DAY ONE
October the 8th 2008. The sun rose in the East (as it is usually does), and shone down weakly between banks of low clouds, and frequent bouts of drizzle, on a pod of Southern Right Whales basking in the bay outside our hotel window, just along from the Old Harbour in Hermanus.
But my Team Mate "Leaders", (aka Captain Kirk), and I, (aka Dr.Spock), were not in the “Happy Tourist” mood as many others were that morning. We had our eyes fixed firmly on the weather, (which was looking pretty bleak), and our minds were grappling with the voluntary beating and physical mutilation we were about to subject ourselves to over the next five days.
The start of the race was at 12h00PM. This left me dealing with the longest morning of my life. Watching the other teams file into the dining room for breakfast didn’t help either. Everyone seemed to be sporting matching designer kit, had military “commando” style haircuts, looked damned fit, and as hard as nails. And there was a definite vibe in the air, as everybody sized each other up. Good old Leaders broke the ice though, , introducing our team, (Scar Trek) to everybody that would listen, and cutting through the thick atmosphere with the usual barrage of chirps.
We returned to our rooms to repack our bags for the 57th time, banishing some things, and including others, (that we banished earlier),before setting off to check our bags onto the truck, and signing ourselves in to the "chute" for the start.
At the start, there was a brief announcement that there was to be a route change to the 30km Stage 1: Heavy rain had meant the one river we were to cross had burst its banks, and we were to run a kilometre inland to a point where we would be “taken across on rubber ducks”…. No stress I thought. The ride on a rubber duck would be a nice break to the running...
THE START
At last the start came, and we were off, and damned pleased to be running. The nerves began to settle, and the banter between the teams began in earnest. The route took us down about 3km of tar to the New Harbour, and then onto some jeep track along the beach. Finally, the jeep track ran out, and the real trail / beach running began. A 4km coastal path headed past Onrus and Vermont on some single track through Mudge Point Nature Reserve to Hawston. The going was very wet, with lots of little streams flowing out of nowhere onto the beach, and I could see it wasn’t going to be possible to run without wet shoes. So we settled into a comfortable pace, and enjoyed the crowd support from the many residents who had come out in the rainy weather to wave us on our way.
The River crossing eventually appeared at about the 20km mark. We ran inland for the 1km we were told about, only to find the rubber duck crossing was not what we expected: Rather, it was a pontoon made up of about 40 rubber ducks tied together to form a bridge, across which you were meant to scramble.
So we started this, but after getting about two thirds of the way across, some Brain Surgeon managed to capsize one of the boats, so I gave up and took to the water, and waded across the remaining channel. Now just 11km of beach remained, so we set off for home.
The going was pretty tough, and the recent storm damage meant the camber on the beach was pretty rough on the legs and ankles. The sand was patchy too, so by the time Kleinmond appeared, and we ran over the lagoon bridge and into the Race Village, my shoes were heavy, and full of sand, and I was pleased that section was over, and the beach running was confined to Day One.
Fortunately, the weather looked as it was lifting, and after securing a tent, having a shower, and weathering the daily massage we had booked, Capt. Kirk and I kicked back on bean bags in the Chill Zone, and had a Miller to celebrate the start to the great adventure!
DAY TWO
Thursday morning, the truck hooters woke us sharp at 05h00. Capt. Kirk and I hit the breakfast at 05h30, and wolfed down the daily oats, scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and jam, fruit, etc, in order to fuel the tanks for the 57km, 1,100 m climb that makes up Day Two.
The nerves were there at the start, but nowhere near as bad as Day One, and we quickly settled into a rhythm. The heavy rain had forced another route change, as the Palmiet River we were meant to follow was flowing a bit too strongly, but the fascists in the Race Office had improvised, and we soon found ourselves crossing another river, and snaking up through the fynbos covered hills towards Paul Cluver Wine Estate. We climbed 600m in the first 11km, and the climbing didn’t seem to abate much until about 42km, when we turned down into the Lebanon Forest, through the trees, with beautiful shady paths and easy running..
We slipped under the N2 highway, and then up 8km of hills to find ourselves in bright sunshine at Paul Cluver. We both felt pretty good, and were happy to have the longest stage under our belts, and no trauma or injuries to deal with. The usual routine of showering, massage and chilling awaited us. We also visited the Estate in search of food, (to no avail), and I managed to sneak in a quick wine tasting, (just to keep in form).
