Comrades Marathon 2018

June 10, 2018

What an experience. The pre-race celebrations started with singing of the South African National Anthem and shosholoza. They played Chariots of Fire, then, boom! Confetti was everywhere, and off we went. I was in the second wave, and it only took me about a minute to cross the start line. This was important because this race is measured in gun time (not chip time). It took us a few minutes to settle in and spread out the 20,000 runners out of the bottleneck. 90% of the runners were South African, 4% were from the rest of Africa, and 6% were from the rest of the world. 80% of the runners were men, and 20% were women.

In South Africa, runners are a part of a team. It was really cool to hear all the teams singing their fight songs together during the first half hour of the race. My bib, colored blue to indicate that I'm international, also had my name and the number of finishes: 0. Runners nearby came up to me, gave me a warm welcome to South Africa, and wished me well on my first Comrades.

Elevation profile of down run

We ran the first hour and a half in the dark. The sunrise was absolutely beautiful over the green hills. I was afraid the sun would be in our eyes as we moved east but soon found the sun was positioned slightly hidden behind the trees and hills. We got very lucky with the weather. Typically, the temperatures get into the 80s (F), but this year, the high was only 72F with plenty of cloud cover.

As the team chants quieted, the spectators began to line the route. In South Africa, I don't think there are many Asians. I had no idea that my experience would be incredibly unique and bizarre because of my race and gender. Very quickly, I became kind of a celebrity. Among a sea of men, I was the only female runner, and spectators would cheer me on with great enthusiasm as I ran past them. Young teenage girls were especially excited to see me. At the same time, because of their lack of exposure to Asians, they were shouting racist words that took me by surprise. They nicknamed me "China" and "nunchucks" and kept chanting "ching chong" as I approached. I soon realized that the spectators were being extremely supportive of me, and that their seemingly inappropriate word choices were due to a lack of familiarity with Asians.

My fan base seemed to grow as the miles went on. In addition to China, nunchucks, and ching chong, I heard them call me lady, sister, mama, sissie, and baby girl. Because there was such overwhelming support for me, I thought it was really funny to hear a male runner respond, "Go men, too!" in response to a spectator's focused cheers. I said to him, "Yeah, you're working just as hard as me!"

One young teenager ran with me for a while and told me that I was her favorite. "I really want you to win this race. Would you do that for me?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I told her that the winners are waaay up ahead.

Comrades Wall of Honour near Drummond

The aid station at mile 31 went absolutely crazy for me. They were all shouting my name as well as screaming "Go, China" and chanting "ching chong." The volunteers at the aid station and the spectators - probably over 100 people - were all cheering for me and shouting "I love you!" It almost felt like I was the only one running the race. Their support overwhelmed me with intense emotions.

Plaques from Wall of Honour

Then, at mile 35, I tripped on a light reflector on the road, and managed to scrape my shoulder, knees, and hand (photo after the spill). I barely scraped my face, but that's all the spectators noticed. When I tripped, my calf seized into a cramp, leaving me on my back. It was like time stood still, and 6 faces appeared above me. Someone asked if I was seeing stars. I said, "No, I just can't get up because my calf is cramped." Then someone else asked what kilometer marker I just passed. I was going by my watch set to miles, and I vaguely remembered I was around mile 33. I responded, "I think I'm at mile 33. Sorry, I'm American, and I don't know my kilometers." The person who asked seemed mildly aggravated but felt reassured that I was not experiencing a concussion. "She's fine," he announced to the group. The time I spent laying on my back seemed to last an eternity, but a runner later told me that he saw me fall and by the time he caught up with me, I was up and running.

I seemed to regain control of my calf and off I went to a hobbling trot. The bruise on my knee was painful, but soon the endorphins masked the pain. Someone asked if I needed a medic, and I said, "Yeah, I'll go find one." An aid station was nearby, and I went from table to table, asking for a medic. Someone said that his first aid kit was behind the water table, so I followed him only to be told that he must have given it to someone else - just keep running. So I ran almost another mile to the next aid station, yelling that I needed a medic. Finally, after asking two more tables, I finally got access to a first aid kit. Two kind ladies nervously cleaned my wounds with alcohol and covered them with Vaseline. Cleaning the scrapes stung like crazy, but I knew I didn't want them to get infected. Here, I probably lost 3 minutes searching frantically for a first aid kid and getting cleaned up.

Official splits

At this point, I was still on track for an 8:30 finish, but now I was not sure if mentally, I was in the game. At the Pinetown aid station, the crowds went wild again. A woman grabbed my hand that was still injured from the fall and ran a good 100m with me, screaming and flailing her other arm the whole time. I was touched by her enthusiasm, but worried about how grossed out she would be to find bloody Vaseline on her hand later.

I was able to keep my pace consistent for about 13 more miles, but in the final 8 miles, the soreness in my quads really got to me. The morning of the race, the lower part of my quads just above the knees were sore from the two 10-hour flights. I had arrived a day and a half early, but it wasn't enough time to allow me to recover. I definitely did not feel fresh when I started the race, and now I was paying for it. The last 6 miles of downhill were brutally painful.

As I got closer to the finish line, the crowds were screaming, "China made it!" I was scaring small children with the wound on my shoulder. "Why does China have a big wound?" "Look, China fell!" they cried out. At this point, I could no longer run the downhills without taking frequent walking breaks. Surprisingly, the intermittent uphills were still runnable for me, and it almost felt soothing on my ankles. I could still keep a solid ~9 min/mi pace only on the uphills. The runners around me must have thought that I was insane. Walking when everyone else was running downhill and running by myself on the uphills while everyone else walked.

Splits in miles. My watch stopped when I fell at mile 35.74.

I began whimpering in pain as I ran the downhills periodically. A runner passing by heard my cries of pain, and said to me, "I've been watching you since the start, and I really admire you as a runner." I assumed that he was referring to my fall and recovery from it. His words, combined with the frustration with my inability to run downhill, made me get very emotional. I was grateful for his words of encouragement, and at the same time I hated him for almost bringing me to tears when I should be focused on the race.

The last mile had a very slight incline that gave me the resolve to find my running legs. As we entered Moses Mabhida Stadium for the finish, I finally started passing people. It felt incredible to cross the finish line. I was 7 minutes and change short of my goal time, but all things considered, I am very happy with my finish with a Bill Rowan medal. I can't wait to go back in an odd year for the up version of this race!

During the 11th hour, 50% of the finishers

complete Comrades.

Time 8:37:03
Overall Place 1943/16478
Gender Place 113/3371