On Sunday morning I woke early’ish for a run, and you woke up at the same time, and just before I left, you said “Bye mommeee. Take care. Have a good run. And if you fall, call me. I will fix your bruises. Byeeeee”.
You make me so happy little dude, and you’re in such a great space at the moment, and it’s like you always have my back.
And with a spring in my step I left for my run – a 21km from Houghton and through Yeoville, Bellevue, Hillbrow, inner city and Bertrams. It’s called The Growler, and it goes some gritty areas of Joburg, but it’s still such a beautiful run, and full of contrasts and nostalgia.
There was a mix of ages running, and I heard many comments such “I used to live there”, “That used to be a synagogue”, “I used to walk around freely here”, and “Remember the bar down the road we always used to go to”.
The run was a reminder of change and of roots, and of the camaraderie of runners. There were a mix of faster and slower runners, but the front group would stop, waiting for the back-end runners to catch up. We also had a water stop at a place of safety in Bertrams, where the women and kids had set up a table and were giving us drinks. I am always moved when the needy still find capacity and heart to help, and I often think that running and runners brings together the best of humanity. The charity (we all donated to the home), the heart, the spirit, the helping, the friendliness.
There was no timing on the day, and no competition. We were just a group, running through Joburg, and enjoying the privilege of it all. And it is a privilege. It’s something that for a long time I resented and didn’t “feel” positively towards, owing to various factors.
But I’m glad to have it back. And I’m glad I’m loving it again.
PS: I didn’t fall.
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