Anatomy of a DNF

 

Sometimes your best isn’t good enough.  That is a tough lesson, no matter what your age in life.  I run with passion, joy and intensity.  The flip side to that equation is that I take the failure to reach my goals very personally.  The start to my dnf at Cascade Crest 100 this past weekend began 3 weeks ago.  Although to be honest, it really started last fall at the Bear. 

 

The Bear on 9/28/12 was my first 100 mile run, ending the day before my fortieth birthday.  Many people know this story.  I took a hard fall, hit my head on a rock and ran with a severe concussion, unbeknownst to me at the time.  This run turned into a bad peyote trip of hallucinations, endless vomiting and a finish time ten minutes within the course cutoff.  It was a herculean effort, and that effort cost me.  The following months were spent sleeping up to eighteen hours a day, my memory shattered.  It is not a time I like to dwell upon.  To this day, I can't say I’m completely recovered.  I feel proud of my finish but know that isn’t a place I want to visit again.  Not to mention the fact that I did not perform anywhere near my best.  I have unfinished business with this 100 mile distance.

 

Fast forward to February 2013.  At this point, I’m starting to climb out of the post concussive syndrome, feeling like I can plan for races and train again.  I’d heard great reports regarding Cascade Crest and was lucky to have my name selected in the lottery.  Now I can put 8/24/13 on my calendar.  I race, log many beautiful mountain miles, complete the requisite hours of trail work and feel great. 

 

Now I reach the weekend 3 weeks before the race.  While training on the course, I fall.  Thankfully, I did not hit my head, but ended up with a few cracked ribs and a broken thumb.  It happens.  Ironically, training for these long distances has blessed me with no significant overuse injuries.  The tradeoff has been that some of the falls we all take have resulted in more trauma based injuries.  Like I said, it happens.  You can’t go through life afraid of falling.  But the timing was unfortunate from a racing point of view.

 

Cracked ribs hurt.  A lot.  The days following the fall were pretty miserable.  Breathing hurt, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t get comfortable even with a gut full of pain pills.  I was fortunate to have broken the thumb in a spot that didn’t require surgery and could be stabilized in a soft cast.  Being right handed, I wasn’t thrilled it was my right thumb as it put a damper on my daily life.  But all things considered, not too bad.  1 week after my fall, I was feeling a lot better.  I could run a few miles and while uncomfortable, it wasn’t horribly painful.  I decided that if I had that much improvement in a week, the race might still be in the cards.

 

I show up at the start line.  I know that the odds are not in my favor, but think I have a decent chance.  Saturday was a beautiful day, perfect running weather for a 100.  From the beginning, the ribs were uncomfortable.  No surprise.  I start off easy and enjoy the company of all the wonderful people around me.  I’m happy to be alive and able to participate in such a cool event.  Truly, I feel like one of the luckiest people in the world.  The first 24 miles go by fairly smoothly in that tolerably uncomfortable state.

 

Then the ribs go from uncomfortable back to miserable.  Every step is jarring.  My run form falls apart.  I can’t breathe deeply.  I hear a weird, wet sucking noise and stop to inspect my hydration bladder and tubing.  Nope, not the bladder; it’s my lungs.  After the ribs went south, it was a cascade of problems.  I became deeply nauseous.  The jolting pain from my ribs triggered retching which sent the ribs into spasms which resulted in more vomiting.  Not a great combination.  I try ginger and throw it up.  I take an anti-nausea pill and throw that up.  I try to eat something, anything…  You can guess where that’s going.

 

Next in line are my knees.  It becomes difficult to run then walk downhill.  I don’t struggle with knee issues, so this was a surprise.  I imagine that my run form is so off that my knees can’t take it.  Not to be left out, my right hand swells to grotesque proportions.  I can’t say that it impeded my forward progress, but it was not happy.  At that point, the voices in my head are talking over themselves.  One set of voices is telling me to quit.  “Who do you think you are?” they say.  “You’re nobody.  You’re not fast, why bother?  You clearly can’t run these 100 milers.”  Then the next set:  “You’re doing great!  See, you kept that last bite of potato down.  Whoops, maybe not.  But you’ll get that next bit down.  You can do this!”  I turn on music to drown out the voices.  The music bugs me and I turn it off.

