Sunday, September 04, 2011

Jonkershoek Mountain Challenge 19km trail run, Sunday 21 August 2011

It was when the rain beating down on the N2 heading out of Cape Town was forming little white horses just after 6:00 in the morning that I realised I was in trouble. This was clearly going to be a day to remember, especially for someone like me: someone who is still a relative novice in the world of trail running.

It’s been only about three months since I made the in-principle decision that perhaps it’s time to try something different. Too old to take up gymnastics, too young for bowls, too scared for cycling, I ended up selecting trail running.

The good thing about taking to the trails after 25 enjoyable years of road running (during which I’ve done a total of nearly 70 marathons and ultra-marathons), is that on the one hand it is actually quite different from road running (and not everyone who makes the switch, ends up enjoying it – just to prove the point) whilst on the other hand you don’t really have to acquire a totally new skill. You just have to adapt your running style a little bit, and I guess you will eventually get a bit stronger.

I proceeded to enter the Gauteng Winter Trail Series (GWTS), consisting of 4 events in 5 weekends in June and July, all of which took place on rocky routes within an hour of Johannesburg.

Not having the mountains or the forests or the seaside scenery of the Cape, you sometimes have to use your imagination to call these trails in the greater Johannesburg / Pretoria area “pretty”. When you crest a mountain in the Boland, all you see is other mountains. When you get to the top of the koppie at Groenkloof, however, you see, in no particular order, the highway, the suburbs and Unisa.

But in spite of this, trail running makes a wonderful change from road running – even if the only routes within striking distance are in relatively non-exotic locations such as Pelindaba. It makes a change to run on single tracks, designed for hikers, rather than wide strips of tarmac. It makes a change to have to watch your every footfall, lest you hit a stone and fall head over heels – which is also a great equaliser: if all you’re gonna be looking at is the 2 meters of trail ahead of you, it doesn’t really matter that you’re in Gauteng rather than the Tokai forest, because there’s no real chance to appreciate the scenery in any event.

The organisers of these trail events do, of course, drive a pretty hard bargain. Everybody knows that the entry fees are roughly double (and often more) compared to road races of similar distance, but you only realise when you do your first one that you don’t seem to get very much for it (except the opportunity to sprain your ankle). No water points, no distance markers, no marshals, only a brightly coloured ribbon tied to a bush every now and then to set your mind at ease that you did actually take the correct fork in the route a few hundred yards ago (a la Hansel and Gretel).

And in my case, after doing the first two events of the GWTS, not even a medal to give to my four year old daughter as a reward for being a good girl, looking after Mama while her father has been out since before the crack of dawn. To be an official finisher (and get that elusive medal) a minimum of 3 out of the 4 races that formed part of the series had to be completed – and I got the dreaded flu after the second one.

Oh well, perhaps next year.

But then I heard about the Jonkershoek Mountain Challenge, and I decided that this was the ideal opportunity to take my trail running to the next level (to use a cliché from the world of management speak). And the next level in this case, to be exact, was a total of 800 meters of elevation – but more about that later.

“The Jonkershoek valley is without doubt one of the most beautiful mountain scenes in the Western Cape. Massive turrets & cliffs of orange-faced quartzite hold fortress over a collection of rambling mountain streams and waterfalls. It's so magnificent that it's impossible to ignore, the essence of the place seeping under your skin into the fabric of your senses.” - so said the internet page promoting the event. And since I thought this would make a nice change from the dry, yellow grass and the smoke of the Highveld, I promptly entered the event and booked my plane ticket.

For the first time in my running life, there was also a long list of compulsory equipment.

Except for the obvious such as energy bars and backpack with “bladder” (did I mention there are no water points?), we also needed a waterproof jacket with hood, a beanie, a cell phone (to phone for help, should you break a leg and/or get stuck in a crevice), a whistle (in case there’s no cell phone reception, resort to more primal measures), and a space blanket (to preserve a modicum of body heat while they assemble a rescue party and start up the helicopter – or to create some shade and hide from the sun in the unlikely event that the Cape would treat us to hot weather, this time of the year).