Gavin Markgraaff and his partner “The Good Doctor” Andre Lombard (a.k.a. The Winged Avenger, see later photo for explanation), had exercised their rights as Second Year Veteran Runners to stay at B&B’s, rather than rough it in the tents with us "Freshmen". They phoned to say they were having steak egg and chips for dinner. This sounded just right, so we invited ourselves over, and Capt. Kirk set about charming some poor lady in the office at Paul Cluver to drive us over there. And this is where it all started to go a little bit wrong I think…. The Millers were a little too cold, the hospitality from the B&B management a little too good, and the bottle of Merlot that we had bought to have with the 400g steaks was just so good…. Anyway, a great evening was had, and we came back to camp late, feeling like schoolboys that had bunked out, and probably woke up all those around us as we zipped ourelves into our tents well after lights out at 22h00. I slept very well, and was oblivious of the minus two degree centigrade weather we experienced that night.
DAY THREE
Day Three arrives. The truck hooter blasts us awake at 05h00… And something strange happens…. As you claw your way out of sleep,fighting back the Merlot and Millers, to greet Day 3 and its 43km, 1200m climb it offers as a gift to you, you realise that you are actually FRICKING EXCITED! You are starting to really enjoy this shit!
Life in the Village in the morning is electric. It’s a great mix of nerves, adrenalin and frantic activity. The air is crisp and cool. Here are a few pictures to try and give you a sense:
Sunrise Day Three, and the weather has turned fine.....
Beauty is everywhere...
Andrew caught by the Paparazzi whilst demonstrating how to get dressed in a tent you can't stand up in....
Breakfast, bags on the truck, and into the chute for the start. Robbie Williams, (Let Me Entertain You) blasting through the PA system as per the start on every day. No nerves, just adrenalin. PUMPED UP!
Is this the damage endorphins really have on you?
Day Three takes you through some of the most beautiful scenery you can see in this country. You run through the Kogelberg Biosphere Reserve, which is home to the some of the most complex biodiversity on our planet! The area includes 1 880 different plant species, with 77 occurring nowhere else on earth. But it takes you there via a little piece of hell called the Groenlandberg, the highest peak in the Western Cape. So we set off conservatively….
The Estate dog, (a giant Great Dane), decided he was a trail runner too, and set off with us, eventually being turned back after thirty kilometres, and being driven home in one of the support trucks.
Just after the first water table at about11km, Capt. Kirk suddenly found his Trail Running boots, and took off like a scalded cat. This was very exciting for me, because I had had him running very well inside himself during Day One and Two. So I tucked myself in behind him, and we whittled away the field steadily, as we marvelled at the amazing scenery all around us.
But unfortunately, this was not to last. Table Two appeared at about 18km, just before the assault on the Groenlandberg began in earnest. And this is where it all started to come undone just a bit. Capt. Kirk began to feel nauseous, and complain of a sore stomach. He blamed it on the water at the last table. But I had drunk a bunch of it too, and was well, and everyone else around us seemed fine….
At about 25km, The Captains wheels came off, and he started talking Martian. I began to realise it wasn’t just a case of a "sugar low" like I thought it was earlier, and realised that we were in for a battle to hold him together on this stage, and for the race as a whole. This was de-hydration, the results of the 57km Day Two, followed by Millers and Merlot coming back to pay its respects….
The power of positive thought would solve the day! (or so I thought). My positive encouragement was met with a string of expletives, and a little dry retching. So I gave up, and resorted to merciless whipping.
I tried running ahead hoping that he could use me as source of power. That didn’t work well, so I tried running behind him. At least this way I couldn’t hear the expletives and retching!
But the Captain dug deep, and we ground it out. Fortunately, as the day went on, he took most of his anger out on innocent race officials, marshals and water table hosts, rather than on his team mate. The picture below shows Mark, forging on ahead in the heat, well up in the mid to high 30’s, from the minus 2 degree start in the morning….
