Discover how a once broken spirit found solace and redemption through the grueling Comrades ultramarathon in South Africa.
Johannesburg, South Africa – A mere eight days prior to her inaugural ultramarathon, the renowned 87km (54-mile) Comrades, Ashleigh Adams, an indomitable 35-year-old, finds herself on stage at a vibrant celebration hosted by her running club, where she passionately recites a deeply introspective poem detailing her path to this transformative moment.
“I endeavor to grant myself a second opportunity,” she articulates, leaning intently toward the microphone before her.
“Though my shoes bear holes, I place my hopes within them,” her voice resonates, smooth and profound. “The course of my run resides deep within my veins.”
Merely four years ago, such a second chance seemed insurmountable.
During that period, Adams found herself trapped in a profound quagmire. By day, she sat upon a velvety armchair within the confines of a bookstore nestled in one of Johannesburg’s most opulent shopping malls, fervently consuming stacks of self-help literature.
Among them were notable titles such as “Who Moved My Cheese?,” “The One Minute Manager,” and “Awaken the Giant Within.” She delved into the secrets of an infinite wellspring of wisdom shared by Tibetan monks, daytime television hosts, and Fortune 500 CEOs adorned with dazzling, pristine teeth.
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Each evening, however, she embarked on a solemn pilgrimage, walking the arduous 5km (3 miles) back to her draughty, solitary abode, where she sought solace in alcohol until her consciousness faded into oblivion.
“I was incapable of confronting the world in a state of sobriety,” she confessed to Al Jazeera. She reassured herself that such books were intended for those whose lives carried significance, not for destitute alcoholics like herself.
That all changed on a fateful day in 2019 when a friend extended an invitation to embark on a run. Adams, feeling bloated and somewhat weary, mused, “Why not?” She traversed a nearby track, clad in jeans and ordinary canvas sneakers. The experience proved excruciating, surpassing the torment of her most debilitating hangovers. Yet, in spite of the pain, she fell in love.
The following morning, as she awoke, her body aching with soreness, she realized that this was the sensation of pain imbued with purpose. Running became her blank canvas.
“You build yourself up, tear yourself down, and yet somehow, you persist,” she declares. The epiphany mirrored the teachings imparted by the self-help books. Suddenly, the notion of endurance became attainable to her.
Though running did not instantly rectify all aspects of her life, it did initiate a transformative shift. Even after four years, she was still grappling with securing stable employment and finding a more comfortable dwelling. Her aspirations of becoming a counselor or life coach remained distant aspirations.
Nevertheless, the very ground beneath her had shifted, leading her to this pivotal moment—standing before an audience, vowing to conquer a race spanning over two marathons in length. The prospect loomed large and daunting. She had never embarked on such an arduous endeavor before and questioned her own capability.
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“I made the right choice in embracing this opportunity.”
Simultaneously, across South Africa, countless other runners experienced similar sentiments. How, in the realm of possibility, did they arrive at this juncture?
“We, as a nation, are fortuitous ultrarunners,” asserts Theo Rafiri, a distinguished South African distance runner. “Running discovered us. And once running unveils itself in this country, the Comrades emerges as the pinnacle.”
Stretching between the cities of Pietermaritzburg and Durban, the Comrades attracts between 15,000 and 20,000 participants each June. The course teems with spectators, while millions tune in to witness the event via live television broadcasts.
“The Comrades is one of South Africa’s most extraordinary tales,” affirms Rafiri, a former runner-up in the 1993 Comrades, who has undertaken the race more than 30 times.
Indeed, few nations can fathom the fervor evoked by the prospect of observing a twelve-hour footrace televised in its entirety, or the notion of running nearly 90km (56 miles) purely for the sake of enjoyment.
The origins of this enigmatic race transforming into a cultural phenomenon in South Africa trace back to the final decades of apartheid. At that time, the nation—secluded from the global sporting realm due to international boycotts—retreated inwards, crafting grand spectacles around its amateur sporting events.
Among these endeavors arose a nearly 90km (56-mile) footrace dubbed the Comrades, held annually since the 1920s. However, its popularity soared exponentially during the 1970s when the race embraced participants of diverse racial backgrounds and women for the first time.
By the late 1980s, when Adams was born, the Comrades had already become a staple of annual television broadcasts, with its victors ascending to genuine celebrity status.
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However, this prevailing fervor mattered little to Adams. For the majority of her life, the Comrades remained absent from her consciousness.
Adams grew up in a township near Cape Town, a member of South Africa’s Indigenous Khoisan community. Her grandmother primarily raised her, though she holds her father—a truck driver and avid reader—in the highest regard, deeming him “the most treasured individual in my world.”
Tragedy befell her at the tender age of ten when her father was tragically shot and killed. Adams struggled to comprehend this profound loss and subsequently found herself descending into a cycle of trouble, eventually dropping out of high school. At nineteen, she became a mother to a baby girl named Sade.
Subsequently, residing in Johannesburg, she navigated through a series of low-paying jobs: supermarket worker, house painter, and lightbulb installer in social housing. Her daughter moved between various relatives as Adams concentrated on her sole means of survival: alcohol.
“For an extended period, I harbored no concern for my own well-being,” she reveals. “I believed my purpose, along with that of my child, was to endure suffering on this earth.”
Even after she casually began jogging in 2019, it took considerable time to relinquish that mindset. “While running, I would hear a voice urging me to cease drinking,” she discloses. “Yet, I pondered, ‘Why should I? Beer has been my sole companion in times of need.'”
On her birthday in May 2019, a friend gifted her three liters of wine, equivalent to approximately four bottles. That evening, she consumed the entire quantity in the solitude of her home, glass by glass, until not a drop remained.
“The subsequent day, I lay bedridden, consumed by an unbearable illness,” she recounts. Adams resolved to herself, “Never again,” and has remained true to her commitment ever since.
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Instead, she commenced embarking on increasingly lengthier runs each morning. Her routes meandered through Alexandra, a densely populated township comprising modest dwellings and shanties, located just across a highway from Sandton, the illustrious skyscraper-studded suburb recognized as “Africa’s wealthiest square mile.”
Along her path, she encountered the very taverns she once frequented, observing patrons stumbling out into the radiant morning, their eyes glazed over.
Devoid of a wristwatch and equipped with a modest, antiquated mobile phone devoid of GPS capabilities or the popular Strava running application, she seldom possessed an accurate measure of the distance covered or her pace.
“I simply connected with the pain that resided within me,” she reflects. “The anguish experienced during running bestows upon you an unequivocal assurance of being alive.”
Her profound transformation captured the attention of Lizzy Babili, an elite runner residing in the area. Babili extended an invitation to Adams and her daughter, inviting them to reside with her temporarily.
“I merely wished to offer her the same kindness others had bestowed upon me,” Babili reveals. “I sensed her soul harbored vulnerability, and I firmly believed that embracing this chance was the correct course of action.”
