I just wanted to have one last set of items related to the race that I couldn’t figure out how to get in the previous two posts.

- I only have one disappointment associated with the race and it has nothing to do with the race itself. 23,568 runners paid the entry fee but only 16,480 actually started. That’s a shame that so many people chose not to show up. Most years they have about 10% no shows. I think because you had to sign up so early many runners just signed up to secure a spot, but then were unable or unwilling to show up. And that’s too bad. Comrades deserved better.
- 16,480 started, 14,343 finished. I finished in the top 50%!
- You can go to the results page and see videos of Team Flash at various cutoff points and at the finish. Just type in Flaspohler and click on the camera icon on the far right.
- Michael Wardian (he of the stroller pushing marathoners) was the top placed American male – finishing 26th and just missing out on a gold medal by 2 1/2 minutes.
- Kami Semick was the top placing American female finishing fourth!

YouTube videos

- Here’s the sub-12 hour bus arriving with 10 minutes to spare!
- Final successful finisher!
- Bart Yasso’s Runner’s World video series can be found here

The medal

- The design of the Comrade’s medal has not changed since 1924. Until this year. They made the medal 50 mm instead of the traditional 30 mm. Even with the size increase, this is by far the smallest medal I’ve received to date. And the most cherished. The picture below includes a one rand coin (about the size of a nickel) for scale.

The Ridgeview Lodge Striders

- We did form a running club while in South Africa. Jason and I, along with the other two runners who stayed in the Ridgeview Lodge, are the members. While we didn’t get a complete club photo due to one of our members catching an early, early Monday flight out of Durban, the three novice runners talked about the race after breakfast.

- If you ever find yourself in Durban, I can’t recommend Ridgeview Lodge strongly enough. But please remember, do not hoot.

- Finally, the answer to the third question…I’ll be back for the 100th running of Comrades in 2025!

Passing the halfway cutoff one hour and fifteen minutes ahead of the guillotine was nice. At halfway the organizers start to take runners off the course if they don’t meet the time cutoffs. But I was in no danger. In fact, I was still feeling like ten hours was doable. But right past 50K, I entered unknown territory. I remember looking at my watch and thinking I was about 10 minutes slower at 50K then when I ran the Frisco 50K. Slower is good! But Frisco was extremely flat and Comrades isn’t, so maybe I was going a little fast. But only 40 kilometers still to go! The next challenge would be Botha’s Hill.

Somewhere between Inchanga and Botha, my legs started to hurt. At first it wasn’t too bad, but it steadily got worse as the kilometers rolled by. I began making full use of the physio stations; stopping at every one for a full leg rubdown. The therapists there were great. They would use either ice or oil and try to get your muscles back in order. After each physio stop, I felt really good for about 500 meters, but then the pain would return. The advice I received from “Runner’s World” editor Jen Allen at the Cincinnati Expo was good though. “You are in South Africa running Comrades. Suck it up!” I started cheating a little more on my one minute walk periods, slipping in extra walking time on the uphills. And my pace suffered.

My race strategy for nutrition has always been to use whatever the race supplied. At every water stop, there was water, coke, cream soda, and Energade. The water and Energade was dispensed in plastic pouches that many international runners bitch about. I never had an issue – you just bite a hole in the corner of the pouch and suck up the goods. There is always the risk of stepping on an unopened pouch. Invariably, ever water stop was accompanied by the sound of a water bag exploding when an unlucky runner trod on one. It is an immediate shoe soaker! The coke and cream soda were in plastic vials and I sucked down a fair amount of that. I figure any carb was good carb. Also available were cookies, chocolate bars, salted potatoes, oranges, bananas, and other random stuff handed out by spectators. I partook of some of all of it. No gu, but I doubt I could handle more then four or five so I didn’t miss it. The only thing I didn’t try was a pouch of something called Majue (I think). I grabbed it, but it had an ‘interesting’ texture and a weird mix of flavors (tropical mango and peach or something like that) so I didn’t open it. If it had been Gu sized, I would have went for it, but this was a giant paperback book-sized pouch!

The only named hill that doesn’t have a back side (at least that I remember) was Field’s Hill. This seems to be to me the main difference between the up and down years – you only get to run down Field’s. But this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The long stretch of downhill running was definitely adding to my leg woes. I’m still running, but not making much headway. And the kilometer markers seem to be passing much more slowly. At 21 kilometers to go, I’m around 7.5 hours. Cool! One half marathon to go in 2 and ½ hours. I can do that in my sleep! Ten hours is mine!

