Dear feet

For a long time I was very sensitive about how you looked - I used to joke about my 'broad African feet' and hated having to go shopping for shoes, knowing that the shoes I liked (thin, pointy, strappy, high) would not be comfortable, and the shoes I eventually chose (pedestrian, broad, cover-all) would not keep their shape and would quickly get scuffed in the region of my bunions.

Pedicures were always a challenge for the beauty therapists because you were generally so rough and calloused.

I finally resorted to bunion surgery, and now you look a bit more normal and I can shop for a wider range of shoes.

Then I started my serious running adventure. I thought that after Comrades I would be able to have a pedicure again, but already I am back on the roads, then I lost a toenail from the race, so the pleasure of a pedicure will have to be postponed until I can boast a full set. But it's coming, I promise you that at least!

I looked at you this morning and realised that the nail varnish I'd applied a few weeks back, was only fractionally still hanging on, on some of our toes. The surviving toenails have been hacked back as far as possible, just because it's easier. I told myself that because it was winter I would be wearing closed shoes but with the warm weather currently I am in sandals again, and the look is definitely don't-give-a-damn grunge. The one good thing is that at least the vestiges of the varnish are all the same colour...

But for all that, I will flaunt you and I will wear open shoes and sandals, because I am so damn proud of what we did together. Through all the months of early morning and long weekend running you took me where I needed to go, pounding more pavements than I ever counted. My thoughts would drift away and yet you would be with me, regularly pulling me through. Rainy days and dark mornings followed each other yet we stuck together. Other people dropped out due to injury and we persisted. Even further back, when you carried me up Kilimanjaro, as the air got thinner and my pack became heavier, my mantra devolved from all those lofty thoughts one is meant to maintain in a mantra, to the more simple "Left foot...right foot..."

I salute you, dear Left and Right, and dare I end with the old Irish blessing : "May the road rise up to meet you..."

Comrades success

It's a long time since I posted here, but I'm back. I felt the need to write about my running experiences, because I know how much I appreciate reading other blogs from people like me, who battle with weight, and finding the time to run, who will never be an elite runner until they are the only one left running in their 80s...

We travelled along the highway to Pietermaritzburg over the weekend, and as I caught glimpses of sections of the R103 alongside, it felt like that road wrapped itself around me like external veins, on my arms and legs. Even though I have only run the Comrades once (yay I'm not a Comrades novice any more!) we ran sections of the route plenty of times in training, and I remember the people and the sights and smells of different parts of the route.

This picture was taken on my 2 km shakeout run the day before Comrades. It's the corner of the famous Nedbank Green mile, and happens to be 200m from my home, so I am VERY familiar with this section of the route. I prefer it quiet and lonely like it was in this picture though - the next day it looked like this:

Not that I can vouch for this, of course, because the runner in the picture is the man who won the race, and I was waaay back at this stage.

But I feel a familiarity with the route, that somehow becomes more real every time I  see sections of the route. I can stake a claim to the road, I can say I put my stamp on it, and I can own the experience. I belong to the race and the race belongs, in some small fraction of a share, to me.

How about you? Hve you run Comrades and what did it mean, to you?