In addition, we also needed to carry a first aid kit that Florence Nightingale would have been proud of. The list included, and once again I quote: pain killers, stretch bandage, rigid strapping, safety pins x 2, super glue, tampon x 2, cable ties x 2, rehydrate sachet x 1, any personal medication.”

Whilst anyone can understand the pain killers and the stretch bandage, I was a little flabbergasted by the tampons and the super glue.

The organisers must have had this question from a number of people, as they provided the following explanation: “Why Tampons? Any wilderness medic will tell you that tampons are an asset to any remote field kit. A big gash that is pouring blood and needs stitches? Shove a Tampon in the cut and bandage it closed. It will work to stem the flow of blood and block the gash until we can get you to a hospital.”

“Super-glue? Works brilliantly to seal open cuts that need one or two stitches. Super-glue is non-allergic and sterile, dries like a scab and will simply work its way out of the wound like a scab does. Brilliant to stop any further dirt and infection from setting in.”

So there you have it – all seems to make perfect sense, doesn’t it?

That is until I walked into a pharmacy in Canal Walk the day before the event in order to do tampon shopping for the first time ever at the ripe old age of 46.

Did you know, dear reader (assuming you’re a man, like me) that all tampons are not made equal? Did you know that you get regular and you get super and you get a whole range of others, the details of which probably don’t really belong in a write-up of a running event?

Neither did I.

Anyway, there I stood in the feminine hygiene aisle in Dis-Chem, when this cute little sales assistant walked straight up to me and offered help with a beautiful, knowing smile on her face. And I couldn’t even use the excuse that I was tampon-shopping on behalf of my wife… I ended up taking one box of regular and one super – you never know how deep the gash might be when I fall down the crevice the next day, do you?

Shopping done, registration completed, energy drink mixed, backpack weighing in at 2.6 kg (approximately equal to the weight of a slightly premature baby at birth)…and at last it was time to put my feet up and start the mental preparation for the next day’s big race.

I guess it was a good omen when the Boks beat the All Blacks in Port Elizabeth whilst I was wolfing down my pasta that evening, but it wasn’t such a good sign when I noticed the weather starting to change a couple of hours later. Or rather, this being the Western Cape, should I perhaps say that it was in fact a change of seasons, no less?

Be that as it may, I was pretty excited when I went to bed that night and listened to the howling north-wester and the pouring rain. A few hours of broken sleep, a strong cup of coffee and a couple of rusks later, and off I went in my hired little Kia Picanto (all 1,000 cc of it), negotiating the white horses on the N2 past the airport on my way to the Jonkershoek Nature Reserve on the other side of Stellenbosch.

“Does your mother know that you play outside in weather like this?”, an ex-colleague asked me when I bumped into him at the start. I sincerely hope she doesn’t, is the honest answer – she will soon be 85, and she worries enough about me as it is… please help me to make sure that she never sees what I’ve written here?

But I was never in the army, so I do these things, for “fun”, nogal, to make up for it – sort of.

And what fun it was that day.

After 6 undulating kilometres, we hit a stretch of approximately 2.6km in which we gained no less than 700m of vertical height (out of the total elevation of 800m for the whole race) before reaching the high level contour trail. You do the math… that’s an average incline of some 25 degrees (according to the official course description, it was 40 degrees in parts) – the equivalent of a steep flight of stairs which never seems to end.

To put it in perspective, there is very little of even the renowned mountain stages of the Tour de France where the incline exceeds 10 degrees – basically because they don’t really build roads any steeper than that (most French cars wouldn’t be able to ascend such inclines).

Another way of looking at it: 700m of elevation equates to approximately 230 stories of the average building. Not that many buildings have 230 stories, however (except perhaps in Dubai); it’s a little more than twice the height of the Empire States Building, for example. It also happens to be a very similar vertical height gain to a climb up the front face of Table Mountain, starting at the cable car station (off Kloofnek Road) and following Platteklip Gorge up to Maclear’s Beacon.