Suddenly, thankfully, we crested a hill, and saw the dam and Elgin / Grabow Country Club sprawled out in the valley about 5 km below us. Mark crashed on down the hill on some pretty nasty technical single track, muttering away in Swaheli and Martian, and we crossed the line in a sweat sodden 6 hours and 38 mins. I dragged him kicking and cussing into the medical tent, where he proceeded to endear himself to the Doctor on duty : “My wife is a pharmacist, she has 15 years of experience” he tells the Doc. “Just phone her, she will tell you what to do!” This was taken suprisingly well by the Doc, (who by the way has been in charge of Medics for the last 9 Two Oceans and Argus events, so has more than the required experience). He gently lulled Mark into believing he knew what he was doing, (rather than impaling him on a hypodermic needle as I would have done), and stuck him on a drip after testing all his vitals. We covered him with a blanket, and the man slept like a baby, whilst I retired to the room next door to have my massage…. Let’s just say there wasn’t much Miller drunk that night. Blackcurrant Re-Hydrate was the days special……
DAY FOUR
05h00 Day Four. The hooter sounds again. Let’s go run another marathon! And they decided today was the day to test our trail running skills. After a nice climb out of the valley for about 11km of forest roads through Nuweberg, part of the Hottentots Holland Nature Reserve , We then hit singletrack, and the games began in earnest. Hectic climbs and drops, loose stone tracks, river crossings, you name it. They threw the kitchen sink at us. The going was tough and slow. And I was acutely aware it was getting very hot. Not good conditions with a partner recovering from dehydration...
Capt Kirk got lost in the proteas at one stage. I later found him leading the charge down some mountain he shouldn’t have had to climb, with about another 6 runners following him as he blazed a trail through the virgin bush.
The route meandered towards Boesmanskloof, crossing the Riviersonderend River and the swing bridge. We ran through Theewaterskloof Conservatory, to the foot of the Franschhoek Pass.
By the time we reached the Franschhoek pass, it was about 12h30, and very hot. We climbed about 11km to the top of the pass, along the old "Catspad", where we found the last water table of the day, with a great view down into the village, where we were to spend the night.
Mark let rip at some poor unsuspecting table fairy, and off we set again, over the top, and down for the final run into Franschhoek. 43km. 7 hours 43 mins……
The route took us out of town on a tar road, before turning off onto a mountain track, and up the side of our last mountain climb, Matoppie. The climb was tough and stony, but the view out over the cloud covered Berg River Dam from the top was breathtaking.
We met up with Isabella and Nicky of Team Kili, and I helped Nicky navigate her way down the steep decent, as she had a heavily strapped knee as the result of an angry ITB. The mood was relaxed, and I must admit I was somewhat disappointed, when arriving at the last water-point of the day, to hear the route had been shortened by about 2km due to more flooding in the area.
We made our way onto the Boschendal Estate via an old disused railway track, and as we ran through the vineyards, the unmistakable sound of the P.A. system at the finish reeled us in. We had enough in the tank to put in a good dose of speed down the tree lined access road to the old estate manor house, and over the finish line.
Five days. 202km. 28 hours, 47 minutes and 54 seconds of the toughest running in my life. But what a journey.
I cannot begin to explain what an amazing experience this has been. I could never have anticipated how much I enjoyed the running. I was amazed by how my confidence and enthusiasm grew in leaps and bounds as each day of the race progressed. I anticipated being overwhelmed by the volume and toughness of it all, yet I came away wanting more. I could never have anticipated the excitement and enthusiasm that I would wake to each day. I cannot begin to explain how liberating it is to just run every day.
The one question I have been asked he most is: “will you do it again next year?” Absolutely.
The beauty of the scenery you travel through means you don’t want the running to stop. And the camaraderie that develops between the relatively small group of runners, that run, eat, shower, get massaged together every day builds quickly, so you end running with friends you feel like you have known for a lifetime by day four and five, not just with other runners.
There are other races that claim to be the most beautiful. Maybe once upon a time. There is another race that claims it will “define you.” Well, maybe it does. But nothing like this. This journey doesn’t claim anything, but delivers an unexpected basket of treasures.
New Years Eve is not far off. That strange time of year when we take a deep breath, and face the coming year with new strength and vigour, brought on by our trip to the coast, turkey, mince pies, and more than a few bottles of wine. This New Year, I want you to raise a glass, and add one more little line item to that resolution list:
Commit to run this race in 2009.
You will not regret it.
October the 8th 2008. The sun rose in the East (as it is usually does), and shone down weakly between banks of low clouds, and frequent bouts of drizzle, on a pod of Southern Right Whales basking in the bay outside our hotel window, just along from the Old Harbour in Hermanus.
But my Team Mate "Leaders", (aka Captain Kirk), and I, (aka Dr.Spock), were not in the “Happy Tourist” mood as many others were that morning. We had our eyes fixed firmly on the weather, (which was looking pretty bleak), and our minds were grappling with the voluntary beating and physical mutilation we were about to subject ourselves to over the next five days.
