008: Comrades 2025 - I love it when a plan comes together...

It is post-Race Week: Comrades 2025, #isiko_mpilo, is behind us. For the last four years, this race has been a highlight of my year. The story doesn't begin with my first run in 2022, though.

This is the final of five essays in this series. It covers the weekend of Comrades 2025 and my journey to finally get a Bill Rowan medal for a sub-9 hour finish. Soli Deo Gloria for this amazing day. I honestly don't know if there'll be another Comrades after this one, but if it were to end here, it's been one hell of a ride. #dankiecomrades

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The plan:

Fresh off 5 months of impeccable training and good luck, I set the goal for Comrades 2025: a sub-9-hour finish for a Bill Rowan medal. The medal is named after the first winner of the race in 1921, who finished the race in a haggardly state and a time of 8 hours and 59 minutes. When I ran my first Comrades in 2022 in 10:45, I set out the plan to break 10 in 2023, 9:30 in 2024 and 9:00 in 2025. I had failed in the pursuit of both 2023 and 2024 goals, but through good decisions and immense Grace, the stars were aligning for 2025.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only member of the Green Mile Athletics Club who had designs on acquiring one of the medals that look like a R5 coin. A plan was hatched to form an alliance.

It is known as the BR Team – after the A Team. Herewith are the members of the intrepid expedition:

The “Hannibal” of our operation is 2-time Bill Rowan runner, Marius Potgieter – fresh off recovery from a knee injury, a superb qualifying marathon and obtaining provincial colours for the Gauteng North Cross Country (age group 45-49) team.

Our “Faceman” is Ernst Eloff – a 2-time Robert Mtshali medalist (sub-10-hour Comrades) and a 2-time Karkloof 100 miler finisher. He is slick and confident, and dead-set on getting a Bill Rowan after a stellar training block.

The “Murdock” of our operation is Dries Strydom – a blistering fast marathoner who has an unpredictable relationship with Comrades, but is no stranger to finishing well below 9 hours.

We have a foreign spy in Ivan Chunnett – an old friend and colleague of Marius who lives in the UK, but still has SA citizenship. He ran the London Marathon in 3:24 and is ready to claim not only a Bill Rowan, but also his back-to-back medal after a brilliant 9:25 on Comrades debut in 2024.

We also imported a chemical specialist - Shane Redelinghuys - to assist with explosives and clearing doping regulations. Shane is a microbiologist by trade and is also aiming for his third straight Bill Rowan.

Finally, I am the “BA Baracus” of the exercise – mostly because I have the least hair of the group, but am also blessed with a bushy beard and well formed calves after doing my strength training all year. I am also the most tanned, so the role came naturally. I have never run under 10 hours, though, so I was afraid of flying – like the real B.A. – but ready to take on the challenge.

Marius (or rather ChatGPT) created an official picture to bring the team to life.

I then created a Garmin PacePro race plan inspired by the pacing charts for the 2023 and 2025 Down runs created and expertly executed by the Prince of Pacing, Lindt de la Port of Die Vuilhonde. I set the goal time for 8:51:00 – just to give us a little buffer in case life decided to happen on the day. The plan was to run as much of the route as possible and only walk when really, really necessary. A bold strategy, but one that Marius had pulled off in 2023 when running in the famed bus that Lindt drove, called Die Chokkie Trokkie.

A final consideration for the plan was to pace the race on a total distance of 91km, rather than the official race distance of 89.98km. This is done since one never runs the shortest possible route and GPS discrepancies tend to compound over such a long distance. With that the BR Team was ready to be assembled and have Marius have his moment at the end of the race and say Hannibal's famous line:

Getting to PMB:

Marius, Ivan and I joined a contingent from Wingate Road Runners – to whom Marius is loosely affiliated – on the morning of Friday, 6 June and set off for Comrades House in Comrades Marathon Road in Pietermaritzburg where the three of us and Adam from Wingate collected our numbers. In my four years at Comrades, I have always made a point to make a stop at Comrades House to soak in the atmosphere. This year I had the honour of wearing the red hoodie my dad used to wear in the 90s as we walked through the house and surveyed all the accumulated history.

We then set off for the Comrades Expo in Durban where Gawie – also from Wingate – would be collecting his number for his first Comrades. Our driver, Bruce, whom we were slowly indoctrinating with all things Comrades on the drive down, would then drop us off at our accommodation right on the seafront in Umhlanga and collect us again for the race at 2:45 on Sunday morning.

