I missed the Russian athletes at the Comrades Marathon yesterday. I had been thinking about them in the run up (sorry) because of the current debate in our household as to whether to download War and Peace, the series, or finally actually read it. I have always wondered why so many Russian runners enter this race, whether it has anything to do with it being called the Comrades Marathon (even though it doesn't have an apostrophe). And I really like the twins, Elena and Olesya, who usually win.
I think about twins a lot and when I see these two running together with torsos and ponytails jumping in exactly the same way, I am fascinated. Do they decide beforehand who will win that year, and take turns? Is that match-fixing? Do they secretly actually use banned performance enhancing substances? I've watched them pretty carefully when they are on telly and I've never seen them dart off for a quick blood transfusion in a van, like the cyclists in the Tour de France. They claim it is unfair they have been banned this year, but are looking on the bright side. According to a newspaper interview, they see it as an opportunity for a holiday; to spend some time with their parents and do a bit of farming.
Is this stoic and positive attitude in the face of such disappointment and hardship, a particularly Russian characteristic? Or perhaps the characteristic of an ultra-human who has pushed them self (and their other self, running next to them) to their physical limits? More importantly, how deep does the sibling rivalry run? So do they encourage or discourage one another along the way? How do they deal with the victory for one, and not for the other? Does anyone even know who is who, and therefore it doesn't matter who wins? But nevertheless, what is the best thing to say to each of them afterwards?
I was discussing this problem with Al, who ran the race yesterday. He said his worst is when you don't do as well as you intend to and then you have to endure kind eyes from your friends and obvious encouraging phrases, like "at least you tried" or "there is always next year" or "you are lucky you could run, I had to drive from 'Maritzburg and it was such a hassle with all the roads being closed." Even someone saying "well I think you're amazing," when you yourself know you are not amazing, doesn't help. So I asked him what I should say, should this situation occur.
He told me about when he ran the Sky Run the first time and how he cried along the way, because it was so hard and he was very lonely. He told me about a friend of his who was running a marathon and was also crying a bit and feeling lonely. Then a beautiful young woman came along and tried to encourage him, by running alongside him and chatting in a motivational way. This wasn't helping. The exhausted man just kept saying stuff like, "I can't make it" and "I am too tired and useless" again and again. Eventually the woman gave up and went ahead. After a few minutes, she stopped and ran back to him. Then she said, right in his ear "Just Man the Fuck Up". Al said that this is what I should say.
Perhaps Elena and Oleysa say this to each other along the way to make sure they get there in time. Or maybe Caroline Wostmann said it to herself yesterday as her legs buckled uncontrollably under her for the third time, and Charne sprinted past her without even a small sorry-about-this tap on the shoulder.
I admit a small tendency to be self-pitying, and usually it only helps a little to seek out someone who will look at you with sad eyes and offer words of tender solace. What generally works better is when someone from my inner circle says "Oh for God's Sake" or "Just Man the Fuck Up."
Another option is to go on a road trip to the Perspective Hospital. This is a place near Eshowe otherwise known as the Hospital for Incurables. This is the saddest place on Earth, a place anyone with any ounce of self-pity should visit. It was a visit to this place that John threatened the children and I with last Christmas, but in the end we were spared. You only have to go once. The sad irony, of course being, that you will then be cured of your noxious self-inflicted mental disease, while the 'incurable' will be left not at all cured. Only slightly cheered by gifts of books and toiletries.
Or else, if you can't get to the Perspective Hospital, you could watch the Comrades Marathon just as the man is about to shoot the gun to hale The End, like John and the children did yesterday, until I yelled at them to switch it off. You can watch people crawling and weeping and pulling each other across the finish line, only to just miss getting a medal by a millisecond. I stopped them watching because we had already seen people at the finish face down on stretchers, being taken to the Real Hospital, not the Perspective one. But apart from at 5.25pm, I really love watching the Comrades Marathon. It was especially good yesterday when Ludwick Mamabolo did a small dance at the end, perhaps in praise of David Gatebe, the record-breaking winner. And thankfully Al who wanted to be in the Top 100, came 98th. So all we had to do was ply him with sincere congratulations.