We need to talk about Tadese

London Marathon is this Sunday and a lot of the pre-race hype has been (rightly) focussed on the quartet of A-list Kenyans on the start line. Selection of the Kenyan Olympic Marathon squad has been an international talking point in running circles. Who will they pick, who won’t they pick, what do they need to run? And so on.

 

But enough about that. I want to talk about a little Eritrean named Zersenay Tadese.

Anyone worth their salt knows a pretty rock solid rule about marathoning. To be a good marathoner, you need to have run a good 10k (and half marathon). Name any great marathoner and look at their 10k. It will be the business. Arguably the world’s best over 26.2, the late Sammy Wanjiru, went well under 27 minutes on the track before he stepped up. However, and this is the point, the converse is not true. Being a quality 10k and half marathon guy does in no way guarantee you success over a marathon. The fact is no-one really knows how they will fare over a marathon until they actually run one. There are probably a few high-profile distance men and women who haven’t reached their marathon potential. (In as much as “potential” is determined by 10k and HM performance) but none are as high profile as Zersenay Tadese.

 

If ever there was textbook case to highlight the lack of conversion rule, it is Zersenay.

 

Remove his marathon attempts from this discussion and his distance running CV becomes pretty much as good as it gets. Kenenisa Bekele may have had his number of the track thanks to an indomitable finishing kick, but Tadese didn’t do too badly behind him.

• A 10k in less than 27 minutes? Check.
• A half marathon in less than 60 minutes? Check. In fact a half marathon in less than 59 minutes. In fact the WORLD RECORD HOLDER in the half marathon in 58:23.

Ok, how about championship racing?

• Any medals on the track at global level? Check. (No titles maybe, as time and again KB put paid to any chance of that). But he has a bronze from the Athens Olympics 10k and a silver from the 2009 Berlin World Champs.
• Any medals at World Cross Country level? Check. In the toughest race of them all, the World Cross Country Championships, Zersenay beat the world, and KB, in 2007 (KB dropped out of the race with a lap to go). He also has an individual silver and two individual bronze medals in World Cross to go with that gold.
• Now, the final question, what is he like on the road? I’m glad you asked. Ignoring the marathon, he is probably the greatest road runner of all time. World HM Record Holder, four-time World Half Marathon Champion and a World 20k title for good measure.

 

It’s a pedigree anyone would aspire to. So imagine the buzz around the running world when he decided to run his first marathon. It was a few years back, London 2009.

 

The world waited with baited breath.

 

Zersenay’s debut in the marathon coincided with a big step-up that was currently taking place in the world of international marathoning. He arrived on the scene, with marathoning on a big and aggressive up-curve, and was caught out by experienced marathoners, led by Wanjiru. They aggressively attacked at all points in the race and pushed a ridiculously fast early pace. Zersenay lasted as long as he could before dropping out.

 

The following year, 2010, he returned, to a similarly aggressive racing environment. With slightly more battle experience, this time he finished. But his 2hr12 was widely accepted as nowhere near a true indication of his capabilities, and again the field had beaten him up and left him behind.

 

In 2011 it seemed he decided to take a break from London and move his focus back to the areas in which he had excelled and enjoyed success, the 10k on the track, and the half marathon.

 

Skip to the announcement of the 2012 London Elite Field and his name is back on the list.

 

In early 2012 he ran the Lisbon Half Marathon, the course where he set the current world record, 58:23. It was billed as a World Record Attempt but he ended up running about a minute off that pace, finishing in 59:34 for his third title in a row. The gurus at LetsRun have spoken at length about proper focus on a marathon resulting in a runner that should not be sufficiently sharp to run a half marathon PB in their marathon buildup. If this is true, and I personally subscribe to the same belief, then Tadese may just be perfectly poised for this year’s London.

 

Most of us love to see hard-running, hard-working athletes perform at the highest level, and Zersenay Tadese is the hardest working, hardest running of them all. Over the years he has become one of my all-time favourite and most inspirational athletes.

