THE FIGHT

As I reflected on this past year, a metaphor came to mind: In 2021, I felt like a boxer in a ring, getting knocked down every time I struggled to my feet; each time the punches seemed to get stronger and it would get harder to get back up again!

After returning to Kenya at the end of 2020, I spent another December holiday, Christmas, birthday and New Year’s Eve in the thin air, running between steep mountains and gravel roads with the fastest runners in the world. My goal was clear: finally running a qualifying marathon, in early 2021, that would secure my spot in the South African team for the Olympic Games, that had been postponed to August. After running the Elite Cape Town Marathon in 2020, I was selected for the Olympic squad, but still had to find an official marathon to run the standard of 2:29:30 set out by the International Olympic Committee for female marathon athletes.

Compared to the first two times I went to Kenya - at the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020 - the third time around I was much better prepared, both physically and mentally. I adapted to marathon training on my own in South Africa during the pandemic, and also knew what to expect when I arrived, in terms of terrain, altitude, and the tough training program. There was also a notable change in my performance. I was better equipped to complete the sessions and long runs, and was able to handle the hilly terrain and high altitude better than ever before. I was able to keep up with the other athletes in the camp and was much faster during the same courses or workouts. Lifestyle activities like preparing food, knowing where to find non-perishable items, and knowing what I should bring along from home also became easier. It is always cold 3000m above sea level, and I definitely didn't bring enough warm gear for those early morning runs the first time I went.

I flew back at the end of January, 2021, to compete in a marathon, which ended up being canceled a week before its scheduled date in February. I recall coming back from my last pre-race workout, only to receive the unfortunate news from my manager. We have learned to accept the current state of the world by then, and I felt almost nothing after reading the message. My attitude became: "Expect nothing and appreciate everything."

It was a challenging time, not only from an athletic perspective, but also emotionally and mentally - I was going through the sadness of a divorce. I knew I was slowly losing myself. I started to feel like I was failing and simply never good enough. I knew it would have been wrong to continue with something that wasn't right for me. Sometimes you need to acknowledge that what you thought was right at the time turned out to be a mistake. Ultimately, the only real mistake is knowing that you need to make a change and then being too scared to make it. Choose to learn, grow, and move forward, while celebrating the good and letting go of the bad. I do believe that I learned a lot about myself during this time and also gained more understanding and empathy for others who may have gone through a similar experience. But it is still hard to say goodbye to someone you care about.

The day after I moved out of my flat in Cape Town, I went for a 30 km tempo run with my dad. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally - it was hard to keep showing up and believing in my dream. I remember just sitting down on the pavement and staring into the distance afterwards. I had improved my previous best time for that course to 1:44:36 (avg 3:28/km), yet I didn't feel excited. Instead, I felt drained and empty.

I was back on a plane to Kenya that following day, to prepare for the Copenhagen Marathon, which would have taken place during May, 2021. Two weeks later, I suddenly heard that I got another opportunity - on a better course and more likely to take place. I paid my own way to Tuscany, Italy, to participate in a smaller elite race, specifically designed for fast times so athletes can get a "last chance" to qualify for the postponed 2020 Games. But, in what now seems a recurring theme in my running career, I got sick. This time it was the regular flu and I was unable to compete. The big change in temperature, from a warm South Africa to a freezing, mountainous town, accompanied with traveling and a compromised immune system, may have created the perfect storm to leave me sick as a dog, watching the race from my room.

Three weeks later I collapsed during the South African Half Marathon Championships, which was my last chance to qualify for the Olympics. I decided to take a more conservative, longer build-up by shifting all my attention to the Cape Town Marathon, which took place in October, 2021.

