The ‘No pain, No gain’ approach to running Puffer

The Puffer journey really begins around April when the decision is made to enter and the commitment to race is cast in stone. The physical training is always rigorous, but getting the mind tuned and focused is without a doubt the biggest part of the whole process.

This year was a big one for me. I wanted to defend my title and win the trophy back for another year. More than that, I wanted to break the woman’s record of 8:13. Puffer was my big focus for the year. Nothing else really mattered. Everything would be geared towards this day: Saturday the 27th August.
I was in this 100%.

I have been on this Puffer journey three times before. I know (or thought I knew) all the hidden kinks in the path, the rocks that trip you up and the demons that leap out of nowhere. I also know of the sheer pleasure of sharpening the body over the weeks, building up strength and endurance and getting into some truly beautiful places to train – for hours on end.

I was keen to travel that road again this year, but to work even harder and try for something greater. What I did not expect was the hellish mental roller coaster ride of the last 3 weeks prior to race day.
In the months before I followed a fairly rigorous programme – a bit of a hybrid of last year’s programme combined with a schedule drawn up by my training partner (and ace roadie) Nic de Beer. The last big weekend involved a 46km road run on the Saturday followed by 30km on the trails on the Sunday.

Sunday’s run involved a fairly epic journey from Constantia Nek to Platteklip and then back around the mountain along the contour path. I ran with Nic (who had also done his road epic the day before) and we were both grumbling and whinging a little bit by the end. Our bodies were tired and rightly so. At the end of that run, I felt like a mechanical doll and could quite literally hear one or two of my internal springs popping, snapping and coming undone. The next training run – only two days later – was not comfortable. I remember cursing quietly to myself and then not so quietly to Nic. Enough running already! My body was sore, the enjoyment factor had flown the f$#ck out the window, and every step just seemed labored and sore.

I ran again the next day with Eric Tollner – a wonderful short and scenic route around Silvermine East. This time there was no denying that there was something horribly wrong with my body. The pain started the moment we set out and persisted. It was runnable, but I could see that I was favoring my left leg and limping slightly.

Not ideal – particularly with a little over 3 weeks to go!

I managed one or two short road runs for the rest of that week. They were all uncomfortable and the alarm bells that had started out tinkling gently, were now clanging away very convincingly. The final long trail session the following Saturday took Nic and I from the Old Wagon Trail to Vlakkenberg and back. Once again, the pain was ever present, and this time I was medicating with Norflex. I think I popped about three on this run. The worrying thing was that they didn’t touch sides.

That evening I was bent double and hobbling in pain. The first little stabs of doubt about Puffer started to chip away – at my mind (and my heart!)

The week that followed was a blur of physio sessions, advice, pain and pills. I was told at the first session that I must not run for a week. Not something I needed or wanted to hear. Those last two weeks are most definitely all about tapering. Yet, those short runs are so important for the mind and the heart. Ask any runner.

I joined the local gym and started swimming mind-numbing, but strengthening lengths – just to keep my body moving and my mind from going to mush. By the Friday the pain was still intense and I had started to get used to my new limp – anything to take the weight off my left leg. The physio outlook was not altogether positive. No more running until Puffer, he proclaimed!

The Monday before Puffer I set off to physio once more, trying hard to keep my head high and my spirits up. My latest thought (based on advice from one or two running friends) was to try a cortisone injection – to see me through the race.

My physio’s concern was that I had a stress fracture. If this were to be the case, then running on cortisone would be very stupid indeed, if not impossible. So this had to be ruled out. To do this I would need a very expensive MRI scan. The MRI was done on the Wednesday morning. By midday, I got the news that there was no stress fracture (yippee!), but I did have what was called an illiopsoas bursitis. Yeah well, whatever. The good news was that this is something that can be injected with cortisone and the chances were that I could run a pain free Puffer.

As I lay in my hospital gown gazing up at the ceiling with a thick needle wedged deep inside my groin as the doctor was trying to find the best spot to go in (around my femoral artery and a major nerve), I had to smile at the degree of commitment (stupidity?) – just to get to the starting line. The doctor told me it would take 48 hours to kick in. Not ideal, considering this was at 10am on the Thursday. Fast forward 48 hours, and I would supposedly be on my way to Constantia Nek on race day!

I opted to go to race registration that evening – even though deep down I knew that there was still a big chance I would not be able to run. When the event sponsor came up to me at the end, put his arm around me and said ‘I’m expecting you to come in second overall Karoline’, my heart sank. How could I not run? The pressure was insane!

The morning before race day I set off on a little test run up the Old Wagon trail and down again – just to see how good the newly dosed up leg felt. It was bad. Very bad. The pain was exactly the same as before and no matter how hard I tried to change my gait, run sideways like a crab, change my footfall angle….it was sore. That evening I went for another little trot – and again, big pain.

At 6pm I had made up my mind that I would not be running Puffer. I compiled an email note to the organizer and a short announcement for Facebook. I moped around the house and announced this decision to my long-suffering husband. He suggested that I make the call at 3am the next morning (which is when you have to get up to get to the start). We fought, I howled, he patiently listened…and then left the room looking very pale. Poor man.

I then went for one last run around the block in the dark. This time, I revved it up a little and pushed my body and tried to imagine just dealing with the pain. I mean, how bad could it be – 8 ½ hours of this? I came home resolved to give it a go, put on some loud music and got my kit, food and water bottles ready.
Race morning dawned and when I gingerly swung out of bed and put my left leg to the ground and stood up, I felt the same gut-wrenching tenderness in the left groin and knee. I popped a voltarin and off we went.
The bus journey into the reserve is always fraught with nervous energy and tension and the windows steam up with it all. Yet I felt incredibly relaxed and resigned…probably more so than had I been in tip top shape and gunning for a record breaking performance. Today, I was not sure I was even going to make it out the starting block!

