Knysna Forest Marathon

Published July 7, 2018

Short nite. Alarm screamed half-past 3. Run clothes readied, water-splashed my face, in the Renault by 4. African taxi to catch on the other side of town. Inched down the mountain I was now calling home, then east on the N-2 to Loeri Park. FRONT ROW PARKING — being crazy punctual has its benefits. FAAAANNNTASTIC!

Two short streets to the traffic light, quarter-mile walk to the taxi stand. Security-checked, taxi queued, step ONE complete. 16 to an African taxi. One-six. That’s a lotta new friends on a 20-minute ride. Forest arrived, deplaned the Brady Bunch taxi, handed a red high-thread BLANKET (thick & WARM). Race sponsor Momentum provided thousands; would later donate to Knysna’s less fortunate. Classy sponsor. Take note, USA RDs.

Wait, back up. Blanket? in Africa? All true. 38 degrees pre-dawn in the forest; African winter. No snow, but I’ll take it. BEST chance of finishing 42K on this continent.

Spooky long walk. Pitch black mile. Scary/creepy ‘cept for scattered chatter from other starters. Large field for a trail run – 8000 participants. Closer to the Start, day’s impromptu village thrived. Bon fires, music. Lotta announcements about coffee – and of course, Toilet Town. LOL> Took care of busy early, then hunkered near one of the loud speakers. Hour-half ‘til Start. Lotta time for head demons/self-doubt. Stayed upbeat, engaged. Hard part’s over. I did it – I’m here, at this race, on the African continent. 5 hour time goal in my head; tight 5 ½ hour cut-off this race. Life-to-date, I’ve finished just THREE trail marathons in this window. No headphones, no music – present, in the moment. Too much money spent to DNF.

7am arrived. Bunched up Start, chatted up other runners – seemingly the only American today (results showed others). Hilly course, warned it’s mostly UP ‘til the 19K marker. They downward count kilometers here, so 19K just past the half-way point. Leave something for the end, the guy said. Too much talk. Smiled, turned down the volume; his mouth kept moving, my eyes focused forward.

Wide dirt path. No Dirty 30 single-track nonsense, no Bighorn mud. Slight but constant grade UP, reminiscent of January’s Hawaii ultra. (Remember that, Sis?) Landscape mirrored my New Zealand marathon. Morning sunshine peeped thru treeline like the Pacific Northwest. EXACTLY where I was meant to run. BEAUTIFUL. Not the “Feed the World” Africa on American TV.

Hit it hard first Half. 2:20, on target for a 5 hour finish. Walked one hill before the Half; walked the big incline to km marker 18. Notta lotta in the tank, counted on the 2^nd Half being downhill. Sea level finish. No push needed, all gravity propelled. Quads trashed, right heel’s first test since Bighorn.

Kilometers 10 thru 8 (backward counted): scenic canyons, stunning visual & UP. Paved road now & UP. Switchback, ‘nother beautiful view & still UP. I’m walking. EVERYONE around me, walking. Knew in my head needed to pick up pace, but those thoughts were brief. I’m a slow walker.

Stopped EVERY opportunity. 10K to the Finish, that’s 6 miles – where IS THE OCEAN? why AM I STILL CLIMBING? DJ music pumped loud nearing the top. I got nothing. Empty tank.

Next 2 miles: down STRAIGHT down. SOOO steep you walk down. Foot smacked hard pavement, throbbed. No one seems concerned about cutoff. Did I make this up? Breathe.

Garmin stared. 5 hours, 2+ miles to go. Short math delay then CLICK. Are you frickin’ kidding me? Ran, walked. Ran more, walked. 12 minute mile. Empty. First look at the Finish – crazy far away, other side of the highway. Still gotta run the length of the Bridge, cross under, then run it back into town. Holy crap. Push, push, push, push. Don’t care what my form looks like, who’s around me.

2K marker – is that one mile? More than a mile? Half a mile? Why don’t they frickin’ use miles? Holy crap I’m cutting this close. Elephants, game safari, fancy B&B high above the ocean – then I time out at the marathon? This CANNOT be happening.

Push, push, push. Announcer’s talking cutoff. NOT in my head, reality. 2 — 4 — 9 — 11 — # of runners I passed that last 2K.

< 3 minutes remaining but I FINISHED. Jeez, Louise. Laid in the grass, kicked back, panting. WAIT. Where’s my medal? Upright, salmoned against a tide of finishing runners: “I didn’t get my medal” like a crazy person, LOL> but I got my Africa bling bling 😊

FIVE. Count ‘em. That’s FIVE continents, baby.

Whatta MARATHON memory, KICKED my BUTT! Immortalized. Forever, SOUTH AFRICA! 🇿🇦