 

Finally, I stop.  The moon is rising through a veil of clouds.  I can see the faint outline of jagged peaks.  It is beautiful.  Everything quiets and I think about nothing.  One voice speaks calmly and clearly:  “This isn’t working.  Not today.”  I look at the moon and know that my day is over.  I feel sad but peaceful.  I make my slow way to the next aid station at Ollalie Meadows, approximately 48 miles into the race.  There is no drama at this point.  More vomiting, yes, but I know what I need to do.  The incredible, kind volunteers take care of me and radio ahead to the next aid station who alert my crew.  They come, I pull out.   I’m glad I tried, sad I couldn’t finish.

 

I think we all search for some experience of transcendence in events like these.  I can’t say if my moment came or not.  All I really have is that voice in the moonlight.  It’s not the moment or message I wanted.   But as the song says, “You can’t always get what you want.”  Unfortunately, that clear voice is now gone and I doubt myself and my decision.  I keep hearing the echo of the earlier chatter.  It’s a mix of “you’re a failure, you can’t do this,” with “get up, dust yourself off and try again.”  I know that the bigger the dream, the greater the chances of coming up short.  If you’re a dreamer, you must accept the risk of disappointment.  In the meantime, I hear my own words from earlier:  “You can’t go through life afraid of falling.”  Or failing.  And so the journey continues.



Comrades: a (long) race report

Sometimes you hear about a race or event and just know that it's something you have to do. I can't say for sure when I first read about Comrades, but I remember thinking, "yes, that sounds like a run I will do someday." Someday for me turned out to be May 30, 2010.

The alarm goes off at 2:00 am. My race kit is laid out from the night before and I shrug it on. I have a quick bite to eat, an Ensure I lugged out here from Oregon and a piece of toast with peanut butter and banana. Who doesn't want breakfast at that time in the night/morning? Our new friend Terence, a South African from Durban now living in Michigan, picks us up at 3:00. Terence's extremely accommodating brother in law Kevin drives us in the dark to Pietermarikzburg. I eat another piece of peanut butter banana toast and drink a second Ensure. Geof and Kevin head back to Durban in the dark, Terence and I follow the crowd of 20,000 +/- towards the starting area.


Some things are the same, race to race. You see the long, snaking port-a-potty lines and hop in. Nothing new here. Working our way towards the gates, there is a refreshment area. On the menu was coffee, tea and milk, and hot soup. OK, that's a little different. Hot milk before a run doesn't sound great even though it's chilly. I stick with plain, hot water. Also different is the singing. Runners link arms and sing. The crowd sings. I not only want my camera but a recording device. I guess there's no way to capture that emotion except now in my memory.

I say goodbye to Terence and enter my designated block, alphabetized by my qualification time. This, too is familiar. Nervous runners trying to stay warm and stretch their legs. Everybody is friendly beyond belief. This would be the start of many great conversations I had throughout the course of the day. Lots of people have flags of their home country strapped to their backs or tucked into their hats. The race encouraged all runners in 2010 for the 85th year of Comrades to bring a flag to the start to celebrate both the international flavor of the race as well as the World Cup. I have my US flag pinned to my back.

Approaching the start, the action picks up. South Africa's National Anthem is sung and all South Africans around me of all colors sing along. Then Chariots of Fire is played. Now the cock crows and immediately afterwards the cannon goes off. This is all part of the ritual and tradition of the race. We start to shuffle towards the mat and 5 minutes later we're running. Although we do have several timing mats along the race course, it is a gun start. Meaning that the time cut off begins at the gun and not when you cross the first mat. That would make a big difference in many runners' days.