 

Come Sunday morning, I will be hoping he gets into his familiar groove, seen so many times at the front of races around the world, in the lead pack and survives, or ignores, any suicidal pace changes during the race.

 

In amongst the Kenyan whirlwind of class and ability, and pressure, I would love to see nothing more than the little Eritrean powerhouse slide in under the radar and knock 5+ minutes off his best time, and get his marathon time down to the level befitting a guy of his pedigree.

 

Heck I hope he wins the entire race. It’s a long shot, but optimism never killed anyone, right?

 

 

 

Two Oceans 2012

This is a running blog and I will do my best to stick to talking about the race and not about the FANTASTIC holiday we all had in South Africa this Easter.

 

Chapter 1 (Don’t worry these are short chapters): The Preparation

 

My training this year has been a mere shadow of last year’s. My long run count was down by nearly half (6 runs of 18 miles or over, compared with 13 runs last year). My 12-week average leading into this year’s race hovered just below 60. Last year it had been early 70’s.

But let’s dispense with bland statistics at this point, because, as we all know, we can massage them to tell whatever story we like. The bottom line is that this year I was a lot more relaxed about my buildup and was feeling in great shape. I had my form verified by two performances – a half marathon PB in 77:26 and a 20 mile “marathon pace” race in 2:09. I knew I hadn’t logged the big miles but felt I was in decent shape anyway. I was in a good place.

 

Chapter 2: The Hiccough

 

Two weeks before race day I developed a nasty cough. Was it mental? Would it go away? What the hell man. I didn’t go to the doctor. I should have. The cough didn’t go away. In Cape Town, three days before the race my sister insisted I see a doctor. (She is a wise woman, my sister). The doc broke the news that I had bronchitis. He told me not to run, and immediately followed that up by announcing that he expected I would ignore his advice and run (He is a wise man, that doctor). I dosed up on the meds and waited for a miraculous recovery.

 

Chapter 3: Race time

 

Rain had been forecast for the day. The forecast was right. But we had a dry first hour, so hey let’s not complain. I set off knowing I needed 4:10 or quicker per km, in order to average the 4:17 required for a silver medal. (Breaking 4 hours at Oceans gets you a silver medal). First km or two I was in thickish crowds working my way through. The splits were 4:50 and 4:20. No problem yet. Once I got into my running I ran a couple of sub 4min kays and settled into a pace ticking off kays in the 4:00 to 4:05 window. It felt incredibly easy and I held back, told myself not to get carried away (bitch, be cool). 10km came and went, then 15. All still good. I saw the family all waiting for me between the 15k and 16k mark. High fives and lots of cheering. They’re awesome and I felt great seeing them.

Around 17k I caught up with the unofficial silver bus. A group led by a guy who could allegedly run 3hr55 to 3hr58 with the reliability of death and taxes. I latched on and patted myself on the back for finding this group. From now on I could relax and not think about pace. These guys were the Oceans experts; they knew how to do this.

I was still keeping track of my splits out of interest and after a few kays in the 4:15 to 4:35 range I asked running buddy Adam (another passenger) whether he thought the pace was right. He wasn’t sure. We waited another few kays. The pace wasn’t picking up. We were now running out of flat kilometres on which to bank time. In a few kilometres’ time we were hitting Chapman’s Peak, a climb that announces the second half of the race. Still, to my retrospective regret I made the mistake of sticking with them. I was second guessing myself now. Have I got this wrong? Maybe this pace is right. Wouldn’t I be an idiot if I set off only to be caught by the wizened heads in two hours’ time.

Finally we went through halfway and I knew I’d screwed it up. 1:58:30. I had exactly 90 seconds of cushion to handle the multiple big climbs in the second half, not to mention general fatigue that would soon set in.

Enough is enough and I set off ahead of the group. I was on my own now and made a big push, far too big, up Chapman’s Peak. The km going up Chappies was my fastest in the last 10. On a damn uphill. It was too much. Going down the other side of Chappies I knew I was done. Adam had caught me and I told him silver was still on the cards, just, if he had anything in his legs. He pulled away and I didn’t see him again until much later.