The start of the race was at 12h00PM. This left me dealing with the longest morning of my life. Watching the other teams file into the dining room for breakfast didn’t help either. Everyone seemed to be sporting matching designer kit, had military “commando” style haircuts, looked damned fit, and as hard as nails. And there was a definite vibe in the air, as everybody sized each other up. Good old Leaders broke the ice though, , introducing our team, (Scar Trek) to everybody that would listen, and cutting through the thick atmosphere with the usual barrage of chirps.
We returned to our rooms to repack our bags for the 57th time, banishing some things, and including others, (that we banished earlier),before setting off to check our bags onto the truck, and signing ourselves in to the "chute" for the start.
At the start, there was a brief announcement that there was to be a route change to the 30km Stage 1: Heavy rain had meant the one river we were to cross had burst its banks, and we were to run a kilometre inland to a point where we would be “taken across on rubber ducks”…. No stress I thought. The ride on a rubber duck would be a nice break to the running...
THE START
At last the start came, and we were off, and damned pleased to be running. The nerves began to settle, and the banter between the teams began in earnest. The route took us down about 3km of tar to the New Harbour, and then onto some jeep track along the beach. Finally, the jeep track ran out, and the real trail / beach running began. A 4km coastal path headed past Onrus and Vermont on some single track through Mudge Point Nature Reserve to Hawston. The going was very wet, with lots of little streams flowing out of nowhere onto the beach, and I could see it wasn’t going to be possible to run without wet shoes. So we settled into a comfortable pace, and enjoyed the crowd support from the many residents who had come out in the rainy weather to wave us on our way.The River crossing eventually appeared at about the 20km mark. We ran inland for the 1km we were told about, only to find the rubber duck crossing was not what we expected: Rather, it was a pontoon made up of about 40 rubber ducks tied together to form a bridge, across which you were meant to scramble.
So we started this, but after getting about two thirds of the way across, some Brain Surgeon managed to capsize one of the boats, so I gave up and took to the water, and waded across the remaining channel. Now just 11km of beach remained, so we set off for home.The going was pretty tough, and the recent storm damage meant the camber on the beach was pretty rough on the legs and ankles. The sand was patchy too, so by the time Kleinmond appeared, and we ran over the lagoon bridge and into the Race Village, my shoes were heavy, and full of sand, and I was pleased that section was over, and the beach running was confined to Day One.
Fortunately, the weather looked as it was lifting, and after securing a tent, having a shower, and weathering the daily massage we had booked, Capt. Kirk and I kicked back on bean bags in the Chill Zone, and had a Miller to celebrate the start to the great adventure!
DAY TWO
Thursday morning, the truck hooters woke us sharp at 05h00. Capt. Kirk and I hit the breakfast at 05h30, and wolfed down the daily oats, scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and jam, fruit, etc, in order to fuel the tanks for the 57km, 1,100 m climb that makes up Day Two.
The nerves were there at the start, but nowhere near as bad as Day One, and we quickly settled into a rhythm. The heavy rain had forced another route change, as the Palmiet River we were meant to follow was flowing a bit too strongly, but the fascists in the Race Office had improvised, and we soon found ourselves crossing another river, and snaking up through the fynbos covered hills towards Paul Cluver Wine Estate. We climbed 600m in the first 11km, and the climbing didn’t seem to abate much until about 42km, when we turned down into the Lebanon Forest, through the trees, with beautiful shady paths and easy running..
We slipped under the N2 highway, and then up 8km of hills to find ourselves in bright sunshine at Paul Cluver. We both felt pretty good, and were happy to have the longest stage under our belts, and no trauma or injuries to deal with. The usual routine of showering, massage and chilling awaited us. We also visited the Estate in search of food, (to no avail), and I managed to sneak in a quick wine tasting, (just to keep in form).Gavin Markgraaff and his partner “The Good Doctor” Andre Lombard (a.k.a. The Winged Avenger, see later photo for explanation), had exercised their rights as Second Year Veteran Runners to stay at B&B’s, rather than rough it in the tents with us "Freshmen". They phoned to say they were having steak egg and chips for dinner. This sounded just right, so we invited ourselves over, and Capt. Kirk set about charming some poor lady in the office at Paul Cluver to drive us over there. And this is where it all started to go a little bit wrong I think…. The Millers were a little too cold, the hospitality from the B&B management a little too good, and the bottle of Merlot that we had bought to have with the 400g steaks was just so good…. Anyway, a great evening was had, and we came back to camp late, feeling like schoolboys that had bunked out, and probably woke up all those around us as we zipped ourelves into our tents well after lights out at 22h00. I slept very well, and was oblivious of the minus two degree centigrade weather we experienced that night.