My confidence lasted about a kilometer. Very quickly, I deteriorated and the legs had nothing left in them for running – particularly as I approached Cowies Hill. That really sucked. I walked up the entire incline and walked a good piece of the downhill. In fact, as I remember the last half marathon, I thought I walked pretty much all 13 miles or so. But it turns out I did run parts of it – the cameras at the last cutoff, 7 kilometers to go, clearly show me running (kind of). But, as evidenced by my final time, the half marathon took me about three hours. The physio stations definitely helped and there was never a doubt in my mind that I would finish – the drama was in how long it was going to take.

I didn’t see much of other American runners during the race until toward the end. At 70K, someone passed me quickly and asked, “Team Flash – Brian or Jason?” I only had time for a quick response and wasn’t able to keep pace. Around 75K, two guys wearing American flags as capes breezed by me. They looked solid while I was in the midst of one of my walk breaks. Around 10K, Elaine (the girl from the bus) caught and passed me. She yelled, “Let’s finish strong!” I waved her on. Finally, at 5K to go, Bart Yasso’s wife Laura came by. She gave me a nice shout of encouragement and tried to get me moving, but all I could do was continue my slog. I told her to go on and I’d see her at the finish. All of this passing was a little bit demoralizing but I shook it off and just kept plodding.

One thing I didn’t do that I should have done was catch on with one of the buses. These are the pace groups that many people latch on to in order to hit their time goals, similar to the marathon pace groups you guys are all familiar with. Except they aren’t similar. These are seriously large groups of people! Fairly early in the race I caught the 10 hour bus and like an idiot, passed them. Which wasn’t easy because it must have been at least 300 people and they were totally clogging the road. The pace leaders do inspirational chants, lead their group in songs, and generally just motivate and entertain. But I thought I’d meet more different people if I wasn’t part of a bus. A few hours later, this bus caught and passed me – and finished over 30 minutes in front of me. Even when they finished, they were a large group. Kathy took a picture as they rolled into the stadium.

With one kilometer to go, I decided I’d run the rest of the way to the finish. After 10 meters I decided that was a stupid idea. A South African next to me suggested we save our strength so we could run in the stadium. Very good call! We both walked to the stadium entrance and ran victoriously in the stadium to the finish! Shortly after I entered the stadium, I heard Kathy and Rocio shouting – that was pretty sweet. As soon as I finished, the first thing a race official said to me was, “Congratulations! Are you coming back next year?” Was he kidding? I considered myself officially retired from ultramarathons. I got my medal and approximate finish time and headed off thru the human debris and chaos to the international runner’s finish area. It is actually a great idea that they are going to move the finish area for the down years to the new soccer stadium. There really isn’t enough room for all the runners and their supporters waiting for them.

Kathy met me at the entrance of the international area. I was so happy to be there and it was fantastic to have her there at the finish. She and Rocio had been waiting there for at least three hours for Jason and I to show up. That gave them the opportunity to see lots of people finish, but I think it was wearing them down wondering where we were. I felt pretty decent but couldn’t face the Indian food they had for us in the tent. So I drank down a couple Energades and discussed the race with Dave Berkey, another American who we had met before the St. Louis marathon. I ran into Laura Yasso in the tent and she said that Bart was running 12 minute miles and would be in fairly soon. She pointed me to the computer in the corner that showed runner status. Since I had struggled, I was worried that Jason might be in a little trouble. So I high tailed it over there and typed in his name. He had hit the last cutoff at 10:37. Even at 10 minutes per K (a good walking pace), he had twelve hours in the bag! I went back over to the girls and let them know my prediction for his finish was 11:47. So we got back on the rail to wait.

A little after 5PM, Bart Yasso entered the stadium with a group of runners escorting him. He got a public address announcement and a nice cheer from the crowd.

Then Jason rolled in five minutes ahead of my prediction! He was power walking to the finish.