We run in the dark-to-dawn for an hour, up and down the undulating hills. Somewhere around Polly Shortts, the first big hill of the course, light starts to creep into the sky. At the highest point of the course--Umlaas Road--the sun breaks the horizon. Mist is rising off the fields and it's beautiful. I won't be cold again for the rest of the day. Huge crowds of spectators line the course, even during the early morning hours, even along the lonely stretches of road. I hear a lot of "well done, lady" and "well done, sister."

Fellow runners treat me like family. There is a color code system (which I didn't entirely figure out) to the race numbers and everybody knew it was my first run. They welcomed me to their country and to their race. Chatting with some runners I'd ask how many Comrades they'd run and I'd hear "oh, a few." "How many?" 14, 21, 30. Wow. The question never was if I'd run Comrades again, it was always "when you come back next year..."


I started off slow. Very slow. Ultra running is uncharted territory for me and I wanted to heed the experts' advice. The first 2 hours were actually sort of tough. I struggled with my stomach, back and leg pain and couldn't quite find a rhythm. Most of all I struggled with self doubt. Around 15 miles into the race, I'm questioning myself. Then something clicks. I pick up my pace and start to find my day. Somewhere in this time period I pass the sub-11 hour pace group. I'm having fun. I end up running with a father (21 Comrades) and his son (first Comrades) for almost an hour. The father starts the conversation with "so how does it feel to be running in the most beautiful country in the world?" As we're running through predominantly Zulu towns at this point of the race, they teach me some Zulu words. The word I use the most is "ngiyabonga:" thank you.
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We run through Camperdown, a large Zulu town. The Zulu runners around me link arms and run through as a group to great cheering from the town. A little further up the road we reach the Ethembeni, the school for disabled children we had visited 2 days before the race. Kids are out on the road on crutches and in wheelchairs, shouting and singing. I realize that I've been running with a smile on my face for hours. It's been pure joy.


The aid stations on the course are plentiful and well-stocked. Water and the sports drink Energade are distributed in little plastic baggies. There is a learning curve to the sachets, but after a couple of facial sprays I get the hang of it: bite, squeeze and suck. It actually works much better than dixie cups. Many of the aid stations have leg massages taking place, vaseline, salt shakers, water troughs for cooling down...pretty impressive stuff. Salt. I definitely don't have enough salt pills with me and my hands and arms are incredibly swollen.

Tough climbs ahead over and down Inchanga and Botha's Hill. Views spread out over the hills and valley on a clear and sunny day. Warm is turning to hot. And humid. We've already run a marathon and aren't yet halfway through the course. Some runners are starting to look not so good. By Botha's, many are walking. Some are hobbled with cramps, trying to stretch it out on the side of the road. A few are throwing up. I feel great, but don't take anything for granted. I enjoy the moment, keep on track with my hydration and nutrition plan, keep the pace rolling, keep smiling. I remember the quote by Gene Thibeault: "If you start to feel good during an ultra, don't worry you will get over it."

Heading up Botha, we are approaching the half-way point of the course. A little girl on the side of the road hands me flowers "for Arthur, for good luck in the second half." Veteran runners divvy up the flowers and branches handed out by the spectators amongst other runners. We are approaching Arthur's Seat, a little rock niche named for running legend Arthur Newton, winner of the second Comrades and a pioneer of modern run training. Legend has it that this man who went on to win 5 Comrades stopped here to smoke a pipe. If you want to run well on the second half of the course, you should offer flowers to Arthur's Seat and say "Good morning, Arthur" as you pass by. This is tradition. I most certainly want a good second half and I follow tradition.

We pass the Wall of Honor with the names of Comrades winners and runners on plaques. Then another cut off point and timing mat. I wonder if Geof is getting the text updates when I cross these mats. Past the half way point and downhill. The downhills are starting to hurt. The uphills feel fine I am beginning to understand the pain of a down year. The signs along the road count down the kilometers. I am now at 42, meaning 42 kilometers out of 90 to go. I realize that's a marathon. I still feel pretty good, but it's a sobering thought.


