The Comrades Marathon has one of the most storied histories in all of running. The race is so old that its distance, which varies a bit from year to year, is more than double the modern marathon distance of 26.2 miles. Comrades started in South Africa in 1921, and up to then there had been no official marathon distance. It was typically a long run of around 25 miles, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t call your much-longer run a marathon too. The distance of the race was simply the distance from Pietermaritzburg to Durban, around 90k. Despite the standardizing of the term “Marathon”, Comrades stuck with tradition and calls itself a marathon to this day.
I chose the race because for some reason I really wanted to run my age in miles. At age 56, that meant I needed to find a really long race, and Comrades was about that length, and has a wonderful history and tradition to boot. As it turned out, the official length of the course this year was only 87.7k, or 54.5 miles. But I only learned that fact a few weeks before the race. Flights and hotels were booked, so this would have to do!
A few weeks later I was at the race expo collecting my swag and race bib, and Greta got this photo of me next to the Comrades logo.
With apologies to Princess Leia, I look a little chubby for an ultra runner, but I had definitely put in the miles of training, and I was pretty sure I could finish the race under the 12-hour cutoff.
The next day, the day before the race, I decided to do a little shakeout on the promenade in Durban. Turns out thousands of fellow runners had the same idea, and it was like a huge party out there, with teams running in their official gear, singing as they ran. I took a short video to try to capture the feeling. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced!
I wanted to explore this amazing place, to try exotic foods, but I knew that walking around too much before a long race was not a good idea, so I chilled at the hotel and found a pasta place for race-day dinner.
Finally, after a fitful (and short) sleep, I got up at 1:30 am to get ready for the race. I grabbed a quick breakfast, then walked from my hotel to the Durban Exposition Center, where buses would transport us to the race start. I recorded the 1-mile walk to the bus stop in case I would need to count it as part of my 56-mile day.
There was a long, but orderly line for the buses, and soon we were on our way to Pietermaritzburg for the start of the race. We arrived at 4:15, in plenty of time for the 5:30 race start.
At Comrades, the cutoff times are enforced from the starting gun, not the time you cross the start line. With 20,000 runners, folks at the back of the pack may take 10 minutes to cross the line, so naturally everyone wanted to get to their starting spot as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately a critical sign was missing directing folks to the “F” corral, where I (and several thousand others) had qualified to start. We ended up in a log jam, with a big fence blocking our entry. Frustrated runners asked race officials to let us in, but we were told to wait, while others from corrals lower on the list (whose direction signs weren’t missing), were clearly getting in ahead of us. Eventually someone just pushed the temporary 8-foot-tall fence down, and we all poured into the starting area.
Fortunately, once everyone was in the starting area, we all settled down and awaited the start, now only 20 minutes away. At this point, the runners started breaking into song! I’ve been in dozens of races, and this is definitely the first time that’s ever happened. Here’s a little video clip of the moment.
Finally, after more songs, the national anthem, and a bungled attempt by the DJ to get everyone energized for the race, the starting gun went off at exactly 5:30. And we slowly made our way to the start. After 8 excruciating minutes, we finally crossed the line, and the race began for real.
My plan for the first 20 miles was to limit my pace and make sure I didn’t try to run too fast. I was hoping to finish in under 11 hours, which requires an 11:45 per mile pace. I knew I could easily achieve that pace, even if I tossed in a few minutes of walking per mile. As it turned out, going slow enough over the first few miles wasn’t really a problem. The course was so crowded that you had little choice but to run the same pace as the people around you. Then there was a massive bottleneck in Mile 3 where the course narrowed from 4 traffic lanes to 2. My pace for Mile 3 ended up at 14:44. Combine that with the crowding during Mile 1, and my average pace for the first 3 miles was 14:30! Finally things started to open up a bit, and I refocused on keeping a steady, comfortable pace. This photo should give you a sense of just how crowded it was during those early miles.
That said, we were being treated to some beautiful countryside at dawn, with a crowd of like-minded people who all just loved running. Things could be worse!
Comrades Marathon traditionally changes direction every year, alternating starting in Durban on the coast, or Pietermaritzburg in the mountains. When you start in Pietermaritzburg, it’s called a “down year” because the run is mostly downhill. So this was a down year, but if you take a look at the elevation profile, you’ll see that’s only half true: there is a whole lot of climbing too—adding up to over 3,800 feet!
The downhill doesn’t really begin in earnest until you are more than halfway through the race. The accepted wisdom for Comrades in a down year is to not wear yourself out in the first part of the race; you will then be able to recover time in the second half. But I knew from my training that I would slow in the second half no matter what, and my legs would be trashed by then no matter what. I had to build a bit of a cushion at the start or I would be in jeopardy of not finishing. I wanted to at least be running that 11:45 pace, which would give me an hour of cushioning that I would almost certainly need!