After a safe and uneventful journey, we made a quick walk to the shops and promptly started a braai. We were early to bed, knowing that Saturday night would only bring fitful sleep.

On Saturday morning, we arose to runners swarming the promenade in front of our apartment block, getting ready for the Umhlanga Parkrun. We would also do the parkrun, but at a very easy pace. As we walked to the start in uncomfortably warm weather, I experienced my first full-circle moment of the weekend when I saw Steve and Lauren Bendall, two of the five people that I ran with during my very first marathon – the virtual Comrades Run for Hope Challenge in 2021. At the parkrun start in another full-circle moment, I bumped into Diete Engelbrecht and his sister in law, Melissa Taljaard, with whom I ran my first time trial at Green Mile in March 2022. Diete now lives in Germany and Melissa in New Zealand and were both in South Africa to run their second Comrades.

The parkrun kicked off and we ran past Steve and Lauren again and there – in a third full-circle moment – I saw Jean Penhaligon, who inspired me to think about Comrades in 2019 and was also part of the 2021 Virtual Comrades gang. We had a quick chat and I set off in pursuit of Ivan, Marius and Adam. I cut the parkrun course as I waited for them at a loop (don’t worry, parkrun loyalists, I didn’t submit a time) and together we set out to complete the flat 5km course and make as many lame jokes as possible.

After the parkrun, we had a good old boere breakfast, started to pre-load on electrolytes for the race, did a last grocery run and settled in for a quiet afternoon. Marius and I discussed some philosophy, I took a nap, we watched the United Rugby Championship semi-finals and went for dinner at the Miami Spur in the Umhlanga Sands hotel.

(1) Comrades roomies at Comrades House (Adam, Charl, Marius, Ivan), (2) Ivan and Marius and (3) Adam and Charl at the Miami Spur. Beers were non-alcoholic. Comrades is a race of tradition and it is the third year in a row that I had my pre-race meal at a Spur.

Eventually, we settled in for a night of uneasy sleep and at 2:00 woke up to get from Umhlanga to Pietermaritzburg. After my traditional pre-long run breakfast of Futurelife, chia seeds, banana and coffee, we were on our way. We made a quick pit stop in Pietermaritzburg and before we knew it, we were standing in the streets of PMB, ready to go into the starting chute and get the show on the road.

(Side bar – Comrades initiated a new starting procedure this year, where two groups of runners would set off from PMB, 15 minutes after each other. This was done to ease congestion on the road and also allow slower runners to lose less time in crossing the line, since Comrades operates on a gun-to-mat timing system. The first group consisted of batches A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H and J. The second group consisted of batches K, L , M, N, P, Q, R and S. Since the A and B batches are fairly small, the BR Team members were seeded towards the front half of the first group in E batch.)

At the startline:

Reporting in E batch an hour early afforded us plenty of time to take in the sights and sounds of the Comrades start line. There is no race like it. As the time to the start decreases, the start line starts to resemble one massive jol with music pumping through the PR system and runners dancing to the sounds of Johnny Clegg’s Impi, Queen’s We will rock you and other classics.

The traditional start procedure kicked off with a hearty rendition of the National Anthem after which the barriers between the seeding batches dropped, the runners of Group 1 moved forward in unison and the traditional song Shosholoza rang out. Finally, Chariots of Fire started playing and, as per tradition, I started crying like a child. In my qualifying marathon, the Vaal Triangle Marathon, I had to dig deep during the final 3km to ensure that I finished under 3:40 and get my E batch seeding. One of the visuals that I used to propel me forward, was standing underneath the clock tower of the PMB City Hall at the Comrades and crying to Chariots of Fire.

And here I was, standing inside that vision. For the first time, though, I wasn’t experiencing the start line atmosphere alone and halfway through the song, started to laugh and smile with gratitude of an amazing journey up to this point. The song died down, Max Trimborn’s cockerel crowed, the gun went off and we were racing. Time to put the plan in action.

