It was 7am on 19 March 2019 and I was desperately trying to go back to sleep bfore the start of the Addo 100 miler. The effects of sleep deprivation remained largely unknown to me. I had tried to fool myself into believing that if I slept late, I could bank sleep for the race. I would find out later that this was a pipe dream.

By 11am I was registered for the Addo 100 miler, my kit was checked, I had been issued with a race number and I had committed to zip-tying my drop bag. The next 2 hours were spent making multiple hurried trips to the car.

After those 2 hours, there is no doubt in my mind that my wife is an extremely patient woman. Race briefing for the Addo 100 miler finally arrived. The brief given to us was a golden thread of wisdom.

Eventually, I found myself fully kitted up and standing at the start line of the Addo 100 miler. The countdown took forever and was over in seconds. That is the point when everything changed. Suddenly, nothing else in life mattered anymore.

The first 10km of the Addo 100 miler were deceptively “runnable” and plenty of the participants obliged despite the intense humidity (I swear it got hotter from the time we were briefed to the time we started). I decided to take this section very easy. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the start of an extremely long journey.

From CP 1 onwards, the Addo 100 miler would slowly show us its teeth. The cute puppy face that was the first 10km to CP 1, quickly started growling at us as we headed for CP 2.

I decided to prevent wasting unnecessary time at aid stations and I believe that this strategy paid off for me in the long run (ha ha ha “the long run” – the irony). The result of my strategy was that I spent most of the time on route alone, with my mind and its multiple personalities … soon my legs would join the conversation – so too my feet!

At some stage in a 100-mile race, the distance/time that must still be travelled becomes overwhelming. The race at the Addo 100 miler becomes a journey between CP’s. Well, at least it did for me.

“I would burn my shoes after the Addo 100 miler”

After self- motivating by promising myself ridiculous things such as I would burn my running shoes if I finished the Addo 100 miler; I would look at my watch, calculate my projected travel time to the next checkpoint, reconcile myself with the stark realisation of how far it truly was and then I would forget everything, ignore that pain and head out for that next CP. It is an adventure of CP’s, eventually culminating into an entire race.

The CP’s, ah the glorious CP’s … let us not forget those magnificent places of happiness, support, and rest. The CP’s were filled with amazing people who had taken time out of their lives to camp along the route, for us. Their sole purpose – to feed us, hydrate us and motivate us for the Addo 100 miler. They fulfilled this task with perfection. 

There was some extra motivation at the CP’s, perhaps not as “nice” of a motivation, but a motivation nonetheless. From CP 9 onwards – it would become customary to hear the crackle of the radio as they called out racers who either had withdrawn from the race, were pulled from the race or were DNF’s.

Whilst no one wants to hear about a fellow racer having to pull out of the Addo 100 miler, it was increasingly motivating to know that you were still there … you were still alive … you were still moving forward. Not only did it help to motivate the journey to the next CP, it also confirmed that the Addo 100 miler is no joke.

Running with ultra legend Tobie Reyneke

The journey to CP 2 was spent alongside a true legend of the Ultra Trail distance; Tobie Reyneke. He is undeniably the most prolific and well-known 100 mile runner in the country (a local record holder for the most 100 miles ever completed in RSA – 53 after the Addo 100 miler!). He was super friendly and very chatty.

I soaked up as much information as I could after asking him for tips for the Addo 100 miler. As I left him I recall shouting, “See you later when you catch me!” in response he looked at me, smiled slyly and said, “I have gotten very used to seeing people again.” “Challenge accepted,” I thought. Luckily, for me – Tobie did not catch me again.

The journey from CP 2 to CP 4 was the first real taste of what the Addo 100 miler had in store for us. After a challenging climb away from Camp Fig Tree, we were blessed with the beautiful views and exposure offered by running the ridge line. Unbeknownst to me, this ridge line would later become the site of some of the most tortuous running I had ever endured in my life. Nevertheless, for now, the views were spectacular and I felt the vibe… the good vibe.

Somewhere between CP 4 and CP 6 I passed what I could only assume to be the first victim of the Addo 100 miler. In-between the multiple river crossings, I passed a racer (kitted in “Jim Wamsley” style Salomon gear) who had clearly succumbed to a serious bout of nausea. When I reached him, he was buckled over in a sort of yoga-styled standing-foetal position, re-evaluating his life choices.

All I could offer my fellow racer was some Enos, Rehydrate or a sip of an energy drink. He respectfully declined between heaves and I left him in the dark. He had underestimated the humidity at the start. As cruel as it might seem, I took motivation from this – if I could make it through such a tough first afternoon, I might
actually be able to finish the Addo 100 miler … I hoped.