DAY THREE
Day Three arrives. The truck hooter blasts us awake at 05h00… And something strange happens…. As you claw your way out of sleep,fighting back the Merlot and Millers, to greet Day 3 and its 43km, 1200m climb it offers as a gift to you, you realise that you are actually FRICKING EXCITED! You are starting to really enjoy this shit!
Life in the Village in the morning is electric. It’s a great mix of nerves, adrenalin and frantic activity. The air is crisp and cool. Here are a few pictures to try and give you a sense:
Sunrise Day Three, and the weather has turned fine.....
Beauty is everywhere...
Andrew caught by the Paparazzi whilst demonstrating how to get dressed in a tent you can't stand up in....
Breakfast, bags on the truck, and into the chute for the start. Robbie Williams, (Let Me Entertain You) blasting through the PA system as per the start on every day. No nerves, just adrenalin. PUMPED UP!
Is this the damage endorphins really have on you?
Day Three takes you through some of the most beautiful scenery you can see in this country. You run through the Kogelberg Biosphere Reserve, which is home to the some of the most complex biodiversity on our planet! The area includes 1 880 different plant species, with 77 occurring nowhere else on earth. But it takes you there via a little piece of hell called the Groenlandberg, the highest peak in the Western Cape. So we set off conservatively….
The Estate dog, (a giant Great Dane), decided he was a trail runner too, and set off with us, eventually being turned back after thirty kilometres, and being driven home in one of the support trucks.Just after the first water table at about11km, Capt. Kirk suddenly found his Trail Running boots, and took off like a scalded cat. This was very exciting for me, because I had had him running very well inside himself during Day One and Two. So I tucked myself in behind him, and we whittled away the field steadily, as we marvelled at the amazing scenery all around us.
But unfortunately, this was not to last. Table Two appeared at about 18km, just before the assault on the Groenlandberg began in earnest. And this is where it all started to come undone just a bit. Capt. Kirk began to feel nauseous, and complain of a sore stomach. He blamed it on the water at the last table. But I had drunk a bunch of it too, and was well, and everyone else around us seemed fine….At about 25km, The Captains wheels came off, and he started talking Martian. I began to realise it wasn’t just a case of a "sugar low" like I thought it was earlier, and realised that we were in for a battle to hold him together on this stage, and for the race as a whole. This was de-hydration, the results of the 57km Day Two, followed by Millers and Merlot coming back to pay its respects….
The power of positive thought would solve the day! (or so I thought). My positive encouragement was met with a string of expletives, and a little dry retching. So I gave up, and resorted to merciless whipping.
I tried running ahead hoping that he could use me as source of power. That didn’t work well, so I tried running behind him. At least this way I couldn’t hear the expletives and retching!
But the Captain dug deep, and we ground it out. Fortunately, as the day went on, he took most of his anger out on innocent race officials, marshals and water table hosts, rather than on his team mate. The picture below shows Mark, forging on ahead in the heat, well up in the mid to high 30’s, from the minus 2 degree start in the morning….
Suddenly, thankfully, we crested a hill, and saw the dam and Elgin / Grabow Country Club sprawled out in the valley about 5 km below us. Mark crashed on down the hill on some pretty nasty technical single track, muttering away in Swaheli and Martian, and we crossed the line in a sweat sodden 6 hours and 38 mins. I dragged him kicking and cussing into the medical tent, where he proceeded to endear himself to the Doctor on duty : “My wife is a pharmacist, she has 15 years of experience” he tells the Doc. “Just phone her, she will tell you what to do!” This was taken suprisingly well by the Doc, (who by the way has been in charge of Medics for the last 9 Two Oceans and Argus events, so has more than the required experience). He gently lulled Mark into believing he knew what he was doing, (rather than impaling him on a hypodermic needle as I would have done), and stuck him on a drip after testing all his vitals. We covered him with a blanket, and the man slept like a baby, whilst I retired to the room next door to have my massage…. Let’s just say there wasn’t much Miller drunk that night. Blackcurrant Re-Hydrate was the days special……DAY FOUR
05h00 Day Four. The hooter sounds again. Let’s go run another marathon! And they decided today was the day to test our trail running skills. After a nice climb out of the valley for about 11km of forest roads through Nuweberg, part of the Hottentots Holland Nature Reserve , We then hit singletrack, and the games began in earnest. Hectic climbs and drops, loose stone tracks, river crossings, you name it. They threw the kitchen sink at us. The going was tough and slow. And I was acutely aware it was getting very hot. Not good conditions with a partner recovering from dehydration...
