Two Oceans Ultra-Marathon Fundraising and the "Groot Gat" (Big Hole) Marathon

Two Oceans Ultra-Marathon Fundraising

In January, I set my sights on the Two Oceans Ultra Marathon in Cape Town. This is a 56-kilometer (34.7 mile) race that is commonly called “The most beautiful marathon in the world.” The marathon stretches along the mountainous coastal roads of Cape Town. It will definitely be fun.

The Two Oceans Marathon will be different than the marathon I ran here in Kimberley that I write about below, because I am running for more than the personal challenge. I’m running to support the cause that I have been working for over the past seven months.  On April 19^th, I will be running for Grassroot Soccer to raise funds that will help GRS continue its important work in South Africa. My goal is to raise $2,500.

Anyone that has run with me understands how much more I love running for a team than for myself. I’m excited to be running for the Grassroot Soccer team on April 19^th. Any and all support for our team, however big or small, is greatly appreciated.

Link to donation page: 

http://www.donationto.com/Grassroot-Soccer

The tier level reward system for all donations is as follows:

·      $10 – Personal letter from myself

·      $50 – 1lb. Candy bag (compliments of Chutters, World’s Longest Candy Counter and Jim Alden) and a personal letter

·      $100 – Grassroot Soccer T-shirt and a personal letter

·      $250 – Grassroot Soccer Hoody and a personal letter

·      $500 – South African National team Jersey and a personal letter

           

Groot Gat (Big Hole) Marathon – March 1^st, 2014 

Moving into the last 5k with support and water from kids on the road

Two weeks ago I was pushed to my physical limits. On March 1^st I ran in the Groot Gat Marathon in my South African hometown of Kimberley. Running a marathon has been on my mind ever since my college track career ended so I jumped at the opportunity to compete in my first 26.2 in the arid Northern Cape landscapes of South Africa. I figured it was smart to run at least one marathon before jumping into the deep waters of the Two Oceans Ultra (no pun intended).

            After a “welkom” speech in Afrikaans, a prayer, and then three misfires of the starting gun, the gun went off and the two or three hundred runners that had made it out of bed for the 6AM start began to move through the streets of Kimberley. There were three races, a 10k, 21.1k (half-marathon), and the 42.2k (marathon). My fellow intern, Mimi, joined me to participate in the 10k but due to alarm clock problems, barely made it out of bed in time.

Fortunately for all of us, it had rained the night before, which kept the streets cool until about 8AM when the relentless sun dried out the air and turned the streets into long strips of frying pans. The course started with a short pass through the town, past the famous Big Hole, leading out through the neighborhoods, and at about the 12 kilometer the course turned onto the N12 highway that leads to Cape Town. By this time, the line of the front pack spaced out, and most of the runners were running alone along the highway. This turned out to be a good thing for me when my morning coffee ran its course through my body and I was forced to squat behind a bush on the side of the road. I was happy for myself and the other runners that there was plenty of space between myself and anyone else. I won’t go into any more detail.

The route along the N12 eventually turned off to a rock quarry and 8 kilometers of winding dirt trails that led down into the deep quarry itself. The hill leading out of the quarry was a treacherous ascent that my legs were angry about for the final 20 kilometers on the hot roads leading back into Kimberley to finish the 42.2-kilometer loop. 

I learned a lot in the course of the marathon; about myself, about running, about the real meaning of pain and the real meaning fun. With 10k left my legs were heavy, hot, and drained. I shortened my strides because it was the only way I could maintain my pace and keep my legs moving somewhat fluidly. After Mimi finished her 10k, she drove out to meet me at checkpoints along the end of the route with powerades, small snacks, and encouraging cheers that made the final stretch of the race manageable. I can’t thank her enough.

I think the most surprising and challenging aspect of the marathon was the last 3 miles. I expected that once I reached the 40k mark of the 42.2, my legs and mind would be recharged when I could sense the finish. This was not the case. In fact I couldn’t sense the finish until I was about 100 meters away from it. Until that last 100 meters, my legs were begging me to stop. In my 10+ year running career, my body has never felt that type of fatigue or pain.