This stretch of 2.6km took me more than 45 minutes (and I am normally able to walk quite comfortably at a pace of under 10 minute per kilometre… but I learnt that day that rock climbing is not the same as brisk walking).

Cresting the highest point did not fill me with quite as much elation as I had anticipated – on the contrary, it ended up being somewhat of a shock.

Nothing could have prepared me for the conditions that we would experience once we got to the high level contour trail, with our lungs burning and our legs aching. An ill wind was blowing, the rain was coming down sideways, it was absolutely freezing – it felt like we were caught in a blizzard.

I heard that the wind got up to 50 knots that morning, I understand that the modified temperature (including wind chill factor) at the top of the mountain (which is well above the snow line) got down to minus 23 degrees. To be clear however, the numbers quoted are in respect of the 30km event (which took place at the same time) – and these superheroes climbed to an altitude no less than 500 meters higher than us 19km plodders (and hence they would have experienced stronger winds, and colder temperatures – leading to one 30km participant suffering a severe attack of hypothermia, requiring her to be brought down the mountain by Metro & Wilderness Search and Rescue in an exercise which took more than eight and a half hours).

Suffice it to say, however, that even lower down the mountain it was still bitterly cold and more than just a little bit breezy…

Soon after we had started our descent, I realised that my right shoelace had become undone. At first I couldn’t find anywhere to stop (it’s single track, remember, and there’s a whole procession of mountain goats behind me, all trying to get down to a bowl of hot soup at the finish line as quickly as possible). So there I am, running in freezing, slippery conditions, down a slope, worrying about stepping on my own shoelace. And when I eventually found a little bit of space to stop and a rock to sit on, I was shocked to find out that my fingers were practically frozen. I don’t know exactly how long I battled to tie that shoelace, but it felt like an eternity.

Onward and downward we went, the mountain towering upwards to our right, and what felt like the edge of the precipice on the left. It may not have been quite as life-threateningly dangerous as it seemed to me, but I had visions (nightmares?) of slipping in the mud and tumbling down the cliffs, ending up in a place where my cell phone wouldn’t work, my frozen fingers wouldn’t be able to find my whistle, and not even a tampon or two would give me any comfort.

As a result, I was running (rather slowly, I have to say, but running still) with my right arm stretched out, in order to move my centre of gravity towards the mountain… just in case I slipped and fell. “Eerder bang Jan as dooie Jan”, as we say in Afrikaans (“better safe than sorry” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it).

The next thing we had to contend with, was crossing all the mountain streams at the back of the mountain. According to the official course description, “the trail crosses in and out of a few indigenous forested gullies that need careful negotiation over wet rocks and roots”.

Romantic as that may seem, it certainly wasn’t as much fun as it sounds.

On a day like we had out there, you realise exactly how the gully got there in the first place – the landform created by running water, rushing down the hillside. Which is exactly what we had to negotiate on about eight or nine occasions, I reckon (I stopped counting after three).

At the first mountain stream, I was still trying to do some rock-hopping, fooling myself into thinking that I could keep my socks (if not my trail running shoes) relatively dry. At the second stream, there was no such luxury: it was about half a meter deep, there were no protruding rocks, we had to get to the other side, and I learnt within a fraction of a second that, when faced with only one option (however unpalatable it might appear), it doesn’t take you long to decide accordingly.

A couple of deep breaths and a few very wet steps later, and it was onwards and downwards again. And it’s amazing how quickly you get used to it: by the time of the next crossing, the “decision” comes naturally to Just Do It, Nike-style, and immerse your feet without thinking too much or worrying about it at all. In 25 years of road running, I don’t believe that I’ve ever had to do anything similar?

The last part of the race was mostly Jeep-track (a euphemism for pretty rough roads – not recommended for your average Mercedes ML or Audi Q7 or BMW X5, but pretty smooth going in the context of trail running).

It was an amazing feeling of achievement to reach the finish line. It took me a shade over two and a half hours – the slowest 19km of my life, even though I managed to finish in the top third of the field (44th out of 141 competitors).

