Catching the "Bus"

The most dreaded experience any athlete can face in a long-distance race is the sight

of the bail bus picking up athletes. Believe me, the two times I ran Comrades, I seriously

considered it, but for the demons inside me who compelled me to finish the race. The

bus is a necessary evil, and I have boarded this bus of shame a few times as well when

my demons were on a break. The bus saves us from self-destructive behaviour and

allows us to fight another day. Hence, the bus is always Plan Z.

The weather in the Cape was horrendous this winter, with record-high rainfalls. On the

first sunny day in spring, I was so excited to go for a run with Spook. I ran my usual

route through the vineyards and happily trudging along, losing myself in the bliss of

running (when your brain shuts down and allows your subconscious to enter reality).

The next moment, my tranquility was completely destroyed, and I was doubled over,

furiously sneezing and spitting like a llama in trauma. Some lanky exoskeleton of a

creature just flew into my nose, scurried down to my mouth, and before I could even say

my favourite three-letter word, disappeared into my bowels.

I trudged along, fully conscious and minus some serious bodily fluids. As I was

approaching the last uphill, where my movement can be measured by a sundial, this

cheeky truck passed me and covered me in dust and grit. I had a choice, stay behind

the truck, which frequently got stuck in the overhead trees, or have a go for it. I called

Spook and told him to go, which he executed without waiting for me. I glided past the

truck, which was stuck in the overhead trees, and a feeling of total elation overcame me

as I sensed a surge of endorphins as I passed it. For once, even for a few seconds, I

was outracing a truck/bus. And I had a good 40m on the truck, which slowly made its

way through the overhanging trees. Spokie lagged way behind as he was barking at the

neighbour’s dogs. My ego started yelling at me: Run, run, you can beat the truck and

the dog! I have never gotten close to beating Spokie as I have to crawl the last 30 m of

the hill. I heard the truck break through the overhanging branches, but my ego still told

me I was in the race (which one, I still don't know). Alas, 30 m from the top, the truck

and Spook passed me. The driver smiled a condescending smile at me. By the time I

got to the top, Spokie was rolling in the green grass, totally recovered, while I was

breathing like a goldfish with a stuffed nose (you get the idea).

I walked home the rest of the way. I suddenly realized that I would have a great day

even though I was almost disemboweled by an insect and beaten by a dog and a very

slow truck. I was in a space/time moment in which life felt real, and I could accept

myself unconditionally.

Enjoy your unplanned bus rides and uninvited entomological companions…..they make

life real.