Teamwork makes the dream work…PMB to Cato Ridge (0-32km):

In the week leading up to race day it was confirmed that the BR Team members had different plans for race day. Shane and Ernst would be going for 8:30 from the start, Dries would run with us for 30km and then implement a strategy to also go for 8:30, while Marius, Ivan and I would stick to the 8:51 plan. As the gun went off, we ran through the dark streets of PMB and everyone bolted, completely ignoring the plan. I hung back and thought to myself, “well this is going to be a long day”. Luckily, Shane, who started in D batch, sidled up next to me and we had a quick chat and words of encouragement before a short, sharp hill. At the top of the hill, I found Dries, Ivan and Marius and told them, “you’re running as if you have somewhere to be.” We all laughed and, having gotten the nervous energy out of our system’s from the start, settled in for a climb to the top of Polly Shortts at 9km. As we reached the top of Polly’s we all ran down the famed hill in the most beautiful light provided by the sunrise.

Spirits were high as we all recalled the trauma of going up the hill a year ago.

At the bottom of Polly’s you cross the Mkhondeni river where you experience the coldest weather of the day. It is Comrades tradition to wear an old top over your running gear and donate it to someone less fortunate on the side of the road during the run. In 2023 I had kept my top on for 15km and didn’t really feel cold when I had done so. This year, I had discarded my top before the race and at Mkhondeni I wasn’t even feeling a shiver. This was an ominous sign, but one I ignored as we began the climb up the back of Little Polly’s and enjoying the slowest kilometers of the day, since we were employing a negative split strategy. Shane set off on his 8:30 plan shortly after Little Polly's. Bruce Fordyce put it best, when he said, “start like a coward and end like a champion”. We weren’t quite as cowardly as the plan suggested, though,as we made our way through Ashburton, Lynnfield Park, the Lion Park and reached the highest point of the route at Umlaas Road 3 minutes ahead of the plan. The running was easy, though, and the humidity of PMB had given way to a cool, crisp morning air. We also got good evidence as to why the area to the southeast of PMB is called “The Valley of a Thousand Hills” with lovely views at Umlaas Road.

Before long, we were joined by Carla van Heerden, an ex-Green Miler and current member of Die Vuilhonde. She was gunning for her third consecutive Bill Rowan medal, but was primarily aiming to finish this year’s race better than last year when she had to be carried to the finish line and ended the day in hospital with dangerously low Iron levels and a sky-high temperature.

As we made our way through Cato Ridge, I recalled the moment my “spirit left my body” in the town last year and smiled again that things had been going so well so far this year. In another full-circle moment, I saw Hannelie Duvenage, who helped me through my first Down run in 2022 supporting on the side of the road and had Mattie van Heerden, a Green Mile supporter, hand me a banana and shout “share with Dries!”. And so, running with friends at the scene of my sad moment of solitude from the previous year, we shared marmite sandwiches and bananas as we crossed the timing mat at 31.5km. We were now a full 6 minutes ahead of the scheduled plan. Running together was making light work of the day.

A picture of Carla being helped to the finish line had been put in the official race digimag, but this year it was looking like she was going to make the digimag for the 2026 race for the right reasons as she was running strong and disappeared into the distance after Cato Ridge – with Dries in tow in pursuit of his 8:30.

(Side bar - Carla finished in 8:39. A momentous run!)

And with that, the first third of the race had flown by without issues. The BR Team was down to three as we hadn’t seen Ernst since PMB. Now, the race really began and we would find out if that 6 minute buffer to the plan could be maintained, or whether we had burned our matches a little bit too soon.

Enduring suffering using Vellie Wisdom…Harrison Flats to Botha’s Hill (30-55km):

As we ran across Harrison Flats, I checked on the progress of the race on the Comrades app. As expected, Gerda Steyn was leading the women's race, Onalenna Khonkobe was doing his now-familiar rabbit gig by sprinting away in the first half of the men’s race and some of our other friends were slightly behind their goal times. The app said that our expected finish time at 33km was 09:00:05. I looked at this and frowned, but told Marius and Ivan with a smile,

Knowing that the app works on the official race distance, we knew that it would report our pace a little behind what we were actually running. We were also trusting that the plan would come together.

We approached one of my favourite bits of running on the Comrades route with a gentle downhill through Inchanga Park, past the highly inspirational Ethembeni School (where I high fived as many kids as possible) and on to the famed Inchanga at 39km. We reached Inchanga almost 7 minutes ahead of the plan and decided to take the second of the Big 5 at a shuffle.

In November 2024, after seeing someone running the New York City Marathon in Crocs and another person running the Chicago Marathon in high heels, Marius decided to do a similar fun run by doing a marathon in vellies. I accompanied him (in running shoes) through the Jacaranda City Challenge and during that race, he had made a point to talk to every single runner on the road.

