PMB Comes Up Short

Pietermaritzburg isn’t the nicest of towns and I wasn’t lodging in the most up market of neighborhoods. You want a challenge? Try to eat well in a poor neighborhood. Go on, next time you head to a major sporting event, turn down a street into the ghetto and try to find a meal without sugar, loaded in fat, and bouncing with cholesterol. It could be a task on the Amazing Race. I came away with a chicken lasagna that was actually pretty decent. But not before I swung into the grocery store to pick up some food and drink. This place was slammed with 20 checkout lanes stocked 15-20 people deep. In this sea of humanity, I was the only white person in there. It was very sobering to see such a large amount of people, many of whom don’t make much money, all fighting for food. It smelled like a gym bag and spilled milk and other liquids coated the floor. The whites of eyes were dyed yellow with malaria, each cough shouted tuberculosis, and the silent killer of HIV shopped. It was odd, but you know how from time to time you will get to the check out and you see an odd item discarded there? Here there were hundreds of items stacked on the floor and in baskets. I found it odd to see many of the items. Like do you really get up to the front and say, “I don’t really want this 2 liter of Coke, or these shrimp, or that 6-pack of yogurt?” Could people not afford them and discarded them at the last second, another dream dashed?

So you know by reading the previous posts that I haven’t been in good shape the last few weeks. Why not roll the dice? I grabbed some naan and chicken curry from the Indian place next door which I would never normally do, but there weren’t a whole lot of fine cuisine options. Finished up a season of Prison Break and concluded a day and a half of sitting on foam dorm beds. I can’t complain because I got the whole dorm to myself for about $18 and I needed the rest. Since everyone at the hostel was racing, I was up at 3:45am ready to rock. After squirting last night’s dinner a few times, I headed out. The best thing about my ghetto fabulous lodging was that it sat smack dab in the middle of the start/finish line street with a 100m walk to either. I pushed toward the start line but ended up at about 10 rows back. The START banner came down so low that anyone over 5’9” would tag it on the gun. The music started and in typical African fashion, the people started moving and grooving, seemingly oblivious to the 42k ahead. It was humid but the 5am gun and cloud cover would keep the sun away.

This course profile is billed as mostly uphill first half (per loop) and mostly downhill second, which it was. The problem was that it is horribly deceiving as the profile is smooth but the course is not. There were some monster hills in the second part of the course that just made it impossible to take full advantage of the long downhills. Still, the course was a perfect mirror to my weekly club runs – uphill first half, downhill second with some stingers in there. I was prepared.

You know what is interesting? In South Africa, they hand out sachets of water and Powerade instead of cups. So there are all these plastic baggies all over the road. On the plus side, they don’t spill when you grab them from volunteers and these kind folk don’t get soaked. You do, however, when you have to tear them open with your teeth mid stride. Even more interesting is the large amount of runners who grab these and don’t drink them right away. Instead, they carry them for 2+ kilometers and drink them just before the next aid station. Seems unusual to me.

Planned on a 1:26 half, followed by a 1:24. Couldn’t afford to get out too fast with my recent illness and fatigue. First few K were a struggle as the pace was too slow and felt hard. Then I found a guy and we started clicking. We hammered in and I crossed in 1:26:00. Perfect. But he fading. I did some good work for the next few K but no one would go with me. There were lots of people to catch but I was alone. The hills started to hurt and by 29K I knew it would be tough. At 32K, I had to run 4:00/K plus find an extra 30 seconds in there. But the legs were tired and I just couldn’t get the time back. By 37K, I was still 30sec slow for 2:50. I was cooked. In the final 3K I gave up 2.5 minutes. I have to admit I ran like a Virginia (yep, that is the word I am using) the last K. Something happened that never does – people passed me. I think 4 crept by and I finished 54th. My time was about 2:53:10. Given my recent luck, I was thrilled to run this time, my 2nd best ever. There is a part of me disappointed not to PR and go sub 2:50, but I can, and there are other races.

