weather just sucked. Time was not a factor, nor do I care about the time. Overall, I finished some 9 minutes slower than my first attempt 7 years ago, yet everything about this event – how I trained, the skills I gained, my pacing, my control, my effort – was superior this time. Given an even playing field, I am certain I could have been between 1 hour and 1:30 faster, and that would have been satisfying. My recovery was immediate and I consider this excellent preparation for Western States, not to mention a very positive indicator of my chances to do my best there.

In the end, my family deserves this medal. They were with my every step of the way, and supported every late night at running club, early morning bike, after work in the pool, and altering vacation plans to fit run and bike courses. It was a huge sacrifice but it costs a lot to be an Ironman, and is worth every second.

                                                                                   

Event	Predicted	Actual
Swim	1:05-1:07:30	1:22:03
T1	5:00	4:18
Bike	5:15	6:14:56
T2	3:00	2:32
Run	3:20-3:30	3:38:14
Total	9:48-10:10	11:22:06
Place	------------------	112