Mission On Hold...

The climax of any given story often leaves one with a desire for more. Furthermore, the protagonist is expected to emerge with some form of victory which brings the audience a sense of triumph. However, Mission Possible Comrades Back to Back does not follow a similar plot to the regular story.

Once there was a team, whose endeavor was to slay a dragon of sorts. An imposing menace that broke hearts, minds and lives, leaving the young tenderlings calloused by hardship leaving them with neither inclination nor ability to love and be loved. The thought of one young life derailed on our watch was enough to convince us to leave the familiar and venture into seemingly uncharted regions. With minimal reserves, we put much on the line with one thing in mind…radically bringing down the monstrosity replicated in millions of scenarios, labeled “orphan”.

Though the vision of our trip ended with the raising of hands in triumph as I crossed the finish line of the Comrades marathon after 174km, our journey ended only a couple of hours after it started due to a faulty starter motor. 

While our sights were set on Pietermaritzburg and Durban, our car gave in just outside Laingsburg in the Western Cape. Constant sighs, echoed what words could not express but we knew one thing had to be done, keep level heads and look for the silver lining in the dark cloud. If truth be told, silver linings are difficult to spot through tainted eyes but we continued to fumble on. With all other options exhausted, we resolved to abort Mission Possible, Comrades Back to Back.
The mission ended before it hardly begun on Friday 31 May. Something that may seem like failure but we took this a learning curve. If one lives to tell the tale, then the tale will certainly be worth telling. All those clichés, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger," all came to fore but above all we learnt to be content in whatever circumstance we found ourselves. We learnt never to take our eyes off the goal. Our trip to the Comrades was cut short, but the mission to spread the word and change the lives of millions of orphans is far from over.

Journey to the West

I can hardly call myself a morning person, let alone am I an early riser. I could attribute this to being a very light sleeper and something of an insomniac but due to my defiance to being labelled anything other than Monsieur Columbus' sidekick or the very least, Shakespeare's apprentice, I will rest my case at "I have trouble waking up in the morning"

So as one can imagine, waking up at 2am on Saturday 20 April was no exception. I wasn't whistling a tune, neither was I fully aware of what I was doing up at such an ungodly hour. However, a shower always does the trick and in no time, I was trying to force some left over baguette with peanut butter down my throat. With my digestive system slightly in shock, I continued the motions of getting ready for another momentous occasion. 

Every race I have run has had some significance, great or small but this year's Weskus Marathon came with a lot more. Not only did it come a few days after the Boston Marathon bombings but it was a reminder of the reason I run. Pleased that I wouldn't have to drive, I found myself the passenger of probably the best running club shuttle ever. The Afrikaans chatter that went on around me, reminded me of the television show I watched as a child growing up, "Journey to the west". Though the show had English subtitles, one cannot help but marvel at how language can be a key or barrier to communication. Sitting there listening to Afrikaans folk chatter away, was like trying to decipher Morse Code amidst blazing guns and exploding grenades for a novice ear. Once in a while I caught a phrase or two but for the most part, I was lost in translation so I resolved to take a snooze.

The race in itself needed no interpretation, a straight forward route that took you to the finish. A moment of silence held for the victims of the Boston Marathon bombings and we were all set to go. We had to run our hearts out for those who could not run for themselves. The sights around us, dreams that others would have loved to see for life has placed upon them one permanent restriction or another. Pondering upon these thoughts, the desire to press on despite the pain and weariness, was awakened. Undulating through the West-coast National Park, the route had its way, taking both seasoned runner and novice to the same destination - home.

3 hours and 48 minutes later, elation - a personal victory. A victory for those who inspire me daily. Those long gone and those recently lost. The fallen comrades some who remain unsung. The dreams that were meant to be lived but were cut short. I breathe deeply once again, as I sit and listen to Afrikaans chatter on the way back. I am sure I recognised a familiar word "hard-loop" or something along those lines. concluding my journey to the west.