Moment of Surrender

So I am accepting fate. A PR is probably not in the cards this weekend. Sometimes you just have to listen to reason. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. Sure, my mileage has been pretty low. But I have been consistent and fast – working out and getting in some faster-paced runs most weeks which is something I haven’t done in years. But it just hasn’t come together.

A few weeks ago I ran a 20 mile race. It went well – I averaged under 3:00 pace for the 20 miles. But it just didn’t seem right. I was about 7+ min/mile for the first half and then dropped down, only later to realize that I dropped only to 6:30/mile which is not even my goal race pace. That sucked. Then I came back later that week with a 5K in sub 6min/mile which is decent except I run that pace for 8K. I could say the course is hard, which it is, but still, with no jump in the legs I can’t see how this is going to happen for me.

Then I had a nasty bout with the U2 concert. A lack of better judgment derailed me for a day and when I took off for school camp a day later, I was not myself. A cold had been creeping in and although my nose wasn’t running, neither was I. I felt completely ill without the symptoms and was sleeping all the time which never seemed to be enough. I got in one run at camp, just pathetic. I set off to do 10x800 and after ½ mile of warm up on a dirt road uphill, I knew the workout wasn’t going to happen. I ran 5 miles and called it good. The next morning I got up for about 6-7 but a rash that had been spreading stopped me 2 minutes into the jog. The next day was off to work on issues at the camp. I returned for the weekend and got in 7 at a decent pace, but too much effort. Then Sunday, a week out from the race, I tried to do 10. By 3 miles I was gassed and turned to go toward home and ended up walking up the hill for 10 min. That’s right, walking. I took Monday off since there was no reason to continue this ridiculous cycle.

I am very frustrated after having been focused on this race for much of the last 6 months. I want a PR – to go under 2:50 and be that guy. But I seriously doubt I have the energy to get the pace where it needs to be (6:28/mile or about 4:00/K) nor the miles under me to maintain it for 26.2. I am curious if I will struggle from the gun or hold it and tank towards then end. Is it overtraining? Hard to imagine that I have done too much work, although when you run so very little anything could be too much. I fear something worse, that I am sick, and that scares me.

Frosted Flake Out

It doesn’t matter if it a low-key race, if you are training through, or if it is a flat course. A marathon is still a marathon, no matter the pace. So as much as I downplayed the Akasia 3-in-1 race, I still ran easy the day before and ate well. I spent Saturday drinking lots of water and avoiding the BBQ and margaritas. I was ready to run a solid marathon on Sunday. The problem was, the race was on Saturday.

I don’t know why I thought it was on Jan. 23rd. Everything I had done to prepare for this race told me it was Sunday. Every conversation I had implied the race was on this day. Why, oh why, was this race Saturday morning? People kept asking me how the race went and I was totally confused. But sure enough, Saturday morning had come and gone, and I missed it. For the first time in my life, I accidentally missed a race.

Bitter about my stupidity, I played some cards with friends and went home, determined to get in a long run in the morning. It was about 10pm. If I were racing I would have been in bed earlier. I would have risen at 4 to drive to the race. I rose at 7. It was pouring rain. I did not want to get out there, wet and miserable, chaffing the whole way. So I waited it out. The rain finally ceased around 830 and off I went, ignoring Sarah’s pleas to take money for drinks. I just left.

By 3 miles, the sun was wide open and toasting me. No, I didn’t bring sunscreen. I was baking. I turned at 10 miles and started to come back, taking in a Gu I had shoved in my shorts. But this route had 3 category 5 hills on it, and soon I started to suffer. When you go to a race, you rest well, hydrate well, wake early, eat smart, get in the mindset, and have thousands of people pulling you along with water stops every 2k. When you flake out, you struggle to get up, eat a bowl of Frosted Flakes, take no water, and begin a death march to the end. I nearly walked on a massive hill at 14 miles. But mile 19 was where I truly gained humility. I hit the wall and it was a miserable crawl to home.

