Dear Max

A few months ago I was invited to Riebeeck West to run the PPC Cement 21km. At the time I didn’t realise how unfit and unfab I’d be feeling, but at the time it sounded like a great idea. I’d never been to the Boland area, and I’d heard great things about the race.

But when the weekend rolled in, I wasn’t all that excited. The weather forecast was wet and cold, I’ve found a comfort zone groove at home that I didn’t want to leave, and 21km felt a bit daunting. But I went, and was joined by my friend Lara and her brother, two brilliant travel people.

We jokingly plotted ways to avoid the race if it was pouring with rain, and I wondered how I would tweet about the race from my bed while drinking coffee. On race day, it was dark, cold and miserable, but just before the start, with muddy shoes and soaking-wet socks from traipsing to the start, the light emerged, and the sky cleared to reveal a clarity of the area, and a clarity of thought, which is often what happens to me on runs like these.

While I love big-city races, with entertainment, crowds and supporters, it is ones like these that stir me, and remind me how privileged I am to run. This race had no hype, no bands every few km, and no loud crowds of runners or supporters.

Rather, it had scenery and soul, and allowed me to lose myself in good thoughts, and worry less about my lack of fitness and slow running times, and more about “nothing” – no negative thoughts, and no worry.

It was a goodie. And I think I might be back on track…

xMom

This was before the race had even started…

A fit pooch

Sadly I saw no shiraz until later that night

More cheerleaders…

The commentator commenting on my use of a cellphone at the finish…

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