During the lockdown in 2020, I was able to train hard and really felt like I was making progress towards my goals. Although my health did struggle - I had some episodes of fainting due to low blood pressure or hypothermia - I was consistent in my training and frequently did solid workouts. This year, that is not the case. Although I had good workouts, they were far and in between, and I wasn't able to run good long runs week-in and week-out, they had to be spaced out to allow more rest. I wasn't able to plan ahead either. I had to take it day by day. Wake up, take my vitals, go through my activation and warm-up routine, do a body scan, and see what my body would give me that day. It was unpredictable and extremely frustrating to not be able to plan ahead at all. On a good day, I embraced it and I would go hard, but most of the time, I was just surviving. I wasn't thriving anymore.

After failing to achieve my dream of qualifying for this year's Olympic Games, I made the Cape Town Marathon my new goal. It was the thing that drove me during those cold winter months and the thing that allowed me to stand back up after every health setback. If I can only run and do well at this race then it would be enough for this year, I thought. It was confirmed that the marathon would take place as a mass participant race again this year, and that there would be a strong international field. I had basically been training for a competitive marathon since the end of 2019, and I was so ready to see what my body was capable of in a REAL elite race.

My build-up was far from ideal, but I still managed to, once again, improve my furthest long run distance, and ran some of my highest mileage weeks ever. With my health still being such a concern, most of my training had to be effort based, but I felt confident. My long runs were faster than the previous year, so I knew the endurance was there even if I wasn't able to do as many high-intensity intervals and tempos at marathon pace as before.

However, in August, my symptoms got alarming, so I decided to seek expert help, which came in the form of Dr Tim Noakes. He arrived at the conclusion that I had a rare disorder called Diabetes Insipidus. Shortly after that, the diagnosis was confirmed during a hospital visit, and I started with the appropriate medication. This finally gave an explanation for a lot of my symptoms. Diabetes Insipidus is not related in any way to Type 1 or Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus. It is directly linked to my pituitary gland not secreting sufficient amounts of Antidiuretic hormone (ADH). ADH helps regulate the amount of water in your body. It works by controlling the amount of water your kidneys reabsorb as they filter out waste from your blood. This is why I always embarrassingly rush to the toilet and wake up multiple times per night, almost always dehydrated, regardless of how much fluids I consume - I can't keep up with the rate my body loses them. If you have ever been dehydrated you will know that it is a pretty shitty feeling. That's how I have been feeling every day and in training, it would get so much worse. Now, however, I finally understand why I would faint, get low blood pressure, have poor circulation, get dizzy, have daily headaches, and have extremely dry skin.

The last weeks leading up to the race were anything but smooth, after that diagnosis. I battled, trying to adjust to the new medication and figure out my hydration plan, while also going for blood tests every three days to make sure my sodium and electrolyte levels weren't dropping too low. My body went into an erroneous inflammatory state in my calves and wrist. I reacted by taking several rest days and a cortisone shot right before the race, but to no avail.

The cold, rainy weather on the morning of the race embodied the experience. My warmup was agonising, but I hoped that the adrenaline and the magic of being in a real race again after two years would allow me to push through the pain. I needed to showcase my fitness and prove that my training achievements were real. When I stepped up to the start line, rain pouring down, I had to stand with confidence, but, inside, I was dying. The cold seeped into my shaking body, and the pain roared in my calf. After the gun, my body started shutting down, and dizziness enveloped me. I heard cries from the sidelines telling me to stop, and I knew they were right. I also heard my mother’s concerned voice saying that she can’t pick me up at the side of the road again, having to call an ambulance. She told me to stop before I collapsed. So that is what I did. I knew my race was over. The leaders were nowhere in sight, and just moving felt like an effort. The opportunity that I trained two years for slipped through my fingers.

So I ask myself: where do I go from here? The truth is... I don’t know. What I do know is this. Since the start of the pandemic I’ve seen myself accomplish things I’ve never done before, but I’ve also seen my body fail to support me. I have Diabetes Insipidus and Hypopituitarism. I know I am at a disadvantage, but I also know I wouldn’t be running if I weren’t. This struggle is what drives me. It gives my life meaning, and purpose. When I run I feel somewhat like I am normal and for that moment I feel strong and capable. I know there will be countless more mountains to climb, but I also know that every single one will equip me better for the next, whatever its unique challenges, be it sickness, global pandemics, or anything in between. You may see me fight and falter, but you will never see me quit. Like my Kenyan coach said, I’m a soldier. I know how to fight!

