COLUMN
Champions! This month ' s piece isn ' t really a Champion column. This one is more of a " let me tell you how I unravelled on the M4 in Durban " column. But pour the coffee and stay with me, because I promise it gets less depressing by the end.
The moment I realised it was completely over, I was somewhere on the M4 and the Durban sun was doing its very best to slowcook me into a potjiekos. It was the Durban International Marathon and the very last day to qualify for Comrades.
It was 135 degrees Celsius in the shade and there was no shade. I looked down at my watch and the maths had gone ridiculous. Required pace to qualify for Comrades: 5:25 per kilometre. Distance still to cover: 14 of the longest kilometres I have ever seen in my life. Every time I tried to push, my body responded with:“ Try that again and we’ re going to throw up all over the road!”
With me on this delightful stretch of road were my two friends, Andrew Gove and Brett Gouws. Absolute CHAMPIONS, both of them! These two had thrown their own race plans in the bin to drag me through the kilometres, saying lovely, encouraging things like: " Come on Rory, keep pushing! Think of the end goal!”
But I had nothing left. UGH! It was a horrible, helpless feeling!
So I looked at Andrew and Brett and said:“ Please just go finish without me. There is no way I can run the rest of this.” After much arguing and insisting on their part, they eventually agreed to leave me. As I watched them run off, I started thinking. I couldn ' t blame the heat. I couldn ' t blame the humidity. I couldn’ t blame the late 06h30 start. For the first time in my running life, I did not qualify for the Comrades Marathon. And the brutal, honest truth is that I didn ' t deserve to.
I was undertrained. I was lazy. I leaned on past fitness and the belief that because I ' d qualified before, Comrades would just kind of happen! It’ s not a loyalty system, Rory! Just because you’ ve finished four doesn’ t mean you get points to help you with the fifth one!
Cutting a long story short, here is the funny thing about failure: it is, weirdly, useful. In the moment as I sipped my warm Powerade on the M4, the failure felt exactly like that: warm Powerade. But in the moment, I already started thinking about what I could do to never have this happen again. As I spent the next two hours on the M4, my brain was already working on Comrades Marathon 2027.
But wait! I need to tell you that when you’ re in this position and fighting for your life, critical but stable, with no hope of qualifying, you are not alone! The M4 was apocalyptic! All of us just walking, then“ running”, then walking, then“ running”, then looking at each other with the same,“ This is over, but here we are” look in our faces.
Special mention to Kaelip, who I met while he was rubbing his legs with ice blocks.“ Are all marathons like this?” he asked. Shame, it was his first one, and truth be told, there was a lot going against us that day, the most significant of which was the late start which brought the horrible Durban heat on us sooner.“ Bru, no they are not,” I replied. The truth is all marathons are tough.
So what now? Well, I ' ll tell you what now. I now have a running coach and plans to qualify for Comrades this year, instead of leaving it to the last minute. A coach turns " I ' ll run when I feel like it " into " You will do these intervals on Tuesday, and no, you do not get a vote." It is the structural opposite of how I ' ve been operating, which is precisely why I need it.
The shift I ' m making is from lazy to accountable. The road to Comrades 2027 doesn ' t start in January when the panic kicks in. It starts now.
Comrades Marathon, I ' ll be back. Andrew and Brett, thank you for carrying my hope on the M4.
I love you. 2-nils. www. modernathlete. co. za 19