The Comrades Marathon has the cutest finisher medal, similar to a £2 coin in size and weight, but infinitely more valuable to those who have earned one. In SA, not just the runners but their families also. South Africans are proud of anyone they know who has done Comrades. I’m not usually a sentimental person. I would happily give 99% of my trophies away, but my little Comrades medal means a lot to me. I’m treasuring this one. 

I’ve run several international ‘marquee’ races, and Comrades is now my favourite. It’s a unique race that shows the best of South Africa and the best of humanity. What a place. What a nation. 

It was a very early 0400 start, dark and cold. Justin (bless him, what a perfect supportive ‘seconder’ he would turn out to be) drove me as close to the start line as he could, and when we hit solid traffic, I jumped out of the car and walked the rest of the way to the start area, following a stream of people wearing bin bags to keep warm. Eventually, I got to my pen, 'G', way back from the front, so much so that it took me 11 minutes of crowded shuffling to cross the official start line! So I was minus -11mins without a single metre run. I’d set myself a goal of finishing in under 9 hours, which would earn me a “Bill Rowan” medal - very respectable in the running community. 

The race officially begins at 0530, and it starts unlike any other. The rousing synthesiser chords of Vangelis’ Chariots of Fire startled me out of my pensive, locked-in focus. Wow. Then came the universally sung shosholoza and the South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. Many proud Saffers had tears in their eyes, and I could feel and understand why. Finally, a cock’s crow sound was played (a historical tradition), and the race had officially begun. 

The first quarter of the race starts slowly jogging through the high rises of Durban before heading to a wide motorway. You cannot run faster because it’s so packed at this stage. All the way along, people lined the streets, dancing and cheering. Now you must remember that this is at 0530 in the morning! It’s still dark, and it’s still cold. As recommended on a YouTube video I watched, I’m wearing an old TeamGB jacket, which prompts supporting shouts of “Go Britain!” “UK, UK, UK”, other Brits running fist pump me as I pass. Eventually, the sun started rising, and I handed my jacket to a boy at the side of the road with the most smiley smile.

After a couple of hours, we’re running through the suburbs of Durban, but the solid sideline support remains the same. Occasionally hilly but nothing too taxing. I approached a row of car dealerships, and the first prearranged meeting point with Justin was imminent—a spot just before the first of the race’s gruelling uphill climbs. I take the opportunity to grab my sunglasses, sip an electrolyte drink and fill my pockets with sweets. The next meeting point would be close to the halfway mark at 42 km.

And so the uphill begins. And goes on. And on. And on. It is curved and winding but always has a challenging gradient of smooth tarmac. The sun is right in your eyes here as it rises and brightens like turning a dimmer switch. I put my headphones on and start overtaking a steady stream of people, even though it’s just a jogging pace. But I am determined not to walk just yet. I need to catch up to the 9-hour pacemaker, who is somewhere ahead. My oversized sunglasses help to hide my grimacing face. The hill begins to level off, and we enter a residential area. Homeowners and families offering trays of sweets, orange slices, salty potatoes, and Powerades. The people of Durban were there to get you through. Even though “Chris” was written relatively small on my race number, not 10 seconds passed without someone encouraging me using my name. “You got this, Chris” “Keep going, Chris” “Awesome, Chris”,… you get the idea. Simply amazing. Emotionally so. The tarmac hills kept coming. Winding up and down. Mostly up with some stunning views of Durban’s surrounding countryside. It was here that I finally caught up to the 9-hour pacemaker and felt relieved to be gradually pulling away from him and his group, or “bus” as it’s called. 

I met Justin at roughly the halfway point. 42kms or 26 miles. Another uphill marathon to go. It's just not as uphill as the first “warm-up” marathon, as I call it. Justin captured this meet-up on film, and you can hear his brilliant encouragement to me. Again, I skip the energy gels and opt for a handful of sweets and a couple of painkillers instead before departing.

Not long after, I passed the Comrades Wall, and Arthur’s seat and the field of runners became less busy. I still had managed not to walk any section so far. But as I was ahead of the 9-hour pacemaker, I told myself it would probably be a good idea to conserve some energy on the scarier gradient hills so I could finish the race with more in the tank to use. I remember a period now of straight roads, but it's pretty much always up. I thought now would be a good time to zone out and bank some kilometres. It was on this section that I discovered one of my favourite things about Comrades - salted potatoes. I was regretting not consuming some more substantial fuel in my earlier meet-up with Justin and started to look at what the locals were offering on trays. Not long after, I was offered what was essentially a salty boiled/roasted potato - phenomenal, trust me! In retrospect, it was just what I needed, as I was losing a lot of salt without realising it, and my energy reserves were low. 

Justin's meet-up point 3 was around the 65km mark. I didn’t arrive there feeling as strong as I wanted to. I thought my pace was dropping, I felt a bit negative, and my knee hurt. But his encouragement and familiar voice gave me the boost I needed to snap out of a little bit of grumpiness and head off for the final section determined and focused on, well, basically, not f***ing up my Bill Rowan time. I was also reminded of the motivational words of my Comrades advisor and one of Justin’s friends, Mills, who said, “Do a negative split (faster second half than first half), Comrades, and I’ll kneel before you”. A cleverly disguised goad / taunt that just may have encouraged me to employ exactly the right strategy for this epic race.

This final section includes getting to the highest point on the run and descending to the finish in Pietermaritzburg. I don’t think my brain was working particularly well at this point, as I can’t remember too much. There were a lot of modern roads with a good surface to get some pacey km done on the slight downhills. Eventually, I reached a notorious hill in the later stages of the race called Polly Shortts. Invariably, everyone was walking up this hill, but I tried to adopt a run-ten-walk-ten strategy and paid the price. I probably depleted too much energy doing that, and the last 6kms through Pietermaritzburg and finally to the stadium were a hard slog. I removed my headphones and drew upon the support offered by the crowds again. The 1km sign appeared, and the streets became busy with people and sponsor logos. There were loud cheers the whole way, right across the finish line and into the stadium.

I had done it. 8hrs 41, official time. I felt relieved and proud, mainly because of the injuries that had affected my training for the race. But also because Comrades is hard. Hard hard hard. But also, love love love.

Now I have to come back next year and do the downhill. 

Oh, South Africa, I love you. X