I know the same passionate fire that has been fueling me for all these years and through all the obstacles is still there. I am not burnt out or over-trained, I haven't lost my drive or my motivation to work hard towards my goals; I still have the same big, scary dreams that get me out of bed every day and allow me to still have hope: if I keep on training when my body allows me, by stacking one mile onto the other, one day it will come together and it will be my day!

"I am building a fire and every day I train I am adding fuel" (Mia Ham)

....and one day I will that light the match and then there will be fucking fireworks!!

That's why, I walk away from 2021 with an attitude of gratitude knowing I am stronger because of what I overcame and more ready for whatever 2022 or the future may throw at me. I have learnt how to fight back!

BEHIND THE MASK

"Behind every mask, there is a face and behind that a story." - Marty Rubin

The uncertainty that we all had to deal with was tough - especially those first few weeks, when everyone was filled with anxiety, not knowing how long the lock-down and global pandemic would persist. However, we soon started adapting to a "new normal", and strove to find the best in a dire situation. I moved back home from Cape Town to Stellenbosch, the town I grew up in, to live with my family during the pandemic. I adored the new training environment since it resembled Kenya; being surrounded by beautiful mountains, endless vineyards, open grass fields to run on, and gravel roads in the farms and mountains gave me plenty of good places to train. Of course, I was no stranger to those routes, but there I was also privileged to have either my dad or younger brother, Frans, on the bike next to me, to make sure I was safe while logging the long marathon miles.

I started training hard, by increasing my mileage and doing strenuous workouts and tempo runs. I applied the training principles that I learnt in Kenya: running high mileage, never neglecting hills, and making sure those key, weekly long runs were present, alongside regular fartleks and quality speed-endurance sessions. I basically followed the training program template made by my Kenyan coach, Erick Kimayo, while adjusting it based on my new environment and my body’s response to the training. I also incorporated some of the knowledge I gained from previous coaches and from what I studied in the States, as well as the experience I have with what works best for me as an athlete.

I tried hard to stay focused on the only three things I knew I could control: my effort, mindset, and preparation. I kept hoping that I would be ready for the first race that came my way, but the months went by with nothing but cancellations and postponements. The training was a lonely endeavour - I missed being part of the running community. I started chasing down records and setting personal challenges or goals to chase together with my dad in training. We created our own mini-races along the way and, over the months, I ran multiple personal bests, in tempos and time-trials, that I never thought possible. However, my excitement didn’t last. Soon after achieving unofficial personal best times or running a solid workout or long run, I would feel incredibly low, realizing, in the end, that it was nothing more than another Garmin stat that doesn't really mean anything to the rest of the world. It kept me motivated to keep training hard, but it was tantalising to never toe the line at a real race while knowing that I was most likely in the best shape I have ever been.

In September, 2020, I got a strange, but interesting, opportunity to compete in the Chaski Marathon Relay, a virtual relay set up by the Athletic Brewing Co. I ended up being part of the winning team, JUSARSA, and ran the first leg of 19.2 km in 61:09 - which extrapolates to a 67:12 half marathon. American Lindsey Scherf ran the second leg of 12.9 km in 41:15, and Japan's Shiho Kaneshige clocked 34:41 for the final 10 km, for a total time of 2:17:05. The team won by 18 minutes. Although I never want to do a virtual race again, and the result will remain unofficial, at the time, this event showed me that the work I did in Kenya and following months of the pandemic was definitely paying off.

Another small consolation came shortly after, when I won the virtual Cape Town Marathon in October. I wasn't well tapered, as I only found out three weeks beforehand that it would be an official time on a measured course and was still running extremely high mileage when I decided to participate. Because of the limited opportunities at the time, I would have jumped at almost every chance I got to run an official event.