When they noticed his choice of footwear, people would beam and forget their own marathon running sorrows for a while. It was the most enjoyable marathon that I had run and it taught me that, in times of trouble, people want to have something that distracts them from their own situation. I like to call this Vellie Wisdom.

With this in mind, we started greeting all the runners we passed up Inchanga – calling out club names and complimenting fellow runners on their strong form – and before we knew it, had run all the way up Inchanga without a single walk break (Ivan had done a few power hikes, but he lives in rural England, so will forgive him for his moment of softness. He still reached the top of the hill at the same time). This had been a personal triumph for me, since I imagined doing this during my 50km training run in May and here I was producing what I had manifested.

Marius had gotten so enamoured with a new running buddy that he disappeared from view as we powered down Inchanga to halfway at Drummond. Spotting a camera, Ivan and I locked in and ran in step to get one of my favourite ever running photos.

At Drummond, I was again overwhelmed by the sheer amount of noise that is generated in the little town and saw some familiar faces in Nhlanhla Mabuza – an ex-colleague who had recently published his first book and Manie Groenewald – a fellow Green Miler and pastor of the church that I attend.

In the electric atmosphere, I had goosebumps as we started the harrowing climb up to Botha’s Hill. I took my first walk break of the day – after 45.8km (the furthest that I’ve ever run uninterrupted) – at Arthur’s Seat and greeted the old man by doffing my cap and getting back into a shuffle past the Wall of Honour where we caught up to Marius. I tried to spot the plaques that my dad and I have in Section Z of the wall for extra motivation, but knew that my parents were following my progress on the app and soldiered on.

The 8km journey up to Big 5 Hill #3 – Botha’s Hill – can be broken in to three separate climbs and it was on the second one that the 9-hour bus caught us. This started a tango between us and the bus that would continue for almost 20km. We were running at roughly the same pace, but would break up a hill in different ways – which meant that we were continuously in front and then behind of the bus.

They slowed to a walk as we passed them at a shuffle up the last and steepest part of Botha’s Hill. A short walk break followed for us, along with a glance over my shoulder for a last glimpse of the Valley of a Thousand Hills. I said to Ivan, “we run at the lamp post”, and as we reached the post, I adjusted my hydration pack and was overtaken by the bus, separating me and Marius from Ivan. Going past Kearsney College, I yelled, “make some nooooooise!” and the boys responded with a wall of sound.

After almost 900m of elevation gain, the down part of the Down run had now begun, 3 minutes had been wiped from our plan, and we had been caught by the 9-hour bus. On the face of it, we were nowhere near falling over 9 hours, but I wasn’t feeling super confident in our plan at that moment. Luckily, Marius and I had been through deep waters together on the road and stuck to the bus down the steep Botha’s Hill, seeing Ivan slowly disappearing, and ventured into Hillcrest. The Vellie Wisdom had started to wear off and we were a lot less chatty. Things were about to get a whole lot more difficult.

Die probleem met hierdie pad and three moments of doubt…Hillcrest to Cowie’s Hill (55-77km)

At the bottom of Botha’s there waits another nasty hill – the Hillcrest Heartbreaker – over which we shuffled just ahead of the bus. The reward for tackling the hill was suddenly seeing Dries on the side of the road. Stopping to chat to him, the bus came past again. Dries wasn’t the happiest man on the road at that moment and he simply said, “the mind is willing, but the legs don’t want to comply”. His 8:30 was out the window, but he was still looking good for a Bill Rowan. The BR Team was starting to stumble and Marius chose the perfect moment to simply say, “It is here that a Bill Rowan is won or lost.” Together, being pulled by the atmosphere that follows the bus, the amazing Hillcrest crowds and our captain’s words, the three of us made our way through Winston Park, on the M13 and into Kloof.

Here we would make a quick stop at the Green Mile gazebo. I would collect a refill of my sports drink and we would be on our way. Mentally, I was also hanging on, as at the magnitude of what we were doing started to dawn on me.

My friend, Louis Dey, has many stories to tell from his 20 Comrades finishes.

