My goal was to run the Otter and to try and enjoy it. And I was on track. I had my most awesome 6 months leading up to this run with a sub-2 half-marathon on one of the hilliest courses in Joburg, and a fair amount of distance training, hill repeats and those awful steps. My heart behaved and the fitter I got the more I shifted the goalposts. That sub-8 hour medal was within reach.
It was always going to be a hard day, but it’s even harder to recall. It started out well, my legs were strong and I ran well for 14 ks. I soaked up the scenery and enjoyed the flowers, the crashing waves and the running banter. It was a true privilege to be out there on what must be one of the most spectacular runs in the world and I sensed it was going to be a good day.
After the swim at Bloukrans things took a turn. Unfamiliar with cramps I thought my legs were seizing up and I had to slow down significantly. My stomach started turning and after I vomited once, I couldn’t keep anything down. With 25ks to go this was going to be a gigantic ask.
I managed to keep my pace for sub 8 on track till halfway but every step from there felt like a momentous effort and once you tell yourself you’ll never make it your body follows. I was utterly beaten the last 10ks and slowed down to a walk 80% of the time. Dehydrated and not keeping the GUs down I lost sight of the scenery and just focused on one leg in front of the other. The forest became a dark place and no vista was spectacular enough to encourage me to step it up. My partner ran the last 2ks with me and got me there with some time to spare. And hour and a half over target time, but an hour and a half before cut-off.
It’s very difficult to explain the huge disappointment finishing such an epic race where, regardless of time, I should have felt the excitement and a sense of achievement. Is it competitive nature? Or is it because we feel we could have done more? Could I have done something differently from a nutrition or a training point of view? Did I do my body more harm than good?
It may be too soon but there’s a sense of sadness that I may not have made the most of it. I’m sure it will make way at some stage for acknowledging that it was pretty special either way, and something which two years ago I never thought possible. I hope that time comes swiftly because until it does, the term ‘unfinished business’ scares me.
“Just give it a go” the doc said. He gave me the all-clear at my bi-annual check-up and with a no-nonsense approach just said that ‘if it doesn’t work, you can just go back on. And throw away your watch’.
Two Oceans half. 56ks next year?
The last few weeks have been fantastic for running. I feel stronger and fitter than ever, with some technique changes have managed to tackle hills and have beaten my previous 32k time by almost 30 minutes. Two Oceans half-marathon was my best ever and just missed sub 2, but it’s coming. I’m starting my training for Otter including strength training and stairs and I’m enjoying the variation from every-day road. It’s an exciting few months ahead and it gives me plenty of time to monitor changes. Yet it’s nerve-wracking letting go of Flecainide, my wonder drug, the only thing that’s kept me in check for the last 6 years.
So roll on drug free running. It’s been 6 days and the ticker is behaving. The only time it shoots up to over 100 is when I get nervous about why it’s slightly higher than normal. Maybe I should throw away that watch after all.
It’s been a while since my last confession … but I didn’t want to jinx it. The recovery process after my ablation in October was initially slow, but as soon as I realised it was ‘third-time-lucky’ and the op was a success, I’ve been back on the road. My medication was halved which meant that I had to learn from scratch to read my heart rate as it was no longer affected by drugs and afib fighting for a finish.
Prize money! Woohoo!
My heart now beats pretty much normally, which is making running easier and I’ve reached personal best times for 5, 8, 10, 15 and 21ks this year and, in another first, won prize-money for the first club member home (note: there were only 7). I’ve also done six half-marathons in the first three months of the year without the street-pounding that it usually takes and running is becoming a lot more effortless.
It involved a trail run, some club runs but also a few small-town runs to spice things up a bit and see places you would REALLY never otherwise see (or in the case of Kimberly, just drive through). One of these places was Ottosdal. A small farming community about three hours from Johannesburg with potholes the size of cars, the run takes place on the main road out of Ottosdal in the dark. I suspect not many people leave Ottosdal as the road was quite good compared to the roads in town, and made for easy running. The race’s claim to fame is that it is lit up by lanterns all the way but the romance was blown away by heavy winds, some spectacular lightning strikes and rain that drove away even the hardiest of spectators. It was a standout race in the excellent organisation and warm reception, beautiful scenery considering it was a road run, and my first half-marathon back on the road since the procedure.
