"Black Label" out. Gold Label in...

27 – Cape Town Marathon, Cape Town, South Africa, 17 September 2017

After seeing spooks at the Mandela Day Marathon, I could not wait to get back on the road. I desperately needed to redeem myself. They say, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. Having survived the Mandela Day Marathon, I fancied myself as a bit stronger. Adding to this enthusiasm was the old running adage that “the good thing about a bad run is that the next one will be better.” I really believed the Cape Town Marathon was my chance to brighten up the 17 Marathons for 2017 scoreboard. The times I have run this year are not the worst, but are far from the best. I have craved good times over the past 10 marathons, but this year is more about quantity, than quality. It is all about running those 17 marathons that I undertook to run this year.

I was not sure of what I wanted to achieve at the Cape Town Marathon. Part of me was tempted to attempt a sub 4-hour finish. Everyone said this was a fast and flat course. It was probably my only chance to get that sub 4 finish this year. If I did not get it here, that was it for the year. Part of me, the bigger part of me, was focused on project 17 marathons for 2017. I did not want to risk any injuries and miss my next races. The Cape Town Marathon was number 11 and there were six marathons left on my calendar. If I missed one of these, I would have to put the SABS Jacaranda City back on the list. With all this confusion, I nonetheless asked for a 4-hour pacing chat at the Cape Town Marathon expo, “just for control” as they say.

I got to the start all fired up and excited. I mean, who was not. The mood in Cape Town was contagious. Everyone was looking forward to the flat and fast gold label race. There were a few brothers of mine that were also running this marathon. As usual, I looked around for them before the race started. I managed to spot Bryge Wachipa and Tapiwa Gomwe in the crowd. We greeted and wished each other good luck and each went their way. Less than a kilometer into the race, I stopped a bit for a roadside toilet break. That’s how nervous I was. After composing, or should I say relieving, myself I hit the road again. 

I managed to catch up with Girland “Mr. Gidza” Chibaya almost two kilometers into the race. We ran together for a good three or so kilometers before we caught up with Tapiwa. We were now a full team. The Three Musketeers. The next six or so kilometers were quite playful. We took pictures, recorded videos, chatted to many people around us and even gossiped about Fat Cats. Fat Cats is a running club that has grown phenomenally in a short period. Being the three wise men from the North, not the East, we unearthed the secret behind the growth. Firmly rooted in a little world of our own, our pace was very comfortable and we were enjoying the race. After the 11^th or 12^th kilometer, we lost Gidza. He quietly jumped off the bus. Maybe bus is an exaggeration. Let’s just call it a taxi cab.

Tapiwa and I stayed together for the next four kilometers until he began falling behind. I maintained the pace and encouraged him to hang in there. Then unexpectedly, I spotted “Amytheterrorist”, Ropafadzo Banhwa. There she was pounding the pavement like there was no tomorrow. She was in a World of her own. I introduced myself by recording a video with her. We had only met on Facebook before this. While we were busy at it, Tapiwa came sprinting and we were once again a team of three. We stayed together for a while and planned to at least hit the 21-kilometer mark together. We did the maths and convinced each other that we could easily achieve this. We stayed together until Amytheterrorist pulled a Gidza on us and jumped off the taxi cab quietly around the 17-kilometer mark.

By the time Amytheterrorist jumped off the taxi cab, I was slowly beginning to believe that I could get that sub 4 finish, and comfortably so. I had skipped my 5 kilometers interval walk breaks at 5, 10 and 15 kilometers, but I was still feeling good. Tapiwa looked comfortable, so I kept stepping on the gas. Around the Newlands Stadium, the only place I could recognize on the entire course, Tapiwa urged me to go. He assured me that I was looking good. That was the beginning of my solo expedition. I have run in Cape Town before, but the Two Oceans Marathon goes in a different direction. Apart from the Newlands area, I did not know where I was for most of the race. I did not know what lay ahead. All I knew was that it was a flat and fast course.

My target after leaving Tapiwa behind was to catch up with the sub 4 bus. I caught up with it around the 24-kilometer mark. I was tempted to join it, but I resisted the temptation. I just do not trust buses. I was not there when it took off. I did not know what the plan was, whether it would slow down or speed up towards the finish. The only time I ever ran in a bus was at the Kosmos 3-in-1 race. I had joined the bus from the start. It was a sub 4:20 bus. I really enjoyed my time on the bus, but left it behind when it appeared it would not make it. I do not know if it ever made the sub 4:20 finish. With this in mind, and my legs feeling good, I left the bus behind and skipped my fifth scheduled walk break at the 25-kilometer mark. I thought to myself, “if it is not broken, do not fix it.”

The next five kilometers were a bag of mixed emotions. They were going to make or break my sub 4-hours attempt. I knew that if I got through these comfortably and got to 30 kilometers under 2 hours 50 minutes, I would finish under 4 hours. I had paced myself well and comfortably until the 27-kilometer mark when the idea of banking time looked like a brilliant plan. I increased my speed and got to the 30-kilometer mark after 2 hours 45 minutes. I now had one hour and 15 minutes to cover 12.2 kilometers. Satisfied that I had this under control, I took my first walk break at 30 kilometers. The walk was short, 45 seconds, but felt good.