From 32km to the marathon mark I shuffled along. I tried to keep my legs going at a decent pace but the earlier mistakes were unforgiving. I got to the marathon in 3:04 and resigned myself to a final 14km of jogging. I resolved not to stop at any point, nor to fail to notice the wonderful scenery I was running through.

I caught Adam at the start of Constantia Nek, the final infamous climb in the race, from 44 to 46km.

In the pouring rain earlier on, and with two hours plus of running in soaking wet kit I had chafed on a level not experienced before. I won’t go into details for obvious reasons, but it had got to the point that blood had run all the way down my leg and into my shoe. I hadn’t even noticed until another runner pointed it out to me at about the 50k mark. Pretty embarrassing. I managed to rinse it away with some water at a water point so  it didn’t look too noticeable. Let’s just say the post-race shower was not as pleasant as it could have been. I was still wearing plasters two days later.

Anyway back to the race. I settled in to focussing on proper running again from the top of the Nek and got the pace back down to under 4:20 for the final 5 or 6 kays now. The only motivation being that I might beat my 4hr17 from last year.

I finished in 4hr14, with my awesome supporters, Bec, Jode, Amy and Dianne, braving the atrocious mud and cold rain on the UCT Rugby fields where the race finishes. Dale was also in attendance, but had been assigned the task of looking after our younger support crew members, Abigail and Matt, in the warmer confines of one of the cars.

 

Chapter 4: Final thoughts

 

Oceans 2012 was a race I will remember for:

 

• what might have been

 

• excessive chafing

 

• how lucky I am to have such hardy supporters, braving pretty much anything and always with a smile and always cheering wildy as I shuffle past, invariably at a pace far slower than I promised beforehand.

 

 

You win this one, Two-Oceans-Silver-Medal. But you will see me again. Oh yes; we have unfinished business.

 

Banging out the miles

Running buddy Trev’s “46 days to the Two Oceans” email surprised me so much I had to check the Oceans website. Not that I doubted you Trev, it was just like a wake-up slap, and I needed to feel it a second time.

 

It was timeous anyway, as this past week I had a great training week and I wanted to share it.

 

Monday through Wednesday was just the usual run to work stuff, with the exception of Tuesday evening where I skipped the run home to pick up some groceries and treat Bec and the girls to a Valentines meal. Sundried tomato and mozzarella starter; Chicken fillets, rice, salad main; and triple chocolate sundae desserts. (Thanks M&S). Hey I never claimed to be Jamie Oliver.

 

Thursday afternoon I got a text from a running mate (Timmons) asking if I would pace him around a set of 1000m reps that evening. The girls were away for two nights, down visiting friends in a seaside village in Cornwall (south west coast). The prospect of going home to an empty house sucked the big one, so I gladly accepted his request. His session was 8 x 1000m in 3:20 (or quicker) off 60 seconds rest. That rest was going to be a problem for me, as 3:20 pace is hard enough off two minutes (Timmons is quicker than me, so he is fine at 3:20). Still, I dug in and survived the first 6 reps before I had to sit one out. I joined again for the last one. We averaged 3:18 so I feel I did my job.

 

That session left me a bit ropey on the leg front but I trotted down to the Saturday morning parkrun 5k nonetheless. My plan was to actively spectate while Ed chased a sub 15:30. Active spectating, to the uninitiated, involves jogging a 19 or 20 minute 5k while watching the race unfold out front. Its two laps so you get a decent view. On the warm-up Ed said he wasn’t going to run as he had a problem with his legs. So I thought, dammit now I will have to run hard to make this a worthwhile morning. No excuse to jog. So I bowled out to the front and hung on to the leader (clubmate Ben). I tucked in behind him and resolved to not let go until my legs gave way. I was hurting from the opening minute, Thursday’s session clearly still in there.  I held on for the first of the two laps and half of the second. Then he started stretching away just as the third and fourth placer caught me and motored past. I could see the Ben was hurting now as he didn’t put up a fight when they passed him. Eventual winner, clubmate Dan, who had told me at the start “I’m jogging today”, followed that up with “Shit I’m racing it” as he trotted past. Based on his lack of gasping for air, I’m not even sure he was. I tried to encourage Ben to go for it at the end but to no avail. I kicked for home over the last 200m to claim 3^rd. The time was pretty mediocre at 16:59, but it shouldn’t really  be considered in isolation as I was in no state to be racing that morning anyway. I was spent. The jog home was a bloody drag.