Now I may be getting over-confident but I’ve signed up for that bucket-list of bucket-list trail runs in October where you run in one day what others train for months to walk in 5. The Otter (or Retto in reverse as it is run this year from Natures Valley to Storms River) is a full marathon with 2 600m elevation consisting of enough steps to make you cry and has a cut-off time of 11 hours. Now I certainly don’t wish to be on my feet for 11 hours and I do want to actually enjoy the running, the views, the river crossings, and even the steps … so my training starts now. I’m also aware of the fact that putting my body through too much stress can reverse the success of the ablation and can bring back the afib.
It’s been 10 days since my last run. I can feel the decay setting in. The body is slowly relaxing into a state of lard and people have to bring you tea. The only reason I actually quit running for such an extended period of time is because all this running made me sick. Or so they tell me.
See, for 21 days my heart was out of rhythm. Which meant it was hanging around 120 beats per minute even while I was sleeping. Oddly enough it would settle during a run so naturally I would take this as a sign to get my shoes on. The cardiologist disagreed and booked me in for a small procedure. This would be my third ablation in 5 years and despite them describing it as ‘non-invasive’ and ‘quick’, the 4 hour op floors you, leaves you with some sizable plasters to rip off and, worst of all, takes you months to get back on the road.
So how can running be bad for you? On an atrial fibrillation expert’s recommendation I read Chris Case’s “The Haywire Heart. How too much exercise can kill you …”. It follows the lives of endurance athletes and how many of them develop heart rhythm problems as a result of too much exercise. Many of them had been pushing themselves hard since they were in their teens and developed the conditions in their 40s. Now I would hardly describe myself as a top endurance athlete (I usually finish in the first 50% which is enough of a goal for me) and my running was intermittent until I started taking it more seriously in my late 30s. By then my condition had already manifested itself when I passed out during a Knysna marathon in my 30s – and the jury is out whether it’s hereditary, if I caused it by too much running, or dubious lifestyle choices in my 20s. While I didn’t exactly live off lentil burgers and carrot juice during those years, my 20s weren’t that debauched so I prefer to think that it’s a mixture between being hereditary and my running, so I can fix it.
But then how much is enough and how much is too much? Will I ever be able to do that Comrades? Or mini-Sky? Probably not. Case says that while a certain amount of exercise is good for most people, more than 30 minutes of intense exercise 4 times a week can be damaging to even the fittest of hearts. Most runners, even me, exceed that and I’m afraid 2 hours of running and a Parkrun a week won’t get me to Comrades.
But it may get me to Gun Run, and then to Soweto … and SOX next year, Golden Gate, New York? Who knows. Whatever it is it’s going to have to be done through some sort of a plan or a seven step process that includes sobering realities such as one’s responsibility as a father and accepting the stuff, like a dicky heart, that you cannot change. “I will not go to Comrades again”.
In the meantime I’m looking forward to my first hit which is only 8 days away. It will be just a little 5k. I promise.
Oxpecker was a favorite last year. A brilliantly-organized event it bridges the gap between serious runner and first-timers for a two-day stage race through the Drakensberg mountains. I was in some pain from London marathon still but seriously confident and was great to be back on trails after so much running on tar. But my heart didn’t play ball.
Day one is the most challenging. A 21 km stretch with a serious climb a third of the way in my heart was over 200 bpm 5 minutes in. It sometimes settles down so I pushed through but when I started feeling lightheaded on the real steep sections, I slowed down. At one stage I could only take about four steps before I had to grab hold of trees or rocks to steady myself until I could take the next four. I eventually lost consciousness for a second or two at the summit, just enough to cause a bit of a stir and panic with some other runners. The view revived me, my heart settled to its predictable 121 bpm and I soldiered on, but by now I was exhausted. So between walking and running I was a good 20 mins slower than my time of the previous year.
Heart rate day 1
Heart rate day 2
Day 2 was the easy 16 km run, but worse. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed but I wanted to see if I was just unlucky. One quickly forgets and think that it’ll pass but I ended up walking 90% of the route and coming in as they were packing up the fanfare.
It turns out the Ibuprofen from the Transact patch to dull my runners’ knee could have been the culprit. But there’s too many ifs and maybes. I’ve now been reduced to 5ks 3 times a week and a walk home if it spikes. They may as well have told me to shut-up and sit down. I’ve been naughty and I should be punished. Right.