Up the road, I come across the sub-10 hour pace group. Not bad! Since the group takes up the entire road, I run with them for 20 minutes or so. The leader has everyone on a run/walk plan. When we hit the hills, he'll shout out "OK, 3,2,1" and we slow down to a brisk walk. He then yells "Arms up! Arms down" and everyone raises and lowers their arms. After 20 seconds of walking with arm raises, he does his 3,2,1count down and we start to run. There is singing and chanting. Passing the aid stations, the runners on the outside are like waiters, taking orders from the middle: Water? Energade? Banana? Biscuit? Everyone grabs something and passes it in. It's like running as a collective body, not as an individual. Although interesting, I push past the group when the road widens a bit. I feel I can run just a little bit faster.

We are leaving the Zulu villages and entering into the upscale community of Hillcrest. Crowd support is still strong and families are out grilling meat on the braais and drinking beer. Conversations with fellow runners are shorter now. Everyone is still so friendly and helpful, but we are all tired. Most of us are now running inside our own heads. The leg rub-downs at the massage tables are looking good, but I'm afraid if I stop at this point I won't start up again. The downhills hurt. No way to sugarcoat it: the pain is like knives shooting up my legs. I'm still smiling, but it's an effort now.

And then comes Field's Hill. At the top, we see Durban and the Indian Ocean for the first time. It still seems so far away. And then it's down. And down. The pain is awful and there is no relief. Fields is steep and curving and seems to never end. It's not just the steepness but the extreme camber of the road that is giving me issues. It's like running inside a funnel. I try to find the most level point which is usually the middle of the road. No luck. Nothing at the edges either. I also think about some other advice I've heard that you should run the tangent of the hills or risk adding on an extra 3 kilometers to the course. I give up trying for either and just run. I discover that you can't fight the pain. Try and fight it, your muscles tense and cramp and it feels like you're going to fall down. The best way to run the downs is to accept the pain, sink into it and relax.

Now comes Pinetown. Geof should be here and I start to look for him and his US flag. I run down through a little tunnel underpass and spot him as I run up. I pull over, chat with him for a few minutes, refuel, give him a kiss and head out. It totally lifts my spirits. 20 kilometers to go.


The last 2 hours of the race go by in a blur. My pace has been steady and good and I've enjoyed myself tremendously. Cowie's Hill is short and steep. I walk some of it. 10 kilometers left. I'm in Durban, running towards the stadium. I'm still running up and down. I would kill for some flat ground. My pace starts to slow. I try and pick it up only to watch it slow again. 5 kilometers to go and I have nothing left. I'm still trying to smile but I think it's more of a grimace. I just want to finish. Now.

Actually, I want to beat Batman and Superman. And Santa Claus, or Father Christmas as the crowds are calling him. These guys have been running the whole, hot, long day in full-on costumes. Unbelievably, there have been a good number of people running in various costumes and/or wigs. This is completely beyond me. They are all very nice people, but I would love to come in ahead of them. This is my only motivating thought. Beat Batman.


I enter the stadium. My sprint is a 9 minute mile. Even the loop around the stadium goes on and on. I see Geof and he's waving the flag. The clouds and light are beautiful. I look to the side and see myself on the large stadium screen. The stands are packed. The crowds are loud. It's very surreal. And I cross the finish line. 9:40on the gun time, about 9:33ish on my watch. 90 kilometers or somewhere shy of 57 miles.

My legs collapse and a runner named Ian grabs me. A volunteer comes over and walks with me for a couple of minutes. Geof spots me and the volunteer passes me over to him. We see many of our new friends and head over to a nice spot in the grass. I feel euphoric. So many people I met either on the course preview on Friday or who I ran with during the day float by. We talk about how special Comrades is. We cheer on the runners coming in. We all continue to wear our medals. Geof spots Terence with around a half hour left to go before the course closes. His family is all there to greet him. We have been invited over to their house that evening for curry, which sounded great at 3:30 am in the car. It's starting to not sound so great now. I've gone from feeling fantastic to not so good. I'm lying down in the grass to keep from throwing up.