 

Sunday morning I knew I had to bank some proper mileage. My Oceans teammates, the 9in9in9 crew (Simone, PQ, E-man etc.) were logging 26 every weekend and I was barely hitting 20. So instead of driving to the start of our 20 miler, I ran there, adding 3 miles each way. Dan, Chris, Jamie and I ran a good 20 miler (Spaghetti route). Dan, scaring us with his mileage stories and Chris scaring us with his leg speed. I added a little solo loop on at the end to make it a nice round 27 miles run. That’s the only marathon distance training run I’ll do pre-Oceans.

 

That long run pushed my week up to being the biggest of all time at 85 miles (136km). And I reckon probably one of my best as well, since it wasn’t all just plodding, with two decent, quality sessions (7 x 1k @ 3:18, and 5k TT @ 16:59) and a Valentines meal to boot.

A man who knew what the hell he was talking about

There are not too many people who have had a significant influence on my running career and my approach to training.

Perhaps I should rephrase that, there have actually been many; in books I’ve read, articles I’ve pored over, biographies, interviews and so on. But there has been a bigger influence from people I have actually met, and in that respect there have been only two.

The first was my university coach, Dudley Hulbert. When I started running, under Dudley’s tutelage, I knew very little and he effectively provided me with an understanding of the key ingredients in a basic training program. His systems worked and were scalable. That was a long time ago now; it has been over fifteen years since I last saw him. Last year I learnt that Dudley had sadly passed away. RIP Dudley.

But the focus of this article is on the second person who ended up having a large effect on how I train and more importantly led me to understand what is actually required to train and race properly. That man was Len Cullen. Len sadly passed away in January this year, and I have been inspired to record my thoughts and views on Len, in the short time I knew him.

I first met Len, and his son Johnny, after a track meeting in the early part of the 2008 track season. It was my first 5000m race since running the London Marathon a month earlier. I had not run well in London (stomach bug – another story) and was looking at the 5k as a chance to get going again. I ran 16:54 which I was happy with, pleased to be under 17 minutes and felt like I was going somewhere again. As I jogged around the outside lane of the track after my race, I bumped into Johnny and his dad at the 200m mark. Johnny ran for the same club as me (Rowheath as we were known back then) and had run the 800m or 1500m that day. They were very encouraging about my race and we chatted for a while. They went on to ask whether I would be interested in running with Johnny on a Saturday morning at the now legendary Cofton Park. I was keen at the time, but did subsequently wonder whether I was getting in over my head and would not be able to do the sessions. Nonetheless I was committed to attending the first one at least.

That first Cofton session is one I will never forget. I had run hill sessions many times over the years. I had cut my teeth on the famous Johannesburg hill called Sweethoogte, frequented by many a top SA distance runner. So I thought I knew what running hills involved. Cofton Park, and particularly the bench-to-bench long hill repeat, took that knowledge, laughed in its face, tossed it to one side and proceeded to slap me in the face viciously, repeatedly and without warning. So unprepared was I for the intensity of that session, that it broke me almost instantly. I think I managed a second repeat, but it had degenerated into a shuffle by then. Johnny would finish the session on his hands and knees, which came to be his modus operandi to close off any Cofton session. Whilst we were flailing about, Len would position himself somewhere near the midway point of the effort and would shout encouragement or advice and instruction as we motored past.