CP 6 to CP 11 was some of the most amazing running I had ever embarked upon. Even though it was all at night, in the pitch dark, with nothing but the beam from my headlamp guiding the way. This was where I made some of my fondest memories of the Addo 100 miler.

By now I had been running almost exclusively by myself, save for the odd runner who would pass me, or who I would pass when I had linked up with two other runners, Paul Freeth and Bakhyt Kabylbekov, as we all seemed to be running a similar pace. Paul and I immediately got stuck into some serious conversations about our past – turns out we knew each other from primary school days. The conversation alone got me through the next 5-6 hours of running. Thank you Paul, what a legend!

Eventually Paul left me in his dust. I had mentioned to him that, based on our current pace, a sub 26- hour finish on the Addo 100 miler was a real possibility for us. Okay, maybe not for me, but definitely for Paul. This comment seemed to spur him into a new gear and soon Paul left me to live the dream again, alone in the dark, as he chased the finish time.

Bakhyt was a completely different animal. He was from Kazakhstan (man – I had to try so hard not to call him Borat) and his English was limited. We had been running “together” since CP 3 – by running together, I mean we were passing each other maybe every few hours or so.

The main memory of him, the reason he has which stood out for me, happened somewhere around CP 8 or CP 9. Bakhyt caught up to me and began to repeat a word, which I eventually made out to mean “allergy”.

Eye-lid had swollen like a balloon

Paul, who was still with us at this stage, can attest to what happened next. Bakhyt was asking whether any of us had allergy medication. It was only when I looked up at him and the light of my headlamp lit his face that I appreciated the reason for his request. Bakhyt’s right bottom eyelid had swollen out like a mini balloon under his eye. He was unable to explain to us what had caused this. All we knew was that he was in need of medication.

Luckily, Bakhyt was able to get hold of the required medication at the next CP.
That was when I left him. I did not see him again for the rest of the Addo 100 miler and I was overjoyed to see him marked as finished in the final results.

From CP 10 onwards I again found myself tackling the terrain in the dark and by myself. It was between these checkpoints that I first began calculating finish times. I was well into the race and I was heading for CP 11 at 95km’s.

This CP was my first real personal milestone in the race. It was drop bag time and prior to the start I had promised myself that I would get to my drop bag no matter how I felt. I might have only spent 10-15 minutes at this aid station trying to lighten my pack instead of caring for my feet (I would come to regret this soon enough)…

The run / walk / crawl from CP 11 to CP 12 was amazing! I recalled from the race briefing for the Addo 100 miler that we were now entering some of the oldest and wildest parts of the park. It was hippo and black back jackal time.

In the middle of the wilderness at Addo 100 miler

Trust me when I say that the race briefing for the Addo 100 miler is not required for you to realise that you are now in the middle of the wilderness. One needed only to look into the dark bush surrounding the road to see the hundreds
of eyes watching you.

I expected to see this and tried not to be alarmed. After all, we were properly warned about it at the Addo 100 miler race briefing. I was totally expecting smallish eyes, close together and near to the ground. These are what I expected the eyes of little black back jackals watching us from their dens would look like as we passed.

Unfortunately, I was not so prepared for the eyes which floated from a much higher position off of the ground. Eyes, which were much bigger than expected and much further apart than anticipated. Eyes which made an effort to hide behind brush when you focused on them long enough to show the owner that you had seen them. To this day, I have no idea what owned those eyes, but trust me, that was no
jackal.

Apart from the unidentified eyes, there were other telling signs that we were very far away from civilisation in the Addo 100 miler. Anyone who has owned a pet would know the musky smell that comes with an unwashed animal, which has spent time outside on a hot day. Now take that “wild animal” smell and multiply it by 100 000.

This smell was everywhere and a stark reminder that wild animals surrounded us. Whilst the smell did not persist, it was most pungent in the area where hippos were a concern. Running along the Sunday River, near  the black back jackal territories, more signs of hippos appeared. I feel is appropriate to remind my reader that I was completely alone during this section, unable to see any headlamps ahead of, or behind, me.

Whilst this was motivation enough to refrain from shining my headlamp into the bushes for fear of seeing one, there was more to come. At some point, I passed a huge and I mean HUGE pile of fresh animal scat on the road. I could still see the steam rising from it as I passed by.

At the same time, the smell of wild animals became overwhelming and the air temperature seemed to increase slightly. To this day, I remain uncertain as to what left that telling and steaming mark, but whatever it was, I could feel its eyes on me as I passed. I could also smell that it was close, very close, to where I was running. I ran a little faster until I felt “safe” again.

I then arrived at the famous FSH, in the dark early hours of the morning. Disclaimer – from about 95km’s in the Addo 100 miler every hill is FSH, but this one is particularly brutal (until you need to leave Ellies Tavern for the second time).

