My First Comrades Marathon

Where do I even start… I am still in awe of what we did on the 14th of June 2026, and I say we because it took a team. Both physically and spiritually. They say nothing truly prepares you for the Comrades Marathon, and now I completely understand why. After months of highs, lows, and the grueling qualifying miles on the road, the day finally came and went. Reflecting on it now, it was a beautiful, delightful, and deeply transformative experience. Comrades tested me psychologically and spiritually far more than it ever did physically. What made this entire chapter truly irreplaceable, though, was sharing it with my dad. I spent most of this journey right by his side, and having him there was easily one of the greatest highlights of the entire experience.

Do you have your drink and popcorn ready?

Wednesday, 10 June

While I was at work, absolutely overwhelmed by deadlines that needed to be met before I could finally go on leave, the reality of it all suddenly hit me… the Comrades Marathon is this Sunday.

What happened next was completely unimaginable. I just wept. Uncontrollable tears started falling down my cheeks, and I found myself scrambling to hide my face. None of my colleagues even knew I was running the Comrades Marathon, so there I was, trying to keep it together in total secrecy. The sheer weight, anticipation, and magnitude of what I was about to step into had completely washed over me right there at my desk. I later discovered it was also heightened PMS, I mention this part because for the first time in a while happy to experience period pains. Rather now, than on the road. I spent the two days in bed, and in my feels.

Friday, 12 June

Two nights before the race, I found myself in tears all over again. My mind was playing tricks on me; I felt a phantom pinch here and an ache there, my mind was convinced my body was wavering. In the morning, I knew I needed to shift the energy. I laced up and went out for a quick, quiet 5km jog just to clear my mind and ground myself.

My Plus One called me all morning checking in, and my bestie was on the line too. They both showed up for me in the most beautiful way. They came through to see me before I left, and Plus One arrived bearing the ultimate pre-race care package: pizza and a beer for one final, comforting carb-loading session. Before I knew it, it was time to leave for the airport. The phone calls didn’t stop; my nieces video-called, and we had a chat and a laugh. I arrived in Durban around 9 pm, and a shower and sleep were the only things left to do.

Saturday 13 June, Comrades Marathon PreRace Traditions

The Beach

The energy in KwaZulu-Natal leading up to race day is one of a kind. I wanted nothing to do with the pre-race traditions, but the day before the race, my dad and I headed to the beach, and it was a sight to behold. Different running clubs gathered for their final shake-out warm-ups. There was an incredible sense of pride and camaraderie in the air as clubs showed off their strength in numbers, singing, chanting, and claiming their space. Being there with him, absorbing that collective energy, was the perfect prelude to what was to come. Although we couldn’t touch the beach sand or water, I was happy to be there. With him. He discovered that I hadn’t eaten anything, and we walked to the shop to grab a bite.

While we were walking to the shops, I heard someone shout my name. When I looked across the street, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Thulani, the man who helped me during my 60km training. He was so happy to see me (and so was I), and him and my dad had a beautiful exchange of words, and he told him how strong I was during training. We wished each other luck and headed to the shops.

The Expo

Later in the afternoon was another tradition I’m glad I attended. One of the absolute highlights of the weekend was the Expo. Walking into that space, surrounded by thousands of runners who share the same mad passion, is always a thrill. But what really stood out for me was the novice stand; a lovely, welcoming touch. They allowed me to enter with my dad. The stand had refreshments, photo stands, and cameras. My friend, Kwena, was there, we spoke, and he promised to wait for me at the finish line the following day. I checked my watch, and I walked a total of 12km, something I never do before a huge race, but it was worth it. After all the walking around, I grabbed one last beer for the road and hoped that the excitement, coupled with the bev, would knock me out.

The Morning of the Race

I am inclined to believe we were all half asleep. As soon as an anonymous person screamed “WAKE UP WAKE UP, IT’S A BIG DAY TODAY WAKE UP” at 2 am, we all woke up. The anonymous human repeated the wake-up call at 3 am. I said a prayer, took a shower, and geared up. Breakfast was porridge, a banana, a nougat bar, and a pill to stop a runny tummy in case it occurs. Another quick prayer, and we were off to the starting line.

At The Starting Line

Standing there, I was in awe of how every single one of us had to embark on a journey to get there. None of us woke up the week before and decided to run the Comrades Marathon. We had to run qualifiers, we had to spend months on the road to prep, we almost lost our minds (or at least I did). It was a long journey, and it all came down to this day. Next to me was a gentleman who read a Bible verse out loud. He soon had a crowd, and he read it even louder. Soon the National Anthem played, then Chariots of Fire, the cock, and the gun went off… It was show time. While we waited for the first 2 groups to start, we were blessed with Nkalakata and Sister Bethina while we took the last “before” selfies.

