Longtom Marathon Update: A Run Through the South African Mountains

               
              “You will need to be up and ready to head out by 4:30am.  We will leave promptly by a quarter to five and if you are not here, you will be left.”  This was the message being conveyed by the coordinating volunteers of the race.  Not so much in military disciplinary means but with a serious and knowing smile.  And the message was being conveyed at 10pm the evening before the race.  We were gathered in the common area of the backpackers (similar to a hostel) enjoying grilled food and a few beers and the news struck.  I had realized that I would be facing an early departure but I had no idea it would be that early.  Through 3 decades of life, I have accepted that there are certain times of the day when I function reasonably well and certain times when I’d rather not be cognizant.  The early morning definitely comprises the latter.  Furthermore, when the volunteers convene for events such as trainings and workshops, we like to unwind, socialize, and relax a bit.  That was what we were doing the night before this race.  It had been about a month since most of us had seen each other and now we were hanging out in the beautiful mountains at a backpacker with running hot water and great food.  And I was informed we would be leaving earlier than I had awoken in this country yet!  To run!  Eish.  So that news pretty much put an end to the evening’s socializing and most of the volunteers started making preparations for the dormitory sleep.  We had signed up for the race and most of us were eager and proud to take part.  Just not so early. 

                I arose well before the sun and well before what I would consider a healthy time for a human to be non-dormant.  After meeting in the aforementioned backpacker’s common area, we headed across the main street of the town of Sabie in the dark to a local high school.  The volunteers for this event were about 70 in number (there are about 160 Peace Corps Volunteers total in South Africa).  Now I have done quite a few running races and triathlons in the states, but never with such a large group of friends.  It was interesting being awake and social this early with the thought of a looming major physical event approaching.  About ½ of the volunteers planned to run the race and the other half was planning on speed walking.  We were required to finish and we were supposed to finish it in less than 4 hours.  Easier said than done considering the race was throughout the mountains of South Africa.  And the road was called “Longtom Pass” because there was the “Longtom Cannon” at the top of one of the mountain.  The cannon was a symbol for the peak where, during the Boer Wars, one side (not sure which side) would perch to spy out on the enemy coming from any direction.  It was a good spot considering it was the highest point for miles around.  Sure I had done some running in the weeks leading up to the race but nowhere near a mountainous 13 miles.  So I had decided to run what I could and walk the rest.

                Back “home” in the states, the Tarheels were playing for the right to go to the Final Four and admittedly I was more interested in checking the cell phone Internet for game updates than running up and down mountains in the dark.  Once the news came in that the Heels were headed to Detroit, we were at the top of the first mountain.  I had walked up most of the mountain with some friends and had managed to drop a 100 rand bill (about $10) when I slipped my camera out of its case.  I decided to go back down the mountain and search for the bill.  It was crumpled and a bathroom break along with pre-race stretching had sent me to the back of the starting pack anyway.  I figured there were few runners behind me let alone any who would have noticed the bill and scooped it up.  I trudged pretty much all the way back to the starting line before I located the rolled bill on the side of the road.  Success!  With the money safely back in my camera case, I was off.  This time, I was running.

                The trail followed the road as it winded across the grassy mountains.  The views were stunning and the weather was perfect.  As the sun came up, it was about 70 degrees with pretty much 0% humidity.  I felt good running.  I was by myself running and as I passed dozens of walking people I didn’t know and a few I did, I reveled in the fact that I was running atop the mountains of South Africa for a positive cause.  What an opportunity!  An older gentleman approached me from behind toward the beginning of the race.  He greeted me in the language of Afrikaans which sounds like German and is the assumed language for me being that I’m white (to be blunt about it).  I replied “Ek kan Afrikaans praat nee” (or something similar) meaning I can’t speak Afrikaans and he instantly shifted to flawless English.  He asked where I was from and after I told him America he said that his son was living there working on a farm.  Where?  “South Dakota.”  I laughed.  It seemed strange to be at the top of a mountain running and having a foreign man tell me his son was farming in South Dakota.  Most of the time when I tell people where I’m from in the states, they have never heard of it.  North Carolina generally becomes confused with “Canada” which is known to be in the “north.”  The man went on to tell me that he had helped start this Longtom Marathon years ago and now he enjoys taking a more leisurely pace and talking with the participants.  He did seem to know quite a few of the people along with way.  After a short time, he dropped back but added “I will be passing you several times during the day.”  I laughed and replied “well that means I will passing you several times as well!”  He patted me on the back and called me “Mr. Bandana.”

                As I walked up most of the slopes and ran down the others, met up with friends for sections, and ran sections in solitude, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  It felt good to be getting out and running again.  I snapped photos of cows, winding roads, other runners, and sprawling views along the way.  When I finally crossed the finish line in the field of a high school in the town of Lydenburg, I was spent.  My legs ached.  I was not out of breath, but I was sore.  Very sore.  Running down hills definitely uses a different set of muscles than regular flatter courses.  I had finished in 2 hours and 45 minutes which, though far from impressive, was decent especially considering my delayed starting time in search of my 100 rand.

                I relaxed in the inflatable Coca-Cola spider-shaped tent with the other volunteers.  We had to wait for the awards ceremony which was held hours after the race and so we munched on various snacks, drank lots of water, got free massages, and napped.  It was a good feeling.  On the bus ride back to Sabie late in the afternoon, I sat next to an Afrikaaner man from the nearby city of Nelspruit.  He said he was “in his sixties” and had been running the marathon for “years.”  In fact, his hobby was running with his friends in various long-distance races across South Africa.  During the hour long bus ride back over the same roads we had run earlier in the day, we discussed South African politics, American politics, American sports, South African sports, our families, crime in South Africa, the school system, financial auditing, world travel, and long distance running.  To the latter he said that his family thought he was “certifiably insane” but “he was okay with that.”  When I told him we had awoken at 4 for the race, he said he had left Nelspruit at 3!  Through all of his tales and the friendly chatter, the tale that entertained me the most was his relating an annual tradition to me.  Every year during this race, he and a buddy would stop at the one resort hotel on the road (midway through the race none-the-less) and throw off their shirts and shoes and leap in the swimming pool!  He said “its great fun!”  I asked what the hotel thought of this amusing gesture and he laughed and said “I think they are used to it by now!”  He then added that they would get out of the pool and order a lime milkshake from the pool bar before finishing the race.  He told me that he loved lime milkshakes.  (Yeah, well, me too, just not in the middle of a race!)  I thought it lovely to imagine two men in their sixties leaping into a private hotel pool in the middle of a marathon before downing two green shakes.  An image that will stick with me for years no doubt.

                That evening back at the backpacker, the representatives from the KLM Foundation told us about the success of the funding portion of our participation.  Each year, the KLM Foundation funds a learner (student) from a poor rural area to attend a prestigious, private secondary boarding school.  The prospective learner has to go through rigorous interviews and essays.  But they have met success.  They explained that a learner from a few years ago who was a young orphan and head of her household had gone on to be in the academic top 10% of the secondary school.  And this was in comparison with other students who “have financial and parental support you wouldn’t believe.”  This is especially inspiring considering the more ‘destined’ route for these learners had they not been given such a wonderful opportunity.

                Thanks for the support!  It was a wonderful race. 

               

~ by Andrew Bernish on April 8, 2009.