The darkness was a gift and prevented me from being able to actually see the entire scale of FSH as it rose before me. It was no easy hill I can tell you that much. So much so, that just referring to it as a “hill”, seems somewhat insulting to its grandeur. Even thought I could not appreciate the entirety of this hill due to the darkness surrounding me, I felt every single false summits and steep inclines. They easily made their presence known in the darkness. I knew I was on FSH and I repented when summiting.

CP 12 marked the start of the next big adventure in the Addo 100 miler, trying to get to the infamous Valley of Tears before the afternoon sun had an opportunity to bake it. First, I had to get to CP 13 and pass the medical check.

The rising sun marked the journey to CP 13. Knowing that I had made it through a full night of running was, in itself, pure motivation. This was the first time I entertained the thought that I could maybe finish the Addo 100 miler.

My arrival at CP 13 was marked by the barking of baboon troops who sat on either side of the kloof watching you as you entered. At first, I was comfortable with the thought of the baboons being far up the kloof.

I almost missed the medical check. The road to the medical check turned right, whilst the race route turned left into the Valley. I initially turned left, following the bright orange route markers. Luckily, a volunteer in a large SUV saw me and shouted at me as he drove past. I was redirected to the medical check and was thankful that I did not miss this compulsory stop.

The doctor at CP 13 was an amazing person who easily helped me to forget about the pain with his eloquent conversation and well placed jokes.  In a matter of seconds, the doctor looked at me and said “well Liam, even if I wanted to, I cannot stop you from continuing on the Addo 100 miler”. With these final words still in my ears, I thanked the doctor and his team, grabbed a banana and headed off into the Valley of Tears.

The Valley of Tears was brutal

The Valley of Tears in the Addo 100 miler was brutal and lived up to its name – I swear that it is only the tears of Addo’s victims, which feed the river down there. I had promised myself that I would do everything in my power to make it here.

When I finally entered, I was arguably the most excited participant at the Addo 100 miler in that moment. I had now run the furthest I have ever run in one attempt, I had been running the longest I had ever run in one attempt and I was at the door to the infamous Valley of Tears. Life, at that moment, could not get any better … then, life got worse.

From the start of the Valley of Tears to the end, I was extremely fortunate. I had caught up to a new group of runners who seemed super capable and very friendly. I was delirious, just blurting out words and phrases as if they constituted conversation. They obliged and answered.

Later I would find out that these people were the great Frikkie Pienaar and Warren Douglads – old hands at the 100 mile distance. These people were two of the most amazing individuals I have ever met. I can only imagine what they must have thought when they were confronted by my appearance, which probably mirrored that of a dehydrated, emaciated human being in the final stages of delirium, muttering to himself as he hobbled along in agony.

By now, the failure to look after my feet in the early stages of the Addo 100 miler had caught up with me. My feet felt like they were one entire blister and they hurt so much that I was unable to run, even at a very slow pace. In my mind, my feet were doomed and would probably have to be amputated after the race.

In any article or blog or race report concerning distances of 100 miles or more, there will always be a mention of the ”pain cave”. A metaphor that speaks to the moment in a race where your entire world is consumed by pain, regret and discomfort. It is the moment where you must decide on whether the finish is worth the effort. Prior to entering the Valley of Tears, I was deep in my own pain cave.

I am unsure as to when exactly it happened, but at some point whilst negotiating the trail through Hottentotskloof, I made the conscious decision that no matter how sore it got – I was going to finish the Addo 100 miler I had beaten what was the most important cut off for me. By now I had completed just over 115km’s and only (ha ha ha “only”) had about 45 km’s to go.

The last kilometres of Addo 100 miler took hours

These last kilometres of the Addo 100 miler would take me at least another 10-12 hours to finish. I knew this fact and had already accepted it. I cannot describe the emotions that I went through at this point. All I can say is that I had a mini self-assessment, acknowledging the excruciating pain I was in, and I had consciously decided that no matter what the price was that I would pay later, I was going to cross that finish line.

I had every reason to bai the Addo 100 miler, every reason to give into the pain, the nausea, the sleep deprivation, but I refused. I had a new mantra now. “Just truck it out. This is going to be a long and hard slog. You got this. You can walk this in and you are still walking. Pain is temporary, memories last forever.”

Back to the Valley and my new found friends. I did not technically run at all from this stage onwards and I certainly did not run with Frikkie or Warren. I walked the rest of the race, with determination. I walked as fast and as hard as I could. Frikkie and Warren would disappear into the distance ahead of me, leading me through Valley of Tears (even if they did not realise it).

Only when they would stop for a break would I catch up to them. Each time I would express my joy at seeing them, which they returned by expressing their shock at the fact that I was still moving. This pattern continued until the final CP at 153 km, perhaps the most brutal CP of them all.

