Spartahlon 2015 While waiting in the queue I scanned each of the nine people in front of me – knowing that less than half of us will reach the finish line and the same applied to the rest of the crowded room of participants. How do I know this? Thirty two years of history has proven that on average only 41% of participants starting the race will reach the finish line. I measure the physique of each of my “opponents”. Their bodies are lean with the definition of muscle clearly visible and a hungry look in their eyes. I suppose this is exactly what athletes look like after months of intense training. Bodies and minds are well prepared but, as in my own mind, I am sure they, too, are wondering in which half of the field they will be – finisher or non-finisher. We are at the Finix Hotel in Glyfada, Athens for the registration of the 33rd Spartathlon, a 246km foot race with a rich history dating back almost 2500 years - following in the footsteps of Pheidippides. Pheidippides, an Athenian messenger, was sent to Sparta in 490 BC by his commanding officers to ask assistance from the Spartans against the Persians at the Battle of Marathon. Greek historian, Herodotus words were: “On the occasion of which we speak when Pheidippides was sent by the Athenian Generals and according to his own account, saw Pan on his journey. He reached Sparta on the very next day after quitting the City of Athens.” In 1982 British Royal Air Force Commander, John Foden and four other men decided to determine if it is humanly possible to achieve what Pheidippides achieved. Three of these runners were successful in completing the course in less than 36 hours. Since 1983 the race has been run annually at the end of September, the same time of year in which Pheidippides achieved his great feat. My support team was going to collect a rented car Friday morning after the race had started, but the race organisers insisted on having a car registration number to complete my race registration. After four hours my wife, Ina, and our eldest daughter, Michelle, eventually sent me the number and I could complete registration. My younger daughter, Jessica, and I completed my booking into the Hotel London which was across the road from the registration building and the allocated accommodation for me as one of the participants. Although I was not planning to stay at this hotel I wanted to experience the nervous excitement before the race of the other participants. Later that afternoon, after the compulsory race briefing, I invited my support team (my family) to experience the bated atmosphere at the Hotel London. The organisers tried to allocate the close to 400 athletes according to their language but the Hotel London ended up with the athletes from countries with a small number of entries thus 24 different nationalities of whom very few managed to speak a broken English. My room mate was Polish and the conversation was abruptly ended as he could not speak English. I was glad I would be staying with my support team in a rented house nearby. We saw each other on the road again and exchanged smiles of recognition. At the prize giving ceremony he enquired, with gestures, whether I had finished the race and indicated he was one of the unfortunate half of the athletes who did not finish. Even though we did not have any conversation with the other athletes and their support teams, it was nevertheless a wonderful experience - so much diversity and all with one common goal; reach Sparta before 19h00 on Saturday. While scanning the unfamiliar surroundings I noticed an emblem very familiar to me. The Comrades Marathon in all its glory. I was eager to start a conversation but her support team indicated she did not understand English. I pointed to the emblem on her back and told them I was from South Africa. She was from Brazil and had already completed the Comrades Marathon eight times and planned to run the race another two times in order to claim the famous green number for ten Comrades Marathon races. We travelled together on the bus to the starting point the next morning and she excitedly pointed to my running cap with the Comrades Marathon emblem. We had a gruelling marathon in common and were on our way to make history. She approached me at the prize giving ceremony and indicated she did not complete the race. I wanted to know whether she was going to try again the following year but she indicated four unsuccessful attempts were enough. After a good night's sleep I was up at 4:00 on the Friday morning. I jogged the two kilometres from our rented house to the Hotel London to enjoy breakfast and catch the bus along with the other athletes. Ina, Michelle and Jessica were going to use public transport to get to the Acropolis for the start of the race. Night turned into day and the Acropolis was brilliantly lit. While searching for a toilet I bumped into Ina - support team and runner united before the start of the race. There were masses of people so this was a stroke of luck. People gathered on the marble road at the foot of the Acropolis at the entrance to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus - a fitting starting point for this historic race. Athletes were doing last minute stretches and running short distances while some were posing with their support teams for photos. The race is on - months of training and, in my case, years of dreaming became a reality. Although I felt comfortable, in the back of my mind was the anticipation of the tightness in my right calf which I have been suffering from for the last couple of weeks before the race. Numerous visits to the physiotherapist did little to alleviate my concerns. Even though we covered many kilometres sightseeing all the magnificent tourist attractions of Athens, the single ten kilometre run I did three days before the race was uncomfortable owing to the calf tightness. I was concerned but had not mentioned this to my support team. Throughout the race I experienced many aches and pains but never from the right calf. That injury had resolved itself as does happen sometimes. It is impossible to imagine such a race in Johannesburg at 07h00 on a Friday morning where motorist can barely tolerate runners on a Sunday morning while they go out to buy their Sunday newspaper. I soon fell into an easy pace as per my planning. Runners had right of way in the peak hour traffic out of Athens and motorist even turned out to be our best supporters honking a “bravo” while wishing us luck. These words we heard quite often during the next two days of the race. Running was relaxed and pleasant and I started a conversation with an athlete from the USA, Chris Benjamin; we spent a couple of kilometres together. The scenery changed as we left Athens. The sea views were stunning and while running through villages school children were allowed to leave their classrooms to cheer us on. The level of noise and support escalated a couple of levels when a runner acknowledged the support with high fives. As we progressed, the heat and humidity made things uncomfortable. Although other athletes might assume that I come from South Africa and this should not be a problem we had just experienced a cold winter in Johannesburg and I was not fully acclimatized to this heat and humidity. My focus was on the beautiful scenery to take my mind off the heat. Chris caught up with me again and breathless told me his support team was worried as he was running too close to the cut-off-times. I could put his mind at ease assuring him we were well within the required time limits and he joined me. We ran together for a long time during which I learnt that he was from California and the climate is very similar to the current situation - Chris was comfortable; I was not. In actual fact, he had completed Badwater in 2014 which is a foot race in America known for the inhumane conditions owing to temperatures of up to 50°C. This is a run from Death Valley to Mt Whitney, CA over a distance of 217 kilometres. The starting point is 86 meters below sea level and the finishing point is 2 548 meters above. A T-shirt is earned when the runner crosses the finish line within 48 hours. The discomfort I experienced started at 40 kilometres and it was getting progressively worse. I slowed my pace to cool down my body and lower my core temperature. I slowed down even more and walked in shady spots which were few and far in between. By then Chris had left me behind. I started to panic when my situation worsened. During the build up to the race I spent progressively longer sessions in the steam bath at the gymnasium on a daily basis. I spent these times in a temperature of 43° and a 100% humidity pushing myself every day a minute or two beyond the point where I could no longer take it - literally to the point where I felt I was going to die if I did not escape to breathe. I started to feel that way but the difference, there was no door I could open just before the desperation and panic forced me to act irrationally.