My favourite, is that during an Up Run, close to the brutal Polly Shortts hill, he ran next to a black man who said, in a beautiful Afrikaans accent,

And in this moment, the fact that we still had roughly 26km weighed heavily upon me. “You haven’t even broken 10 hours, what are you doing trying to break 9? You should just give up”, is more or less what my self-talk sounded like. I tried to get myself out of the funk, but I was spiraling. I needed to settle myself – and quickly. Only problem was, that despite running strongly, we were continually losing time to the plan. This was no time to slow down. In my desperation, I grabbed an ice lolly from a waterpoint, which had some restorative effect, but I was mentally simply hanging on to get to the gazebo.

I had dropped off my empty soft flask bottles and sachets of drink mix in a pouch at the club on the Wednesday before the race with clear instructions: Fill up both with 500ml water and have them ready when I get to the gazebo, PLEASE. To get me out of my moment of increasing panic, I visualised how I would grab the bottles in the run from our chairman, Chris Koch, and using the act of slowing my running pace to put them in my hydration pack, to calm myself down.

We made it to the gazebo, Dries and Marius kept running with the bus and I stopped, confused. There in Chris’s hands was my pouch, with the bottles and drink mix still in it, unmixed. My mood fell instantly. “This is where I’m going to lose the Bill Rowan. Serves you right for thinking you can do it.”, I thought. In the recent past, when faced with situations like this, especially with loved ones, I would explode, anger at having my way to my goals shut. During our Vaal Triangle Marathon in April, Marius had spewed some more simple wisdom, that helped me to center myself in pursuit of that PB. He said, “it is during difficult runs like these, that you learn what you’re really made of.” And in that run, I had held on, despite my body desiring to slow down. I had run at a heart rate of more than 180 beats per minute for more than 90 minutes, and did what needed to be done. I also met a part of myself again that I had lost in the tumult of burnout of 2024: The Charl who lives for the Big Moment. It was time for him to make another comeback.

So, instead of exploding on my club friends, who share a deep love for the sport and understood the situation, I calmly asked, “please fill both bottles” and gestured, “ice”. I chewed on an ice cube while they filled both bottles and put them into my hydration pack. Chris – who has 5 Bill Rowans in his collection of 24 Comrades medals – looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Please just stay calm. You can do this”. I set off on a walk, and I looked down at my watch. Where I had been 1:27 ahead of the plan before the stop, I was now 2:31 behind. In 500m, I’d lost 3 minutes. This was not good. Yes, the plan was set for 8:51:00 and the Bill Rowan wasn’t in danger, yet, but almost all the margin for error had been wiped out.

Where teamwork had made the dream work for the first 30km and I still had enough energy to make small talk – vellie marathon style – up Inchanga, I was now on my own and it was time to prove to myself that I could do what I said I would at the start of the day.

As I turned back onto the M13, two people helped me to reattach my race number that was close to falling off. In this last moment of standing still, I steadied myself and aimed to start a shuffle. As the shuffle became more comfortable, I aimed for a bridge that crossed the highway and told myself, “when you reach the bridge, you look at the watch and you run whatever pace it says you need to do.” Before I knew it I was flying down Big 5 Hill #4, Field’s Hill – barely aware of any pain in my screaming quads. I had overcome my first moment of doubt.

There is something to be said for experience and “road hardiness” in ultrarunning. Pains that feel fatal during your first runs, are met as old friends when you’ve done a few marathons and ultras. This helped me immensely as I flew past the spot where my “spirit left my body” at a waterpoint halfway down Field’s in 2022. I used the momentum to power over the little bump into Pinetown and there I found Dries, again. We ran together for a few hundred meters, and in almost the exact spot where my “spirit left my body” in 2023, I left him behind. I felt bad to leave my friend behind, but I had one short-term goal: just run as fast you can to Cowie’s Hill and then you can walk. Just before Cowie’s, I found Ernst, who was walking stiff-legged from cramps, gave a short word of encouragement and soldiered on to Big 5 Hill #5, Cowie’s Hill.

I had made it and even managed a short shuffle up the steep hill, but there was no way that I was running all the way up it. I checked my watch, despite running for all I was worth, I had lost another 90 seconds in the epic stretch of running. I hadn’t seen the bus, Marius or Ivan since Kloof and I was now really slowing down on the hills.

Common Comrades logic states that if you are close to your goal time on the top of Cowie’s on the Down run, and you still have some legs left, you need to make  a run for it. The plan for the rest of the race became crystal clear: try to shuffle up every hill you find, power hike the bits that you can’t run anymore and run as fast as you can down the downhill side of the hill. I steadied myself at the top of Cowie’s and ran. I had overcome my second moment of doubt.

