"Something there is doesn't love a wall"
June 10, 21,500 registered competitors ran the 90.184 km (56 mile) Comrades Marathon. This year’s race, the 93rd, was a “down run,” meaning runners started at Pietermaritzburg’s City Hall. Most of the route follows what was once Old Main Road.
Leaving the city, runners travel along Polly Shorts (Ashburton), through Camperdown and Cato Ridge, past what was once my home (see red print on map), along Harrison Flats, up Inchanga Hill… well, see the map for the full route that finishes at Durban’s Moses Mabhida Stadium.
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Marathon’s Down Run route for 2018. See the Interactive Map © 28 East.
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The marathon was the brainchild of World War I veteran Vic Clapham who wanted to commemorate South African soldiers killed. After enduring a 2,700-kilometre march through German East Africa, Clapham’s aim was for the race to “celebrate mankind's spirit over adversity” and test entrants' physical endurance.
The first Comrades was on 24 May 1921 (Empire Day) with forty-eight official entrants; thirty-four started and sixteen completed that race.
On hold from 1941 to 1945, a marathon tradition was born in 1948 when race official Max Trimborn eschewed the customary starter’s firing gun and crowed like a rooster instead. Since then, a recording of Trimborn’s loud cock's crow has started every race.
For many years the race was for white men only. Indeed, the race has a checkered social and political history.
Just as I’ve missed the last forty-two races, I missed this year’s race. But from about 1960 to 1975 (the first year blacks and women officially could enter), I watched portions of every race. Back then, it was hard not to watch: besides being the only entertainment on offer, runners passed the foot of the eucalyptus-tree lined driveway to my childhood home, Radnor.
These days, Radnor is piles of rubble among overgrown trees and weeds and memories. During my return trips to South Africa, I visit the ruins, take photos, ponder the past, and review the overwhelming changes and the implications for the future.
Meanwhile, a socially and politically updated, more inclusive Comrades Marathon passes through “my section” of what was once open countryside and unique flora and fauna and ways of life. Instead of beautiful scenery, however, runners pass through a growing industrial zone, home to everything from chemical and food manufacturing, a crematorium, a manganese smelter, and stacks of shipping containers that replicate by the hour.
The first Comrades was on 24 May 1921 (Empire Day) with forty-eight official entrants; thirty-four started and sixteen completed that race.
On hold from 1941 to 1945, a marathon tradition was born in 1948 when race official Max Trimborn eschewed the customary starter’s firing gun and crowed like a rooster instead. Since then, a recording of Trimborn’s loud cock's crow has started every race.
For many years the race was for white men only. Indeed, the race has a checkered social and political history.
Just as I’ve missed the last forty-two races, I missed this year’s race. But from about 1960 to 1975 (the first year blacks and women officially could enter), I watched portions of every race. Back then, it was hard not to watch: besides being the only entertainment on offer, runners passed the foot of the eucalyptus-tree lined driveway to my childhood home, Radnor.
These days, Radnor is piles of rubble among overgrown trees and weeds and memories. During my return trips to South Africa, I visit the ruins, take photos, ponder the past, and review the overwhelming changes and the implications for the future.
Meanwhile, a socially and politically updated, more inclusive Comrades Marathon passes through “my section” of what was once open countryside and unique flora and fauna and ways of life. Instead of beautiful scenery, however, runners pass through a growing industrial zone, home to everything from chemical and food manufacturing, a crematorium, a manganese smelter, and stacks of shipping containers that replicate by the hour.
“Something there is doesn’t love a wall…”
… Before I built a wall I'd ask to knowWhat I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
(read the poem)
A few days prior to this year’s race, I visited the Comrades Marathon Wall of Honour that snakes alongside Old Main Road, near the village of Drummond.
I’m all for celebrating man- and womankind's spirit over adversity. Even as many of the planet’s denizens face extreme adversity each day (albeit not the sexy kind associated with extensive athletic training and high-end nutrition and commemorative plaques) it’s impossible not to admire marathoners’ stamina, determination, and endurance. In theory, I also appreciate … concretizing… athletic feats with the stationary Wall of Honour. Yet I’m concerned that, in designing this celebratory wall, little thought went into considering the structure’s logical conclusion: when will it be long enough? Where is it heading in the meantime?
Photos below illustrate my concern.
I’m all for celebrating man- and womankind's spirit over adversity. Even as many of the planet’s denizens face extreme adversity each day (albeit not the sexy kind associated with extensive athletic training and high-end nutrition and commemorative plaques) it’s impossible not to admire marathoners’ stamina, determination, and endurance. In theory, I also appreciate … concretizing… athletic feats with the stationary Wall of Honour. Yet I’m concerned that, in designing this celebratory wall, little thought went into considering the structure’s logical conclusion: when will it be long enough? Where is it heading in the meantime?
Photos below illustrate my concern.
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| 1. Wall of Honour: “This wall stands in honour to those who have finished the race, any runner with an official finish may buy a plaque.” (Photo: Susan Galleymore, 2018.) |
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| 2. Looking north towards the start of the wall—behind and to the right of the vehicle. (Photo: Susan Galleymore, 2018.) |
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| 3. Looking south towards the growing edge of the wall. Note how the lengthening wall carves out more and more embankment and more and more trees and vegetation. (Photo: Susan Galleymore, 2018.) |
The horizontal wall—about 4 meters/12 foot high—carves through
sandstone embankment. As I scrutinized the design, I wondered if the wall’s
designers underestimated the marathon’s appeal to the world’s super-athletes? If
they’d anticipated the race’s appeal to tens of thousands of racers celebrating
athletic triumphs with a R400 (US $30) name plaque, designers would have gone
vertical to create more surface area while not destroying local flora.
Now, if they choose to stay with the horizontal design, perhaps
they could erect a parallel wall in front of the original? It would make a tight
fit for visitors, but each end of the brick could display a name plaque. Voila!
A two-fer wall that’s environmentally friendly. For, as it is now, only more
carving of the sandstone embankment will accommodate the wall’s growing edge…and
that means adversely affecting our natural environment by destroying more mature
trees and more vegetation.
Curmudgeon that I am, when it comes to man- and woman-kinds’ endemic
shortsightedness, I suggest humans look closer at and appreciate more what we
have in our natural environment—before it disappears
Below, for example, is a view of the spectacular Valley of
1000 Hills right behind that Wall of Honour. Hidden in plain sight.
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| 4. Landscape north east of Old Main Road, on the other side of the Comrades Marathon Wall of Honour. (Photo: Susan Galleymore, 2018.) |