Capt Kirk got lost in the proteas at one stage. I later found him leading the charge down some mountain he shouldn’t have had to climb, with about another 6 runners following him as he blazed a trail through the virgin bush.
The route meandered towards Boesmanskloof, crossing the Riviersonderend River and the swing bridge. We ran through Theewaterskloof Conservatory, to the foot of the Franschhoek Pass.
By the time we reached the Franschhoek pass, it was about 12h30, and very hot. We climbed about 11km to the top of the pass, along the old "Catspad", where we found the last water table of the day, with a great view down into the village, where we were to spend the night.
Mark let rip at some poor unsuspecting table fairy, and off we set again, over the top, and down for the final run into Franschhoek. 43km. 7 hours 43 mins……Once in camp, we got ourselves through the usual routine of eating, showering and massage. There was a mixed vibe in the camp that afternoon: Many of us elated that we had just one day to go, but many of us sad, as the third and fourth day had begun to exact a heavy toll on runners and teams, and word started to get around of just how many hadn’t made it through the cut-offs, and wouldn’t be finishing the race.
Mark’s family joined us in the evening, and we had a very pleasant dinner at a restaurant in the village with Gavin and Andre. And then it was back to our tents for the last night.
DAY FIVE.
By all accounts, Day Five was to be a breeze. Not only had they granted us a lie in, (with a late 08h00 start), but it was to be a mere 31km, 400 m climb day, to get us to the finish at Boschendal Wine Estate. There was a definite laid back mood in camp in the morning, and the remaining runners seemed to be enjoying taking their time, experiencing the vibe, and the lighter mood the prospect of the finish brought with it.
Waiting for the start of Day Five:
Andrew Wynne, (aka Dr. Spock)
Gavin Markgraaff (aka Capt. Courageous)
Andre Lombard (aka The Winged Avenger)
Mark Leadeboer (aka Capt. Kirk)
The route took us out of town on a tar road, before turning off onto a mountain track, and up the side of our last mountain climb, Matoppie. The climb was tough and stony, but the view out over the cloud covered Berg River Dam from the top was breathtaking.
We met up with Isabella and Nicky of Team Kili, and I helped Nicky navigate her way down the steep decent, as she had a heavily strapped knee as the result of an angry ITB. The mood was relaxed, and I must admit I was somewhat disappointed, when arriving at the last water-point of the day, to hear the route had been shortened by about 2km due to more flooding in the area.We made our way onto the Boschendal Estate via an old disused railway track, and as we ran through the vineyards, the unmistakable sound of the P.A. system at the finish reeled us in. We had enough in the tank to put in a good dose of speed down the tree lined access road to the old estate manor house, and over the finish line.
Five days. 202km. 28 hours, 47 minutes and 54 seconds of the toughest running in my life. But what a journey.
I cannot begin to explain what an amazing experience this has been. I could never have anticipated how much I enjoyed the running. I was amazed by how my confidence and enthusiasm grew in leaps and bounds as each day of the race progressed. I anticipated being overwhelmed by the volume and toughness of it all, yet I came away wanting more. I could never have anticipated the excitement and enthusiasm that I would wake to each day. I cannot begin to explain how liberating it is to just run every day.
The one question I have been asked he most is: “will you do it again next year?” Absolutely.
The beauty of the scenery you travel through means you don’t want the running to stop. And the camaraderie that develops between the relatively small group of runners, that run, eat, shower, get massaged together every day builds quickly, so you end running with friends you feel like you have known for a lifetime by day four and five, not just with other runners.
There are other races that claim to be the most beautiful. Maybe once upon a time. There is another race that claims it will “define you.” Well, maybe it does. But nothing like this. This journey doesn’t claim anything, but delivers an unexpected basket of treasures.
New Years Eve is not far off. That strange time of year when we take a deep breath, and face the coming year with new strength and vigour, brought on by our trip to the coast, turkey, mince pies, and more than a few bottles of wine. This New Year, I want you to raise a glass, and add one more little line item to that resolution list:
Commit to run this race in 2009.
You will not regret it.
No comments:
Post a Comment