Group 3

Then came the road. And with the road came the unique psychological warfare that is Comrades.

The first one, every runner is used to watching the kilometers tick up; 1km done, 2km done, counting your progress. But Comrades does things differently; instead of celebrating what you’ve achieved, the markers on the road count down what’s left. Seeing a sign that says you have 66 kilometers to go does something to your mind. Thankfully, I was prepared for that. I went to a presentation that mentioned this, and I laughed when I saw it. The next challenge was the water points. The first five water points, or so didn’t have any water. Runners were upset and cursed at the volunteers. I went to the nearest petrol station to purchase water. I ran a good 20km with water in hand in case the other water points didn’t have water.

On The Road

What carries you through that long road is the crowd. I have never experienced anything quite like the supporters on the Comrades road. They were nothing short of amazing. The air was filled with a mix of music, loud cheers, and the incredible generosity of strangers offering food and fuel to keep us going. For kilometers on end, it felt like the entire community was holding us up, refusing to let us fail. Whenever I needed a Deep Heat spray, they understood the assignment and never wasted time.

I joined two buses on the road; the first bus was fast, and it gradually became faster and faster. I checked the drivers of the bus, and they were novices. I let go of that bus; it was looking like a recipe for disaster with that pace. As I was chilling with my thoughts, I heard a lady say, “Come on, lady, walk like a phara, let’s go…”. It was the famous Makhi, who drove the sub 12 bus with her co-pilot, Mr Molefe. I switched back to game mode cause I had to hold on to that bus for dear life if I was to finish on time.

The bus was fun while it lasted. Makhi is such a lovely soul. At every water point, she took more than enough for her bus and shared supplies like salt with those who experienced cramps. Every 10 km, she also said a prayer, something people looked forward to as they reminded her when she forgot. 10km before the finish, the bus was piling up, and I ran ahead of it.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Eight km before the finish, I heard a voice behind me say; let’s go, girl. It was a lady named Felicia, I met her during the 60km training session, and we literally struck up a conversation while running. We pushed each other to the finish line; she paced me, and I pushed her when the pain got loud. Before we knew it, we were 1km before the finish, and a clear indicator of that was the crowd. We entered into a field I had seen many times on TV and thought, “one day I will run down that finish line”. One day finally came, and we finished in 11 hours and 52 minutes.

As soon as I crossed that finish line, all the emotions I contained came to the surface, and I wept. We hugged, took pictures at the finish, and more tears came. My friend Kwena was there waiting for me. As soon as he hugged me, I cried even more. He congratulated me and told me how nervous he was, but was happy to see me. Getting my medal was reassurance that we really made it.

Timer…

As soon as you get the medal, the adrenaline begins to subside, and the high energy comes back to Earth. And then… The pain kicks in, and walking is a mission. The medal is a sign of victory, apparently so is the pain.

When the dust settled, I called my dad, and he was waiting for my call. He was genuinely so surprised that I finished! Seeing his reaction was everything. He was so proud, we took photos, and then he showed me off to absolutely everyone he spoke to, sharing my finish with anyone who cared to listen. He offered me a drink to cool off before I had to go to the club bus back to Pietermaritzburg. Fam… Climbing up the stairs of that bus and sitting was an interesting experience to say the least. Let’s just say I was fighting the urge to faint, my body was still in shock, and dehydrated. I looked at my medal and reminded myself that it was worth it.

The Recovery

The first day after the race, my knees were in pain, and I couldn’t sleep or eat. The body was tired, but the actual sleep took a while. The second day after the race, the pain moved to the thighs, and a 2km walk took 1 hour. It took five days to start walking like a human again and walk up and down the stairs comfortably. The appetite came back three days later, and I still have to remind myself to sleep a lot as the body needs it to recover. After months of letting go of bubbles and wine, the first mimosa tasted so good.

Gratitude

Comrades is a beast, but it is also a beautiful reminder of what we are capable of when we push past our perceived limits. It broke me down, built me back up, and gave me a journey with my dad that I will treasure forever. I still can’t believe that the most I had ever run a month before the Comrades Marathon was 42km, and in May, we achieved the unimaginable to attain the ultimate goal.

To everyone who cheered, sang, and ran alongside us, thank you. To the LOML, my Plus One, my family and friends, thank you for holding my hands through this journey, and I am so sorry I traumatized you during moments when I was in pain (emotionally and physically)

To my girls in the 28 Gratitude Practice Group, thank you for walking this journey with me and helping me see things to be grateful for. The road was long, and I am grateful that two weeks later, I am still in a euphoric state, and may this euphoric state be with me forever because we did that!