15 minutes left and the announcer says there are still 10,000 runners out on the course. They are pouring into the stadium. The sun starts to go down and the clouds over the stadium turn orange, then pink. The crowd roars when the sub-12 hour pace group runs in. It is huge. They roar even loader for the rhino. I am not imagining this: there is a runner in a huge rhino outfit coming into the stadium. Ask Geof, I swear.


10 minutes left. 5 minutes. Everyone is on their feet. I discover it's not so easy to get up. Soon there is a guy in a suit with a gun and a bunch of people with red shirts. They move to the finish line and the red shirt guys join hands. The announcer starts the countdown: "10,9,8..." Runners are still pouring in. Most won't make it. I start to cry. We all worked so hard for this. Terrence's mom comes over to give me a hug. At exactly the 12 hour mark the red shirt guys, holding hands, turn their backs to the runners coming in, blocking the finish line. Meanwhile, the suit guy, also with his back turned, shoots the gun into the air, then turns around and shakes the hand of the first "unfinisher." That person is interviewed and becomes something of a South African celebrity. And still the runners come into the stadium. This, too, is part of the Comrades tradition. It is brutal.

It is so hard to put into words what this experience has meant to me. I've never had so much fun during a race. I've never hurt so much afterwards. I've never felt so connected to other runners or spectators. It's possible I've never felt so connected to a place. In a very strange way, it felt like coming home. One of the first things someone said to me after I finished was "welcome to the family." I've never been so happy to complete a race and never so sad to see it end. There is magic here. And for the record, I did beat Batman.

Wow (and ouch)

Short post tonight. Comrades was utterly, completely wonderful and I would run it again in a heartbeat. As soon as I am able to run again. I have never been so sore in my life. Luckily, South Aficans are a great source of information on healing sore muscles, and many of the remedies work quite well. When I am better put together, I will write the report that this incredible race deserves. For now, I'll say I DID IT!!!

I'm now in beautiful Cape Town. Geof should be back in Bend in a few hours and I'll flying solo for a few days. Tomorrow I'm off at 5:30 am--which seems to be the time I start everything here--to go look for some sharks. Some nice, big sharks with big teeth. I'll be in the cage, cold and nervous.

On Comrades

Tomorrow, May 30, 2010 marks the 85th running of Comrades, a 56 mile race between Pietermaritzburg and Durban. This is a race full of history and tradition and is an iconic event both in South Africa and the running world. The race started with 34 runners in 1921 as a living memorial to the fallen soldiers--their "comrades" of World War I. It has been run every year since, with the exception of the World War II years. Tomorrow, some 20,000+ runners from South Africa and around the world will try their luck in the land of the 1,000 hills. I will join them.

Each year the course changes directions, with runs originating in Durban called "up" runs and those starting in Pietermaritzburg "down" runs. Either way, you will be going both up and down. A lot. Driving the course yesterday, I could see that there is no flat ground to be found. Our Comrades Ambassador was quick to point out that most of the rollers aren't hills. There are 5 hills, all with names: Polly Shortts, Inchanga, Botha's Hill, Fields Hill and, finally, Cowie's Hill, followed by a rip-roaring descent to sea level in Durban. Hold onto to your quads early on kids, the ambassador advises. Those who run the first descents too hard will find coming home to Durban painful at best.

Comrades makes no politically correct claims to their race. It is a running race, not walking (although most will walk some sections, especially the steeper bits). There is a strict time cut off with no mercy, no apologies. You make it or you don't. There are no breaks if you're older or disabled. No wheelchair division. We are not all equal. There are different medals for different finishing times. And that's how it goes. Although we may not all be equal in ability, we are all treated as heroes.

