Remembering our Comrade 674

Tomorrow almost 20,000 runners will once again gather at the start line in the dark early Pietermaritzburg morning to run the roughly 89km of the Ultimate Human Race.

The Comrades marathon was probably the biggest event on my husband’s exercise/events calendar and even though he’d added Ironman and the Rottnest Channel Swim to his calendar in more recent years and completed countless other marathons and races, the Comrades was always in his blood. It is totally captivating to those who’d run it as well as many others.

Since I can remember it’s always been the race that stops the (South African) nation, and also brings the nation together. Brave runners from all walks of life come together from near and far and display the true spirit of camaraderie while spectators from all walks of life line the 89km long route to cheer, admire and support them and the imaginations of thousands more at home are captured. I’ve always had the utmost respect for Comrades runners and endurance athletes, it takes something special to do this.

In 2012 our beloved Ironman completed his 10th Comrades marathon and in doing so gained himself a prized green (permanent) number. We were living in Australia by then and the kids and I were in Albany for the long weekend. After doing the traditional Elleker 10km race that morning we rushed back to our cabin to be there for the start of the Comrades in South Africa and live track our Ironman. We were listening to Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire on repeat in the car, emotional music, picturing him on the start line with all his brave fellow runners.

He made his way past the Comrades Wall of Honour where he’d had a plaque installed in honour of his dad who’d run the Comrades in 1959 and had passed away a couple of years prior. Little did we know that the 10th would also turn out to be his last Comrades. On Sunday I will be live streaming and watching the race as we’d done for years, but for the first time I will do it without him. I’ll be listening to Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire and I’ll be reflecting on all the times he’d stood on the start line as these songs were being played, and gritted his way to the finish, from the silver medals of his youth to the slower times in later years. I’ll be following the runners as they make their way along the route and past the Wall of Honour where there is now a plaque in his honour as well.

I’ll never get the chance to cheer him on at the start line together with thousands of other runners as Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire are being played and then make my way to the finish line to welcome him there wearing his green number, as we’d hoped to be able to do one day, but I will always honour his memory on this remarkable day especially. His indomitable spirit was that of a true comrade and he was such an incredible ambassador for every race and event through his energy, enthusiasm, passion and devotion to all events, to friends and strangers alike, but with races the Comrades was his first love.

Through Comrades many friendships have been forged over the years, in South Africa, Dubai and Australia. One of these good and long standing friends went to the Wall of Honour the other day and kindly sent me some photos of Ironman’s plaque. I’ll be cheering all the runners tomorrow, I admire you immensely, and for those who knew our Comrade and Ironman please wear the Comrades beadies he loved so much. I’ll be wearing his.

Twenty Seventeen

The last day of 2017, a hard year. Sometimes you hear comments along the lines of “the new year can’t come around quickly enough” and that’s okay. We each have our own battles to fight. This time around I don’t share that sentiment though.

Saying good-bye to 2017 is another inescapable line in the sand of the year we had. In August our world got turned on its head when we lost our beloved husband, father and Ironman brutally unexpectedly with no warning while he was doing something he loved so much – a mountain bike race in the forest with a good mate. My strong, healthy, tough and invincible man lived life to the full until life decided otherwise. Four and a half months later it’s hard to move into a new year because it’s symbolic of leaving something behind that can never be left behind.

The hands of time ruthlessly wait for no-one though and neither can we control its passing but a whole new year is daunting, so there remains but one thing: to live this day. To live this day in a way that would have made our Ironman proud, to honour him and because it shows our respect for the man he was, because we love him and are so proud of him and since he’s no longer around to do it himself.

His are big shoes to fill.  He’d touched many lives, as has been evident in the love, care and support shown to us by family and friends near and far. His never-ending zest for life, passion with which he did everything, energy, sense of humour, spontaneity, generosity and love have been lessons to us. His spirit was indomitable, literally meaning “not to tame”, it was impossible to subdue or defeat. Always adventurous and pushing the boundaries, no challenge was insurmountable to him, and the greater the challenge generally the better. His sporting and athletic achievements are too many to list and professionally he was very highly regarded and well respected. The memories we made are rich and plentiful.

He always encouraged myself and the kids to do things we enjoyed as well as try new things. He loved this blog, he was my most loyal reader, biggest fan and editor. The name was his suggestion and no piece of writing was ever published without his input, and I valued and respected that input greatly. I sat down today to write something in his honour and we will keep doing things in his honour, be adventurous and set ourselves some challenges. We will keep his memory alive, do our best to follow his example as our own lighthouse and hope to make many more memories.

