The Sky is not my limit

My friends scoffed: ‘You’ll never be able to do the Skyrun, Lyn. Your ankles won’t survive land mines masquerading as tufts of grass, mountain descents are so steep you’ll have to slide down on your bum, the elevation will leave you dizzy and confused’.

I decided to prove them wrong

At 3am, my team embarked on a long drive, from Cape Town to Lady Grey. Past a cattle-spotted field loomed the mountainous “Sky”. I thought of Durban runners, preparing for ascents bigger than their calf-aching hills and Gauteng runners for an incline bigger than their soccer stadium steps. Attempting to mask trepidation with an expression of anticipation, I told myself that all I would have to do was tackle the same peaks, in another Cape.

A chaotic bag of nerves

The following morning, we spotted last year’s ladies winner, Linda Doke, casually chatting with her husband. I doubt we looked as poised. We fussed over the very equipment we used all the time; our bedroom was a riot of reflective clothing, plastic bags and water bottles. We poured over maps and lingered over horror stories.

My nerves jangled when the doctor appeared at registration.  If the doctor deemed me unfit at registration, or at the 65km mark in Balloch, I would go nowhere but home. Thankfully, I was cleared. I also discovered I’d gained a few kilos. Perfect, I thought, for going the distance.

On the big day it was warm, despite the darkness. Pure Adventures did a role call and Ryan Sandes counted us down to the start. As we eased our way into dawn, friendly locals recommended “shortcuts” – a cow track skirting a peak or ravine saved us a few precious metres climbing – taught us how to say “Waka Waka” to cows and helped us when we were lost.

And lost we were

After a second loop past one of our Cape Town buddies and a few jokes about our race strategy, we found truth in the old adage, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’. We ran together, all the way to Balloch, vowing to improve our navigation skills. At 65km, we prepared for Baloch Wall: washing and taping feet, stocking up on baked beans, wild rice and warm clothing.

Daylight began to fade as we hit a steep section of Baloch Wall. Hiking became rock scrambling and pull-ups using tufts of grass to anchor ourselves. The sun set and the moon rose as we reached the summit and conversation was lost to heavy breathing. During a beastly ascent, we were already dreaming of the seventh checkpoint.

The valley involved a steep descent, with no marked path, in the middle of the night. Everything looks different at night. The moon, our only company, kept disappearing as we sank bellow ridge lines and hills. Feeling isolated, we kept checking our bearings and eventually found a jeep track. Past a sleeping emu, a steady uphill hike lead us to a glowing checkpoint.

Vossie shrugged into his backpack and checked his GPS. Thinking this confident guy might come in handy, I swallowed my pride and introduced myself. Our merged group began to tackle the brambles and wet streams that characterised Bridals Pass. The bush spat us onto a path, lit up like a runway by flashing red lights worn on the safety vests of Waypoint marshals. We were drawn to them like a moth to the cold beers in their hands.

High altitudes and high spirits

At the ridgeline, the air began to wear thin. My legs felt heavy, my fingers cold. Vossie used his fancy GPS to guide us along a slow slog to the eighth checkpoint. I felt too nauseous to eat any solid food, settling for hot soup instead.

The warmth of morning light instilled a renewed vigor and our ramble to Halstone, the final peak, was enjoyable. We startled a bouncing buck and chanced upon a camera man who provided upbeat interviews.

At the ninth checkpoint, I initially felt sorry for the poor marshals who’d climbed all the way to the top of Halstone to meet us. They didn’t mind chilling at the top of the world at all. After checking us in, they promised a fast and beautiful finish. A steep, almost unmarked, descent was yet to be conquered. Hair-raising, yet an appropriate end to this epic run.

It’s not often that runners from a measly 18m elevation home training ground can call themselves “Skyrunners”. Our obstinacy beat the elements, but we couldn’t have done it without a little help. Thanks to the locals and their knowledge of fauna, the makers of GPS (and those who know how to read them) and the cheerful marshals with hot soup. Next year anyone?

Words and photographs courtesy of Cherilyn Vossberg

Men’s Winner Bruce Arnett, time of 16h39

Women’s Winner Linda Doke, time of 20h58

Total Number of Finishers compared to Starters:  74 / 133