After Jason made his way to the finish tent, he did his typical post marathon collapse. Unfortunately, my vitality was also decreasing as we were waiting there. It turns out I was dehydrated. I hung on until the final countdown to twelve hours. The drama of that final cutoff is incredible. The last guy to make the cutoff finished his 29th Comrades, while someone going for his 20th collapsed on the course less then 100 meters from the finish! The last finisher and first non finisher are fifteen minute celebrities so if you ever find yourself near 12 hours, go for one of those two spots! After watching the drama on the big screen, I did my own interpretation of the corpse pose. Jason lost his cookies and a couple minutes later I decided to deposit my two bottles of Energade on the cricket pitch. Soon after that, the remaining runners were being encouraged to leave the stadium and go home. I started to seek aid at the medical tent because I was light headed, but on the way over there, my head cleared up and we decided to get out of there.

The exits out of the stadium all involve climbing up and down a half flight of metal stairs. That wasn’t easy. Hopefully when finishing in the soccer stadium in the future they can figure out an alternate exit strategy. Jason and I were not moving well, so we camped on the street corner and the girls went to get the car. About five minutes later they come back. It turns out the pathway to the car involved them walking down a very dark street with almost no other people around. They took the better part of valor and came back. We decided to catch a cab to take us to the car.

While in the cab (which smelled of cigarette smoke) my stomach decided the remaining Energade wasn’t doing it any good. I quickly informed the driver I needed to get out. After escaping, I fertilized the lovely plantings on a downtown Durban street corner, making it my own. I’m sure those plants look really good now for the world cup visitors. The remainder of Team Flash went on in the cab to the car leaving me sprawled on a corner in downtown Durban. Again, though, the South African friendliness took over. A guy who was taking down security barriers came over and asked how I was doing. I shared my story and he demanded I go back to the stadium and seek medical attention. I told him I was waiting for my peeps and that we’d go back to the stadium when they got there. In just a couple minutes they rolled by and picked me up and we headed back to the guest house totally disregarding his advice.

After getting back, I took a shower and drank some water and headed off to bed. But before I could fall asleep, Gary gave Kathy an electrolyte balancing solution to mix with hot water for me. I slugged it down along with more cold water and nearly instantly felt better. Saved again by my friendly hosts! Then I slept like a dead man until breakfast. The Ultimate Human Race was done!

With apologies to the Boston Marathon, Comrades is the greatest single footrace in the world. While I haven’t run Boston (too slow) I can’t imagine it matching the Comrades experience. And other then Boston, there isn’t any other race that could be even close. My expectations for Comrades were high. But they were surpassed in pretty much every way! I’m not sure I can even articulate how good the experience was, but here goes.

At 1:45 AM, my alarm went off. Of course, I hadn’t really slept anyway, so I hopped out of bed and got dressed. After an early morning breakfast laid out by our guest house heroes (Gary – you are going to have breakfast for us at 2 AM?!) we headed outside to catch a cab scheduled by our efficient hosts. Kathy memorialized the moment.

Two other runners from Johannesburg were staying at the B&B. The four of us were ferried downtown to catch a bus to Pietermaritzburg. On the way to the bus, we ran into Elaine, another American in town for the race. She seemed much more awake then we were, but we all piled onto the bus for our 56 mile trip and were on our way. We arrived at the starting area after over an hour on the bus. Crap we’re going to have to run back? And get there by 5:30 this evening?

There’s a nice crowd forming – long lines are waiting for free soup and hot coffee. It is a little cool (maybe 50 degrees) and many of the runners are nestled along the buildings. Inevitably at every race, there is a line of porta pots that everyone is using and another group nearby that are completely empty. You just have to look. We find the lightly used outhouses on a side street and take care of business and then head down the street toward our blocks (corrals in US speak). I’m in D, while Jason goes to G. A quick fist pump and good luck and we part ways.

After I line up in D, I’m right behind three guys who engage me in conversation. They asked three questions that the friendly South Africans will repeat about 1000 times during the race today.
“Where are you from?”
“How many Comrades have you run?”
“Are you coming back next year?”
It turns out one of these guys was also a novice, so his two buddies take the piss out of us by spouting tons of advice we can’t use and discussing how gruesome the course is. Nice. Early in the race, we all were wearing these disposable Bonitas shirts that were in our goodie bags. So no one really stood out yet. We were just a crowd of runners ready to go!

