It’s hard not to resent an asshole on a bike worth a year’s salary taking over a public path without having the decency to say ‘excuse me’.
That is where the last of my charming veneer wore down. No longer was I the erudite blogger, the mildly amusing copywriter. Nay, at 47kms, I was having a Kardashian-ugly cry, wishing that I hadn’t entered such a stupid race.
It was the sickening realization that even though I trained, and followed the programs, I would not finish the race. Because no matter what they say, sometimes your best just isn’t fucking good enough.
Until you have watched the sun rise from the top of a gruelling hill or run at the feet of skyscrapers in the heat of a Joburg summer’s night, then running probably seems like a crazy thing that crazy people do.
But it isn’t. I hope that if you have not experienced its joy, I hope you do soon.