My only Comrades were my army buddies

Abig up to all of you who took part in this year’s race, which I watched from the comfort of my couch. There are always stories of inspiration coming out of the only thing in South Africa not run by the Guptas and this year’s Comrades was no exception.

Because I am built like a stick insect, during my army training at 4 SA Infantry Battalion in Middelburg in 1981 I decided to give this “road running” thing a go, the main reason being that army trainees were given weekends off to take part in road races under the SA Defence Force banner. And weekends off at that stage were as scarce as an honest politician.

I ran a few 10km races and a half-marathon and then tackled my first marathon, the old Jeppe Quondam two-lapper. I finished in the very respectable time of three hours and six minutes and targeted the Comrades the following year.

Little did I know I would be deployed to the border during the race in 1982 and my plans to take part were put on the back-burner. When my army training was over, the responsibilities of adulthood kicked in and although I planned many times to fulfill my dream of running the race, it never happened. Marriage, kids and monthly payments simply took priority.

I am now in my mid-50s and am a smoker who thoroughly enjoys adult beverages. To say I am @GuyHawthorne unfit is an insult to unfit people out there. If I was told now to run a marathon or have all my fingernails pulled out, sans anaesthetic, I would supply the pliers.

But, and it happens every year, there are always stories coming out of the event that inspire me to hit the gym, get into shape and tackle the 90-odd kilometres between Pietermaritzburg and Durban. That sentiment generally only lasts around 24 hours, but during that time I convince my- self I could conquer the race.

This year’s inspiration was provided by Xolani Luvuno. In 2010 both of his legs were amputated due to complications arising from bone marrow cancer. On race day, on crutches, he set out at midnight – many hours ahead of the official field – in a bid to realise his dream of competing in the race. He finished in just under 16 hours and I am pleased to hear organisers are contemplating on how to acknowledge his special feat even though he wasn’t eligible for a medal. After all, completing the race without legs is like breathing without lungs!

There were also wheelchair and visually impaired participants this year and then there was Alf Burgess. As the race drew to a close and I sat with my missus on the couch, soaking up the drama as the seconds ticked down to the gun to signal the cut-off, I turned to her and said: “I’m too bloody old to even consider running this race.”

She said nothing but pointed to the TV where Burgess, at the ripe old age of 79, was struggling to get to the finish line ahead of the gun. He was quite obviously battling but was determined to record an official finish, which he did with just more than two minutes to spare.

So, to Xolani, Alf and those many other competitors who defied the odds to take part, I doff my hat.

Now I just need to find a really good excuse to stop the missus from nagging me to sign up and give it a go.