So that session shattered me and I went home a broken man. But a funny thing happened over the next day or two, I started thinking more and more about the session. It got under my skin. I was determined to go back and run it properly. Now that I knew how much it would hurt, I would be better prepared to withstand the hurt when it hit, and it hit suddenly. So, unsurprisingly, I returned. Underneath all of this was the knowledge that this session was absolutely unparalleled in its potential to bring you on in fitness, strength and speed.

Those Saturday mornings became a regular occurrence. The make-up of each session would vary slightly, but the overall philosophy was unchanged. Len was a man who cut through the reams of mediocre shit that permeates the training programs to be found in abundance in current running paraphernalia. First things first, Len believed in running hard. When it was time to hit a hard effort, you hit it hard. Don’t sandbag, don’t save yourself for the rest of the session, don’t worry about even splits or negative splits or any other kind of goddamn splits. Just run the fucking thing hard. I recollect one morning I was feeling a bit tender and on the first effort I tried to sit off the pace just ever so slightly, sure that no-one would notice, and I wouldn’t have to bury myself straight out of the blocks. As we jogged around to the starting point for number two, Len caught up with me and said, “Look, there’s no point in running these efforts like that. Within yourself. You may as well do a steady 45 minutes for that. Run the next one hard. I don’t care what the rest of your efforts look like and you should pay no attention to your watch. Don’t worry about the rest of the session. Just get back onto it now and run hard”. It was a wake-up call. No-one had really observed my training that closely and certainly it would have taken a keen eye to tell I wasn’t quite giving it as much as I should. I realised this was a man you couldn’t fool. Lesson learned. I went out hard and honest on number two. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the session fell away awfully. But Len was pleased. He had identified my innate tendency to protect myself by running slower than I needed to and finishing strong. He knew I didn’t need coaching with that, what I needed was someone to spur me on and to tell me it didn’t matter if my splits got slower and slower on each one. That was what was needed and that’s what he did. Those hill sessions on a Saturday morning, with Johnny and I sucking oxygen in through our eyeballs, our legs literally screaming nonstop before collapsing in protest, and Len masterminding it all from his various vantage points, those sessions are the best I have ever run.

Before too long, the Saturday hill sessions were coupled with Tuesday night track sessions. Many of Len’s philosophies came through in the same way. Don’t concern yourself with volume, don’t attempt sessions that look brag-worthy on paper or that will bulk up your training diary with impressive numbers. Do what you need to do. Do it honestly and do it fast. Don’t chase the speed, run hard and let the speed come to you. Because it will. This is what Len believed, and this is what I soon learned to be the truth. Typical Tuesday stuff would be 8 x 400m off a 200 jog. Sounds simple. Once again, with the years of track training behind me, I would look at these and think, ok that’s not much at all. But sure enough, by the second repeat I was literally panicking about being able to finish at all. Again, Len would take me to one side and go, “Look I don’t really care whether you do all 8 or not. The point of this session is the pace. If you can only manage two at the required pace, then do two, and let’s cut the third one back to a 200m effort and run that at the same pace. Maybe we’ll go back up to 400 for the next one, maybe not. We’ll see how it goes. Don’t put pressure on yourself to complete the whole thing because that’s not the point. That’s a different kind of session for a different time. When we get there I’ll tell you”.

These words of pure gold wisdom were completely new to me and went against a lot of the clutter I had accumulated in my head over years of completing what I thought were impressive sessions. Len believed that you when went to the track for a track session, you went there to run a very specific pace. Let’s say that pace was 66 seconds per 400m. When that got too much, you cut to 200,  or to 300, or to whatever was needed to run that pace. Even the recoveries were up for grabs. He believed you didn’t need to race around between efforts when you were there to run fast. Sure you don’t take 10 minutes, but don’t kill yourself to run a particular rest time. Len believed that you got the speed in place first and foremost. Once you had 66 second 400m’s down pat, you could look at reducing recovery, or increasing quantity and so on. Some days we would run 4 x 600m and some days it would be 3 x 800m or 3 x 1000m. It looks so harmless, but I have learned that those sessions, when you do them correctly will fuck you up while simultaneously bringing you on in leaps and bounds.