I guess it doesn’t beat a Comrades or Two Oceans or one’s first ever marathon, but the combination of terrain, elevation and conditions made it one of the most memorable runs of my life. And one of the most enjoyable ones as well, in that slightly perverse sense that only participants of endurance events will really understand (a friend told me that I would have enjoyed the army when I told him this – but I think that may be pushing it…)

I never saw how beautiful the route was, by the way, I never noticed the “massive turrets” or the “orange-faced quartzite”. Apart from focusing on the 2 meters ahead of me at all times, as one does, the pouring rain and the mist meant that there wasn’t much visibility out there in any event.

Perhaps I’ll have to go back next year and do it again, therefore; perhaps I’ll have to go and appreciate the scenery. Perhaps I’ll even tackle the 30km next time (assuming that I can graduate into a slightly more proficient trail runner in the next 12 months).

At least this time I won’t have to buy any more tampons: I still have a supply which will probably last for the rest of my trail running career. Does anyone know whether they have an expiry date?


Voetstoots van Tonder

4 September 2011

Postscript

The official race report can be found here

Race photographs can be found here

The official web page of the event can be found here

Oud maar nog nie koud nie (Psalm 90 ten spyt)

Almal weet dat daar twee tipes mense in die wêreld is: dié wat van Neil Diamond hou, en dié wat nie van hom hou nie.

Twintig jaar gelede is daar selfs ‘n fliek gemaak uit hierdie stukkie lewenswysheid. In “What About Bob” vertolk Bill Murray naamlik die titelrol, synde ‘n psigiatriese pasiënt wat van sy eggenote geskei is omdat sy ‘n Diamond-aanhanger was terwyl Bob self die sanger nie kon staan nie.

Die teendeel is egter waar in my en my vrou se verhouding. Trouens, toe die twee van ons mekaar die heel eerste keer ontmoet het, was dit juis een van die dinge wat ons bymekaargebring het: nie net was sy in haar noppies met die feit dat ek inderdaad ‘n Neil Diamond CD of twee besit het nie, maar sy was veral hoogs beïndruk dat ek nie eers omgegee het om in die openbaar daaroor te praat nie! Kort voor lank het sy by my woonstel kom kuier – net om seker te maak dat ek nie vir haar gelieg het oor die musiek nie – en sewe jaar later is ons steeds saam.

Teen hierdie agtergrond was daar derhalwe geen keuse nie: ons moes eenvoudig verlede Saterdag die pelgrimstog na die FNB Stadium meemaak om respek te betoon aan Oom Neels wat hier aan die begin van sy agtste dekade vir die eerste keer aan die suidpunt van Afrika vir ons kom sing het. En daar is miskien twee tipes mense in die wêreld, maar byna 53,000 van die eerste tipe was in vir ‘n onvergeetlike ervaring op hierdie soel herfsaand in Gauteng.

Ons het my ouer suster en dié se man genooi om saam te gaan – dit is immers aan haar te danke (of moet ek sê te wyte?) dat ekself vandag nog ‘n Neil Diamond-aanhanger is. Dis seker maar hoe baie mense se musieksmaak ontwikkel: op ‘n jong ouderdom hoor jy wat elders in die huis speel, en as jy nie ‘n weersin daarin ontwikkel nie, raak jy gewoond daaraan. Later begin jy selfs om saam te neurie. En voor jy jou kom kry, koop jy self ‘n langspeelplaat (nota vir jonger lesers: plate is wat ons gekoop het voordat daar iTunes was om af te laai).

Vanuit alle rigtings is gewaarsku dat ons nie die verkeer moes onderskat nie, en derhalwe besluit ons groepie om die halfuur-rit stadion toe aan te pak sowat drie ure voor die konsert sou begin. Sweet Caroline, die nie-amptelike volkslied van alle Neil Diamond-aanhangers, blêr uit elke viertrekvoertuig se sondak terwyl die verkeer by Nasrec verby kronkel. En skaars ‘n driekwartier later daag ons toe by ons sitplekke op terwyl die son nog water trek (en Diamond self waarskynlik nog besig is om ‘n middagslapie te geniet in sy vyfster-hotelsuite).