Another crappy result from bonking is the soreness and depleted feeling for days after. I really screwed this up. If I had raced, I would have coasted a nice 3:20 and been running a day later. Now I was hating moving. But I rallied and went to running club on Thursday with an extra day off. Toeing the line in the time trial I was ready to run smart, backing off on the early hills and bringing it home on the 2nd lap. A 31 min effort would have been fine. But I cruised the first lap and found myself easily in front and finished in control for a 29:57 8k. It was my 3rd fastest time for the horribly hard course, yet a relatively ‘easy’ effort. Even some good can come from flaking out.

Consistency is Key

Vacations are never good, for running that is. Let me draw a picture of my typical vacation: A long flight (no sleep, little liquid, massive time zone shift, losing a day to travel), staying up later than normal, getting up later than normal, eating out all the time (big breakfast, pizzas, burgers), drinking more (and we still aren’t talking about water), seeing the sights, justifying a break. Well, not all of that sounds too bad. But what is missing? Oh yes, running. Running on vacation sucks.

Here is what it looks like for me: After a long day getting somewhere, I grab a beer or two. I am already dehydrated. I have eaten crappy food all day and now it is very late. I wake up later than I want to find I am hungry from the lack of good food. It is usually humid/hot out, so rather than run I eat and try to find drinkable water. When I do, I plan the activities I want to do. Of course, by the time those wrap up, I am dehydrated again and it is too hot to go. So I take the day off. But my evening consists of beers, bad food, and staying up late again, of course.

What usually happens is I suffer through a run in hotter weather than usual, run shorter than usual, at a slower pace than usual. I run maybe every other day but it is not unusual to take 2-3 days in a row off. My fitness suffers and it takes weeks to return to a solid schedule. But not this time! I was gone for 12 days and ran 10 of them. I did hour efforts in the sun. I cruised down a trail or along a lagoon and closed in the 5:40s for the last mile several times. It has made all the difference.

The down side is I am tired. I did a 20 miler two weeks ago and I paid for it. Despite the fact that I ran it slow with water, it took a week to feel ok again and I have been tired. I threw down 8x300m on a hill this week and realized I can still turn and burn. Not to mention you are looking at the league champs in sand-beach volleyball! I will run a tune-up marathon nice and easy Sunday morning to set me up for Pietermaritzburg at the end of February. This will be a PR attempt to go into Ultra season on a high.

The Path is Set

Well, no shocker there. Not accepted to Western States 100 for about the 4th time. It is getting to the point where that race is impossible to get into. 10% acceptance this year. Oh well, maybe another time.

Otherwise, post-Soweto marathon I hopped on the bike for the Momentum 94.7 Cycle Challenge. Despite its name, this bastard went 62 miles and I dont care what they say. Here's why those two miles extra sucked. First off, it isnt like I trained too hard for this thing. I was on the bike maybe 9 times since the start of the school year and my longest ride was a 25 mile effort. So that sucks. Next, this is an amazingly hilly course, and it stings the legs. Throw in temps in the 80s, 25,000 riders, and the above mentioned handicap, and I was set up for failure.

After the gun, I tried to get a pace line going. People here suck at rider etiquette. They couldn't pull at the front and drop back to save their life. I would jump up, give 1-2 min at 22+ mph and then go back. They would ride at the front for 8 min getting slower and slower each minute till I took over. I was livid and even tried to tell them. Didn't matter. People here don't get it. Plus, I was way back in the start and had thousands of riders to pass every 4 min or so as we worked through the waves.  No joke, I am going downhill at 48mph and there are people walking their bikes.  On the ups we try to sprint and fatties on mountain bikes weave across the road. Next year I am getting seeded and starting earlier.

Flew the first 40 miles at over 20mph, and then it got bad. Coming up this long, exposed highway I got tired of the sun and tired of the saddle. With 20k to go, things got bad. Three times I had to stop and leap off the bike with massive cramps, the last a mere 500m to the finish. I fell off the bike, grabbed the leg, and felt my butt burning on the pavement. I crab walked my crippled self to the side of the road, and some guy stopped to pull my bike over. Then he just sat there till I was ready. Not talking, not helping, just chilling, 500m from the line.  I missed my goal by about 9 min but it was an experience.