Len taught me all of that. And all through it he took a genuine interest in my running career. Always curious as to what my race plans were, and usually pulling his hair out when they invariably involved marathons. “Skip the marathon this year” he would say. “Give me 18 months with you, and I guarantee you will run 2:40. And after that, who knows where you’ll go”. I don’t have many regrets in running, but if I do have any, one would be not taking him up on his offer.

I hurt my foot in early 2009, slipping on some frozen Sutton Park mud on a god-awful cold frozen morning in February. I couldn’t run on it for a  few weeks. Len, also a qualified physio, sat down with me one Saturday morning at Cofton, while Johnny banged out a couple of bench-to-benches. Len sat with me, and took a look at my foot. He diagnosed it and applied cross-friction on it, more than once.  And not once did he me charge for it. It was the only injury I’ve ever had physio on.

Empirical evidence, and that is: my personal experience, Johnny’s experience, excerpts from numerous successful runners back in the day, have shown that Len was right on the money. In 2008 I ran times that today I can only just better; and that is with another three years of solid training banked and now on nearly twice the weekly mileage I did then.

Len, you will be missed. Your insights, advice and approach to training will be with me forever and forever influence the way I train.

2011, that’s a wrap

Let’s clear some numbers first. We all like numbers.

2011 was my biggest running year ever.

• Total mileage 3183 miles.
• Average 61 miles per week (98km).

By way of comparison, in 2010 I averaged 47 miles a week so this was a nearly a 30% increase.

Races

More PB’s than in any previous year.

Out of all the road races I did this year, there were only two that were not PB’s. The first was the Robin Hood Marathon in which I paced Gracie to his impressive 3:04 London-qualifier. The second was the Birmingham Half, where I chased a too-optimistic (in hindsight, I concede it was too optimistic) target of 75 minutes, only to suffer the inevitable slowdown in the second half and end 30 seconds off my PB in 78:10. All my other road races were PB or PB-equalling performances.

2011 PBs:-

Distance	Time	Date	Race	Improvement on old PB
5km	00:16:12	16 April	Parkrun	1 second
10km	00:35:00	18 December	Telford 10k	4 seconds
10 miles	00:58:38	11 December	Walsall Pudding Race	6 seconds
13.1 miles	01:17:36	4 September	Kenilworth Half Marathon	Equal PB
20 miles	02:06:06	13 March	Ashby 20 Mile Road Race	7min 10 seconds
56km	04:17:22	23 April	Two Oceans Ultramarathon	58min 38 seconds
Non Standard Distances
3 miles	0:16:06	21 May	National Masters Road Champs	10 seconds
5.4 miles	0:30:51	9 April	National 12-Stage Champs Long Leg	27 seconds
5.85km	0:20:04	24 September	Midland 6-Stage Champs	7 seconds

 

The most surprising result was the 5k because I thought the shorter distance PB’s were pretty much out of reach.

The best race performance was probably knocking seven minutes off my 20 mile PB. Obviously the Two Oceans result was a rather large improvement, but that was more about having a very weak PB before. I don’t think the run on the day was particularly good. Also worth mentioning, for the sake of excuses, that I travelled from the UK a few days before (I know professional runners do it all the time, but I ain’t no pro!) and the fact that I roomed with a very poorly Hajjim member for two nights prior to the race, who sadly went on to DNS and miss the race with some awful flu L.

The other PB’s were all satisfying obviously, but are probably a fair indication of the training.

I do wonder how many more years I can cheat that Ageing Curve… I’m hoping for at least another four or five .

 

Thanks for all your support over the year.

Special mention to my awesome wife Bec, and our two girls who support me 100%. I can feel them with me every single mile I run. Thanks to my running-mad father-in-law for providing the other half of any number of running chats we’ve had this year, along with Teri – who has been caught up in the madness and started running too! Thanks also to my old school running buddies who knew the teenage me and haven’t yet had enough of my… (cough) sharp wit (Barrow, Simone, Snail, Enrique, Drew), thanks to all the Hajj crew (aforementioned plus PQ, Adam, Trev, Mike etc) and all my UK running buddies, daily running partner, NiceGuy Eddie, partner in anything-and-everything Gracie, Robbo, Timmons, RacingSnake Martin, Rich C, Rich G, Rich W, Ben, H-Bomb Stanton, Danni and all the others!