Life doesn’t throw us these curve balls when we’re ready or prepared. On the contrary, we never know what lies ahead but we do have this day.



Wadjemup 1

Wadjemup Lighthouse, Rottnest Island, Western Australia, one of our favourite places.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Admiration

There are many people that I admire. People who accomplish great things but more so those who have overcome adversity and are still positive and make the best of their circumstances. People who do it tough and don’t have the things I take for granted every day – good health, family and living in a safe and beautiful place – and yet they are still grateful for what they have.

It’s a tricky topic for me to pick for a photo challenge since I don’t really have photos like that to share so I chose instead to go with my admiration for people who do endurance sport. It takes incredible motivation, dedication, endless hours of training, perseverance, willpower and tenacity to complete what they set out to do.

My husband is one of those people who loves endurance sport and has completed 10 Comrades Marathons (a 90 kilometre ultra-marathon in South Africa), 16 Two Oceans Marathons (a 56 kilometre ultra-marathon in South Africa), more than 50 marathons,  2 Ironman, a few Half-Ironmans but the latest and arguably the most admirable in my mind is the Rottnest Channel Swim (a 19.7 kilometre swim from Cottesloe Beach near Perth to Rottnest Island). Last year when he did the solo swim, the conditions were very tough (one  swimmer’s support boat sunk) and it required pure strength of will to keep going and be able to step out on dry land on the other side after about 10 hours of swimming.

I only have pure admiration for people who step off the beach, not touch a boat or kayak at all during that time and get their own bodies across a 19.7 kilometre stretch of ocean to the finish line.


Paddlers and support boats waiting for their swimmers with Rottnest Island in the background


View of the swimmers and support boats and kayaks. The mainland is in the background.


The swimmers, support boats and kayaks. Taken towards the island.


The finishing channel

(This week’s photo challenge is to show someone or something we admire, and tell something about them too.)


I is for Ironman! Ironman stands for triathlons held all over the world, which involve a 3.8 kilometre swim followed by a 180 kilometre bike ride followed by a 42 kilometre run. My husband loves endurance sport (marathons, ultra marathons, ironman triathlons and crazy ultra open water swims). It’s not something I’d ever be able to do though, so we are very proud of our Ironman.

I also stands for Indian Ocean and iron ore, which is mined in the Pilbara region of Western Australia.

Last but not least, I is for interaction with fellow bloggers, which I’m really enjoying especially during this A to Z challenge where I get to see even more interesting posts.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Alphabet

In this week’s photo challenge we’re asked to let the alphabet be our inspiration. I realised I have heaps of photos of writing, letters and/or signs in one form or another and got a bit carried away with my gallery. Please feel free to click on the images and read the captions.

Ironmen and Mad Fish (The Art of Spectating)

Hello 3am, we should stop meeting like this. Although we don’t do it all that often. Being a spectator at a running race or triathlon is something the kids and I have down to a fine art. It could be Perth, Rottnest Island, Buller Gorge or Broome Marathons, Two Oceans Ultra-Marathon, Busselton Ironman or 70.3, Albany Half, Three Peaks Race or the Jüngfrau Marathon, each has its own set of challenges and rewards for supporters and spectators.

Having a husband and dad who is fanatic about running and endurance sport, who’ll get up well before 5am most days to train, trains nearly every day whether it rains or whether it’s over 35°C, spends up to 20 hours per week dedicatedly training if he’s training for an Ironman, who is forever setting himself new goals and (what would be insurmountable to me) challenges and falls asleep before the rest of us most nights means that it’s part of our lifestyle to have several different sports GPS’s in the house, to see him update his training spreadsheets daily and to watch him go for a second run or swim for the day so he’ll reach his target kilometres for the month. With more than 80 marathons and over 20 ultra-marathons under the belt it goes without saying that the kids and I have spent a fair bit of time watching and waiting at finish lines of races. When the kids were little it was a bit harder – try explaining to a crawling baby or toddler with a short attention span that you just have to hang around a little while longer waiting for dad – but since they’ve got a bit older we’ve been going to more and more events. Another change has been in that he started doing triathlons as well, and added half-ironmans (or Ironman 70.3 to be technical) and Ironman to his repertoire which usually meant a weekend away for the family watching these events which could take anything between 5 and 15 hours.

