Two Oceans

I lay on my sofa scrolling. I was in search of the “next” IFE on Tour race. The problem was, I wasn’t excited. The number one rule when entering a race (and proposing it for others too) you HAVE to be excited. Clocking up a marathon every 6 months for the past few years was taking its toll. I was in the last few weeks of Munich Marathon training and the thought of jumping straight into a marathon focus again was not appealing. I needed a break. A break from the 400m threshold runs, the progressive marathon pace runs, and the running for time. 

Then it appeared. Two Oceans Marathon. The large caveat being its a 56km route with elevation, not a 42.2km. This was what I was looking for! I screenshot it to Jack in excitement. We launch IFE on Tour Two Oceans to clients, and then I put it to the back of my mind until January. 

5th January 2025: “Group Long Run 6:59 | HATTA - HILLY!” - a 25km route in my TrainingPeaks to kick off the new year and the training block for Two Oceans. My post activity comment was "This smashed my legs. Very eye opening for two oceans.” Yikes. I felt like I had bitten off more than I could chew. I had to walk all the hills, I had DOMS for about 5 days, and by the Wednesday I had picked up a niggle in my foot. 

I needed to double down on my strength work, that was certain. I also needed a lot more exposure to hills as opposed to the odd Hatta run. Gradually I navigated my training schedule, removing intensity in favour for volume and elevation. Initially I missed the high of a hard track session, but then my high became like a delayed gratification. Sitting on a Sunday afternoon looking at the week that has been; the hills I have climbed and the distances I have covered. Followed by making any necessary tweaks for the coming week’s training. So incredibly satisfying. It brought out a level of presence and awareness that I had not been carrying through my marathon blocks. 

By the time it came to leaving Dubai for Cape Town I was ready. I felt fit, trained, positive, healthy, excited, and dare I say…relaxed. Obviously the taper then played its little game of making me feel like I had never run before in my life. Triggering some nerves at the beginning of race week, which I gradually rationalised when I put pen to paper and chatted things over.

Race day started at 3am, with me trying to shove my oats, coffee, water and electrolytes down before the Donaldson’s picked us up at 3:45. In true IFE style, we met the other runners at a pin location and completed a group warm-up (a lovely familiar feeling within the unknown), before parting ways for toilets, bag drop, and starting pens. 

Since the race, many people have asked me what I did or thought about while running 56km with no music. To be honest, I am not entirely sure. I think about everything and nothing while running. When I race I am concentrating and present, I don’t want or need music to distract me from that. This race actually has a no headphone policy; meaning everyone was thrown into the same boat, like it or not. I think it therefore encouraged the odd conversation between runners, which was both comforting and often amusing. One runner telling me had a flight home at 1pm was a personal highlight. Punchy!

With the race starting at 5:15am, the first 90 mins or so was in darkness. But thankfully the no loading shedding meant there was some street lights on. I had not context of where I was running, having never been to Cape Town, I just plodded along finding my rhythm, in synch with the thousands of footsteps that surrounded me. With no pace or time goal for this race, I wanted to simply find a 6/10 RPE and attain that “holding back feeling” for as long as possible. Aside from the odd spectator cheer, the first 15km was pretty non-eventful. Then something changed, the smell! I could smell the sea. I looked left and there it was, crashing alongside us into the wall, as the sky above gradually warmed with a tint of orange. Beautiful. It gave me energy. 

Here we ran parallel to the Indian Ocean for a couple of kilometres, through the 18km mark, before crossing over towards the Atlantic Ocean. It was at 18km that my “marathon brain” assumed I was almost half way. After some quick maths, I realised it was in fact 38km to go… from then on I decided to try and not look at those KM markers anymore. Not helpful. 

Daylight then came quite suddenly, as did the increase in spectators. Who seemed to enjoy cheering for “a lady!”. Myself and another female runner laughed and chatted about the superhero feeling you get on these races sometimes. It’s weirdly connecting and joyful to have a random stranger cheer so proudly of you. Thank you random strangers!! 

I was therefore full of pride as I gradually embarked up Chapmans Peak. The first real climb of the race. The support was replaced by outstanding and endless oceans views to our left. Keeping my RPE to a 6/10, of course my pace slowed as I seemingly shuffled up the hill. I was confident yet cautious. I knew the top would come in due course. I just didn’t know when. Ignorance was bliss I thought. Then I heard a brass band, full of confusion I starred at them in amazement as I ran towards them. Their music was accompanied by aid station volunteers yelling my name telling me I had done it! Ahhhh I had made it to the top. What a relief. I filled my water bottle up and then looked at the road ahead of me. It snaked all the way down, for what look like miles. Incredible! 5.5km of blissful down. My pace was back, my legs were fresh, I gradually picked off everyone that had previously over taken me on the way up. I was loving life.