Since then I have been in a slump. Just couldn't bring it back together. Got reverse block in my ear last week diving and only managed 3 days on the run. But this week went better, and I cruised a 20 today with no problem. Not fast, but no issue.

Probably going to do a low-key marathon in January before the PR effort at Pietermaritzburg in Feb.  After that, translating the speed into the ultra for a 35 mile jaunt at Two Oceans in Cape Town and then the big dance of 56 miles (89k) at Comrades in May. With Western States out, I will probably look to the first of July for the transition to Ironman training.

That's the plan for now. But what does that really mean?

The First Races on African Soil

Running in Africa is much like driving in Africa – if you figure out which way to look and what side of the road to be on, you are doing all right. There are more than a few scary moments when you step off of the curb and get buzzed by a car because you are looking the wrong way. Thankfully, due to the many people that walk here, there are numerous dirt trails lining the busy roads.

For motivation and safety, we joined a local running club. They hold weekly time trials over 4, 5, and 8K. When I say that they are hilly remember I have lived in Colorado, ran on the Great Wall, and have done my share of trail races. We are 4000-6000ft above sea level here too. This course is a monster allowing no consistency and brutally long uphills followed by pounding downhills. On any given week I can win going away or get my butt handed to me. For example, I may run with the double jogger and win by 3 minutes, or put up a 29:30 (8K) and take 3rd. It really just depends on who shows up.

But the hills have paid off. I took the base from summer and my PR marathon and kept the fire. I took 9th in a half marathon out in Krugersdorp. It was at altitude and had several kilometers per loop of steady uphill. The compensation was one downhill a mile out from the end. It was the kind of hill that doesn’t let you run faster – it just blows your quads from breaking and causes blisters in the feet. I got out way too fast but put in a solid effort considering the course. I finished within seconds of 6th and even slowed to help 8th on in. I still broke 1:23 which for that course could have been worth 5 more minutes.

SOWETO Marathon

There isn’t a township more famous than Soweto. This former home of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu is the root of the rebellion against racial oppression in South Africa. No place on earth boasts a wider disparity in economic distribution as millionaire mansions and glittering malls surround tin-roofed shacks and rampant unemployment. Yet each year, thousands take to the streets for a marathon that tours areas that at no other time would I be welcome to walk.

After a quick trip to the African bathroom (a tree), I pulled into the starting coral. There was supposed to be a seeding system but I knew at packet pickup when they assigned me the next available number my previous time meant squat. While being pushed and prodded I scowled at the hundreds that pushed past me to get closer to the line. When 60 year old men do this, I have to object. Yet with 1 minute until the gun the crowd broke into a glorious song, cheering in unison for the miles ahead. Thus started the annual Soweto marathon and ended the organizational efforts by the directors.

I would think that starting just 100 feet from the line would not put too many people in front of me. Yet within seconds of the gun a whole sea of humanity spread out before me. What started on two lanes expanded to six lanes with people in the median and on the sidewalk. For the entire race, groups of runners always paved the way. I never was alone. The first half of the race was conservative. After all, this was a killer hilly course and no sense in busting it out in November.

There were some interesting sights along the route: I ran with a man who was jingling with change. This was his taxi and bus fare home. I forget not everyone comes to runs under their own power. Another guy was running his first marathon at 31 years old and was on pace for 3:10. While others faded, he rolled along. I was psyched and helped him along for a few miles before he faded on the final hills. There was a period of running through sewage. Not going to lie. I saw some of the poorest places in the world. There were huts that would make any village in Mexico look like Cabo. It was pretty sad.