After the walk, I tried to get back into rhythm, but it was difficult. I struggled to get to the next water point which was at the 33-kilometer mark. I must have taken another walk break after one and half kilometers. From there I stuck it out to get to the water point at the 33-kilometer mark. Then panic struck. I started slowing down and running became difficult. I have watched this movie before. Somehow the wheels have come off after 30 kilometers on many occasions. Slowly the sub 4 finish was slipping out of my hands. I had come so far, yet I was nowhere close to the finish. But around 34 kilometers, I found new hope. I just heard “zviri sei Mudhara” (how is it man). This brother was God sent. I really could do with some company at that point. I was slowly losing it and, for my sanity, needed someone to talk to. Two hands make light work. Indeed, four legs made the next three and half kilometers easier. We stayed together and kept running away from the sub 4-hour bus. We managed to stay ahead, but around the 38-kilometer mark, it came flying past us. It had disintegrated though. I was convinced that the driver was playing catch up and would not make it. My brother, Elias Sawari, realized that I really wanted the sub 4 finish and asked me to leave him behind. At that moment, we had been taking frequent walk breaks and were losing a lot of time. I said my goodbyes to Elias and started sprinting after the sub 4 bus.

Just like Bafana Bafana, for every Africa Cup of Nations or World Cup qualifying campaign, mathematically I had a chance of making it. It was looking good on paper, but not so good on the road. The last three kilometers seemed to go on and on and on. I started playing music on my phone. I have a playlist that keeps me going during my training runs and I needed that sort of motivation. My favorite song on the list is Winky D’s “Daddy”. It keeps me going in many circles of life for the sake of my daughters. I would like them to be proud of their father one day. They must grow up knowing that I try my best in everything I do, including the running. So, there are no prizes for guessing the first song I played when the going got tough for me during these last three kilometers. Despite the fatigue, I made sure I did signature jump around the 40-kilometer mark.

I tried to keep the sub 4 bus in sight, but it looked like the more I tried to catch up, the faster it went. Around the 41-kilometer mark, I gave up. I convinced myself that a sub 4-hour finish was not going to happen. I was tired. I was out of breath and energy. And I only had 6 minutes to cover 1.2 kilometers. But I continued running. There were just too many spectators on the road side on this stretch. Walking here would have demeaned all the hard work I had put for the last 3 hours and 54 minutes or so. Some spectators are in the habit of asking questions like “why are you walking” or “are you running or walking the marathon.” I did not have the energy to answer such questions or the patience to put up with such cheap banter. So, I carried on running. However, with about 500 meters to go, I decided “enough is enough” and started walking. About 10 seconds into the walk, I had someone shout my name. It was an old mate, Jonty Sacks. He looked like he had finished the race a good 30 minutes earlier. I waved at him. I realized that my worst nightmare had turned into reality. Someone who knows me had seen me walking in the last kilometer! That was an abomination. My unwritten rule is that, no matter how tired I am, I must run the last kilometer. You never know when your one second of fame on TV may come. I checked my watch and the time was 3 hours, 57 minutes and some seconds. I started running again so that I could enter the stadium running. 

As I touched the grass patch, I heard the announcer or commentator saying something like 40 seconds to go. I do not know where the energy came from, but there was this surge of energy in me. I started sprinting. As I got to the blue carpet, I heard the people doing the 10 second count down. I stepped on the gas one more time. The loud cheers from the crowd came in handy. I crossed the finish line in what I thought was 3:59:50. I was ecstatic about this. As I crossed the line, I saw my good friend Bryge. He had gone off too fast with the rabbits and had paid for it towards the end. He had cramped badly, but nonetheless had beaten the 4-hour finish. It later turned out that I had crossed the line at 3:59:45 and my net time was 3:57:40. I later realized that, all the talk of 40 seconds to go and the 10 second count down must have all been in my head. 

As a good warrior, and having learned very well from Gidza at the Gaborone Marathon, I did not disappear until the rest of my team had finished. Bryge and I even managed to take a picture with the race winner as we waited. First to finish was Amytheterrorist. She came in quietly and slipped through the radar. She was followed by Tapiwa and Gidza respectively. We had our mini reunion, minus Amytheterrorist, and reminisced about the race for a while before partying ways.

Sitting on the plane that afternoon, I remembered reading something by Dean Karnazes that “The marathon is an opportunity for redemption. Opportunity, because the outcome is uncertain. Opportunity, because it is up to you, and only you, to make it happen.” I had taken the opportunity, the Cape Town Marathon, to redeem myself from the Mandela Day Marathon struggle.

As you, or should, know by now, if it is not on Facebook, it did not happen. I documented this on Facebook, in not so many words, as follows #100BEFORE40 Marathon 11/17Marathonsfor2017, Sanlam Cape Town, done and dusted… The full team was out on the road. We came, had fun and conquered. Tanga tiripo pamamonya ipapo.