June 24, 2008
Bob on Comrades
By Bob Francis, Owner
soundRUNNER
This Fathers Day weekend I completed two ultra-marathons in South Africa: the first to get to the starting line, the second the 83rd running of the 56-mile Comrades Marathon between Durban and Pietermaritzburg. My flight from New York arrived too late in Capetown on Friday evening to make the 5:00 p.m. domestic connection to Durban. There were no more flights that evening, and the airline could not confirm a seat until 5:00 p.m. Saturday. Packet pick-up in Durban closed at 5:00 p.m. on Saturday. No bib, no access to the start, no official time.
So I rented a car, and by 6:00 p.m. Friday was driving on the left side of the road from Capetown to Durban. Capetown sits in a bowl ringed by steep hills, and was ravishingly beautiful at sunset as I drove up the switchbacks on N2, a national road, headed east. When you think national road, don’t think I-95. Think Route 146. As the crow flies, Durban is perhaps 800 miles from Capetown. As the car drives, the distance is 1100 miles. But I did not know that as I drove along the coast on a twisting, mountainous road into the South African night. When I stopped for gas and asked, no one knew how far Durban was. I passed Port Elizabeth before daybreak, where the road turned inland from the coast. At 6:00 a.m., after driving 700 miles, I saw the one and only sign for Durban I would see for nearly the entire drive: Durban 405 miles (the road signs are actually in kilometers). I recalculated quickly and decided I could make Durban by 2:00 p.m. Saturday.
I passed through the East Cape Province and approached Kwazulu-Natal, traversing game parks, villages, and towns as people crowded the streets for morning market, lined the roads in hopes of a ride, and walked with bundles of wood balanced on their heads. These are the scenes we know about South Africa: impoverished people living remote, primitive lives, living under minority rule and Apartheid law until 1989. What we don’t know about South Africa is its wealth. We know they have diamonds and gold, but we don’t know that Capetown and Durban are the two largest ports in Africa, that South Africa has a large industrial infrastructure, and that growing conditions are comparable to California.
At 2:00 p.m. I arrived at the outskirts of Durban, a metropolitan region of three million inhabitants situated where the Indian Ocean meets the Bay of Natal. With a little luck, I found my hotel by 2:30 p.m. Even luckier, packet pick-up was right across the street from the hotel. I had not known that when I registered. At 3:00 p.m., following 48 hours of travel featuring a 20-hour drive with no food and two cokes, I walked into the hotel lobby to register. There waiting for me was Bernard, who said he knew all along I would make it. We ate quickly, and by 4:00 p.m. I was in bed with a wake-up call for 4:00 a.m.
Race-day had arrived! Bernard and I stepped out of the hotel at 4:45 into the San Diego-like, 55-degree night, aware that an 80-degree, cloudless day of running awaited us. We moved toward the starting corrals in front of Durban’s City Hall, in complete awe of the large groups of running-club members, singing tribal songs in open harmonies. If you remember Ladysmith Black Mombassa signing back-up for Paul Simon, you get the picture. The town of Ladysmith is not far from Pietermaritzburg, in Kwazulu-Natal Province, in the heart of Zulu tribal lands. We entered the corrals with more than 11,000 runners, listened to the introductory speeches and Chariots of Fire, heard the rooster crow twice, the gun sound, and we were on our way from coastal Durban, over five storied elevation peaks to Pietermaritzburg, some 87 kilometers distant on the “Up” course, and more than 3000 feet higher than the start in elevation.
I will save most of the race-specific commentary for the discussion at the upcoming Saturday Morning Coffee Series, where Bernard and I will describe where we ran. I want to conclude this unusually long edition of the Lane by describing what I ran for. I had known of Comrades for a very long time, but thought the African venue and length of the race both unattainable. I learned over the last few years from the ultra crowd that I could probably manage the distance. I hoped I could manage the reasonably challenging 12-hour time limit, which I knew would be rigidly enforced. When Bernard suggested we go, I knew at this point in my life I could arrange the travel. I was attracted by the legendary difficulty of the race and the purity of its purpose: to honor the military service of South Africans in World War I, members of the Legion of Comrades.
In November of 2007, I ran the 45 running of the JFK 50 Mile in Maryland, a race with a purpose similar to Comrades. Started to promote John F. Kennedy’s Physical Fitness initiative, the JFK 50 evoked the era when every military officer serving Teddy Roosevelt’s presidency was required, every year, to complete a 50-mile march within 20 hours to keep his commission. As of the 45 running, the purpose of the JFK was absolutely intact. Every branch of service, service academy, and military school fielded a team. Other runners displayed their unit insignia. The vibrant display of purpose was largely absent from the Comrades. I saw two or three battered vans with unit designations along the road to Pietermaritzburg, their septuagenarian occupants cooking out, largely unnoticed by and unengaged with the field. Comrades is big business and grand theater, with a permanent office, a full-time staff, international cachet, and significant prize money. It didnŐt seem to me to be about the guy who served his country and honored his mates that first running in 1921.
I am proud of earning a finisher’s medal at Comrades. The course was tough, hot, steep, and long. Out of a starting field of 11,100, I finished 6,400 out of 8,200 finishers. I would like to return next year for the “Down” course to see if I can earn the “Back-to-Back” medal. The country is as beautiful as the Africa my father described to me when I was a boy. And though I didnŐt find the connection to purpose I was looking for in the race, I found it in myself.
Archive of Bob’s Lane
Issue 1: May 1, 2007: Bob on the Bash
Issue 2: May 10, 2007: Bob on Dave Parcells
Issue 3: May 24, 2007: Bob on the Branford Road Race
Issue 4: June 1, 2007: Bob on Being Green
Issue 5: June 15, 2007: Bob from the Left Coast
Issue 6: June 23, 2007: When Pain is Leisure
Issue 7: July 6, 2007: At Seventeen
Issue 8: July 13, 2007: Bob on Cities
Issue 9: July 30, 2007: Bob on Mike
Issue 10: August 8, 2007: Bob on Nature: Nature on Endurance Running
Issue 11: August 17, 2007: Bob on What I Like
Issue 12: August 24, 2007: Bob on Running Older
Issue 13: August 31, 2007: Bob on Runners in the Raw
Issue 14: September 9, 2007: Bob on Exercise and Adult Neurogenesis—Say What?
Issue 15: February 12, 2008: Bob on the Times
Issue 16: June 3, 2008: Bob on Fathers Day
