Words by Carla Collins
After Scottish trail runner Robbie Simpson claimed his second Otter victory, he was asked what had brought him back. His answer: “There’s something very special about the South African trail running community”. I tend to agree. While it is the only trail running community I’ve known, I can concur that it’s beyond special.
Crossing the finish line of the Otter TERREX Trail, presented by EasyEquities, last year brought a full-circle feeling to the sense of belonging I’ve always felt in this community. I grew up alongside the race, fulfilling many roles throughout the years. I started as a little kid cheering from the sidelines, then progressed to handing out finisher medals, moved behind the scenes helping with registration as a teenager, and finally, at 21, I lined up to race for the first time.
The first ever Otter TERREX Trail took place when I was just 7 years old, and from day one it attracted some of the most hardcore athletes endurance sports has to offer. Athletes with a passion for the outdoors and an eagerness to try the “impossible.” Reflecting on it now, I see that being surrounded by these people from a young age has had a major impact on my life. I grew up surrounded by people who did hard things regularly and loved it, so I believed that I too could do hard things.
I was there when Kane Reilly ran his very first Otter. I watched Marc Lauenstein break the 4-hour mark, and then the pro internationals hash it out at the final of the Golden Trail Series in 2018, where our very own Toni McCann podiumed for the first time amongst the best in the world. I had a front-row seat to watch the toughest people in the trail running world push themselves to their absolute limit – I wanted to be just like them.
Elite athlete aside, this race also attracts the most legendary crew any sports event has ever had (in my totally unbiased opinion). Once a year, every year, these passionate adventurers come together to put on an event like no other. It is a true privilege to have these influences in my life. Their combined love for the outdoors, endurance sports, their meticulous eye for detail, and gees have resulted in one of the most iconic trail races in South Africa. Every year, I look forward to seeing the team again. They played a huge role in making me the person I am today, and passing them along the trail, with their big grins, claps on the back, and the “Go, go, go!”, put a spring in my step and was a highlight of my day.
Race Day: This Time as a Runner
Last year (2024), it was finally time for me to partake in the Otter as a runner. I managed to work my way into the Abangeni start; and before the race had even begun, my day was made. While warming up, I bumped into Meg Mackenzie — my long-time idol, who I had watched win in 2017 — and she invited me along on her warm-up. We were joined by a few more legendary Otter athletes, including Bianca Tarboton and Kane Reilly, who shared advice and words of encouragement.
Rubbing shoulders with them — not in my usual crew roles, but as an athlete — with my name called out on the Abangeni start list alongside theirs, was a surreal, pinch-me moment. Needless to say, as I toed the start line a few minutes later, I was grinning from ear to ear. The air was electric with anticipation as we watched the sun rise, full and golden, over the magnificent coastline stretched before us. I had been dreaming about this day for many years, and here it was. No matter what happened out there, I was going to enjoy every minute of it.
Within the first few kilometers, the heat had already set in — it was a scorcher. But Bloukrans came sooner than I expected, and with it, a refreshing relief. I rounded the corner to find the same reliable Bloukrans safety crew with broad smiles (and even broader arms). The river was roaring, the water icy, just what I had hoped for. Then I was slipping across the boulders and heading up the next steep ascent, shoes squelching.
Despite sharing the course with three hundred other stoked runners that day, I spent many of the 42 kilometers running on my own. Winding in and out of the forest, skipping over streams, and hopping along boulders on a trail that’s only open to runners two days a year is a privilege. Running sections alone? Pure magic.
After Munchie Point, things got hard. This is where I entered the pain cave. From there on, you’re either climbing or descending, and fueling becomes uncomfortable. On a hot day like that, fueling will make or break your race. I’m not good at fueling (I must get that from Dad), and I paid the price. A few kilometers out from Ngubu Hut, some light cramps set in, making the pain cave just that much deeper. I had been waiting for it though — you cannot run a good Otter without spending a decent amount of time in the pain cave. I wish I could say I performed well in there, but I went there to try. I wanted my first Otter to be hard, and boy, was it hard. No matter how much I train and improve, it will always be hard. But that’s why we do these things: for the magic that happens somewhere between the start and the moment you hear Posh ringing his bell.
And then I saw the finish line. It struck me how I’d never seen it from the other side — the hexagonal arch framing the view of my teary parents, the incredible Otter family around them, miles of protected blue waters to my right, and 42 km of the most beautiful trail stretched out behind me. It’s a moment I find myself coming back to again and again.
Sixteen years of Otter, and I still hear the occasional: “Wait, people run the Otter Trail in a day?” And now, I can finally say: “Yeah, I’m one of them.”
