As soon as I reached five and a half miles, I saw the first hill. For at least 1,200 metres it went up. It was not yet six miles, so still I had strength.
The next 200 metres were not downhill but flat, and then again it went up for practically half a mile. Next it went down — this time not even for 100 metres — and again up.
Like this, when I came to nine miles, I felt miserable. I said, “What am I going to do?” Luckily, at that time it went downhill for about 800 metres. I was so delighted, so happy; at last there was an oasis in the desert.
O God, after 800 metres it went up again.
From five and a half it started, and for the next fourteen miles it was only hills. And you won’t believe me, but there were no downhills. At most it would be flat for 100 or 200 metres and then it went up, up, up. There were three hills that were at least, at least, one mile long.
People were cursing and dying.
One young man was lying right on the street — not on the sidewalk but right on the street — massaging his knee and saying, “Never in this lifetime will I run again.” Terrible! Terrible!
RB 98. 7 October 1979↩