Only in Africa

I ran the Mandela half marathon on Sunday. It was bitterly cold in the hour that we stood around waiting for the race to start, in our little skimpy club kit vests and shorts, with only a lightweight running top over all of it.

But what a privilege to be at there. By the time the race was due to start there was a large throng of people around us, which did help to increase the temperatures and cut back on the wind. Then the music started and people started singing. If you've never heard African people singing in harmony, you need to book your tickets to Africa now - it brought tears to my eyes and not just from the cold.
We started with the old favourite, Shosholoza. As this is sung at many rugby matches it is well known but white men at rugby matches can't sing, so it has never been a big deal for me.

This was followed by Johnny Clegg and Savuka's Asimbonanga, sung by all of those who knew the words and the meaning (We have not seen him/ We have not seen Mandela/ In the place where he is/ In the place where he is kept) which was particularly poignant as the great man has now passed on. the harmonies, the way a few people start and then everyone else joins in, and above all the tribute to Nelson Mandela, paid by all these people at the race in his name, brought goose-bumps to my arms and a lump to my throat.
The National Anthem then followed and I was proud to sing along because I finally learnt all the words in time for Comrades.

Where else do races start with such an upliftment of voice and spirit, and such a harmony of people and ?

The half marathon starts on a long slow downhill for 3 km, then ends on a long slow uphill for 3 km. It warmed up and I could keep my pace steady although there were a few hills that I struggled with, still. I know I could have done better on the last long uphill, but by then I knew I was heading for a good time so I was content to keep my pace steady.

I can't work out why I just seemed to run in order to create such a good PB for me (2:10, 9th in my age group category). Was it the wonderful uplifting start? The fact that I warmed up on the downhill? or the fact that I told everyone (including myself) that I was just going to treat is as a training run as I had run 10 km the day before?

Whatever it was, I'm glad I did it. I will definitely be back for this one next year, and even if I don't PB again, I'm sure it will still be a highlight of my running year.

Bad day! Naughty day!

I fully admit I did it all myself - I really messed up my day from the beginning, and then dwelling on the start meant the rest of the day went worse.

It was a Ladies 10 km race in Durban on Sunday. Normally I wouldn't take part in a 10 k race at this stage because there is a mar-a-thon on 19 October, but I happen to work for the sponsoring organisation so I signed up, along with a group of ladies from my running group.

Last year, fresh to running, I posted a PB of 56 something (didn't have a GPS watch in those days) and I was really chuffed as it was my first ever sub-60. So this year I was hoping to do better and even enlisted the help of my friend Jo, who is a Duracell bunny and happily agreed to pace me.

I knew I would have to post 5:30 kilometres average for the whole race but started out far too fast and blew, about halfway into the race. the rest of the saga is embarrassing to me and full kudos to Jo for hanging in with me when she should have left me sulking and run off by herself.

I finished in 57:58 which is still okay but nowhere near where I wanted to be. Yes there was a strong wind on the homeward lap, but the main reason I tanked was... my head. I've heard it all before, I've read about it and on the day I did the classic mistake of going out too fast.  I put far too much pressure on myself because it was a work thing and I'm still trying to prove myself there.

And since most people know that I ran Comrades (Do I manage to slip that into every conversation? Is my life pre- and post-Comrades so radically different? Is this the subject of another whole blog?) anyway, since most people at work know that I ran Comrades they naturally expect me to do well at everything to do with running, and to explain the difference between 10k and 89k - well, it would take 89 k. So I try not to.

Anyway, I was very unhappy with myself. I still went out and ran on the treadmill in the gym that afternoon and did really well so I obviously wasn't tired, I should have just kept my head in the game.

From there my day went south. I messed up my sister-in-law's birthday present because I wasn't paying attention, I made a magnificent pot of soup with cheesy toasts for supper - without adding any seasoning at all, and completely forgot to start making the first of my Christmas cakes.

I must admit that the afternoon run, although short, was challenging as I kept increasing the speed, but it helped to clear my head. The run that I did with some friends on Monday morning also helped.

So is that the best remedy in the world - if you have a bad run, go and do it again and you'll feel better? (I should patent this thought).

Happy running everyone!

How do you get over a bad run? (Do you even have bad runs?)
What was your worst race mistake?

The fine line between injury and training hard

Since I started training again, I have been really pushing myself hard. This is for two reasons.

The first is that when I hauled out my scale again after a long layoff, I could have sworn it creaked and groaned as I put one foot onto it. The results were shocking and no amount of leaning backwards until the Leaning Tower of Pisa would have been proud of me, or sucking in my tummy so I could see the figures in all their largesse, would change them.