I set off fast. I always have. It’s good to break away and be alone in the darkness of the reserve. Nic and Ian were running just ahead of me for about 2 kays and then they vanished. My music pumped and I got into a rhythm. The pain was there, but by no means intense and as crippling as it had been. I had a pace chart strapped to my arm. I was to reach the gate in 1:03. I looked down at my watch as I crossed the cattle grid. Spot on!

I pounded down the stretch towards Red Hill, feeling good, going strong…and then my gut decided to work against me. Along the long straight stretch of road I had the first of many urgent and excruciating pit stops. My guts were in revolt (and revolting) and there was seriously nothing I could do about it. I managed to stop behind bushes or in the dark off the road most times, but I realized I wouldn’t have that luxury come daylight!

As if that was not enough of a scare just before the water table, I became aware of footsteps behind…and when I turned to check out who it was, I saw a pony tail bobbing from side to side! Melany, my female competition was right on my tail and revving it up big time. It scared me shitless (literally)….and I put my head down and legged it. I managed to build up a fairly significant gap between us as I ran up Red Hill…but not without at least two pit stops in the bushes along the way.

Once on the trail, there was a little more dignity to my dilemma and I could duck and dive as I pleased with (thankfully) no runners immediately behind me. The Satori water table was a bit of a blur of laid back drummers (!), friends and family. I made several desperate requests for loo paper supplies and then I was off…

By now I noticed that my left leg was not the issue at all. Instead, something was going very wrong with my right hip and glute! The pit stop bush ducking and diving continued all the way up the Old Wagon trail and when I turned to see Ross and Rupert coming up behind me, I realized I had slowed down significantly.
My mind had started that terrifying downwards spiral. I was battling. I knew I had to at least get myself to the Mountain Bike car park where I had friends waiting….but I was stuffed. I was in huge pain. I was spent and empty…in every sense of the word. I hated the fact that I was convincing myself to bale. And hated the fact that I had even verbalised it to Ross as he’d passed me. Like that had put it ‘out there’ and made it real.

As I reached the car park there was a sea of familiar faces – all friends, holding banners and with messages pinned to their shirts. Oh my God! I labored up the hill and announced with a strained smile: ‘Hell guys, this is where I tell you all I am going to bale’. I swear you could have heard a pin drop. Faces fell, eyes shifted …the disappointment was there, but they did their best not to show it. Warren walked with me for a little bit as I drank a coke and whined and bitched and told him how much pain I was in, how I did not want to damage my body further, how I could keep nothing in. While he was with me, I darted into a bush and on the way out, fell backwards and couldn’t get up. He had to haul me out of the sticks and twigs….I seriously felt like an old drunk. I had visions of turning back and of getting into the car and going home.

And then I had visions of carrying on and pushing. Pushing, pushing. ‘You have the mind for this K’, I remember him saying…’You know you can do this K’….’Just get yourself to Constantia Nek’….
So I did. I put one leg before the other and pushed. Every step was agony. My gut continued to protest and I think that took my mind off the pain in my legs…

Level 5 was hell. I walked much of it, knowing that with each labored step, I was losing precious time. I think I stopped looking at my pace chart at this point. By the time I hit the downhill stretch of Vlakkenberg, I did not notice the pain. Anywhere. I was starting to feel that surge of hope…that little twinge of possibility….that maybe I could pull this off….and maybe I could win again.
At the Nek I was handed a bunch of Immodium….I scoffed the lot, along with yet another Cataflam. I had been downing these almost hourly. Dangerous stuff.

Up, up and away….up those f*&cking steps and onto the concrete path. I had Ross in my sights all the way. At McClears Beacon he stopped to drink at the water table, but I carried on and was now ahead of him. I did not see him again. At that point, I knew I was sitting 3rd overall. It would be nice to keep it that way I thought!

Then on my way down Platties I spotted a trail runner ahead – Derrick Baard. He had overtaken me in the reserve and had looked strong in the morning. I squeezed past and said ‘Hi’….he looked a bit pale, but very sweetly said ‘Nice going’. And off I bounded. That felt so damn good! Now I knew I was going to be 2nd overall if I could keep ahead!

At the top of Signal Hill, every cell in my body was on fire. I knew I was pushing my poor body beyond what was normal …and my legs were starting to seize up badly.

The last few kays are always hard. But you can smell the waterfront and hear the sirens and taste the victory and the pain doesn’t matter. The final Portswood Rd stretch was sheer hell. I remember sprinting this final flat section last year and feeling incredibly comfortable.

This year, I had to literally just focus on getting one leg in front of the other. And then I turned the corner, and heard my wonderful friends and family shrieking….and it was all over.
Done and dusted in 8hrs21. No record smashing, but I didn’t care. I was second overall and first woman home …and I was just plain thrilled to be at the finish!

Retrospectively, it is easy to dwell on the glory and the magic of the whole experience. But if I peel away the layers, I cannot say that there was a single moment of the race that was comfortable. It was a fight – a fight against pain, a fight against the indignity of serious gyppo guts, and a fairly constant fight against the demonic voices in my head.

My body amazes me. My mind amazes me even more. I now have enormous respect for both.

A friend sent me this rather lovely quote last night. I think sums up my 2011 Puffer rather well 

To win without risk is to triumph without glory
Pierre Corneille, French Dramatist (1606-1684)