Uit blote verveeldheid drink ons toe maar ‘n paar biere om die tyd te verwyl.

Terwyl ek so rondstaan met ‘n drankie in die hand, is dit opvallend hoe oorweldigend die gehoor uit ons dam se ganse bestaan. Nie almal wat Afrikaans praat, is daar nie, maar omtrent almal wat daar is, praat Afrikaans. Daar’s miskien ‘n streng kwotastelsel wanneer ons land rugbyspanne kies of poste gevul word by die werk, maar definitief nie wanneer gehore saamgestel word nie. Moet tog asseblief net nie vir Julius Malema of Jimmy Manyi daarvan vertel nie, anders is almal van ons dalk in die pekel…

Waar is ons Engels-sprekende landgenote dan vanaand? En na wie het hulle in die sewentigerjare geluister toe Neil Diamond op sy beste was? Hulle het tog seker nie almal vasgehaak by Pink Floyd en die Eagles nie? Die antwoord op hierdie groot vrae het ek nie, maar dit was inderdaad ‘n magdom Boere wat opgeruk het in die rigting van Soweto – soos hulle laas gedoen het toe die Bulle in die Orlando-stadion rugby gespeel het.

Uiteindelik, ongeveer tien minute na die geskeduleerde begintyd, ses maande nadat ek die kaartjies gekoop het, en meer as veertig jaar sedert ek sy stem die eerste keer gehoor het, stap Neil Diamond op die verhoog. Of laat ek eerder sê hy waggel – die man se stem klink dalk nie 70 jaar oud nie, maar sy lyf is definitief nie meer dié van ‘n jong man nie. Volgens Psalm 90 (vers 10) het Diamond se gebeendere immers al ‘n volle leeftyd agter die rug…

Sy vel, aan die ander kant, lyk nie ‘n dag ouer as 35 nie – daar is nie ‘n plooi in sig nie (Psalm 90 ten spyt). Dalk kan Oom Neil sy eie velroom begin bemark wanneer sy musiekdae verby is?

Daar word afgeskop met die ritmiese Soolaimon. Kort voor lank is die skare op hulle voete en almal sing en dans tesame (nota vir jonger lesers: Neil Diamond is die ou wat Soolaimon gesing het voordat Steve Hofmeyr dit begin doen het).

“I love it when you get up and dance – it makes me feel useful”, weet die ou oom ons mos te vertel. En ons juig.

‘n Rukkie later sing hy vir ons Solitary Man – op sy eie, sonder enige ondersteunende samesang van die drie sonskynsusters in die agtergrond, getrou aan die liedjie se titel. Ons juig weer. En hy sê vir ons “Dankie” (nie “Thank you” nie, maar “Dankie”). Grootste gejuig van die aand.

Kort daarna is dit tyd vir I’m a Believer – in nie minder nie as vier verskillende weergawes, nogal (nota vir jonger lesers: Neil Diamond is die ou wat I’m a Believer gesing het voordat Shrek dit gedoen het).

Ek let op dat die lede van sy orkes self ook nie te jonk is nie. Volgens die program toer die meeste van hulle al saam vir meer as 30 jaar, en as jy so na hulle kyk, besef jy dat die myle begin wys. Dit herinner so effens aan die Buena Vista Social Club (indien nie Hanno Gelderblom se Jerry-Hattricks nie…).

In ‘n stadium fokus die groot skerm op die klawerbord-speler se hande soos wat hy die note tokkel; dit lyk kompleet soos dinosourus-pote.

Wanneer dit tyd is vir You Don’t Bring Me Flowers, is Barbara Streisand nêrens in sig nie. In haar plek is daar ‘n ou tannie met gekleurde rooi hare en plooie op haar arms en plooie op haar ken. Miskien moet Neil vir haar van daai gesigroom gee…

Maar wie is ek om te spot met die ouderdom? Ek, wat self hier by ‘n Neil Diamond konsert sit terwyl die jeug van vandag hulle kop skud vir my; ek, wat nog nie vyftig is nie, maar ek het meer plooie op my voorkop as vanaand se bejaarde hoofkunstenaar? Ek onthou nog ‘n slagspreuk wat ek eendag teen die muur in my suster se huis raakgelees het: “Do not criticise the coffee – you may be old and weak yourself some day”...

