Modern Athlete Magazine Issue 130, May 2020 | Page 36

Runners are well looked
after at Addo
Thunder and
Lightning
Thunder clouds on the horizon appeared as we hit the
top, and the fifth aid station. The sun was behind the
mountains, and so, we thought, were our troubles, so
we got up a bit of pace as we moved along the plateau
of the mountains. With renewed life, I was again able
to enjoy the beauty of my surroundings. Steep valleys
on either side and colourful vegetation all around us.
Behind us, however, a storm was coming.
As we reached the sixth aid station, we had increased
our party by an additional runner, and as we ran
together, the three of us women were becoming
more and more aware of the lightning storm. A
photographer got a picture of us, and the lightning in
the background was beautiful as we gave him great
broad smiles, despite swollen legs and hurting feet.
We ran on with thoughts of the finish line a mere 20km
away, but the clouds got closer, and the time between
lightning strikes got shorter and shorter. Slowly, a
feeling of panic started within our little group. We
proceeded faster and faster, overtaking the two
gentlemen who had been my earlier lifeline. I counted
the seconds between flash and boom, but then, the
heavens opened and the flashing and booming was
everywhere. We were surrounded, and then a bolt of
lightning struck so close we could feel the heat and
reverberation on the ground. We ran for our lives.
Through the pain and the open sky we ran towards
nothing more than the finish line that was still 13km
away.
Under the cover of some trees, we slowed slightly. We
were expecting the final aid station to appear, as our
watches said we should be right there, and soon we
began to doubt its existence. Had the storm forced
them to evacuate? Would we be pulled off the course
if we got there in the rain. Was it safe to continue? We
were so close, yet so far away. Soaking wet and still
pumping slightly with adrenalin we eventually came
upon the final aid station.
Night Terrors
With 11km to go and two hours behind schedule, the
light was slowly fading, so out came the headlamps.
Through the woods we walked in unison, trudging
our way forward and waiting for the last climb that
apparently signalled 4km to go. One of our team
members said she’d been told it was a short and
sharp hill, about 300m. Never had anyone been so
wrong!
The night was dark, and we continued moving
forward, waiting for the climb that seemed to
never come… And then, it was there, marked
unceremoniously by a marshal scouting the route in
these unusual race circumstances. But his account
was slightly different. “OK, ladies, just 3km of climbing
and then 1km to the finish, you’ve got this!” Those
words cut to the core. Perhaps we should have
remembered the race profile. The team of four slowly
started to break apart as the climb began. However
much I wanted us to stay together, the urgency of
my need to get to the finish was stronger, and as I
climbed, I kept my head down.
We climbed and climbed, and I wanted to see what
we were climbing, so just for a moment, I stopped
and allowed my waist-mounted light to wander to the
right of the path. The sheer panic that overtook my
body cannot be described, because to my right was a
sheer drop of cliffs that echoed the slightest whisper.
It clawed at the slightest hint of vertigo, pulling at my
very soul. Perhaps it was the dark, or perhaps it was
the play of the light around my waist, but never have I
been more afraid than I was at that moment. I feared
that the dark would pull me off the side and I would
fall. I truly had to stop the panic from rising to the
surface and consuming me.
Images: Richard Pearce & courtesy Donna Crossan
Donna teamed up with Janine Du Toit and Yolan Friedman
Pitstop at the sixth aid station
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ISSUE 130 MAY 2020 / www.modernathlete.co.za