Keep running dudes, let’s punish 2012.

Peace out

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 2011 Christmas Mile

Today we launched the Christmas Mile. 

 

It could well go on to become the serious, bespectacled, older cousin of the Beermile. We’ll see.

 

The number of athletes toeing the starting line was impressive. One (me). For a variety of legitimate and less-than-legitimate excuses no-one else could make it. Niceguy was there but had hurt his calf two days earlier and couldn’t do any running on it. Timmons never lets frivolity get in the way of serious training, and chose to do the latter on the day. Ben was keen but not in town, likewise Robbo was interested but had family commitments. Rich had a sore foot, Gracie lives somewhere else.

 

So it was that, on a cold (but not icy) day in December, on the Birmingham Uni track, for the inaugural Christmas Mile event, I was running solo. Let’s factor in the usual “I ate too much turkey / chocolate / crisps / mince pies / side board and bookshelf ensemble”. You get the drill. Racing-weight I was not. I also had a chest cold. Basically, I’d have been lucky to get around the track at all. Some people are born tough.

 

Anyway, Banks was holding the stopwatch and calling the splits. He was shouting encouragement and general advice. So I did some strides, put on my track spikes (first time out of the cupboard in shit knows how long)  and sauntered up to the line. One thing was certain, first place was mine.

 

The gun was sounded (Niceguy said GO) and I was off. I had no idea how to pace it (this will become evident very soon) and thought I better run fast as “it’s only one mile after all”. Surely I could get through the first lap in 75 seconds. “Sixty seven point eight” shouted Ed as I rolled through lap one. Jesus. Ok, calm down. 100m into the second lap I was in lactic’s waiting area, soon to be called through to the main room, lactic hell. Basically I got progressively slower from then on out. But as I had thought, I did indeed manage to (just) hold onto first place.

 

I gasped my way across the line, arms aching (yes, your arms ache in a middle distance race), legs completely numb, lungs on fire and blood in my throat. When I had recovered sufficiently to speak, I asked Ed for the number.

5:00.6

So there it is. A line in the sand. My official unofficial one mile PB, and I should add, the Christmas Mile Record.

 

Awaiting official splits from MrEd, but from my pain-fuzzled brain I think he shouted out 68, 76, 78, 78.

Anybody want a pace-maker?

The Nostalgia Series: Wits Athletics Club in the Nineties – Episode 1

The 1993 Great Train Relay 

From www.sa-transport.co.za

Way back in 1993 I was a first year Engineering student at Wits University, Johannesburg.

I had recently joined the Athletics Club which was to change my life in so many ways. We had a proper coach, who gave us proper programs to follow. The improvements had been nothing short of incredible for those of us who had never stuck to a program before. But that’s by the by. I was hooked on running and was sponging up advice and experiences wherever I could.

Sometime in the second half of the year, a trip to Port Elizabeth (a city on the South African East Coast) to race a train was in order. It was called the Great Train Race and the train was called the Apple Express. 

From the now defunct race website “The Great Train race is an annual 10-man relay event over 73 km. It is hotly contested and has become the de facto South African club relay championship. The race is not only between the teams of runners, but also between the TRAIN and the runners – the aim is to beat the steam train!”.  The link also mentions that at the height of its popularity, in 1996, there were 624 teams taking part. That’s 6240 runners. A big event.

I have no idea who organised the trip, although it was probably the likes of Keith Sherman or Geoff Lee (the club chairman and soon-to-be ultrarunning hero). Anyway we were bundled into a team bus and sent down to the seaside.