Now I know that lots of people have completed marathons but this was sort of a big deal to me. It was a brilliant day for running. Apart from being on my feet for two days sightseeing I couldn’t have been better prepared. The supporters were so loud that for one or two seconds during the five or so hours (yes it was a slow one) where there were none, the silence made your ears ring. They made you feel like this was your race and I will never forget it. And once it was done, it was done. For five years I have been dreaming of running a marathon again after being told I shouldn’t run at all and, carefully and albeit slowly (I think one of the rhino suits beat me), I made it. I must admit while it was one of those life highlights that is remembered better over time, there wasn’t a real sense of achievement. It felt as if it was something that had to be done on a long list of things to be done. And not necessarily running things. I cannot take health risks so will probably never go further than a full marathon. But what makes achievements worthwhile is achieving new ones and to create goals with purpose. So now what?
.. is paved with sore knees, relentless, boring miles on tar and a stopover in Germiston. Yet I’m enjoying every minute. Three years ago it took me 2 months to train for a half-marathon yet in the first 3 months of this year I’ve done a total of 7 halfs (or is that ‘halves’) with two runs over 25. I know right. I’ve also managed to get my best time yet at Irene half-marathon last week running through the cow dung and have had three great months of training with my fastest 5k, 10k and 21k yet. Tomorrow I’ll tackle my last long run, the 32k Alan Robb race in Germiston and then it’s a short break before heading to London. It’s a kick for sure. I feel a mixture of guilt over the privilege, excitement at the thought of running past Her Majesty’s window and nerves that I never quite can tell the reason for. Now I know a lot of people have finished marathons before so it’s hardly winning the Nobel Prize but it really is a dream come true and, apart from raising a daughter that still likes me, it feels like the greatest achievement of the last decade. It gives you a wonderful sense of purpose and apprehension because you wonder, what next?
It’s been a busy year for running. For most part my health behaved and allowed me to get seriously get stuck into trail. I did a few 12s and then gradually moved on to 21s. Oxpecker gave me the confidence and once you’ve done one, you just can’t stop. The most gruelling so far was Captain Carrot. These runs are designed by pint-sized trail legend Nina Furness Derieux with little trail to speak of. Which annoys my partner no end who believes it does serious damage to the environment. Regardless it was a lot of fun and with three 21 trail runs under the belt this year (Cape Town Peace Trail, Captain Carrot, Rocktrail), two stage races (Oxpecker 37ks and Runtheberg 32ks) and two 21 road runs (Two Oceans and Old Eds), I have set my sights on London Marathon 2017. Every run has had its own personality, its own ups (and what felt like fewer downs) and has inevitably ended with the now-mandatory chocolate Steri-Stumpie. There is no bigger carrot than running towards artificially flavoured milk to replenish the lost calories. It’s throwing out the planning of your pre-race meals and the being careful around what you eat to ensure your body behaves appropriately, to say, well done. You deserve this crap. I may just have to take some with me to London.
But wow, it was worth it. The trip across the lagoon to the start, the sunrise over Thesen’s, the views from just about everywhere. The start takes you up a steep hill and down again, through a restaurant and then onto possibly the prettiest path I’ve ever seen along the western head. And then the climbing starts. I may have bolted too quickly and soon my heart spiked to above 200. Which hasn’t happened in a while but it wouldn’t settle down. No matter how slowly I took it. Regardless, I loved it. After the water point at 10ks it finally settled and I loved the route back with views east, then west, then east that just went on forever and over the train bridge (that went on forever). I got back to a very teary daughter who hated being left alone and I felt selfish for relentlessly pursuing this passion regardless of how it may affect my health and the sanity of the people around me. And while I have no idea whether my running is hurting or healing my heart I know that the elation I feel can only benefit my overall health. Not sure my daughter would agree.
I’ve had some good runs. Runs that stand out from the rest, where you wish you could somehow save it, like chocolate, and sample from it when you feel like a little bit of euphoria.
A few stand out: Two Oceans half this year, where I felt strong enough to do it all over again; my favourite training run from Hout Bay over Chapmans Peak to meet an old friend in Noordhoek for breakfast; Meiringspoort through the spectacular Swartberg mountains and a night trail run in Johannesburg in the pouring rain. Last week I felt that again at the Oxpecker trail series in the Drakensberg, a two day event through beautiful scenery with friends.
Come to think of it there are more but the common denominator is not the sense of achievement, the great scenery or the elation when you cross the finish line. It is just plain happiness. Happiness to be alive and healthy and happy.
I have yet to come across any medicine, vitamin or booster that can invigorate and uplift me like running out in the open. It’s just the most spectacular cure for anything from depression to a dicky heart and have brought me closer to the people around me (runners and non-runners).
And since you can’t bank the feeling, you just have to keep on running.