Watching running races aren’t really the kids’ favourite pastime as with a lot of races you only see your athlete at the start and finish of the race but if it involves a weekend away such as for the Rottnest Marathon, they’re quite good at supporting their dad. An out-and-back race means hanging around at the start/finish line and depending on how energetic I feel on the day, maybe hopping in my car and waiting for him somewhere along the course and snapping some pics before going back to wait at the finish line. However if it’s a course with a couple or more laps it means we’ll see him a few times during the race but that means timing each lap according to how long he predicted he’ll take and making sure we’re there at the right time and haven’t wandered off to go and get a coffee or something at that exact time. It also means that if he comes in faster or slower than expected we wonder if everything is still going according to plan because there is always a race plan.

Thanks to his never ending energy we’ve watched races in some breathtaking places. Being there when he did the Jüngfrau Marathon in Switzerland was unforgettable.  The two of us went to Switzerland and were tourists for a week and then he ran the marathon, starting at Interlaken and tackling the nearly 1500m ascent for 42km via Lauterbrunnen all the way to the finish at Kleine Scheidegg while I hopped on and off the little train going up the mountain at various points to wait for him in a very civilised way perfectly suited to a spectator and supporter. By the time we reached the finish line it was snowing. A marathon in all sorts of conditions with the most spectacular scenery and views of the Swiss Alps.

Buller Gorge Marathon in New Zealand with its South Island rainforest beauty was another great experience; at the Two Oceans (ultra) Marathon in Cape Town we were only able to wait at the finish line but knowing the course and the spectacular Chapman’s Peak it goes over meant we could still appreciate the magical scenery in our minds’ eye but at the Broome Marathon on Cable Beach the kids pulled out all the stops to help support Ironman and one of his friends. Child No 2 ran her first 11km race that day but Child No 1 and Child No 3 walked about 2.5km to the south of Cable Beach Club to give their dad water there and since it turned out to be a 34°C day in mid July (winter) and the entire race was run on the beach it was slow going and Child No 3 ended up walking alongside her dad all the way back to Cable Beach while I walked about 2.5km to the north to give them water there and passed the nudist beach on my way! All in a day’s work for a spectator.

Buller Gorge, start of the Buller Gorge Marathon

Buller Gorge, start of the Buller Gorge Marathon

Start of the Broome Marathon on Cable Beach

Start of the Broome Marathon on Cable Beach

Runners spread out along Cable Beach in the Broome Marathon

Runners spread out along Cable Beach in the Broome Marathon

When the opportunity arose for Ironman to do the Three Peaks Race in Tasmania we knew it would be a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience for all of us and it turned out to be exactly that and more.  The race involved 2 runners, 4 sailors, a yacht, 335 nautical miles of sailing around the east coast of Tasmania and 3 runs over 3 peaks in 3 days covering 131km, in some places scrambling like mountain goats. Epic is the only word to describe the experience, even for us as spectators. It was so different to anything we’ve experienced before, for Ironman and his friend who sailed from run to run and had to run together for safety reasons (some of the runs started in the middle of the night) and for the kids and I who drove to different spots in Tasmania to see them, and also to meet the four great guys who were taking care of the sailing, the cameraman who went along and their families. Unlike standard running races this was a team effort between sailors and runners like no other. The untouched natural beauty of Tassie blew us away and made us want to go back for an extended tour one day. All of us have incredibly fond memories of this trip, made even more special by the lovely people we met.

Start of the Three Peaks Race, Tamar River, Beauty Point

Start of the Three Peaks Race, Tamar River, Beauty Point

The Hazards, Freycinet National Park, Tasmania (two of these peaks are traversed in one of the 3 runs in the race)

The Hazards, Freycinet National Park, Tasmania (two of these peaks are traversed in one of the 3 runs in the race)

Magic Miles dropping her sail as she's approaching Constitution Dock up the Derwent River in Hobart to drop the two runners off for the last leg of running (up Mount Wellington and back)

Magic Miles dropping her sail as she’s approaching Constitution Dock up the Derwent River in Hobart to drop the two runners off for the last leg of running (up Mount Wellington and back)

