I RAN JOZI (well,sort of)

Hello!

It’s been quite a while since I’ve checked in, but my hands have been itching to write this post. This has been an incredibly busy week for me in terms of work (which I am eternally thankful for), so I’ve pretty much had to put everything else on the back burner. Also, it is mighty hard to move fast and to do things fast, when you’re walking like a granny and even grunting every time you sit down or get up. There’s a first time for everything.

And when I say there’s a first time for everything – I mean it in the literal sense. On Sunday morning, I ran my first 10km race (the NIKE We Run Jozi race), thereby reaching my first fitness goal, putting a ginormous “CHECK” into an imaginary check box, and lifting my “not so nice” finger to those who thought I’d never be able to do it.

On Saturday, my husband and I lay all our gear out for Sunday and a huge sense of excitement started building inside of me, although I did threaten a few times that I’m not going to do it because I “just don’t feel ready”. But the truth is, that’s exactly what the “old me” would do…commit, commit, commit…and then bail. But not this time. I actually did the hard work, put in the long hours and I was ready to reach my goal.

So after a night of tossing and turning (once again, the nerves), Adam woke me up at 6 o’clock and we got ready to make our way to the Gautrain station, where we’d hop on the train to Sandton where the starting point was. And man, the beautiful luminous green and black NIKE Dry Fit shirt with the words “#BELOVED” on the back (I chose that, because that’s what I am) felt so good against my skin. I applied sunscreen like I meant it. I carbo-loaded like a boss. Armed with my little running “moonbag” (this is the best word I can use to describe my little bag) filled to the brim with chewing gum, energy gels, a little bit of cash in case I need to buy something en route, tissues and my MP3 player: I was ready to rock.

We are singing the national anthem (everyone pretty much at their own pace, as it is near impossible to orchestrate 20 000 people). It is 8h45, and the race is due to start in 15 minutes. The atmosphere in the air is electrifying, and the sun is baking down on us. We’ve done some warm-up exercises. We’ve witnessed a marriage proposal (how to cash in on an audience, eh). And now we are all pretty much rearing to go. Even the guy with the massive Afro wig on his head. The moment of truth.

And then the countdown. The gun blazes. Fireworks illuminate the Jozi sky and helicopters do back-flips. I anticipate hitting the ground running, my feet start moving, a slow walk to the official starting point. And then we stop dead.

And over the next 2 and a half kilometres, we stop dead many times, sometimes moving as slowly as 20 minutes per kilometre. I start getting frustrated, because this is not what I signed up for. This is not what I had in mind for my first race. I saw myself running to the cool beats of aKing with the wind in my hair, strong and fit, reaping the rewards of months of training. Instead I was walking with my elbows out, one amongst 20 000, huffing and puffing to get past people and getting seriously annoyed that 70% of people were taking a leisurely Sunday morning stroll. Sigh.

Eventually the crowds started thinning out, and I was able to get into a groove. The groove being that place where I can keep on going and going for kilometres and kilometres , aware of every step I take, and of every breath that enters and leaves my body. Probably the one thing that got me addicted to running in the first place. Fierce, fearless and determined. And then Alexandra (probably the biggest, smelliest township in Johannesburg) hit me. And what I saw – and smelled – took my breath away. No really, I was holding my breath.

What I saw over the next 3 or 4 kilometres was not a pretty sight. Dilapidated buildings and houses made out of tin. Muck running in thick streams through the streets. Livestock being slaughtered. I thought to myself, “The next time you want to us to run through Alex, NIKE, make sure you tip an entire container of Dettol over each and every house.” Sis man!

And then I had a change of heart (mostly because being “annoyed” while you’re running apparently uses up more energy, and you definitely lose focus). I started to notice the smiles of all the children who so desperately wanted you to touch their hands as you were passing by – like you were a world class athlete and you touching their hands, meant everything to them. So I touched their hands. And I listened to some of the conversations going on around me – the playful banter – of my fellow Run Jozians, and I started to smile and even crack a joke or two myself. I switched my MP3 player off and I decided to enjoy Jozi, and man, I did.

To the little girls who made up a cheer leading song on the spot, and sang it with such enthusiasm, I saw you. To the wise-ass spectator who rubbed his chin and chirped, “Heibo, this race should be called Walk Jozi, not Run Jozi. Marra this is a fun walk,” – thanks for making me have a good chuckle. To the “good Samaritan” who sprayed me with his garden hosepipe IN THE FACE…I think I’ve said all there is to say to you on the day. And to all the pigs I dodged on the way, thanks for the bacon.

After Alex, we were about 2 kilometres away from the finish line, and a new determination got hold of me. I ran reverently and I started focusing on what needed to be done. I could see the finish line a mere few hundred metres in the distance, and the masses of people who cheered for everyone, accompanied by strategically placed photographers, made me feel like I was invincible. I did it. I finished my first race – a distance of 10.83km in a time of 1h37 (according to my watch). I received my first sporting medal EVER and shed a few tears (luckily I was wearing sunglasses, nobody could tell) and I wanted to start dancing. Leaping. Shouting with joy: I CAN. I DID.



I WAS HERE!!!!!!



And I’m doing it all again on Sunday.

:)

(PS: You do NOT want to miss tomorrow's FOODIE FRIDAY)