After ‘Chariots of Fire,’ South Africa’s National Anthem, and ‘Shosholosa’ (which everyone sings along with), they play the recorded rooster crow. A runner many years ago crowed like a rooster right before the start. Everyone liked it so much they recorded him and now continue to play his call, years after he has passed on. At 5:30:03 AM, the cannon fires and everyone heads down the road. We have to get to Kingsmead Stadium by 5:30:02 PM in order to get the coveted medal. It takes me about five minutes to clear the starting line. But at least I’m not back there in G.

About five minutes past the starting line, I ditch the paper shirt and try and get into a rhythm. My plan is nine minutes running/1 minute walking, modifying my walk breaks to take place on the uphills. However, due to the early race crowding, I skip my first two walk breaks. After that I stay on target. The big three questions come at me again and again. The South African runners all belong to clubs and they are required to wear their club kit during the race. As an international runner, your number is colored blue – so you stand out. This marks you as someone to be talked to. So I never had an issue running alone – there was always someone around saying hello.

After about an hour on the course, the sun came up and the real fun started. The spectators could see better and their cheering ratcheted up a notch. Also, my big moment on national TV happened. Kathy turned on the TV in our room after waking up and there I was – toiling up the reverse side of Polly Shortts. So she knew I wasn’t dead yet. It really is amazing – we had spectator support from sunrise thru the entire race, all the way to the end. They came and watched the elites and stayed around to the brutal end. People blew their vuvuzelas, yelled encouragement in at least three languages, and generally seemed to have a great time spectating. It is said if you ask any spectator for help, they’ll do whatever they can for you. Even though I ran past numerous people and their braais, I never asked for a hunk of meat from the grill. Stupid! A hunk of roast flesh would have definitely been good.

Overall, I felt good but was doing my best to hold back. One of the early groups to talk to me suggested that 9 hours was not out of the question. But I was already behind that pace and knew they were too optimistic. After a couple kilometers, I let them head down the road. A little later, a second group discussed my personal best marathon time (3:56) and told me that 10 hours would be a better goal. They said they were aiming for halfway at 4:40, leaving 5:20 to run the second half. That seemed like a good plan.

The organizers do what they can to help you finish the race. There are physio stations scattered along the course, more densely packed in the second half. You pull into a station and let them know what kind of difficulty you are having. They provide everything from sunscreen to rubdowns. Surprisingly, my right hip flexor was getting a little sore around kilometer 25. I have never, I mean never, had this issue before. I stopped at the physio station and got the first of many rubdowns. The kid gave my flexor a good deep rub and stretch and sent me on my way. That did the trick because it didn’t bother me again.

One piece of advice you should heed if you ever chose to run this race is to print your name in large letters on the front of your shirt. This was absolutely a genius idea. Since the typical runner is wearing their club singlet, they don’t have their name on their shirt. The number does have your name but it is printed pretty small and isn’t so easy to see. But my name was printed in 3 inch tall letters! This was a huge novelty for a race in South Africa and I estimate that 10% of the spectators shouted my name out without prompting. At some places where it was especially crowded, I did the universal call for more cheers and got nearly everyone on both sides of the road shouting my name! At one point, a guy near me said “It is a little soul destroying running near you.” I turned slightly and showed him my shirt and he quickly realized why nearly everyone in South Africa seemed to know my name. This made the race incredibly fun for me and entertaining for the bystanders. As I would pass, I heard many people comment about how awesome my shirt was. There is no doubt in my mind that I received more personal cheering then any other runner in the entire race, with the possible exception of those dang beloved Russian twins.

Inchanga is the first really serious challenge on the course. It is a long, steepish hill located near the halfway point, but its main distinguishing feature is it’s many curves. So when climbing you never see the top. Each time you round a turn, there is more hill. My walking increased dramatically while climbing, maybe a 50/50 split between running and walking. But that was OK – the old advice is the more you walk in the first half of Comrades, the more you run in the second half. This turned out to not be that prophetic unfortunately. I did conquer Inchanga though and crossed the halfway mat in 4:45. Forty-five kilometers down and I still felt pretty decent. In three more miles, I enter unknown territory. My longest run pre-race was 50K.

About the same time I was at 50K, Kathy was photographing the race leaders entering Durban. Here’s the eventual winner, leading at 5K (that clock is a little hard to see, but it reads 5:09:54:

Here are those Russian twins leading the women’s field:

At this point, I’m letting you all go for the day – this blog has gotten more then long enough for a single reading session. The second half of the race (with fantastic finishing photos) will be up in a couple days!