The Ultimate Support: When Second is Actually First
My running season has not been auspicious by any stretch of the imagination. Following an abysmal marathon, my erstwhile coach and training partner, Oliver Ruhl, experienced a massive injury at the Addo 100 miler. He needed surgery and with that came a two to three month running hiatus.
I was devastated – for him, obviously - but also for me! Unexpectedly, I was left without my training partner of a year and a half, and facing morning runs on my own in the dark, with no company and no conversation. Also, I would now be running all the big events, such as Comrades without him. To add insult to injury (pardon the pun) I would also need to carry all my own provisions, as he had done so in the past (I know, I know, I was spoilt – you don’t realise what you have until it’s gone!) A few weeks later I made the solitary trek to Germiston for a 32km race, which I hated from start to finish. Running had become a hack, and I questioned whether I wanted to carry on with long distance running in the future.
To try and better my Comrades seeding, I duly entered the Run Zone Easter 100, as the first day was a 48km race, which doubled as a Comrades qualifier. As the day rapidly approached, my feelings of dread and anxiety were sky high. Following much moaning and complaining on my part, Oliver offered to second me and a split second later I agreed – I wasn’t about to turn an offer like that down in a hurry.
I am, and always have been, plagued with pre-race anxiety - my usually delightful personality morphs into a little fire breathing monster. ‘You’re late’ I snapped, as he arrived to fetch me at 04:32am (I stand by this, as two minutes is, technically, late). ‘This is a silly route to get there’. ‘I won’t be there in time to stand close to the front’. ‘You can’t park here’. When he left me at the start line, I am pretty sure he was glad to see the back of me.
The race started and I trotted along feeling cautiously optimistic. I looked out for the white double cab, and Oliver on the side of the road, which he was. Every.Few.Kilometres. With the precision of a Formula One pit stop he fed me and watered me, sprayed my legs, managed to get some sunscreen on, offered words of encouragement and sent me on my merry way. Wrapped up in myself and my race, I hadn’t contemplated how sore it would be for him, getting in and out the car with an injury that is nowhere close to healed, as well as all the walking that was involved
When I came to the end of the race, there he was cheering me on, with my pink jacket draped over his shoulder. I had done it – for the most part I had a comfortable run and got my D seeding for Comrades! At home I realised I couldn’t have run like that if he wasn’t ‘by my side’. Everyone who has ever been a seconder knows it sucks – trying to find your runner amongst throngs of people, trying to ascertain where a good place to stop would be, facing frustrating road closures and then when you finally stop, dealing with a runner’s needs, demands and variable moods. Thirty seconds later you get back in the car to do the whole thing again. Repeat ad nauseum. It is a thankless task.
Oliver, you were a first rate seconder and I owe most of my success on that race day to you. I couldn’t have done it without you there – nor would I have wanted to. You take the role of a coach to a whole new level.