Going down Cowie’s, I steeled myself for the notoriously difficult “hill with no name” into Westville. Up this hill, I could feel my conviction falter. The confidence I had felt, had almost completely evaporated. The heat was starting to get to me and I was on the point of giving up on the 9 hour dream. At this moment, a girl ran past me with the name “Nadia” on her race number and I was pulled out of my funk. My Nadia had supported me all the way through all my years of training and had to endure two years of me telling her how hard it was to miss out on my Comrades goals. No Comrades-widow deserves three years of that misery and I decided to start a shuffle. The plan was to run as hard as possible to the next big hill, 45th Cutting. I still hadn’t seen the bus or Marius or Ivan, but my shuffle turned into a run. Turning a corner into Westville, I was met with dismay. There was yet another hill. In my race planning and mental visualization, I didn’t bargain for this hill. Where did it come from? I couldn’t afford to walk, so I promptly shuffled over it. My reward was an unbelievable mental clarity. I had overcome my third moment of doubt.

Into the void…Westville to Mayville Offramp (78-84km)

Many runners tell stories about deep thoughts and higher order thinking that they achieve during runs, but as I was flying towards 45th Cutting, I entered a void. There was no pain, no tiredness, no awareness of the heat, nothing. It was just pure running bliss. I put down the hammer and ran 4km under 5:30/km and managed to get back 40 seconds to the plan. The expected finishing time had dipped below 8:56:00 again and there was less than 10km to go.

The road to 45th Cutting takes a steep, sharp cambered turn over a bridge to get to the hill and as I reached this point, I could see, running over the bridge, a most glorious sight. The massive 9-hour bus with its bus driver’s flag waving in the wind. I had done the hard work to at least get a visual on them and I felt new vigour. This was it. The moment that would decide the Bill Rowan once and for all. I had given myself the shot, I was behind the 8:51:00 plan, but was firmly in control of my own destiny.

As I crossed the bridge and approached 45th Cutting, I counted lamp posts: 1,2,3, all the way to 10. I decided, “I can run that far” and put my head down. As I reached the 10th lamp post there was a waterpoint. I came out of the void and felt the heat of the day. I was overheating. Almost as if she read my thoughts, a volunteer held out two full, ice cold 500ml bottles of water. I grabbed both and immediately poured the entire first bottle over my head. The other bottle was shared between drinking and pouring over my body as I power hiked up 45th Cutting. It is a hill that wouldn’t even feature on many Comrades runners’ radar during a training run, but at 82km, it does have some bite and the steepest part of it, is right at the top. I wanted to run, but walked the last few steps to the top and as I prepared to set off on the downhill, a breeze came over the hill and magnified the cooling effect of the water. “Witness this”, I said to myself and set off into Sherwood, re-entering the void. I vaguely remember someone yelling, “Looking good, Charl!”, and another cheering,

At the bottom of the hill, the Mayville offramp awaits and is notorious among many runners as a “must walk” spot, due to its steepness. Running at 5:00/km pace, I used the momentum from the downhill to get me over the offramp without a walk break and I was spat out onto the highway where I got to behold a deeply satisfying sight. There, 200m ahead of me, was the 9-hour bus, and right behind it, was Marius. I had done the work and the BR Team was reunited.

A short reunion and a bus ride…Tollgate Bridge to Kingsmead (85-90km)

Excited to see my Captain, I ran down the highway at 4:28/km. As I sidled up next to him and said, “you didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?” he smiled a tired smile and said that he was happy to see me. Together we ran-walked behind the bus up Tollgate Bridge, where the LOUDEST waterpoint of the day awaited. After having recovered from the noise, I came to the realisation that there was only 5km to go, according to the official race distance, but 6km according to my GPS watch. There was still enough time for things to go wrong, so instead of burning our quads on the final steep descent, we took our “seats” in the bus and cruised to Durban for 2km.

Running in such a massive bus, is a sensory experience. No one is talking by this point of the race, but the sheer number of people and the sound of their shoes hitting the tar generated a white noise that turned my brain into scrambled eggs. Everyone’s bodies were radiating heat and combined with the heat reflecting from the road, all the water I had poured over myself from 45th Cutting had evaporated and I was starting to feel properly discombobulated.