En ek moet sê: hierdie klomp is dalk oud, maar hulle is nog glad nie koud nie. Hulle kappityt vir ‘n vale, en daar is geen fout te vinde met die klank wat hulle produseer nie. Ek weet nie hoe lank dit nog is voordat Neil Diamond en sy orkes dalk halt roep en besluit dis tyd om ouetehuis toe te trek nie, maar ek kan jou een ding belowe: die karaoke-sessies in die aftree-oord waar hulle dalk land, sal nooit weer dieselfde wees nie!

So skuins na 9 besef ek daar gaan nie ‘n pouse wees nie, en die ekstra bier wat ek voor die vertoning gedrink het wil nie meer wil saamspeel nie – dis tyd om ‘n draai te loop. Ek pak die honderdtal trappies op pad kleedkamer toe. En, net toe dit sulke tyd is, hoor ek hoe begin die soet note van Sweet Caroline.

Ek kan dit nie glo nie. Vir omtrent 90% van my lewe wag ek al vir hierdie oomblik. Ek het die liedjie seker al 10,000 keer in my lewe saamgesing. En noudat die oomblik uiteindelik aanbreek, en Neil Diamond sing sy bekendste stuk in lewende lywe om die draai van my af, staan ek tou in die toilet!

Maar eind goed, alles goed: onse Neil het op die ou end Sweet Caroline nie minder nie as drie keer gesing (gelukkig vir my, sowel as die hordes ander wat ook min of meer op daardie tydstip toilet toe moes gaan – ek was immers nie die oudste man in die stadion nie…).

Dit was wonderlik; ek het laas so baie pret gehad in hierdie einste stadion toe Siphiwe Tshabalala die eerste doel van laasjaar se Sokker Wêreldbeker aangeteken het in Suid-Afrika se openingswedstryd teen Mexiko.

Kort daarna is dit tyd vir die enigste “nuwe” liedjie van die aand, te wete Hell Yeah (van Neil Diamond se 2005-album, 12 Songs). Hier kan die beste gehoor word hoe die kunstenaar met homself praat, homself adviseer, en waarsku, en gelukwens, en kritiseer – soos wat hy ook in die program opmerk. En jy besef ook opnuut hoe ‘n talentvolle digter en liedjieskrywer Neil Diamond eintlik is.

Niks som dit beter op as ‘n paar strofes uit die liedjie self nie:


So if they ask you when I'm gone

Was it everything he wanted?

When he had to travel on

Did he know he'd be missed?

You can tell them this

Hell yeah he did

He saw it all

He walked the line

Never had to crawl

He cried a bit

But not for long

Hell yeah he found the life that he was after

Filled it up with love and laughter

Finally got it right and made it fit

Hell yeah he did

Wat meer kan enigiemand vra wanneer die uurglas begin uitloop?

Uiteindelik, 1 uur en 55 minute nadat Neil Diamond op die verhoog gestap het, is dit tyd vir oumense om te gaan slaap en die vertoning is verby. Diamond waggel van die verhoog af. Hy lyk moeg, maar ek moet sê, ek blameer hom nie. Hy en sy orkes het alles gegee. Dit was ‘n grootse ervaring en ‘n wonderlike voorreg om een van die grootste kunstenaars van alle tye in aksie te sien.

So, vir daardie Kapenaars van die eerste tipe wat wel van Neil Diamond hou en môre-aand ‘n beurt kry om die man se vertoning te gaan bywoon: geniet dit, julle is in vir ‘n helse belewenis.

Moet net nie te veel bier drink voor die tyd nie – netnou mis julle dalk ook Sweet Caroline…


Voetstoots van Tonder

4 April 2011

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