How could I have allowed myself to put on so much extra weight? I knew I was carrying a little muffin top with me, but a careful choice of outfits mostly hid this from the general population. But FOUR kilograms? That can't all be explained away by additional muscle, much as I'd prefer to.

The second reason is that I never want to be the one that everyone else waits for, when we're running. When I started Comrades training in November last year I was generally able to keep to the middle of the pack, but somehow over Christmas and New Year I lost my confidence and ended up at the back of the pack. From there on I always felt as if I was playing catch up, and never as fit or as fast as the others. It showed in my times, too - in the races that I ran, I would always be slower than I hoped, yet almost the next day I would sail up bigger hills than I had quailed over in the races, and wonder what on earth had kept me back during the race. But then, the mental situation between my brain and my feet is the subject of a whole other blog in the future!

So now I'm training five or six days a week, and sometimes pushing in an extra, short fast run in the evenings as well. I can hear the unspoken thoughts of the people who assume I'm heading straight for an injury, but I am listening to my body and so far it's holding out. The only time I don't listen is when the alarm goes off just after 4 am and it's Thursday and I've had a week of waking up early and I'm doggone tired.

However  I can't see why I should be scheduled for an injury if I am only doing about 60 km a week at this stage, and experiencing no major aches or pains that last for more than day or two. But I do feel strong, tough, and ahead of the curve in terms of training.  My only problem is that if I have to keep increasing my mileage, I don't know how much I can keep increasing it at 10% per week.

How about you? Do you worry constantly about injuries?
How do your mind games play out?

Dear feet

For a long time I was very sensitive about how you looked - I used to joke about my 'broad African feet' and hated having to go shopping for shoes, knowing that the shoes I liked (thin, pointy, strappy, high) would not be comfortable, and the shoes I eventually chose (pedestrian, broad, cover-all) would not keep their shape and would quickly get scuffed in the region of my bunions.

Pedicures were always a challenge for the beauty therapists because you were generally so rough and calloused.

I finally resorted to bunion surgery, and now you look a bit more normal and I can shop for a wider range of shoes.

Then I started my serious running adventure. I thought that after Comrades I would be able to have a pedicure again, but already I am back on the roads, then I lost a toenail from the race, so the pleasure of a pedicure will have to be postponed until I can boast a full set. But it's coming, I promise you that at least!

I looked at you this morning and realised that the nail varnish I'd applied a few weeks back, was only fractionally still hanging on, on some of our toes. The surviving toenails have been hacked back as far as possible, just because it's easier. I told myself that because it was winter I would be wearing closed shoes but with the warm weather currently I am in sandals again, and the look is definitely don't-give-a-damn grunge. The one good thing is that at least the vestiges of the varnish are all the same colour...

But for all that, I will flaunt you and I will wear open shoes and sandals, because I am so damn proud of what we did together. Through all the months of early morning and long weekend running you took me where I needed to go, pounding more pavements than I ever counted. My thoughts would drift away and yet you would be with me, regularly pulling me through. Rainy days and dark mornings followed each other yet we stuck together. Other people dropped out due to injury and we persisted. Even further back, when you carried me up Kilimanjaro, as the air got thinner and my pack became heavier, my mantra devolved from all those lofty thoughts one is meant to maintain in a mantra, to the more simple "Left foot...right foot..."

I salute you, dear Left and Right, and dare I end with the old Irish blessing : "May the road rise up to meet you..."

Comrades success

It's a long time since I posted here, but I'm back. I felt the need to write about my running experiences, because I know how much I appreciate reading other blogs from people like me, who battle with weight, and finding the time to run, who will never be an elite runner until they are the only one left running in their 80s...

We travelled along the highway to Pietermaritzburg over the weekend, and as I caught glimpses of sections of the R103 alongside, it felt like that road wrapped itself around me like external veins, on my arms and legs. Even though I have only run the Comrades once (yay I'm not a Comrades novice any more!) we ran sections of the route plenty of times in training, and I remember the people and the sights and smells of different parts of the route.

This picture was taken on my 2 km shakeout run the day before Comrades. It's the corner of the famous Nedbank Green mile, and happens to be 200m from my home, so I am VERY familiar with this section of the route. I prefer it quiet and lonely like it was in this picture though - the next day it looked like this:

Not that I can vouch for this, of course, because the runner in the picture is the man who won the race, and I was waaay back at this stage.

But I feel a familiarity with the route, that somehow becomes more real every time I  see sections of the route. I can stake a claim to the road, I can say I put my stamp on it, and I can own the experience. I belong to the race and the race belongs, in some small fraction of a share, to me.

How about you? Hve you run Comrades and what did it mean, to you?