I don’t want to overstate the pain though, because that is why I signed up for the marathon when I found out about it at the beginning of January. Not in any kind of masochistic, bodily sacrifice kind of way (I don’t think) but in the sense that we are rarely challenged, and rarely do we challenge ourselves, to do something that we aren’t sure we are capable of. I think the process of working through a challenge like that, and finding out what we are capable of, is one of the most fun things in the world. 

Medal for the Groot Gat 42.2k and Mimi's medal for the Kort Gat (Little Hole) 10k

Training in Mozambique

I Love This Game

Boys and girls participate in "Risk Field," a Grassroot Soccer activity about avoiding risks that stand in the way of achieving your goals

First, to all of my fans and supporters, I’m sorry I’ve let you down these past couple months. I’m sorry if I’ve thrown off the order of your life because you wake up every morning and check barefootbarron.blogspot.com only to find another day of emptiness. But I’m back! So rather than dwelling on the past, let us move forward with unchecked enthusiasm for the present and what is yet to come.

The beautiful game has humbled me yet again. I consider myself a seasoned student of the game of soccer, but somehow the football* gods and goddesses always seems to put me back in place, and one way or another, I find myself in awe of what the game has to offer. I fear you brilliant football gods and goddesses.

*Football refers to the beautiful game here, not it’s ugly American cousin (Sorry to my American Football fans. I like that cousin too, but he's not particularly good-looking).

Those who know the game well understand how it can transcend language, forming a linguistic space of its own. I’ll have to check with my linguistics specialist, Makenzie Murray, to confirm that claim. However, I don’t think that putting the language of football under the “universal language” umbrella really does it justice. Maybe I’m being a football snob, but I think there is a finer essence of individuality, nationality and culture that the international game exposes. Yes, people from entirely divergent places of the world can be unified and can communicate with a soccer ball in a way that our common understanding of language could never achieve, but there’s also a story, an upbringing, and a history behind the way that each one of us plays. Maybe we can call it a dialect (check with linguist specialist again). In Brazil, I witnessed this in the delicate physical awareness that players had for their body and it's relation to the ball. More than anywhere else, football seemed innate to the Brazilians, rather than learned. In Bolivia, it was a less refined style and a pure passion that developed a unique work ethic around the game. evident when you watch international soccer. When the Germans play Argentina, for example, it’s impossible not to notice the entirely different styles of play. And sure, much of that has to do with differences in training programs, player development, and tactical systems, but at the same time how can we possibly separate these training systems from the culture, history, and people that give life to the game. Franklin Foer wrote a whole book about it (“How Soccer Explains the World”).

Most recently, a group of boys and men from a local town have been teaching me a new dialect of the game. At the end of 2013, I registered with a team in the South African development league. The team I play with, MFI Celtics, is an eclectic crew of guys that range from 15-year-olds to 31-year-olds. Not only am I the only white guy on the team, I’m the only white guy in the league. My good friend, a Grassroot Soccer Community Programs Coordinator, Kabelo (Coach K), coaches the team. He is a passionate Arsenal fan and an enlightened student of the game.  Most of what I’ve learned about African soccer I have learned from Coach K.

Our home pitch is a thing of beauty. It’s a solid dirt ground on the outskirts of the local town, Coleville. The flat open space stands out among the crowded houses on one side and rolling dirt hills and trees on the other. On one side of the pitch, about a meter outside of the sideline are heaps of garbage that line that entire side of the field. A few large trees and bushes around the field provide much needed shade for the teams and fans.

One day a few weeks ago we had some unexpected rain and I asked K if we were going to train that day. K is a “rain or shine” type coach so I was expecting him not only to say, of course we’re gonna train, but also to proceed with something about how I’m soft because I’m American and I need to be more African. To my surprise, he said that we couldn’t train if it was raining. “The pitch used to be an industrial dump for the mines, so we can’t play when it’s wet,” he told me casually, and carried on with his work. A couple weeks later he told me that you could sometimes see homeless people sifting through the dirt looking for diamonds. I think that was a joke… Just asked him. Not a joke.

