Making dumb decisions
As I mentioned before, I have a silly desire to run marathons on all continents. For Africa, I settled on Mauritius, purely for the fact that the timing worked out with a planned trip home, meaning I didn’t have to take additional vacation days.
I should have been more prepared. In every way possible. I didn’t do a lot of research on the race, but I probably ought to have, because there were a lot of surprises, which I’ll get to in a moment. Training-wise, my preparation was nonexistent. I had been struggling with a knee injury since Christmas, and really hadn’t exercised, let alone run properly, in months.
I’ve been injured before, and have hated every minute of my forced rest, yet have always managed to succeed in completing every race I’ve attempted. In retrospect this probably explains my longer lasting ailments. But at the time – and I’m fully aware of how cocky this sounds – it made me feel like I could do anything. Running my first marathon on ZERO training, was a high that was incomparable, and try as I might to recreate it, has been unattainable since. As a result of injuries, I’ve run other marathons on pretty much no training as well, and have finished with times close to my PR. All of this together had given me a false sense of security and cockiness that wasn’t warranted as I entered the Mauritius Marathon.
Surprises (Not the good kind)
So, back to this race, and the unwelcome surprises. The day before the marathon, Paul and I drove to a lovely resort on the southern end of the island to pick up my race packet. It included my number (which apparently had a timing chip, but I don’t actually believe that), and an ill fitting tank top. We asked the race coordinators if there was a way Paul could meet me halfway through, and were advised that the roads were open. We would be running with cars driving past.
My bib was number 35012, which caused me falsely to assume there were many runners. I didn’t expect there to be tens of thousands, but I figured there might be 1,000. Nope. Last year only 105 people finished.
Heading back to our hotel, we drove along the marathon course. It seemed to stretch on for ages, because, well, it’s a marathon. Around this time I started to panic.
Pre-Race
To get to the starting line in time for the 6am start, we left our hotel at 4:30am, driving in the dark along twisting roads, with drunk drivers flashing their high beams at us (that’s not an exaggeration). Then the rain began to pour. And I mean downpour.
When we arrived at the starting line, the toilets were locked. This is a race faux pax. Runners are gross, as Paul likes to point out at every event. Bathrooms are essential before a race. After driving for an hour, chugging water, fraught with pre-race jitters, I really needed a toilet.
By the time someone showed up with a key, it was three minutes to starting time, so I ended up sprinting to the start.
The Race
The first 2 miles were nice and easy, and although both of my Achilles tendons hurt, I settled into an easy warm up jog. We passed a “timing sensor”, which was really just somebody checking off our numbers, leading me to doubt the existence of timing chips in our bibs. The sun rose and the rain dissipated, revealing sugarcane and mountains all around.
Despite the early start, it was very humid, and I was eager for the water stop at mile 3. Imagine my disappointment when we were told there was no water! The volunteers couldn’t figure out how to open the top of the large bottles without a tap. Refusing to take no for an answer I grabbed the bottle from them and pushed the top in with my thumb. We were able to pour water into cups, much to the delight of the Japanese man who told me I saved the day and took my picture, twice.
Since it was early, there were few cars on the road. Heading back along the coastal road, the miles passed slowly but surely, and with Paul able to drive to different spots along the route to provide moral support and isotonic drinks, I was feeling confident and content. Until I wasn’t.
About 9 miles in, my legs started to cramp. With only 1/3 of the race completed, I wasn’t sure my untrained legs could carry me the whole way. Cue the rain to further dampen my spirits. And by rain, I mean Niagara Falls dumping on my head. The barrage of water whipped into my eyes, obscuring vision (why didn’t I wear a baseball hat?!), and inundated my shoes, adding pounds to my frame.
By the halfway mark – with another human time checker ticking off our numbers- I was forced to walk periodically. Looking to distract myself, I chatted to a South African man who had begun cramping only a mile into the race, and he introduced me to his wife, who sprayed my legs with some kind of IcyHot solution a couple times along the course to alleviate the muscle spasms.
I was thrilled to see Paul, parked on an oceanfront outcropping, which in normal times is beautiful, but the rain and the pain in my barely functioning legs obscured my appreciation for the scenery.
I scoffed some pickles, my favorite mid race snack, chugged some isotonic drink, then shuffled on. Paul caught up to me not too long after, and offered more support while driving 5mph.
The refreshment stands, after the first one, offered water, fruit, and Coke with either sugar or salt spooned in. I chose salt, as I always lose lots of sodium in my sweat. Salty Coke actually tastes better than it sounds. There was no Gatorade or other isotonic drink, which surprised me, and I was glad that I had brought my own along.
The last 1/3 of the race is a blur of cramping thighs, shivering in the rain, desperate thirst, and fear of being hit by a bus. At this point, the Mauritians had woken up, and were speeding along the road we were running on. 
Paul, forced to drive faster now with all the cars on the road, offered driveby shouts of encouragement. Locals stared at us runners with bewilderment as we hopped from the street onto broken sidewalks to avoid being squashed by passing cars.
Even with the finish line in sight, I wasn’t 100% sure I would complete the race. It was only after I crossed the line (and had a final manual check of my race number- definitely no timing chip), that I knew I was able to do it. At that point I broke down in tears, sobbing from the emotional toll. I received my “medal”- really a wooden disk, and smiled about checking off continent #5.
It was a grueling race, and by far my slowest time. This was a stark reminder that despite my previous ability to run without training, I am not invincible The body needs proper preparation to successfully execute a marathon. But given the total lack of training and the knee injury, I’m just happy I completed it. Only Paul’s encouragement and my stubborn determination to accomplish what I came to Mauritius to do allowed me to finish the race.
I should have read the fine print. The info clearly states that the roads are open during the race, and had I looked at previous years, I would have seen that it is a tiny race. My desire to run in Africa overshadowed any rational thought on the subject.
In hindsight, I’m glad the roads were open. There were not nearly enough refreshment stands for the humid climate, and without Paul bringing me water and sports drinks and pickles, I honestly would have passed out.
Thoughts on the race
- More refreshment stands would be nice. Or at least places to pick up prepared drinks. If it had been a sunny day, runners would’ve been dropping left and right.
- The medal is a bit disappointing. I know it’s a small race, and I guess it is locally made, but I still would have liked a medal.
- The location is stunning; it’s probably the prettiest race I’ll ever run.
- Running a small race is difficult. There were chunks of time when I couldn’t see any other runners. It was like running my own race. At the same time, it’s kind of cool to be able to say I finished among the top 30 females. That’s not because I was fast; it’s because there weren’t a lot of female runners.
On to South America!………after a very long recuperation period.
Drink of Choice post run: Coconut water from a fresh coconut. (This of course was followed by local beer.)
