Why I Will Never Run UTCT 35km Trail Run Again…
Part II
Trailing Ahead
Read Part I here
Fresh off our maiden trail running weekend at Run2Nowhere, we were hungry for more.
As part of our African X entry, we received a free entry (who doesn’t love free stuff?) into a new race on the trail running calendar. The Paul Cluver trail run on the eponymously named wine estate in Grabouw.
We loved Paul Cluver (24km) so much, despite at least two sadistic hills, we entered and happily paid for our 2022 entries.
Volunteering @ UTCT
In 2021, as part of our trail running binge, we also entered the UTCT 21km explorer, the baby race.
Chucky and I had been volunteering at the UTCT Kloofnek aid station with our running club, Atlantic Athletic Club (AAC) since 2017.
It was a treat watching the elite runners coming through. But I saved my cheers for the non-elites. These were the real heroes.
Even if it meant a 3am wake-up call.
One year we saw Ryan Sandes and Comrades winner Prodigal Khumalo pass through, but we always cheered extra loud for home girl and former AAC club member Kerry-Ann Marshall.
I love to volunteer at races. It is a privilege to give back to the running community. And the runners’ appreciation is real.
UTCT is a massive organising effort. Having always been on the outside, I wanted to participate in the most prestigious trail event on African soil.
In 2021 we did both. We volunteered at the 65km and 100km and ran the 21km the Sunday.
We were blessed with rain (yay!) and cheering crowds. Despite covid protocols, people came out en masse to support.
The organisers had arranged for tonnes of food and drinks at the race village and the gees was phenomenal.
UTCT is a fantastic event.
This year we were not able to volunteer but we had entered the 35km race, a logical progression from the 21km, right?
Do not be fooled by that 21km. You need to be a pole vaulter to leap from that 21km to the 35km.
Different beast entirely.
Running the Baby Trail 2021
2022: The UTCT 35km
More experienced trail runners warned us the 35km was a toughie, that we shouldn’t underestimate it.
I wondered why the organisers gave us 11 hours to finish.
I understand now.
It’s brutal.
Platteklip Gorge
I was worried about Platties aka Platteklip (flat stone) Gorge, the most common (but not easiest) route to the top of Table Mountain. I only do it once a year, usually on Christmas day.
It’s hard. It’s relentless. It’s boring. It’s the BEST training for altitude. It’s the best training. Period. I detest it.
Platteklip is the broccoli of Table Mountain trails. It’s good for you. But you hate it.
Because I will be on The Otter Trail over Christmas this year, I thought ‘running’ up Platties on the UTCT course would suffice as my annual pilgrimage.
They Should Rename it 'TRIAL' Running
The race starts at Gardens Rugby club, a short meander through the leafy suburbs before a climb up Molteno Road, then through Deerpark towards Kloof Corner. Do not underestimate the climb up Kloof Corner.
I, however, was focussed on Platteklip. I knew if I could just get to Maclear’s Beacon, I would be OK. The hardest part of my race would be over. (I thought!)
Once you get to the contour on Kloof Corner, its relatively easy running.
I may have pushed myself a bit too hard up the gorge. I saw spots and felt light-headed.
One bright moment was running into AAC’s own elite trail runner, second lady home at PUFfer and winner at The Bat Run, Lisa Pringle.
Her friendly face and encouraging words carried me the rest of the way.
Valley of Desolation
At the top… I thought we were heading towards Maclear’s Beacon, which is the highest point on Table Mountain, but the trail veered left instead of right.
We were literally running on the edge of the mountain with amazing views of the half-asleep Mother City. And the ever-present risk of being flung off the edge by gale force winds. Welcome to Cape Town.
I had a small bout of vertigo. It could have been because I was still light-headed from the vert. (All these trail running terms I’m only just learning!)
We ran across the Valley of Isolation (Desolation. Same-same) towards Constantia Nek. We were only 12kms into a 35km race and I was over it already.
I took a gel. I don’t normally take gels, but it was hot, and I knew if I wanted to finish, I needed to fuel up. I struggle to eat on races. The gel was one we got at the expo. It didn’t make me gag, which is a good sign, and fuelled me enough to get to the first aid station at the Scouts Hut.
Here I refilled my bladder, mixed a rehydrate and grabbed some food. Not enough. I still could not eat. ¼ banana and some potato chips would have to do. On I carried.
I had long been separated from Chucky and Mambi at this point and felt lonely.
Scout Huts, Dams & Walls
From the Scouts Hut we ran across the wall of Woodhead Dam. I was worried about Mambi. She’d had a panic attack on that wall once on a hike. I wondered how far behind she was and if I should wait for her.
But I was afraid if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to carry on. So, I kept moving.
19kms in, according to my watch, we reached Nursery Ravine. It was a steep and treacherous downhill and I was glad I brought Beatle, my trekking pole. I hiked Nursery like a granny with arthritis. There was no way I was running down that ravine. On my best days, in my trusty hiking boots, I would not get away without a slip or two.
At the bottom of the ravine, on the contour path, a runner (young man in his early-to- mid-twenties) lay prone under a space blanket. His race was over. The mountain commands respect. Here you play by her rules.
The contour in this part of Newlands Forest is mostly boardwalk. I knew there were many tripping hazards, so I proceeded gingerly. My toes started to complain down Nursery Ravine. Now they were reaching crescendo.
Despite my caution, I still tripped on the boardwalk and now have a gorgeous purple bruise on my knee for the trouble.