As I tried to pick up my pace a bit over the next few miles, a man passed me and told me my race number was falling off my hydration pack. At Comrades you are required to have a race number front and back, so I stopped to remove my pack and fix the problem.
I was able to fix the number and awkwardly re-seat the pack on my back, but it had cost me a precious minute of race time. I hastened to get back to running. After a few minutes I noticed something seemed wrong about my pack. I patted the side where my fuel gels should be and it was empty! They must have fallen out while I was adjusting my race number! I had lost at least 5 of the 20 gels I would need for the rest of the race. I had already adapted my fueling plan for the race because it wasn’t easy to get the water out of the floppy race-provided sachets into my flexible water bottles. I ditched my plan of mixing my own Tailwind during the race and would be relying on the official energy drink for the race, “Energade,” which I had only tried for the first time the night before. Now I would need to rely on Energade even more. I decided to load up early on Energade and save my remaining gels for later.
At least now it wasn’t quite so crowded and I was able to run steadily without worrying too much about the other runners. I clicked off several miles in the 11-minute pace range and caught up to the 11-hour “bus,” which is what they call the pace teams at Comrades. I’m not usually one to stick with a pace group, but I figured that with all the hills in this race, it would probably be easier just to stick with a group than to try to plot my own plan. So I just got on the bus with these guys and ran.
For the next 15 miles or so I was comfortably on the 11-hour bus. It was a little more crowded on a bus because perhaps 200 people were sticking with one pacer, but it meant I didn’t have to think and could just stay with a group. We walked a lot on the uphills and ran more on the downhills than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have much trouble keeping up with this group. The only time it was a problem was at aid stations, when it was difficult to get what you wanted with 200 others grabbing for it at the same time. This little video gives you a sense of what it was like near aid stations with the 11-hour bus (I’m having trouble adding videos from my phone so you’ll have to follow this link to watch)
Otherwise things were going well. We were in a beautiful, hilly region, and it was quite a sight to see the seemingly infinite train of runners ahead and behind us:
I was through mile 25 and still feeling pretty good. But I was also beginning to wonder when our long descent out of the mountains would begin. I kicked myself for not doing a better job memorizing the course beforehand. We would crest a hilltop, then make a long descent. I would think surely we were done with the biggest hills, and then we’d start up another one.
At some point in this section, I lost contact with the 11:00 bus and was again running on my own. It was nice to be out of the crowd for a bit but I was also bargaining with myself over when to take walk breaks, when to push a little harder.
I was definitely slowing down, though, running more miles in the 12s and 13s and fewer in the 10s and 11s. But I did finally make it to the serious descent. When I did, I wished I hadn’t.
Now, around Mile 33, pain shot through my legs with every step. I was supposed to be running faster on these downhills, but I just couldn’t, and my pace was stubbornly in the 13s.
I slowed even more for the climbs, which became bigger and more frequent around Mile 43.
I spent my time going over and over the paces I would need to finish. I had no shot at sub-11 hours, but what would I need to finish in 11:30? How much could I slow down and still be assured of finishing before the absolute 12-hour deadline?
At Mile 48 the 11:30 bus caught up with me. Could I stick with them for the next 6+ miles? I decided to give it a shot. Once again I got into the rhythm of the group and was able to pick up my pace. I made a video of them chanting, over 50 miles into the race. It definitely helped to be running with a group again.
But after just a few miles, I could no longer keep up, the pain of running downhill was too great and I had to walk. I was walking everywhere now, up and down, barely running at all. But there were just a few miles left. I was walking at a 15-16 minute pace, and by all my calculations it looked like I would make it with several minutes to spare.
With just 2 miles left, I was passed by the 12-hour bus. If they were accurately pacing, I had to stay with them or get eliminated from the results. Fortunately another runner confirmed that there were several 12-hour buses, and this was just the first one, well ahead of schedule. I decided to try to run again and was surprised to find that I could. We were well within the city of Durban now and the hills weren’t quite so steep. With a mile to go I actually passed the bus and continued ahead on my own.
I knew Greta was waiting at the finish stadium and I didn’t want to be in a big crowd as I finished. I timed it just right and ran into the stadium with a solid 10 meters of empty turf ahead of me. It was almost as if I was running alone. There were thousands of fans screaming for me and the other runners. I made my way around the stadium. I ran around the final corner and saw the finish line. I raised my arms in triumph. There might have even been a fist pump in there. I saw the clock click to 11:46:00 just before I crossed the line. I had done it! And Greta did see me, snapping this photo as I headed toward the line!
According to my watch, the total distance of the run was 55.29 miles. Added to the 1.03 from my walk to the stadium, that puts me comfortably over 56 miles at age 56.
I wish I could tell you more about how amazing and how difficult this run was for me. Maybe I will find the words someday. But I would say that if you are at all inclined to run Comrades, and you have the means to do it, then you should. It’s like no other race I’ve experienced.
There’s lots more I could say about this race, but I’m exhausted, so I’m going to leave you with this Strava record. Thanks for reading!
