Why I think there are times we must endure adversities

It is not in modern canon to face adversity smiling. Even therapists have succumbed to the feel-good lure of human experience. We have subscribed to the all-welcome and market influence of pain-reduction and ultimate pain avoidance orientation to life. While it is not healthy to deliberately seek adversity, seeking pleasure and avoiding pain as the sole motivations for living our lives diminishes our full humanity. To be fully human and fully alive suggests that we learn to hold the tensions life presents, sometimes due to our conscious choices and, most times, a consequence of life's circumstances. We are only in control of a tiny portion of our lives. Most of life happens because we have little capacity to engender life, but we can design. This existential position comes up against so much modern criticism because it does not make logic when we are told that the most successful people have life tips and tricks the rest can only learn in self-help books and manuals. Let me leave the philosophical stuff and narrate my recent undertaking. It is a narration of the decided pursuit of indomitability.

On 28th August 2022, I ran the Comrades Marathon. That I ran the iconic ninety kilometres event dubbed the ultimate human race a third time is essential. On 22nd June, long after the initial call for entries was closed, I decided to run the 95th edition of the Comrades. It was the day my dad passed, and I immediately decided to run it in his honour. That I had to run ninety kilometres for my dad, a quiet man who lived simply, minding his business of cattle and goats, adding value to the nation's food security without calling attention to himself, is meaningful.

???????????As you have already noted, I ran the Comrades twice before, in 2017, with a finishing time of seven hours and forty-six minutes. In 2018, I repeated it for the famous back-to-back medal finishing in eight hours and sixteen minutes. In the lead-up to my first and second Comrades attempts, I had put in a lot of training time. Except for the second time, I picked up an injury six weeks before that put me off training for the remainder of the training season, leaving me with doubts about whether I could run. Nevertheless, I was confident of my ability to run decently on both occasions. I struggled with the slump wrought by the covid-19 related lockdowns for the third attempt. My training was erratic and limited. That I finished in eight hours and forty-four minutes is surprisingly enjoyable.

???????????That I ran the Comrades for the third time is essential. Running it in honour of my fallen dad is meaningful. Finishing in eight hours and forty-four minutes under the circumstances is surprisingly enjoyable. The story must end here, one would think. There is more this event afforded me. I knew going into the event that it would be a difficult day. As the start drew near, I suddenly became aware of the enormity of the challenge for which I subscribed. That I had run the same distance and direction, Down Run, before, could not dissuade me that I still had a distinct twelve-hour limit to run the ninety kilometres on this day. It was a daunting undertaking.

I said a silent prayer and summoned my dad and the communion of my ancestors to accompany me on the journey of the Comrades Marathon 2022. As we sang the South African national anthem, I realised that each runner was part of the 'sechaba'. I asked "Morena" to bless their endeavour of the day. Each of the runners was daring to do something daunting on this day. I could see it in the eyes of the runners near me as we bellowed our voices singing 'Shosholoza'. My eyes and some runners close to me could not remain dry when the sound of Vangelis's "Chariots of fire" played. The Chariots of Fire tune signals the beginning of a long challenge following the cockcrow and the gunshot sounds. As we slowly began to run towards eThekwini, my throat choked, and I sobbed as I evoked Anderson Moonga, knowing he was with me in the symbolism of the Comrades Marathon. It was not just Anderson Moonga accompanying me. Many people on this side of the life force held me along the way, including you reading this piece. Much more, many people live between Pietermaritzburg and Durban who physically turned up early to wish us well on the day's task.

Pietermaritzburg, the Comrade's home, and KwaZulu Natal, the Province hosting the event, eagerly await the Comrades each year. The Comrades Marathon is a feature of the KZN's lifecycle, especially for those living between Pietermaritzburg and Durban. You get the buzz days before the event, culminating in scores of people lining the streets with braai (BBQ) picnics the whole day. Thousands of people populate the official aid points, and even more, people bring out their best offerings from their homes to support the courageous runners. The people know that the courage to run the Comrades Marathon is born out of silly adventurism in the minds of the eighteen thousand runners.

The support of the people on the roadside and those who sent phone messages and tracked the runners on the Comrades Marathon's app come in handy when the going gets tough. The deception of speed and fluency of running in the first half of the run gives way gradually to the call to the deep. The deep dip requires endurance. I learnt a massive lesson from sixty kilometres about stamina. Running an ultra-marathon, like life, periodically invites us to endure. There is time to have fun and time to endure. The last thirty kilometres of the Comrades Marathon run was about forbearance and stamina. I was glad for the earlier tears and fun. I hoped the fluidity of the beginning would last. However, I knew it was not a matter of if but when the call to perseverance would happen. This time it took sixty kilometres before I was required to dig deep. Some people would say that the run has two phases; the first physical and the second mental. I found that it has three phases; the first physical, the second mental, and the third spiritual. By spiritual, I mean surrendering when the physical has long resigned and the mind has given up. Notably, the last twenty kilometres tried my resolve. I thought I could not reach the finish line. I was exhausted and fed up like I was running one kilometre for a whole hour. That was long and excruciating.

Once again, I returned to my prayer, summoning my ancestors and telling my dad not to abandon me at this late stage of the race. I recalled the rant of the mendicant Nazarean, Yeshua, when in the garden of Gethsemane, he was dripping water and blood in terror. Then when the sun went down as he hung on the cross, not seeing a different ending, he screamed, "Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani?". The son of man reached the limits of his mind-body negotiations. He had to surrender into the hands of the source-of-all being. The last third of the Comrades Marathon invited me to surrender, to give over control of the result. The pictures from this phase of the run show me with a wry smile. I could see the humour in what was happening both internally and exteriorly. The supporters could see the absurdity of it all. I did, too, while I knew then that I could still complete the race dead or alive. It was near death, as the body felt when I came to the finish line.

I felt every fibre in my body as I attempted to climb the stairs towards the club tent after the finish. My body burnt fiercely for so long that I could not eat when offered a bite immediately. I could take in some fluids, as recommended. I could still take the advice of others after all. After ninety kilometres of running, the fact that I was alive to tell the story of my brave endeavour could not sink in. The run was pleasurable in the beginning, messy in the middle and deplorable towards the end before getting the thrill.

When I tell the tale of the Comrades Marathon 2022, it will include the following. The decision to run it was courageous. To run it in honour of my dad was meaningful. To line up at the start knowing the enormity of the challenge, was insane. The surprising element remains that I could experience a complete mixture of fun, terror, strife and thrill as I ran the length of the distance from Pietermaritzburg to Durban. That I finished in eight hours and forty-four minutes is perplexing. The most enduring tale will be sustained surrender to the source of all being. When the mind-body negotiation has reached its end, it is not over. There is time to endure against the modern cannon of perpetual pleasure. Sometimes life does not make sense. We can ride the waves of discomfort and struggle. As a therapist and companion, I can wait with others as they negotiate their path through the trials and tribulations of their lot until they reach the Yeshua rant moment and surrender. Even if we do not come out of this side of life living, we shall be alive in knowing, as Julian of Norwich did, that "All shall be well. All shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well".

May it be so! May it be so!

Is this the day when your promise is true,

That I will run and never tire, with wings new?

I want that to be so,

In the Amen chorus of the daring.

These once timid creatures of the earth,

Hear their hearts chanting,

"For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I fooled myself as you drove me to it.

I ought to have been commended by you,

I am not inferior to the "super-apostles",[1]

even though I am nothing."

And then the verse;

“I live yet not I. You live in me.”[2]

May it be so, May it be so!

?Moonga Nsamu 2022. All Rights Reserved.

[1] 2 Corinthians 12

[2] Galatians 2:20