Dress Rehearsal Drama

I was running at max effort, with only one kilometre to go to the finish line. I wasn’t sure if I might actually die before reaching it.

Which was not exactly the plan.

This 30 km race was supposed to be a sensible “dress rehearsal” for the London Marathon. A solid effort, yes, but controlled. Definitely not a full-blown epic death battle.

The race started innocently enough. The gun went off at 6:05 am and we set off in the dark. With six weeks to go before London, the Tygerberg 30 km fitted perfectly into the training schedule. It’s also quite hilly (420 m of elevation), which I liked. London is flat, so compared to this, it should feel like a walk in the park.

About three kilometres in, I caught up with Obertina, a runner from Zimbabwe. She’s my age and clearly the better runner. Out of the twenty-plus times we’ve raced together, I’ve beaten her exactly twice.

For a while I ran behind her, but her pace felt slightly off. I like to run a race at my own pace, so I passed her. As expected, she tucked in behind me. Kilometre five. The killer hills were still coming.

For the next twenty kilometres we ran in our little “bus”, as the South Africans say. Me in front, Obertina tucked in behind me, calmly drafting (or rather, breathing down my neck). I knew the real showdown would come in the final kilometres, when she would unleash a devastating sprint and leave me in the dust.

Still, I felt reasonably prepared. Over the last few weeks Kai has been meeting me at the end of my long runs to push me through the kilometres at a fast pace. I felt ready for a “final push” fight.

At kilometre 25, a man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and started yelling at Obertina in Shona. Occasionally he mixed in some English: “Be patient!” “Get ready!”. Well, thanks, mate, I will.

For the next two kilometres, he accompanied us, yelling his instructions. By this point the sun was out, it was getting hot, and now we also had our own personal race commentator.

Then, finally, at kilometre 27, he gave out the command: “Now!”

Obertina surged.

I accelerated.

The Yeller yelled.

We hit a downhill and suddenly we were flying. We passed runners who cheered us on as if they had front-row seats to a gladiator fight.

3:48 min/km.

Next kilometre: 3:54.

Obertina was still right behind me. The Yeller was still yelling. My legs were still moving. At this point my strategy of “running my own race” was completely out the window.

By the final kilometre I sensed a small gap opening behind me. I didn’t dare to look back, but the shouting was getting slightly more distant. I suddenly felt exhausted. If she attacked again, I had nothing left.

I turned into the stadium and I crossed the finish line in 2:18 as first in my age group. Obertina came in less than thirty seconds later.

At the finish line, I wanted to thank Obertina for the epic battle. But she walked straight past me and disappeared into the changing rooms. I’m not entirely sure she enjoyed the experience as much as I did.

We’ll see each other again in two weeks at a 10 km race. Where she will almost certainly destroy me again and restore the natural order of things.

As for London… I’m planning a nice controlled effort. Just like this one was supposed to be.

• What’s your trick for surviving those last few minutes of a race or a hard workout?
• Ever had an annoying spectator/coach/supporter yelling from the sidelines?

I am linking up with Jenny from Runners Fly and Jenn from Runs with Pugs for Tuesday Topics as well as Runners’ Roundup with Coach Debbie Runs, Confessions of a Mother Runner, Mile by Mile, and Runs with Pugs!