The day, however, was not an enjoyable experience, having to run all by myself in a looped course set up in Green Point, Cape Town, of which more than half was on cobblestones. The multiple sharp turns and mundanity of running that many circles on my old training ground definitely got to me by the end. I was also struggling with a lingering stomach bug that made me feel nauseous for the majority of the race. As early as 8 km in I started struggling to ingest my fluids and gels, and had to skip some, since the feeling progressively worsened. I struggled to eat for the rest of that day, and had extreme stomach pain the next day while receiving treatment for the stomach bug.

The time was not as fast as my fitness predicted or the qualifying time I was hoping for, but I lowered my official personal best to 2:33:35, down from my debut time set the previous year at the Sanlam Cape Town Marathon. I was happy and thankful that it was at least an official time - and an improvement, which is always the goal.

When restrictions finally loosened at the end of 2020, I returned to Kenya in November and was in the best shape of my life. I was ready to run a world-class marathon at the start of 2021, still hoping to gain my Olympic qualifier to the postponed Games of 2020. My opportunity never came, and I had to deal with the heartbreak, disappointment, and frustration of every cancellation and postponement, just like the majority of my fellow athletes around the world. We all kept hoping that the new year would be different, but there was, in fact, nothing magical about January the 1st, and when 2021 came the world was still fighting the pandemic and South Africa was still under strict lockdown regulations - yet another year filled with uncertainty, anxiety, doubts and fears awaited the world.

TO BE CONTINUED...

FROM 0 TO 3000

This will be the first time since 2019, that I will not be returning to Kenya in December for training. For the past two years, I have spent the December holidays, Christmas, my birthday, New Year's Eve, and the beginning months of each year in a training camp located at 3000m above sea level in a small township called Kipsiat Kenya. It is sad for me to realize I am not healthy enough this year to return back up to altitude, but I am also looking forward to embracing the beautiful summer weather in South Africa and focusing on training healthy and consistent. I am happy to share that I have finally been able to see improvements and progress in my health since some medication changes at the end of October.

But it is hard, I have made some of my best friends and met some of the most amazing people while training and living in Kenya. I do hope to go back sometime soon in the future. Meanwhile, I decided to reflect a bit on my journey training with the best in the world and to share some of the experiences and special memories of my time travelling back and forth between Kenya and South Africa over the last two years.

At the end of 2019, shortly after making my debut at the Sanlam Cape Town Marathon, I realized the only way I was ever going to make my dreams a reality was by going all in. I realised during the race that I was highly unprepared for the distance, from both a fitness and fueling perspective. After this rude awakening surrounding the demands of a 2-hour-plus race, I knew I had only scratched the surface of my marathon potential.

I decided to throw everything I had at this newfound passion for the marathon. I was a successful personal trainer and running coach at the time, but I knew that if I didn't fully commit myself to running, I may never reach my full potential or achieve my dream of representing my country at the biggest stage - the Olympics. I was on my feet the whole day, demonstrating exercises, so I never had time to properly recover after my own training sessions. I was also working long hours and had limited time to train. I was working on weekends as well and after competing I often had to rush to be on time for appointments.

I made the brave (and scary) trip into the unknown at the end of that year, when I travelled to Kipsiat, a remote little township in Kenya, roughly 3000 m above sea level, to train with the kings and queens of the marathon. I had the privilege of sharing a camp, and coach Erick Kimaiyo, with Brigid Kosgei, the current world record holder in the marathon.

Being used to training at sea level, the transition came as quite a shock, having to endure routes of seemingly endless hills while feeling like you’re breathing through a straw. In the beginning, merely walking up the 400m-hill from where we started running in the morning back up to the camp felt hard; and at night, while laying in bed, my breathing felt different and heavy. I noticed changes in my sleep, my appetite, and my skin, which seemed drier in the thin air. But, somehow, I managed. During my second week there I eclipsed my previous highest mileage week by about 20 km and did a 41 km long run.