Tomorrow I will get up at 2:00, leaving for Pietermaritzburg at 3:00 for the 5:30 am start. Which means I'm eating and going to bed very soon. I think about the words of Tim Noakes, famous runner, coach and Comrades participant:

'In each race I have learned the desire to quit comes but once. It is a coward that once beaten does not return. But as I begin the descent of Fields Hill, even this knowledge is of no assistance. It is here on this major descent, that I am joined by the final tormentor. The continual jarring of sharp descents from Inchanga, Botha's Hill and Hillcrest has taken its toll on my quadriceps and every step now sends an ever more painful shock down each thigh. Were the human brain able to recall the pain of Fields Hill, no one would run the down Comrades twice.

'This then is the point each runner, from the first to the last, must pass if he is to arrive in Durban on his own feet. It is here, stripped of any of society's false privileges, that he finds no hiding place, no shelter of convenience. Face to face with himself he must look deep inside.' 'These miles,' wrote George Sheehan, 'will challenge everything he holds dear, his value system, his lifestyle. They will ask nothing less than his view of the universe.'

Day before Comrades

Here I am, sitting in Durban thinking about running Comrades tomorrow. I am pretty excited and a little nervous. Rolling into Durban, a city of around 3 million, was a major change from our lovely life in the bush. After leaving Kruger, we explored the wetlands along the eastern Elephant Coast. Great birding and beautiful, warm Indian Ocean. Then boom, right into the city. Durban's streets seem too small to hold the mass of humanity spilling off every square inch. Safety becomes a primary concern, and not from a charging buffalo.

Into the race expo, things look pretty familiar. Although products and services are different, the atmosphere is classic large event with a very international feel. Although the vast number of runners are South Africans, runners are here from around the world. There are about 24,000 registrants to run this 56 mile race tomorrow. Can you believe it? We went on the special, international bus tour yesterday to preview the race course. Holy hills! There is not one flat stretch of the course. Alright, it does run through the so-called "Vally of 1,000 Hills." I guess that should be a clue as to the topography. Our guide was quick to point out that most of the hills we were looking at weren't "hills." Those were the "flat" sections. The HILLS have names. And I will learn their names with my feet tomorrow.

I am just about timed out on my session here, so I'm off. Hopefully I will be just about finishing when most of you reading this will be awake tomorrow. You can take a look at the website: www.comrades.com for results. Here's to a great run! Wish luck to our local Kami in her quest to win!

On hiking in Kruger

Once again, read at your leisure. I am endlessly excited by animals and realize not everyone is as thrilled with dung piles and animals tracks as I am. But for those of you who are, feel free to read on.

We splashed out for 3 day hikes in the bush which were awesome. Each hike was with a small group led by 2 armed guides. Everyone wears dark clothes, walking silently in single file in tight formation behind the guides. Sometimes the pace was slow and introspective. We would pass large dung piles and inspect them. What animal? Rhino. Which rhino? White rhino. Large dung piles created by the dominant male where he would do his business time and time again, kicking up the dung to proclaim his dominance. Females and submissive males would poop in small piles around the main heap. Nearby was a scratching post, a tree knocked over by an elephant and used by rhinos to rub off ticks and other parasites. Walking on you see a large wallow created by elephants for their mud baths. Observe the difference between white and black rhino tracks. There's a lion track, probably from last night. We also learned about the plants and trees, learning which leaves were good for fever and others for mosquito repellent. You slowly melt into the bush and its rhythms.

Watching the guides was an experience in and of itself. Their knowledge of the bush and their incredibly keen senses was a joy to experience. When the pace picked up, it picked up fast. Spotting a lone male buffalo nearby turns things around very quickly. Suddenly we found ourselves hiding behind a bush, then a different bush and finally the biggest one we could find. The buffalo went into an aggressive urination display and then moved closer. The 2 guides had rifles cocked and loaded. They threw several large branches towards the buffalo while stomping the ground and snorting. We were on the ground behind the bush feeling up close and personal with nature. After continuing to approach, the buffalo eventually wandered off. Yes, this animal is one of the "Big 5" for a reason. They are dangerous and aggressive animals, especially lone bulls. Awesome experience.

