A story from a time long ago

While you can see, you must look.

While you can walk, you must walk.

While you can run, you must run.

While writing this blog, I remembered this story from 1994. 

At the time we were still running and the story was about running and life's up's and downs. 

I did entertained the thought of sending it to the Runners World magazine as a 'First
 Marathon' story at the time, but never did. It was never published, but maybe now is a good time.

It is pasted here as it was written many years ago. 

Every year when Comrades comes around, there is a longing inside of me to run that one once more. Many years ago I watched Bruce Fordyce pulling off the road to let Frith van der Merwe pass in the Comrades. Looking at this drama on the TV next to the barbeque fires at the Fanschhoek church fair, I had this unmentionable yearning to also run that race. But it was still some years before running became part of our lives.

It was after the birth off our second child, that Belinda started attending aerobic classes to get relief from the pressure associated with caring for a choleric baby. Very soon the aerobics was not enough and she asked her brother-in law if he would run with her from the class to our home as part of his training runs. Six times Comrades finisher Sean was very willing. I think he hoped to get some of his in-laws converted to running. Without asking Belinda, Sean entered her for the SAD half marathon in Wellington. She was aghast and at the same time thrilled with the idea of running twenty-one kilometres. I did not take any notice and stayed at home on race day. When they came back she was glowing with enthusiasm for running.

She got me to join her on training runs and it was not too bad – as long as it was not too far. We even did a few half marathons together. Then she decided to run the thirty-kilometre Bay-to-Bay race. My mind could not comprehend a race of thirty kilometres. To all that would listen, I said “It is madness, no one in his right mind will run thirty kilometres just for fun” and on the day of the race I stayed at home. The race was run in the month that my sister, Bertha was diagnosed with cancer.

Sometime between February and April of that year, Belinda started to talk about running a marathon. I can’t recall how she persuaded me to accept the challenge, but we decided to run the Riebeeckberg marathon.

When asked ‘Why the Riebeeckberg? You know it is quite a tough one, going up and down all the time.’ We said something like ‘we like running in the country and the toughness does add something to the appeal of the race.’ Someone said ‘The Riebeeckberg, now that is a nice marathon, the spirit between the runners is exceptional.’ And we silently hoped that the body would be able to go the distance.

The race was scheduled for 24 July 1994. We spent the June school holidays on a camping trip in the Kruger National Park. The whole family was there. Due to the size of the camps, you have to run the same route along the perimeter fence a few times to get some distance, but we were tapering anyway so it did not bother us. One evening in Satara, we had to enjoy and endure the cheers and jeers of a group of people on the veranda of their bungalow quite a few times – they clearly did not understand our activity.

Bertha became very sick at the end of the trip and was rushed to a hospital in Pretoria. We stayed for another week, but she recovered somewhat and we needed to get back, the schools were starting and the marathon was a week away.

The weather forecast for the weekend of the marathon was for a strong northwest wind with rain and low temperatures. It would be the first time in the existence of the Riebeeckberg marathon that rain was expected.

We spent the Friday night before the race with friends in Riebeeck-Kasteel. The thick walls of the sturdy old house blocked out the sounds of the raging storm and we slept surprisingly well.

Saturday morning dawned very cold, wet and windy. Now we must face the ups and downs that we were warned about.

Black plastic bags are the preferred garment as we join a throng of runners walking in the cold breeze to the start. We start the race in nervous anticipation of what is laying ahead. The wind is pushing us along and the first few kilometres pass faster than we planned. It occurs to me that maybe these marathon runners are in a class of their own, running this fast with so many kilometres of the race still to be run.

The route turns around in Riebeeck-Kasteel and you run back to Riebeeck-Wes on the same route. Later in the race, you have to negotiate this same stretch of undulating road again. A master runner passes us, it is his first marathon after Comrades and he huffs and puffs and moans, but still he pulls ahead and leaves us to struggle along against the wind.

The water table at the PPC factory turnoff is a refreshing site with a row off cheering costume clad children. Since I am running on my own with no other runner in sight they must be putting up the cheering just for this one tired runner.

The route turns left onto a gravel road, the weather is now mild and the running easy. Some wisecrack talks about the mother of all hills that will be coming up soon. We pass through the halfway mark exactly on schedule and enter new unexplored territory. The distance starts telling on me and up to the twenty-fifth kilometre mark it is a real struggle. On the mother of all hills we are forced to walk for the first time in the race.

Two very relaxed guys run with us on the downhill towards the Malmesbury tar road. It is on the tip of my tongue to ask for some advice when one says ‘Yes man, this is totally new territory for us.’

The occupants of a shiny German luxury car wearing thick warm jackets against the biting wind, hands a mug of steaming coffee to their runner. How I envy her.

After thirty kilometres you hit the tar road again at the bottom of a vicious uphill. The wind is now blowing across the road and ice cold rain is coming down out of the dark grey clouds. Before we reach the top of the hill the wind speed has increased dramatically driving the ice-cold rain nearly horizontal across the road. This is where the real challenge starts. From the top off the hill, the long downhill to Riebeeck-Kasteel disappears in the grey sheets of rain. The wind seems to be blowing at gale force and it is an effort to keep moving. I am glad that I kept the black plastic bag, for now it comes in handy.

Our schedule is now totally out. ‘Will we be able to beat the cut-off time?’ My brain is to dumb and cold to work out the distance-time relationship.

Mercifully the wind decreases and the rain stops as we enter Riebeeck Kasteel. Normally the race photographers can be found at this point, but today there is only trees swinging in the wind. Maybe they where beaten into retreat by the storm.

At a water table you get a Kit-Kat and that saves the day – a real booster.

Thirty-nine kilometres down and now I am really tired.

‘Belinda, I want to walk.’

‘No ways, if I walk now I won’t be able to get going again.’

Off she goes. Forcing my legs into a stumble I just hang in. At the forty-kilo mark the legs start feeling better. ‘Does life begin at forty?’

On the last uphill in Riebeeck-Wes, Belinda becomes tired and I take her hand. We might just make it if we can keep going.

At last, after four hours and twenty-five minutes, we reach the finish together.

At noon we are driving home through the storm lashed countryside and can’t stop talking about this new experience, what a high. How marvellous that we could run this distance. We want to share it with anyone that will listen.

On reaching home we phone Ben, but a metallic voice of an answering machine says ‘This is Ben’s house. Leave your number and we will phone you back.’ That’s very strange; they never had an answering machine. No one answers at Mom and Dad’s house. What about Ronnie and Fransie? Also no answer. So let’s try Celia, but she’s out as well. Where is everybody? The whole family is out of reach and we are bubbling over with excitement of an experience we want to share.

The telephone rings. It is Ben returning our call.

‘Hallo Ben, how are you?’

‘Not good, Bertha died at noon.’

I didn’t even mention the marathon, it has paled into insignificance.