The runners I can remember being on that trip are: Hendrick Ramaala, Alex Burrows, Paulo Contente, Philip Knibbs, Piers Cruickshanks, Mark Wadley, Geoff Lee, and me. There were ten in a relay team so there must be another two who have completely slipped my mind.

We had no realistic aspirations of greatness in the race. Club running in South Africa is (or was at least; having been away from the scene for over a decade I don’t know whether this is still the case) dominated by a number of top level clubs sponsored by large mining companies or other big hitting industrial companies. They filled their teams with national and world class professional runners, and the competition was fierce at the top. The likes of President Brandt Mines had Xolile Yawa (60min half marathon runner, multiple SA national champion at 10000m, Olympian), Meck Methuli etc. President Steyn Mines was another top club, Iscor Steel etc. Anyway, the point is we would be nowhere near these elite teams and had considered a top 50 as a good target.

But we had an ace up our sleeve. Unbeknownst to any of us, and possibly not yet to himself, Hendrick was fast.

Hendrick was on the verge of breaking through to good provincial level and soon after that national level, and a few years after that, truly world class (two silver medals at World Half Marathon Champs, sub-60 half marathons ten years before it became commonplace among Kenyans). He was on his way to somewhere good. But we didn’t know it yet. What we did know is that he was the fastest on our team, so he got first leg. The advice was “Be cool Hendrick, you will be among professional runners so don’t try and go with the pace. Top 15 to 20 is your target”. Naturally Hendrick ignored this nonsense and went out like the steam train. He was leading the whole damn race halfway through his leg.  He ended in second place, Xolile having caught him somewhere towards the end (probably thinking who is this guy??).

Our second leg runner was Alex Burrows. He didn’t train with us so we didn’t know him too well, but what we did know is that he had run a 3:54 1500m in Joburg (2000m above sea level), so yeah he had some moves. He lost a place or two but we were still about 5^th overall. The rest of us ran as hard as we could, each losing a few places. All I remember about my leg was going out way too hard. Welcome to relay running mince. When the adrenalin wore off I realised I was screwed, but hung on as best I could. And so it went. Until our last leg runner, Paulo Contente, got going. Amazingly we were still high up in the placings, 21^st overall.

As each of us finished our leg, the team bus had picked us up and drove to the next leg. So we were all in the van and driving the final leg of the race. Paulo was running well. He was a 9:30 steepler, so he was pretty hot shit in our books. He was also Portuguese and I mention this because, outside of the running, the trip had been punctuated by Paulo’s tales of any and all things Portuguese. He also told the most disgusting jokes my young mind had ever heard. He was great.

So back to the final leg. We’re lying 21^st and the finish is about half a mile away. The route goes left and left again, around a large field. So you can see the finish banner from a long way off. We had driven ahead of the runners now, to get to the finish, so now were waiting about half a mile from the end, to see if Paulo had held onto 21^st . He comes into view down the road, sprinting like a man possessed, in TWENTIETH place! We’re driving alongside him and he gasps something about the guy in twentieth making a wrong turn. Sure enough a few seconds later we see the runner who had been ahead of him previously, CLIMBING THROUGH A HOLE IN THE FENCE to get back onto the road from the field he had somehow ended up in.

Turns out he had gotten lost and asked Paulo which way to go. Paulo, being a competitive guy (understatement) had seen his opportunity and taken it. He offered a route that he knew was wrong. Off the runner went, and on realising his mistake had cut through the field to try  and make up lost time. Paulo was long gone by now, sprinting as though it was a 400m race. The runner behind him came through strongly, but Paulo held on by a few seconds and we secured twentieth!

Before you get all “that’s not cricket”, remember that runners and teams were supposed to know their leg routes beforehand. This guy hadn’t done his homework.

It was an awesome first away trip with the club, and there were many more to come. But this one always stays with me, because it was the first.

Hendrick’s opener and Paulo’s closer made it all the more memorable. How did the train do? No idea.

Footnote: In researching the Train Relay to look for photos etc., I sadly discovered that from the height of its powers in the late 90’s it has not been run since 2004. There is talk of it restarting soon, so here’s hoping.