As we reached the bridge over the final hill of the race, Marius and I shuffled when the bus stopped for a walk and grabbed cokes at the waterpoint on the top of the hill that follows an overpass into the city centre. We conquered all the hills of the day – 1148m of elevation gain, 1700m elevation loss done and dusted. We had a flat finish to the finish in People's Park.

There was still time for a few final emotional ups and downs, though. The bus then again split me from Marius as the downhill started and I was again stuck right at the back of it. I could feel that I was now going into a place far beyond “the void” wherein I had run since Westville. In this place was just tiredness. As I poured another sachet of water over myself, my body gave up resistance and I literally wet myself. I used another water sachet to pour water over my crotch, but I knew that at this stage of the race, embarrassment was the least of my worries.

I tried my best to not lose the bus again and as we sped up on the approach to Kingsmead, my bladder decided it was time to let go properly and I wet myself again. This time in a big way. I could feel pee running into my shoes and thought to myself, “why, why, why, do I do this?!”

Past the void, past the pain, past all deep thoughts and on to sweet relief

For my first Comrades, the turn into Masabalala Yengwa Drive past Kingsmead Cricket Stadium had been a triumphant moment. Two guys in front of me in the bus shared a fist bump and I knew – for the first time fully – we’d be good for the 9 hour finish. I desperately wanted to feel the same “if you visualise it will materialise” magic playing out in front of me as I had in 2022, but I was simply too tired.

I saw Marius and Ivan a few meters ahead of the bus and ran to catch them. We hadn’t seen Ivan since the top of Botha’s Hill. He had run the perfect race, but was now slowing down and Marius decided to run with him. I felt a mysterious last burst of speed from my legs and decided to follow the surge, hoping that they’d join me in a sprint to the finish in People’s Park.

I ran and never looked back. I was completely broken by now and needed to feel relief from the misery that I was feeling. The final mile of the race is lined with Toyota signage and is know as the Toyota Mile. When I reached it, I got tunnel vision. I ran for all I was worth, aiming for the Toyota arch over the road. Except that it wasn’t the finish.

I hit the accelerator again – touching on 4:20/km for a moment – and as the crowds started to grow next to the road, I could feel myself slipping deeper past the void. Would I pass out? Would I pee myself again?

I was brought back to the present when I had another full circle moment. Kenneth and Heidi Joubert had been my guides through the final kilometers of my first ultra marathon in 2021 and I saw Kenneth’s face in the crowd cheering me on. He was supporting Heidi who was running her 6th Comrades. Her running journey is an inspiring one that deserves its own story, but suffice it to say, seeing Kenneth kept me strong until I reached another arch over the road that had Gems signage. Again, this wasn’t the finish.

Third time was the charm as the official Comrades Marathon Finish signage loomed up ahead. I threw my arms in the air when I saw a camera and slowed to a walk for the final 10m to take in the moment. The clock read 08:56:20. I had my Bill Rowan. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

The aftermath

The Comrades finish line is a highly emotional experience and for all three years so far, I had had a good cry at the end. As a volunteer put my Bill Rowan over my head, I didn’t even have a tear left to give. I had left everything on the road.

It didn’t even occur to me to wait for Marius and Ivan. I needed to lie down, immediately.

A lot will have been written by the time this is published about the situation at the Comrades finish venue, but I struggled through the immense crowd and had to hold on to people to keep from falling over. I asked someone for directions to the club gazebos, where I had a change of clothes waiting, and he pointed me in the opposite direction of where I was headed and - incorrectly - said that it was at least a 2km walk. I promptly found a spot in the dust between other broken runners and lay down. I clutched my medal and said a prayer of thanks. I lay motionless until a friendly man offered to buy me an ice cream. I lay on my side while sucking on it and phoned my Nadia. She was overjoyed and asked if I was OK. I said that I was tired. She said that she believed me. And I rested for a few more minutes until I saw a message from Ivan on the Green Mile WhatsApp chat…

But what about the rest of the BR Team?

Ernst and Dries had the longest day of all, but managed to finish together in 9:44 for a safe Robert Mtshali medal. A very good Comrades time, but very far away from their original goals of 8:30. I look forward to long runs where the day is dissected and plans are hatched to get them under 9 hours.

