the toxic fumes Marathon

3 - the wally hayward marathon, Pretoria, South Africa, 1 may 2015

Throughout the early days of my social running career, “Wannabe Runner Era”, I made all sorts of bad decisions. And I paid for them dearly. I did not understand which miles were good or bad for the legs. I thought quantity was what it took to complete The Comrades Marathon. I was following a Comrades Marathon finishers' programme put together by an expert, Coach Lindsey Parry, but I did not stick to it religiously. Collecting medals became a big part of the goal. I would make sure that I did races every weekend, just to collect medals. Sometimes I would go for races when I was supposed to be resting or going for slow runs. Races being races, I ended up running as hard as I could just to get good times. I managed to bag a lot of sub 2h00 half marathons, and injuries.

After my magical performance, sub 4h00 marathon finish at the Cape Gate Vaal Marathon, my next marathon was only in May. It was the Wally Hayward Marathon in Pretoria on 1 May 2015. I was now a firm believer of the sub 4h00 marathon and thought a sub 4h00 should be the norm.  The Wally Hayward was close to The Comrades Marathon. I read a lot of blogs, articles etc. by experts warning “wannabe runners” like me to use the Wally Hayward as a training run and go slowly. On race day I managed follow the experts’ advice during the first lap. It was my first Wally Hayward and I did not know what to expect. But the rabbit in me kept telling me to push a bit and get another sub 4h00 finish. I made sure that I stayed within the sub 4h00 pace. 

Eventually, I couldn’t resist the temptation and gave it a proper try. I increased the pace a bit. It was a good feeling flying past many runners, with the sub 4h00 finish within reach. But this was a marathon. The wheels are bound to come off at some point. Come off they did with about 5 kilometers to go. I hung in there until the last 600 meters or so. I do not know who, in their right mind, came up with the idea of having such a mountain right at the end of the race.

I always save some energy for the ‘lap of honor’ in every race I do. No matter how tired I may be, I must run the last kilometer of the race. The last kilometer always has large groups of energetic spectators screaming on top of their voices. They always shout good things, but you every now and then get the odd one shouting “why are you walking”, “seriously, are you walking”, “are you running or walking the marathon” or, the worst I have heard, “where is your pride man. The lady is running and you are walking.” Because of these chirps, I always make sure that I run the last kilometer right to the finish line. I am very tall and invariably have nowhere to hide when I go past these crowds.

The finish of the Wally Hayward was different. As soon as I took a left turn and looked up, I knew it was not going to happen. There was this steep hill, probably a gradient of 45 degrees, waiting. I could hear it saying, “everyone walked this part.” I stopped running immediately and started walking. I however came up with a plan to salvage my pride. Count street light poles. Run three, and walk one. Two repeats and you will be at the top of the hill.    

The first bit went well. The second was a different story. As I was about to run, one runner (even though it felt like it was a few runners) decided to engage the low gear. We were going uphill after all. The result of the low gear was the release of toxic exhaust fumes. The worst I have come across in my short “wannabe runner” social running career. It was so bad that even the spectators lining the street ran away a bit, just to be on the other side of the wind. That was it for me. I gave up running up the hill. I did not want to be the next one to break the wind and release toxic fumes. I proudly walked to the top of the hill.

I only started running when I got to the grass on the final stretch. As I had saved a bit of energy walking up the hill, I had planned to run confidently on the grass stretch. I was disappointed when I realized that the grass stretch was only about 25 meters and there was no room to pretend that I could go for 42.195 kilometers more. However, after looking at the medal, I knew straight away that I would come back. At least nine more times.

If it's not of Facebook, it didn't happen. This achievement was documented on Facebook as follows:

"Rockets Wally Hayward Marathon (42.2km) conquered. Next!!!"