Toe Batter
I was tired. My toes were killing me. Going downhill in improperly tied trail shoes on loose or slippery rocks and sand had taken their toll on my feet. I needed my hiking boots. I kept tripping over loose stones and banging my toes some more. Fun. Not.
It didn’t help that they’d been confined in high heels the day before. Note to self: Next time you attend a wedding the day before a race, wear flats.
The only thing that kept me going was the thought of the next aid station where I knew I would see my cousin from Ommiedraai Running club. I said her name over and over in my head. Like a mantra.
This was the lowest point in my race. My toes hated me. I was alone on the trail. I was out of water. I was hungry. I was tired.
Angel Station 2
The second aid station at the 26km mark could only be reached after climbing another hill, on a tarred road, on the University of Cape Town campus. What sick little sadist came up with that idea? (Sue Ullyet … I need answers?)
Ten seconds later I didn’t care anymore. Not about that little hitch of a hill or my traumatised toes or my growling tummy.
The first friendly face to greet me was Yusry from Itheko Running Club, calling my name, smiling broadly. The same Yusry who saved me an apple bompie (frozen ice lolly) on Cape Town marathon. My hero!
Then I saw clubmate and coach, Poppa Pike with little Isla. Never underestimate the power up supporters and friendly faces bring to a race.
Up the stairs I went (yes… they made us go up a flight of stairs!) But I was happier than I had been at any other time the entire race, only to be greeted by yet another friendly face, Sieda (Yusry’s better half) with the cowbell. A joyous sound, echoing the happy clanging in my heart.
Before finally, finally, finally clapping eyes on my cousin, Wasielah!
I shed a tear, no, two tears… one of joy, one of relief.
My heart was full. Michelle our own hadeda enveloped me in the biggest hug! While Yasmin filled my buff with heavenly ice. Angels, the lot of them.
The highlight of my day.
The aid station, brilliantly captained by Ish, was efficient and well-run.
They took terrific care of all the runners. They filled our bladders, iced us up and fed us. I could have happily packed it in right there. I was tempted to wait for Chucky and Mambi. But I was afraid I wouldn’t want to continue if I dawdled.
I was over this race/hike already! My feet hated me.
The Kings Bloody Blockhouse
I laced up my shoes again, properly this time, remembering Poppa Pike’s words to me earlier: it was only 22 mins from the bottom to the top. I had no idea what he meant. I vaguely remembered Pippa saying something about a horrible climb up to The King’s Blockhouse.
The Blockhouse is one of the easiest Sunday morning strolls. It did NOT help that I never look at a course before I run it. The less I know the better. It wouldn’t have made a difference.
When we hike or run to The Blockhouse, we take the jeep track and it’s a relatively easy climb where you can enjoy the view of the city, the ugly stadium and the ocean.
However, the sadistic course designers for UTCT made us climb 4 verts to get to The Blockhouse, in gale force winds. I am going to write to King Charles III to complain and rename it The House of Pain.
At that point I’d had enough.
There was a bail bus waiting for a runner in distress. Yet it never occurred to me to bail at that point. I had 8kms to go.
Take Me Home, Country Road
That’s when I spotted Mambi. I knew she would catch up with me. I decided to walk with her. I was done running.
We hiked the rest of the way, along the Devil’s Peak traverse, through Deerpark and all the way to the end, even stopping to water the garden before finishing in 8h44m.
I didn’t honestly care about the time. I just wanted to be done with the bloody thing.
Mambi and I were greeted first by Ashraf “Mr O” Orrie himself 400m from the finish. This machine-of-a-human had run the 100km the day before and looked scandalously fresh for the effort.
The Finish
As we entered the home stretch we saw our number one supporter, Rif, cheering us on.
At the finish line we were met by two beautiful faces, Sean Robson of AAC and Tamsin, our lovely, beautiful announcer from Stillwater Sports whom we first fell in love with at African X.
I was so ecstatic to see them, I forgot to crawl across the finish line Jenna Challenor-style!
At least Mambi remembered!
25 mins later Chucky was home. He had sensibly, taken his time, hiked most of the route and enjoyed the view, to come strolling into the finish like on any other Sunday.
Pippa had had an unfortunate fall which slowed her down, so she missed the 26km cut off by 5 mins. She is OK but disappointed not to have finished the race.
The Race Village
I have never been happier to see the end of a race.
It was magical meeting our supporters and a big shout-out to everyone who came out to cheer us on!
Never Say Never
I promised myself, Never Again. From the time I left the Scouts Hut, I promised myself Never Again. Even on the drive home, I said, Never Again
By Monday morning, I had changed my mind.
I woke up alive but sore. My calves were tight and of course I was tired. But I was already strategising about how I could do it better next time. I swear I was re-running it better in my dreams.
I am sure if I tie my shoes properly and do Platties more regularly, next year, I can come in sub 7hrs.
Just absolutely awsome
Never say never again
I know you will be back for more
u will be back with me mos!
Thanks for your lovely story about our journey and and how it ended. I loved it 💔😍😘❤️💖💐🌹
it is bcos u are so cute man!
Well done
Bibs!!! You had an amazing race despite everything!! You did it, you conquered every Mf climb and treacherous down. None of the suffering showed on your face at finish tent just quiet contentment. Well done, in envy and awe of you!
thank you!
Thanks for your beautiful story. I enjoyed reading it. Well done. I admire your spirit.
Well done
Looking forward to the next blog