Standing on the start line of Comrades this year, the oldest and largest ultra-marathon in the world, surrounded by tanned, rippling muscles and other runners who boasted marathon PB’s of sub 2 hrs 30 mins I was strangely relaxed.
I had stood on 7 pervious Comrades start lines so I knew what I was in for but I was really curious as to how this one was going to turn out mainly because 6 weeks prior I was sat in a doctors office in Cape Town and got told that the likelihood of me starting this race let along finishing it was very unlikely. Luckily I am stubborn and with the challenge of not being able to run for three weeks and then having three weeks to return to running this was a puzzle I was looking forward to piecing together.
Marked with the news that I wasn’t allowed to run but could cycle I made a beeline for the John O’Connor bike shop in Mobile Point to try and find a bike I could rent. John looked curiously at me because wanting to take up cycling 6 weeks before my biggest race of the year is not typical runner behaviour. I told him my story and I think he was equally as intrigued to see if I could make this work so very kindly lent me a bike.
I then proceeded to start cycling like I was a professional cyclist, putting myself into a pit of death as I clung to wheels on the uphill’s and tried my hardest not to be a wuss on the downs, which was actually harder than the uphill suffer fest. To be fair I had a bit of a point to prove after giving the Cape Town cyclist shit and trying to overtake as many as possible as I ran up hills so I had to at least pretend I could ride a bike whilst my lungs burnt, my legs hated me and my bum was in a world of pain.
I trudged on getting welcomed with open arms by the cycling community, and slowly looking less like an injured runner and more like an actual real life cyclist mainly due to Enjoy decking me out in all the gear.
I did keep my running roots by cycling with a group of fellow injured runners on a Friday morning at Friday Pastry Club. We would all meet at South Yeaster in Hout Bay on a Friday morning and then do a token 30 min ride to Noredhook and back to the bakery for almond croissants and hot chocolate and we would spend pretty much the whole ride talking shit about cyclists and wondering when we could all run again.
After a couple of weeks John summoned me to his shop and to my surprise, I had moved up a level on Super Mario Brother’s and got given a shiny new green Bianchi, now I had to ride even harder up hill to prove I deserved this bike. I would often get asked what bike it was and a green one didn’t quite cut it except with a bus full of Chinese tourists that lined up in an orderly queue at the top of Chapmans peak to take pictures with the little beauty, not me, the bike!
After two weeks of no running, I decided I was better again and I didn’t need three weeks off, the doctor seemed to not be able to count and when I went back to see her, I got given the all clear to run again. The first run hurt my leg again but I had to suck it up and hope that it would gradually get less and less painful which luckily it did. I was a bit worried for a few days that I was going to have to accept my fate in my new found sport.
So here I was edging scarily close to becoming a triathlete again but replacing the swimming with aqua jogging in a vain attempt to stay as fit as possible and conduct a reverse taper to Comrades. I actually did this in 2018 when I attempted to run from Cape Town to Comrades covering 900km in the 3 weeks before the race so I knew it could be done.
Skip back to that start line I had thrown everything I could to get here I one piece, my leg was no longer sore, I had run two 40km runs in the previous couple of weeks and hadn’t died so it was time to roll the dice.
The national anthem was belted out, the cock crowed and the gun was fired. The work was done and it was now time to see what I could pull out of the bag. I decided not to look at my watch and just run on feel. The only thing my watch would do would be to beep at me every 25 mins in a reminder to take my Maurten 160 gel. The first cheer zone we ran through a little girl screamed in a high pitch bout of excitement “mummy she’s wearing glitter” this gave me goosebumps and made me hone into the crowds.
I had covered myself in enough glitter that I looked like a stripper after a night at work and the crowds were here for it so I smiled, high fived my new found friends on the sidelines and admired the cute outfits along the way and just had a great day out there. Don’t get me wrong running at 4:07min/km is tough and doing it for 90km is long but I honestly had never had this much fun at a race. The last hour was tough because it was getting hot and my legs were starting to hurt but I just had to keep my shit together. I kept telling myself they hurt more when I was riding up Chapmans Peak 15 days earlier somehow at the front of a pack of 20 cyclists absolutely shitting myself that I was going to get eaten up and spat out the back of the pack.
90km’s, 1,200m worth of up hills, 1,800m worth of quad shattering downhills and 6hrs and 13mins after the gun went off I crossed the finish line in 6th place, I was stoked. 6 weeks ago, my leg was too sore to touch and today I had just come 6th in a stacked field at the largest ultra in the world …not bad for a cyclist!
You can check out my race stats here: https://www.strava.com/activities/14734328745
and follow my training here https://www.strava.com/pros/1785161