Once out of the Valley of Tears we arrived at Ellies Tavern for a second time. By now, the heat of the day had settled in and the pain/exhaustion was making its mark. I recall just flopping down on a chair across from Warren and Frikkie, having water poured over my entire body, watching the 76km runners complain about the heat, whilst being fanned with torn pieces of water boxes by the amazing people manning this CP.

The climb out of Ellies was brutal, soul destroying, and invigorating. I have never been so entertained by my own self-misery. The extent and brutality of this climb at the Addo 100 miler helped to give context to what was now my own internal pity party.

I cannot recall how many times I stopped in this hill but it was a lot with 10 metres forward, 10 seconds leaning on my sticks pep talking myself. This was my reality and this would be the vicious cycle for the remainder of my race.

It was also at this stage that the true carnage of the Addo 100 miler became apparent. From 76 km racers to 100 milers, everyone was suffering, openly. I have tried to explain to friends and family what I saw, but a lot seems unimaginable to them. Coming up to a bush ,not even 1 metre high and finding someone, curled up in the foetal position underneath, desperately trying to enjoy whatever shade was made available by the “bush”.

This was the scene from CP 14 to the finish. This was also the scene all along the ridge line to the final CP at 153km. Bodies lay along the Addo 100 miler route, beaten into submission by the sun and terrain, driven by the need to find any means to control internal temperatures. When we reached CP 17 (which was moved from 149km to 153 km’s) the heat had taken its toll on many. If it were not for the allure of the famous swimming hole, located at the bottom of our penultimate decent, I fear many would have given up here.

Frikkie and Warren were still ahead of me at this stage, but still within reaching distance. They led me, like prophets leading the blind, to the glorious swimming hole. I was so tired and delirious at that stage that I can barely recall Frikkie having to tell me to dunk myself in the swimming hole.

Prior to this, I just stood knee deep in the water, dipping my fingers, moaning at the searing pain in my feet. It was wonderful to be able to dunk my entire body into freezing cold water. The shock helped wake you up, it was invigorating whilst the cold water temperature helped with internal controls. Granted this only worked for about 5 minutes after you left the swimming hole and then you were bone dry again.

It was now the final 9kms of the Addo 100 miler. There was one final climb to the finish and the pull to the finish was stronger than ever. Frikkie and Warren turned to me to tell me that they had officially decided to pull me through the remainder of the race. Deep down this meant the world to me.

As much as I wanted to take them up on their offer, I knew it was unrealistic for me. By now I had lost control of my nutrition, I was running on the small and intermittent sugar highs that I could give myself by sipping on an energy drink that was basically just concentrate, and my feet felt like murder (seriously, I accepted that I would probably need crutches after the race).

In the face of the unbelievably kind offer I explained to Warren and Frikkie that despite my shattered state, I had made it this far and I had in excess of 10 hours to finish the Addo 100 miler. Thanking them for their offer, I respectfully declined and I watched them run away from me, as I started with my slow arduous walk up to the finish.

The last 9 kms felt like a 100 mile race all on their own. The final climb refused to arrive. I would move for 5-10 metres and then stop to have another sip of the disgusting sugar concentrate I had made for myself.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I reached the final contour and entered the gates of Zuurberg Mountain Village. The finish line was in sight, well partially, through my tears. 

I could see my wife in the distance, her smile like the light of a lighthouse, guiding me to salvation. I recall running past her and all I could think about was how much I had missed her. I told her that – my first words to her since leaving the start
the day before “I missed you so much!” Finally, after 28+hours I had completed my first 100-mile Ultra Trail event, as Coach Neville had said I would.

Crossing the finish line of the Addo 100 miler was a blur of emotion. I cannot recall a lot of what was said or what happened. The only instruction I had given my beautiful wife was to point me to my camping chair and hand me a beer.

The Addo 100 miler was my first 100 miler and I have no other points of reference. It was the most painful and difficult experience of my life. It taught me things about myself that I never knew. The Addo 100 miler will push you to your extremes and then push you past them. It WILL punish you. It will show you the harsh reality of what it takes to conquer such a distance. It will show you what true isolation feels like.

It will change you. It will bring you to a place in your mind where you have never been. It is the most amazing moment of misery you could every experience! This race is a gem that should be protected.

It is now my happy place. People say that when you run 100 miles your life will change. They were right. Much like them, I cannot articulate what changed inside me or how the Addo 100 miler changed me. 

Now that I have run my first 100-mile race, I am hooked. Hooked on the pain. Hooked onto the misery.

100 miles is too far of a distance to be able to appreciate it in one go. There is so much involved in running 100 miles. So much so, that it is impossible to be able to reflect on it all after only one attempt. That being said I herewith confirm my commitment to returning in 2019! I will be back – if not for the fun,
then for the pain.

Coaching