Split the half in 1:33 and started to pick it up. By 20 miles I was sure I could negative split by 3 minutes. But the last 7k were so unbelievably hilly that I did all I could to hang on. There were hills where everyone (but me) that I could see walked. It was a killer way to end the race. I definitely felt like it took something out of me.

338th place out of 4879 finishers. Gun time 3:07:30/3:06:55 net time. Not bad for holding back on the hilliest race around.

30 in 30!!!

Massey, Canada is a sleepy little town east of Sault Ste. Marie. Probably not much happens here on a weekly basis, but once a year the Friendly Massey Marathon is held, and if you can stand 87% humidity, cool temps, and light breeze you are offered a fast course with that good old Canadian charm. I had completed 29 of 29 marathons and was 29 years old, turning 30 the day after the race. It seemed a fitting time to run one more.


Rod was supposed to be here, but the day before I stopped at his hotel room three times and searched the start line to no avail. It would have been nice for him to jump in the half and run with me for 13 miles, but I would go this one solo. I stuck with a 19-year-old who was running his first marathon and his dad, who wanted to run sub 1:30 for the half to qualify for New York. I knew from research that this kid had run a decent half, but no fulls. I wasn’t worried about him knowing the sting miles 13-18 can put on a first timer. We cruised the opening miles together but Ks of 4:16 and 4:18 (3hr pace is 4:16) got me nervous and since I was down on the leader by 1:48 by 6K, I figured enough was enough. The race was on.


For the next four miles I worked away from speedy and his dad trying to close the gap on the shirtless leader. He had gone out with the half marathon guys and tucked in, so I wasn’t worried because during the second loop he would be alone. But as I made the turn at 15K he had 2:41 on me! I was losing time after all that hard work, and the worst part was the boy and his dad weren’t even that far behind me. I was in for it with 16 miles to go.


I crossed the half in 1:26:xx. That was a shade fast for me (considering I run 25 miles a week and my occasional tempos aren’t even at that pace) and heard that he had gone through in 1:23, and if he were a 2:55 guy, I knew he could hold me off. I figured the only way I would catch him was that he would blow up while I maintained. I had to maintain, since I feared that when the kid behind me dropped his dad off at halfway, he would be fresher than me having conserved and then unload his speed and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.


By the time we hit our next “out and back” I had cut the gap to about 1:51. I was pleased, but my legs were stinging from a faster than usual pace, and it was getting warm. For the next several miles I tried to bring him back in, and I did, catching him at 34K. We exchanged pleasantries, but I warned of the talent in 3rd place. With a turnaround at 36K, I wanted to push to that point and back from it so that I could have 3rd see me first before he could see 2nd. I figured that would mess with his head, knowing that there had been a change of order and he had that much further to get me. But when I turned, I saw that I had not dropped the former leader with authority. The silver lining was that the rookie was much farther back than anticipated, probably cracking during the attempt to catch us.


It would be nice to portray the tale of the final 6K with drive, speed, and glory, but it was anything but. Although I didn’t lose time, I struggled mentally on the hills and could not drop the pace. I had never before “raced” nearly a whole marathon. I often reserved my energy to pace well and step up to close or beat people. This was a new game. I ran as fast as I could hold for the duration. It meant that my predetermined “kick points” had gone right out the window and I struggled in, still on a great pace but with no ability to shake it up.


I crossed in 2:50:17 for the win. It was my 30th marathon before my 30th birthday. It was my 3rd win, my 4th time under 3hours, and my 9th top 10 finish (damn that 11th place in March!). I set a personal best by over 5 minutes on less mileage per week than I have ever seriously ran. Second came in about 6 min back (stopping twice in the final 3K with leg cramps), and 3rd (the rookie) just missed with 3:00:30 (he was hurting at the end having experienced the full in all its glory). The only bittersweet moment was that I have secretly always wanted to have a time in the 2:40s. I know I can, but I left it short today. I never checked my watch from the half mark on, but I am not sure there was much I could do to get time back if I had. All in all, if you can set a PR, win, and reach a milestone race, it is kind of hard not to call it a perfect day.