Sometimes it’s the little things that matter in life...

26 - Mandela Day Marathon, Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, 27 August 2017

By the time the Mandela Day Marathon came, the 17 Marathons for 2017 project was well underway. Nine marathons had come and gone. Mandela Day heralded the double-digit phase. It was number 10 out of 17 for the year. The 2015 edition had dealt with me properly. It humbled me and sent me back to the drawing board. And it took me a good two years to come up with a proper plan. My plan was to give the race a taste of its own medicine. I wanted to improve my time by at least 25 minutes. This would give me a sub 4 hours 30 minutes finish. It was not going to be easy, by it was possible.

I planned to rest as much as possible in the week leading up to the race. I was supposed to get enough sleep, stay off my feet and carbo-load as much as possible. However, the nature of these things is such that you can never have perfect plan. Something is bound to happen. I hardly slept for most of the week due to work pressures. I slept for about four hours on Friday night and was up early to drive to Durban. Despite having driven for hours, I only slept for two hours the night before the race. Work just couldn’t leave me alone. It kept following me. As if that was not enough, I knew it would still be waiting for me after the race. But these are some of the sacrifices you make if you want something. I challenged myself to run 17 marathons in 2017, I was not going to let work or anything stop me.

I missed the Big Five Marathon because of witchcraft. I am convinced it was witchcraft. Nothing else could have come between me and the race I had prepared for for a good seven months or so. As I was driving around in iMbali trying to find the race start venue, Manaye Hall, I could not stop worrying about history repeating itself. The possibility of driving all the way from Johannesburg to Pietermaritzburg and missing the race really worried me. I must have driven around for 20 or so minutes before I saw traffic police roaming around. By then, it was only 17 minutes before the start of the race. The roads had been closed already. Luckily, the traffic officer gave me directions and let me pass. I managed to find a parking spot about a kilometer from the start. Getting to the start about five minutes before the start of the race was such a relief. It felt like a victory before the race even started.

After a few formalities, the start gun went off and the struggle had begun. I looked around for any familiar faces, but there were none. While everybody was chatting to the person next to them, I was having conversations with myself. I knew that this race was tough. I was worried that fatigue would catch up with me and I would really struggle. This was a marathon. There certainly would be leaps and bounces along the way. While I was deep in conversation with myself, I heard “Farai!!!” in a very familiar voice. I turned around and saw my good friend Rirhandzu Mathebula. Like me, he had trekked all the way from Pretoria for this struggle. We greeted each other and formed a team immediately. We had gone on the same journey together two years before. We had both suffered going up the Struggle Hill. This time around we had a plan for the Struggle Hill. It was a great plan I must say. We broke the hill into phases and adopted a run walk strategy. Before we knew it, we were at the top of the Struggle Hill. We had fought our struggle tactically, and had become struggle heroes in our own right. 

We got to the half way point after 2 hours 20 minutes. This was a great time bearing in mind that we had been climbing for about 12 kilometers. The most difficult part of the race was done and we had the easier half to go. So we thought.

We enjoyed the down run towards the N3 freeway and into Cedara. We negotiated the hills into Merrivale very well. All seemed well until the 29^th kilometer when I started feeling like had been running for days. As we approached the Howick Stadium, I asked Rirhandzu to keep going and I would catch up. I managed to catch up with him at the Howick Stadium. We ran together again for about three kilometers before I gave up as we were going up towards the Midmar Dam. That little hill felt like the Struggle Hill multiplied by ten. I really felt finished and lifeless. The irony of it is that I got this feeling as I was passing a cemetery. I do not know if it was all in the mind or my body had really reached its limits. All efforts to run that I made were fruitless. I was like a car that had run out of gas. I was rolling downhill, but not moving uphill. Despite this, I managed to hobble across the N3 freeway and all the way to the top of the hill. My mate Rirhandzu was still in sight, but he looked good and showed no signs of slowing down. I tried to keep up with him, but he disappeared after the 36-kilometer mark. Losing Rirhandzu was so discouraging. I no longer had a target or pace setter. I was now on my own. This broke me. I gave up on finishing the race under 4 hours 30 minutes. 

I walked more than I ran for the next four kilometers. I even became a bit disoriented and got the kilometer markers wrong at some point. I was confident that I had two more kilometers to go, only to realise that I still had three more kilometers to go. I had been pounding the pavement for about 4 hours 34 minutes at that point. My target had now shifted from 4 hours 30 minutes. I was now hanging on to dear life and a sub 4 hours 50 minutes finish.

As I struggled through the last three kilometers, I realized that sometimes the things that matter most in life are the little things we do not pay attention to. We sometimes spend a lot of time focusing on the big things and neglect small things that stand between us and success. I had only focused on the Struggle Hill in the lead up to the race. I had spent a lot of time planning for the Struggle Hill, but paid little or no attention to the many little "no name" hills that come after the Struggle Hill. These are the hills that proved to be the most difficult to cover on the day. They broke me physically and emotionally. Around the 39-kilometer mark, I felt like seating down for a while. I resisted the temptation. I knew that I would not get up once I sat down. There was also a lot of pride at stake. How would I live to tell a story that the Mandela Day Marathon brought me down to my bums? Something not even the Comrades Marathon has managed to do.

The downhill around the 41^st kilometer came as a great relief. It was also at this point that I started hearing the noise coming from the finish point. There were a number of people lining the sides of the road and encouraging us to keep going. All of a sudden, I rediscovered my strength. I even managed to do my traditional 40-kilometer mark jump, but this time at the 41-kilometer mark. Clearly, what does not kill you makes you stronger. After about five kilometers of pure strain, I had once again found strength to conquer the Mandela Day Marathon. Crossing the finish line felt good. My struggle was over. I had conquered another marathon, despite the busy week and arriving at the start line fatigued. I had not achieved my target time, but with my 4 hours 51 minutes 49 seconds finish, I had managed to beat my previous Mandela Day Marathon time (4 hours 52 minutes 8 seconds) by 19 seconds😁😁😁.

After crossing the finish line, I thought it was over. Little did I know that there was another struggle to get on the bus back to the start where I had parked my car. I waited in the queue for more than an hour. The sky was overcast and it was very cold. My wet clothes dried on my body in the cold. I learned a good lesson about the tog bag facilities at races. I will pack some warm clothes and drop them at the tog bag area for my next point to point race.

As you, or should, know by now, if it is not on Facebook, it did not happen. Well, this one almost did not happen. I posted a few pictures and videos on Facebook during the race, but almost did not post anything after the race. Thanks to my good friend Lambda Chetse who asked, some four hours after the race, if I was still on the road. In reply to him, I posted the following:

"Ehe zvedu (yes)😁😁😁. Iwe sometimes it's the little things that matter in life. Handled Struggle Hill well, but the small hills after the stadium dealt with me. Did 4:51. First 21km was 2:20 and the second 21km 2:31. The time difference does not tell the full story. The second half was tough for me. Ndamboda kugara pasi (I almost sat down)😄😄😄. Then we had to take shuttles back to the parking which was at the start. Waited in the cold and chando chatirova (we froze)😠😠😠."