Living in a small, rural township, in a rudimentary camp with only basic facilities, was something to get used to. I had to adjust to washing all my clothes by hand in a bucket and then drying them in the sun before we geared up for an afternoon or the next morning's session. I cooked all my food on a small gas stove in my room, since the camp had no kitchen. The nearest big town, Eldoret, was a 3-hour drive away and we were only able to make a trip every couple of weeks for some non-perishable items that I could take back to camp. The rest of my groceries all came from the local market on Sundays, or from when we made a trip to a nearby township, Kachibora, which had a market with fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as a small supermarket. We would often have days without any water or electricity, and there was no wifi - which allowed me to fully focus my attention on recovering from training. I spent a lot of time reading, journaling, and also just soaking up the sun while chatting with my teammates.

I feel blessed to have made these friendships, and I still frequently communicate with Brigid, my other teammates from the camp, and the coach. It is an experience I will always remember, and cherish, for the rest of my life.

During my time there I did some of the hardest runs and most gruelling workouts I have ever completed. We did a 38 km long run where we gained a total of 1500 m elevation, starting at 2000 m above sea level and then running back up to the camp at 3200 m over a net-uphill course.

I ran up and down the steepest hills I have ever seen. We did long speed-endurance workouts consisting of a total of 15-17 km of intervals on the road, and shorter speed workouts on a grass field that resembled a track, but looked and felt more like a cross country course - all up at 3200 m. We did fartleks that consisted of 1-minute hard running followed by 1-minute steady running on dirt roads with terrain so challenging the whole workout felt more like a tempo to me. Then, on weekends, a long run of 25-41km resembled a progressive tempo run. For some faster workouts and long runs, we drove down from 3200 m to 2000 m, where there were slightly fewer hills and a bit more oxygen to get the legs turning faster.

I felt strong in training until I got a viral infection at the beginning of 2020, which cost me about two weeks of training. I was throwing up, and it was terrifying not having any real medical support or a hospital close by. I returned to South Africa shortly after, to compete in shorter (21 km and 10 km) races, but again my health didn’t allow me to finish. The next day after dropping out I was in the hospital, severely dehydrated and constantly running to the bathroom. I had to spend a whole week in there, and went through a multitude of tests, as it turned out that food poisoning followed the illness from a few weeks before and threw my body into disarray.

That race was also the reason why I initially went off social media. Being dehydrated as a result of all the vomiting and diarrhoea from the stomach bug and then getting food poising I looked extremely thin. I have a slender built, but my veins and bones were even more visible. I was so excited to get back to South Africa and be amongst the running community I grew up in, missed and love. I was excited to tell them about my experience in Kenya and hopefully run strong with my new fitness and strength from training up in the thin air altitude, running more mileage and climbing the steepest hills I have ever seen! But instead - the only remarks at the start line I got was not about Kenya - but my body. Instead of "How are you?" I got: "You look so bad. Just look how thin you are?!!"

Although these remarks may be right, they weren't necessary at a start-line of a race, they weren't asked for or appreciated at the moment - they were hurtful and made me feel ashamed of my body and weak. I have always been self-conscious of my weight. I have always felt too skinny and inferior to my competitors. I have tried so hard to gain weight over the years and have seen a multitude of specialists to try to help me - but if you lack the necessary hormones for growth and physical development, reproduction, and have always had a natural small build - it is very hard to actually put on weight! It is not anyone's place to judge another runner based on how they look, it is not just the body that runs, but also the heart, lungs and maybe most importantly the mind (in my case those work just fine!! I have seen runners of all shapes and sizes perform and run really fast - everyone is unique.

I did everything in my power to prepare myself for another trip to Kenya, for the same reason that I initially attempted altitude training: I was selected to run in the elite field of the Vienna City Marathon that would have taken place in April 2020. I flew right at the end of February but had to return after only a week due to the ominous rise of the COVID-19 pandemic.

I decided to try competing at a local marathon in South Africa as an alternative, but I was only back home for about a week when suddenly everything around me was changing very fast as my own country was also now being effective and along with the rest of the world on 23 March 2020 we went into lockdown - uncertain what would happen next. Hello, treadmill...

TO BE CONTINUED...