Triathlon support has different requirements for spectators. Efficient support means setting up camp early in the morning in a spot where you’re most likely to see the most action. We’re old hands at this and have our spot in Busselton to watch the Ironman and Ironman 70.3 events, and in Albany where we watch the Albany Half from. In Busselton we go onto the 1.9km jetty to watch the start of the swim, walk to the end of the jetty to see our athlete as he goes around the end of the jetty and then walk back to see him at the swim exit. Then it’s a case of timing how long we have until we go to see him on the bike in a different spot and repeating that, depending on the number of laps, and then it’s rushing to see him come back into transition after the bike and before the run, and then back to base to watch the run. Albany Half and Mandurah 70.3 have their own (slightly different) routines. A full Ironman event being one that starts around 6am and takes some hours to complete we’re usually up around 3am to be at the start in time and it can end up being a very long day of worry if your poor athlete struggles with nausea or something else like ours did the first time, but he persisted and finished well after sunset. Watching these events and the competitors each push through their own individual boundaries and limitations to reach their goals while soaking up the amazingly supportive vibe and camaraderie all around is another unforgettable experience. The overwhelming sense of relief, pride and joy as your ironman crosses the finish line after you’ve waved them off around sunrise and they’ve constantly been going all day to finish after sunset and the commentator says their name followed by: “You are an Ironman” is pretty special.  We made new friends and everyone supports everyone else as it’s all about reaching that finish line, one way or another and I admire all the Ironman competitors and finishers. When our Ironman got injured last year and wasn’t able to do the full Busselton Ironman event I thought I’d be relieved not to spend a 20-hour day – from when we have to wake up to when we get to bed again that night – at the event but I was surprised to feel a strange, empty, sad feeling not being there and really missed the atmosphere and the whole experience.

Ironman Busselton competitors during the 3.8km swim around the jetty

Ironman Busselton competitors during the 3.8km swim around the jetty

And then my man became serious about doing the Rottnest Channel Swim. He’d said for a while that he wanted to do it but the run-debilitating injury put it into fast forward and so the rigorous and relentless training for yet another different type of endurance event kicked off with a new set of challenges. He came home after swim training one morning complaining that he was cold (while the rest of us were quite warm) to which I replied that the rest of us hadn’t been swimming in the (Swan) river like mad fish all morning! This swim was going to throw our tried and tested spectating recipe out the window and I had to rethink my strategy. It’s a bit hard for a spectator to watch this open water swim other than from a boat and his crew boat had no space for nervous wives so I was just going to have to watch the start, hop on a ferry to Rottnest Island and wait at the other end, which I preferred anyway.

Leading up to an event such as this there’s always much talk in the family about the training requirements, schedule, and equipment in the preceding months and as the day draws closer the attention is focused on race-day logistics, nutrition, race briefings, protection against the cold (no wetsuits are allowed), long-term weather forecasts and wind predictions – an on shore wind could make for a terrible day out. Then tapering starts and final planning and preparations are done. This was going to be another mammoth team effort with the swimmer having to cross the 19.7km stretch of ocean between mainland WA and Rottnest Island with the aid of a paddler and support boat keeping them on course, feeding them and judging whether or not they show signs of hypothermia. It’s like the Comrades (marathon) of swimming. The skipper of my man’s support boat wrote a tracking website on which we could follow his progress and all was set for our Ironman turned (mad) fish to tick another event off his list. The weather turned out to be far from ideal and the resulting rough and choppy water meant it was a much slower swim for most swimmers, and the post-race analyses (detail weather data, tracking data on Google Maps and graphs) and recounting and recapitulating thereof in several indabas proved it. As this event was in a discipline that was new to us we realised again how dependant your athlete is on their support team and there will be many stories to tell in years to come. The kids and I managed to go on a scenic flight from the island to get a closer (yet very far away) look at the swimmers and waited the rest of the time out back on the island. Knowing that the weather was wreaking havoc with his estimated time, the best news I received all day was when his support team let me know that he was at the 18km mark (which meant that the worst of the rough water was behind him) and the best sight all day was when he came swimming into the finishing channel.

Swimmers and support boats and paddlers in the Rottnest Channel Swim

Swimmers and support boats and paddlers in the Rottnest Channel Swim

A few days before the event he told me the now familiar chorus: “I’ll never do this again”. I’ve heard it before and know by now that once the bug has bitten there’s no letting go and I don’t really get taken by surprise much anymore but I still hoped as this one was stressful for us as spectators, and the day after the event it had changed to: “I’ll never do it again in conditions like that”, and so the door has been left wide open again. But the way I see it is that if I had to hold him to all his nervous and jittery pre-race promises the kids and I will also miss out on some pretty memorable spectating experiences, but every now and then when 3am comes around I wouldn’t mind a bit of tapering for us spectators as well.