Shane ran his third straight Bill Rowan and got a PB in 8:44. He is one of the most consistent runners I know and it was an immense privilege to share a lot of the build up with him!

Marius and Ivan had been roughly 20m behind me at the first “false finish” at the Toyota arch when Marius had started to weave and struggled to keep running in a straight line. He had collapsed at the end of marathons twice before – at the end of his first Comrades in 2022 and during a swelteringly hot PB marathon attempt in November 2023 – and the same happened to him again, 400m from the Comrades finish line. Ivan tried to help him up and revive him with some sweets, but even after Marius tried to crawl to the finish, and employing the help of another runner, his race was done. A cruel fate for our captain who had run unwaveringly all day.  Ivan left him on the road to get medical help at the finish line. He sprinted and ended up missing his Bill Rowan sub-9 finish by an agonising 36 seconds. All while his efforts to help his lifelong mate were broadcast on national television.

At the finish line it took three attempts for volunteers to fetch Marius in a stretcher and carry him to the medical tent. There he was put on a drip  and was going to be sent to hospital before he discharged himself after a second drip had revived him. I can write a whole story about the four and a half hours that elapsed from when Marius collapsed and when he discharged himself, but will leave it here, since it doesn’t put Comrades in a very good light and puts a damper on an otherwise wonderful day. The most important thing is that my friend is okay, very much alive and kicking and back to making all the most inappropriate jokes that his friends know and love him for. Ivan also deserves a word of praise. The man travelled all the way from the UK to get a Bill Rowan and opted to rather try his best to get his friend over the line. A true Comrade. I do feel"survivor's guilt", but do not know if I could have helped Ivan to get Marius over the line. I had seen so many stars in the last 400m... If I could change one thing about the day, is that that we could've finished together.

In the end, only one of the BR Team got their BR. It turned out that it had been a very difficult day on the road for most Comrades runners. The DNF rate reached its highest number since the race returned after COVID in 2022. The heat had gotten to many people and there were reports of severe cramps that affected fast and slow runners alike.

What's next?

As we made our way back to Umhlanga, a hunger set in among our group and we went to a Debonairs to pick up some pizzas. When we hobbled in to the shop with our post-Comrades waddle and our medals draped around our necks, we ended the day the same way that it had started when the staff started to sing “Shosholoza” for us. We joined them in a little dance and promptly ate a celebratory ice cream while we waited for our pizzas. For the first time after a Comrades, I slept like a log. There really is nothing quite like the sleep of satisfaction from a job well done.

 The 98th running of the Ultimate Human Race had stayed true to its race slogan for 2025, #isiko_mpilo, “more than a race”, in the way that it tested the conviction of many athletes. After two disappointing years in terms of athletic performance, I finally had my moment in the (hot) sun. After chasing sub-10 for two years, I was rewarded with a sub-9. I intend to enjoy my post-race recovery with too much food and very little running.

(Side bar – it is one week later and I am on my way to getting a Bill Rowan for eating, too)

The race took a lot out of me and especially mentally, I need to focus on other aspects of life for a while. A big race like Comrades can sometimes warp one’s perspective about what is really important. However, in doing something big in as healthy and sound way that I’ve been blessed to this year, I believe that this moment will be a springboard for other pursuits in life. I am proud of the time that I ran, but am more proud of how I handled myself during my three moments of doubt.

Running is an activity that lends itself to a narrative arc: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and resolution. The narrative arc of my running story that started with a simple run on the beach in 2010, feels like it has reached a climax with this Comrades. All the lessons from my first 11 years that led to ultra running, and the experiences of my first four Comrades have now exhausted themselves. The fact that I also had all the “full-circle moments” in meeting people who were at the start of many phases of the running journey over the weekend, indicates to me that  there is a new phase of my running life that lies in wait after this race. It is one of the proudest achievements of my life that this one Comrades run stands a monument to everything that I’ve managed to experience thus far. I definitely believe that I have more runs ahead of me than what I’ve done so far. How I do them, will be revealed in the coming weeks and months, but for the time being, I’m pretty sure that running until I pee myself, isn’t on my to-do list.

For now, Comrades has been a gift that has given me way more than I could ever have hoped for and after writing this series of blogs, I understand my relationship with the race a lot better. I ran this race as if it were my last. I hope that it isn’t, but if I return to the race, it will be with new motivation and a new narrative arc to pursue. It is, after all, #isiko_mpilo, “more than a race”.