Some of our players come to practice from high school, some of them come from construction jobs. Some players can’t even train during the week because they work late shifts that are during our training sessions and they can only make the games on Sundays. Regardless of where we’re coming from, we all meet on the pitch with the same purpose.

This year we started with a win, a couple of draws, and a loss, leaving us in the middle of the 14 team table. In the past couple months, largely thanks to Coach K’s training, the team has started coming together. In the past month we’ve won all of our last 5 games, including two against unbeaten teams at the top of the table. Now we’re second place in the league and we’re playing a team-oriented more holistic style of game (most of the time).

One of things I’ve enjoyed most about playing with this team has been experiencing the shift in the style of play that has brought all of our recent success. The mix of spritely youngsters and experienced elder lads (unfortunately I’m included in the latter group) caused some discord on the field during our first few games. The youngsters lacked confidence and the elders had to figure out how to apply their experience to the team as a whole. It’s still a work in progress, but in the past month Coach K's training - "baptism by fire" as he calls it - has begun to meld the inexhaustible energy of the youngsters with the weathered experience and grit of the elders.

The process has been unlike any other team experience I have ever had. Not only is the South African style of the game entirely different than what I’m accustomed to, but the variety within the team itself is the most entertaining aspect of the experience. Last weekend we had a team braai (South African for BBQ) at the team manager’s house. In addition to judging a dance-off between the youngsters, I had a chance to really talk to the guys on the team. Two of them told me that they had never met a white guy like me before and that my skin was white but I have a black heart (one of the best compliments I’ve ever received). They attributed that to the way that I’ve coped with the South African game, especially the physicality of it. I think I’ve witnessed - as well as been on the butt end of - more cleats up tackles than I have my entire soccer career. I’ve seen 4 or 5 red cards. I have a couple of scars now to remember the rock hard dirt pitches. I’ve come to realize that if I’m not bleeding or limping when I come off the field, I was playing timid, and as a result, probably didn’t have a good game. The bruises and cuts heal quickly, and they’re entirely worth the fun of the game. Playing timid doesn’t heal - at least not as quickly. Sometimes things can seem malicious but it’s just an aspect of the game. People want to win. They tackle hard. The pitches are rough. Taking a hard knock or a hard fall is part of it. When the game is over, we (usually) shake hands and exchange a “well done player” with each other.

I’m going to miss playing with this team. I’m going to miss our home pitch. I’m going to miss the style of this game when I return to the structure of American soccer. That being said, there will always be a touch of South African flare in my game. The lessons that I’ve learned from this team, on the unmanicured pitches, are a part of me now. I’ve been blessed to work with a man like Coach K who is so eager to share and speak the language of the game with me. We understand that we come from different backgrounds (dialects) of the game, but we also know that the beautiful game is always the beautiful game, no matter where, or when, or who is playing it. The lessons that Coach K and South African soccer have taught me have refined the way I understand the game, the way that rocks are refined by exposure to grit. And I hope that all of the people in the United States that taught me the language of the beautiful game would be proud of the American dialect of the game that I have shared and left here in South Africa.

MFI Celtics

Believe it or not, refs make bad calls in South Africa too. And players, like myself, complain.

Wouldn't be a good match without some blood.

Coach K,  I LIKE your style.

Here are a few pictures of other things that have been going on. Look for another post soon about the "Groot Gat" (Big Hole) Marathon I ran in last Saturday. Some amazing experiences.

I was lucky enough to spend the holidays in Mozambique with a good bud of mine

Travis Brantingham let me tag along on the South African portion of his trip through Africa. Here he is seen at the Southernmost point of Africa looking for a KFC.

Also got to travel to the Eastern Cape of South Africa during my holidays, and of course jumped on the opportunity to kick a ball around.

Programs Coordinator, Thembi and SKILLZ Coach, Gloria lead a SKILLZ practice at a local school