Leaving our bush hideout, the guides talked about the concept of sharing space. Aside from predation, animals and humans coexist by giving each other space. When the balance is broken, problems occur. We had crossed the magic border and encroached on the buffalo's space. Simple, timeless concept. On a different hike, we utilized the space idea while tracking rhinos. Once spotting the pair we had followed for an hour, we slowly approached, creeping up bush by bush, watching for signs that we were still in the "OK zone." Once there, we hung out in the shade and watched them, no car, no windows, no barriers. Once again, the feeling that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Kruger National Park: on animals and training

Wow, wow, wow. I've explored lots of wildlife parks in the world and have seen some amazing creatures, from tigers and wild dogs in India to leopards and elephants in Sri Lanka, to grizzlies and caribou in Canada among others. All have been special. But for sheer impact, Kruger takes the cake. This is a vast park protecting an area larger than the country of Wales containing a variety of ecosystems. Established in 1898, Kruger now stretches some 350 kilometers in South Africa's northeastern corner, bordering Mozambique and Zimbabwe. Joined with many private game reserves, this is a tremendous amount of unfenced land for animals to migrate and roam. South Africa and Mozambique together have created a greater transfrontier park that crosses the border to preserve even larger tracks of land. Plans are afoot to join land in Zimbabwe and Botswana and link an enormous conservation area with existing parks beyond in South Africa. If this can happen, it will be truly incredible. As it is, Kruger is no less than a miracle.

Within 5 minutes of entering the first gate, we had spotted an elephant and rhino right off the road. One of the cool aspects of this park is the variety of ways to explore its terrain. You can drive yourself around on its vast network of paved and gravel roads with incredible wildlife viewing around every corner. This was great fun for us, sort of a journey of discovery and exploration. Enormous herds of impala, wildebeests, buffalo and zebra on the plains. Lions in the grass. Elephants and rhinos in the trees and thickets. An elephant who almost charged our(very little)car. Giraffes feeding on acacia trees. Hippos and crocs in the water. Cheetahs in the grass, on a rock, rolling in the dirt. And birds, birds, birds everywhere. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Everywhere you turn you see something incredible. You just drive up to a spot, stop and see what happens. A 20 mile dive can easily take 2 hours.

Restcamps are scattered throughout the camp and are good places to stop, have a picnic or spend the night. During our week in Kruger, we moved leisurely throughout the park, exploring the different regions and staying in different camps. The camps also provide a different venue for exploring the park in the form of guided hikes and drives. While exploring on our own was great, using the tremendous knowledge of the guides helped round out our experience. Plus you get the chance to see the park at night when private vehicles are not allowed on the road. Everything changes at night. We saw leopards hunting and Hyena packs on the prowl. A mongoose, wildcats and a caracal. Bushbabies in the trees, elephants, rhinos and giraffes. (They pretty much need to eat all the time.) And the biggest cat of them all, the lion. I really like lions. A male with a beautiful copper mane roaring for his pride. 3 gorgeous females with 3 newborn cubs. Watching the pride and the cubs was one of the most special animal interactions I've ever had.

On the more mundane side, I still had to think about my training and upcoming race. Our little huts had kitchen a sort, so we could cook our own food. No running on the roads here. But the restcamps were large and spread out and provided decent running. We were consistently up before 5:00 to take advantage of prime wildlife time, spending most of the morning either hiking or game driving. During the heat of the day, we run around the camp. Animals have enough sense to rest, this human is silly enough to run. Most of the other humans thought we were crazy. I figured it was good acclimatization for my Comrades run. Then maybe a little nap and off for an afternoon hike or night drive. Life couldn't be better.