I carried this momentum through the marathon mark, which was also the first point I looked at “total time” on my watch. Simply out of interest. I laughed. Just a couple of years ago that would have been a PB. Ironically also about 2 weeks before the race, Marcus had estimated that if I were to just go run a marathon on a given day it would be exactly what I had just run. The man knows things for sure…! 

Then Constantia Nek came… gradually at first and then all at once. I just knew something felt off. My legs, my legs felt like lead!! Everything slowed down, I felt like slo-mo! Looking at the graph now, I can see we were running up for approx. 6km. Relentless doesn’t even come close to how it felt. No view this time either. My body was suffering. I felt like crying at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. I told myself that I had done hard things before, and I could do this. The fatigue was setting in, and those KM markers could really do with being out of my line of sight. I wasn’t quite sure how physically I was going to find another 13km or so, but I was going to try.

I looked up for something to focus on ahead of me. I saw a sunflower poking up into the crowd. I targeted it. Something told me the sunflower meant something to me, but I couldn’t think what. Perhaps the fatigue was also spreading to my mind. I followed its stalk down with my eyes; down to the girls holding it. To my sheer delight it was Emma and Mila, Steph Donaldson’s kids. Stood with Steph’s parents all waving and cheering at me. I crossed over, smiled, and hi-fived them all. I was back. A smile beamed across my face, I went through the 46km marker and saw the road meander down again! …Then I saw the camber. 

With my spirits resurrected, I almost found the camber comical! It really is as bad as everyone says. Especially for just shy of 50km in the legs. I don’t think I have ever really run on a camber before, and not sure there is a way to train it. My left leg felt about 4 inches shorter than my right. It was running awkward. I took to the middle of the road, a risky option given the cateyes, and the 3x falls I had witnessed from other runners mid-race. Others went on the top, others on the bottom. We all switched and swapped regardless! 

Once the road did eventually even out a bit, my stride felt good. The sun was gradually burning through the clouds by now, but the tree lined streets provided some natural shade and fun patterns on the tarmac. Suddenly I was weirdly fresh for 50km. The down was gradual by this point, it was a nice boost. I made the decision to not take my final gel and instead take on Powerade at the last two aid stations, it was a refreshing change. I sailed through 52km thanking each and every supporter who continued to shout “a lady” at me, and it was at this point I knew I was going to finish. 4km to go; I had 4km in me! My eyes filled with tears. I pulled myself together to avoid tripping over my tears. 

By this point the crowds were deep, the noise was on high. Supporters were going wild, many of them on the road. I saw Mike Obery’s silhouette up ahead, a fellow PUMA runner and coach. Of course he was on a mic, and as we both smiled, cheered, and celebrated the sheer randomness of our meeting. We hi-5’d and he gave me a shout out. To which his run club members erupted.

I knew one “small” hill was coming. I dug deep for the last 2km, which felt like the end of a marathon push. I knew the grass finish was coming, and that soon I would start seeing people turn left towards the rugby field, but it did not seem to be getting closer. Why was it not getting any closer?! I flicked my sunglasses down and concentrated. It suddenly felt quiet, everything was silent. It was just me and the road, searching for the grass. Some of my clients were on this last 1km stretch. They cheered my name, filmed me, in fact shouted my name on repeat. I heard and saw none of them. Perhaps I was in total flow state. 

Then it happened, I could no longer see anyone on the road ahead of me. They had turned left to the rugby pitch. I followed, zig-zagged through the metal railings (which seemed unnecessary on the hips, if I am honest), and onto the grass. A welcome change of terrain. And finished off my longest run ever with a handful of others around me. 

Happy or sad? Seems to be a familiar question following a long race at the moment. I don’t think I know which; perhaps both. Content and grateful for sure. I grabbed a water and meandered out of the finishing funnel where I bumped into Tina and Dan. I flopped on the floor not quite sure how to process what had just been. I popped on my coaches hat and began tracking and locating our other IFE runners; who one by one all came through and flopped on the floor too.  

Two Oceans, you were hard, but rewarding. You reminded me in training and racing the feeling of running for pure joy. And for that I am grateful.