The Two Oceans Marathon takes between three and six hours to run on Easter Saturday morning. It also dominates virtually the entire Easter weekend for the majority of its participants. For many, if not most, the Two Oceans is the culmination of a three-to-four-month period of sustained training during which all but the most pressing of other problems become of secondary importance.

Traditionally, Easter is a time when South Africans travel. Gautengers and Free Staters go to the coast. Those who live at the coast either move to other coastal areas or else visit family and friends inland. Some Capetonians remain in Cape Town. Of those who do, a great many have some sort of relationship with the Two Oceans Marathon. The huge annual influx of visitors to Cape Town is dominated by Two Oceans runners and supporters.

The first signs of the impending event occur approximately 14 days before the Easter weekend. Brookside, the well-known home of the Villager Football Club and Celtic Harriers (organisers of the Two Oceans), suddenly becomes a hive of activity. Large marquees are erected. The finishing area is roped off. The atmosphere becomes one of anxious anticipation.

When normal work stops for the long weekend, Two Oceans takes over. Booking-in for the entrants normally commences on Thursday afternoon. By now the finishing area, complete with computer terminals, will have been set up for race day. Runners are required to report at the terminals with their official race numbers (which have been posted to them) for the booking-in procedure. The Thursday evening session caters mainly for the local runner wanting to get formalities over with on his or her way home from work.

Good Friday is when the bulk of the runners arrive. Booking-in is an all-day affair, lasting from 9.00 a.m. to 8.00 p.m. Throughout the day, runners converge on Brookside, the majority from upcountry. Some have driven from the furthest corners of the country; some have come by luxury coach, others have flown. Early arrivers should be in time to witness the finish of the special Two Oceans Marathon for Seventh Day Adventists and others whose religious beliefs discourage Saturday running.

Once booked in, the runners have no further obligations until 6 a.m. the following morning. Yet nobody seems in a hurry to leave the grounds. There’s no need to – after all, Two Oceans is all that happens from now on. Those with previous race experience greet old friends – you may bump into someone who shared Chapman’s Peak or Constantia Nek with you last year. Occasionally eyes turn as a well-known runner or personality walks past – maybe Morake or Gqele or Fordyce. Gone are the days of Helderberg Harrier Robbie Dallas-Orr in his ‘amazing technicolour tracksuit’. Two Oceans blazer badges are in evidence as are the popular ties which were designed by rugby great Dave Sterwart.

As the day grows, so does the crowd. As always, the Two Oceans’ shop is packed with those seeking souvenirs. It’s always difficult to predict which items will be the most popular. There could be a run on coffee mugs or beer tumblers, T-shirts, tracksuit tops, ties, jerseys or whatever. Only one thing’s for sure – if you want a particular item, you need to get in quickly. Stocks do run out.

Carbohydrate loading is the order of the day. Tables with chairs and sun-shades are stationed around the ground. At most of them, one or more tracksuit-clad individuals will be devouring pasta meals or plates of potato chips, etc. Some drink Cokes. Others, rather unwisely, will even drink beers. All are hoping that the energy they consume will make up for any deficiencies in their training.

The religious significance of the day is not ignored by the organisers. Indeference to the feelings of neighbours, the public address system, which will play a vital part in tomorrow’s proceedings, remains unused today. In the late afternoon, as the runners start to drift away, it has become customary for a short non-denominational service for the athletes to be held at St Ignatius Church directly opposite Brookside. There is a strong link with the race as the original St Ignatius Church was built on the present site of Brookside. The service was, for so many years, conducted by the Rev Christopher Gregorowski, a Celtic Harriers member and regular Two Oceans participant.

Early on Easter Saturday morning, similar scenes are enacted in thousands of homes and hotel rooms throughout the Peninsula. The alarm clock starts the day; then comes the kettle, for some the toaster. Running gear was laid out the night before. The last-minute preparations are personal and then it’s off to the start.

The starting area in Main Road, Claremont, has been cordoned off. The massive field starts assembling early. Those arriving in the last half our either stand at the back or squeeze themselves into the sardine can. Shortly before 6 a.m., the inevitable ‘Chariots of Fire’ is played. It’s not a Two Oceans original, nor a Comrades’ one for that matter, but it is highly inspiring at such a time. Then the traditional fish-horn proclaims the unique Cape atmosphere. Prudent runners will, by now, have drunk plenty of liquid and will be appreciative of the water sachets which are dispensed at the starting area.

At precisely 6 a.m., the gun officially begins the proceedings. A few minutes will elapse before the last runner crosses the start line and one or two more before he gets into his normal stride.

The Two Oceans Marathon rightfully enjoys a reputation for being the most scenic long distance running event in the world. Probably the least beautiful part of the run is encountered soon after the start. This doesn’t really matter as the race gets under way before sunrise.

This is a time to get into the run – to attain one’s planned running pace, to start getting to know one’s companions and to enjoy the early banter that flows freely. An early feeding station or two may be missed due to the congestion caused by the huge field. Two Oceans is too well organised for that situation to continue. Long before the 10 kilometre mark, even the last of the tailenders should be able to enjoy the liquid of his or her choice. In order to assist runners in the early stages, the race organisers have arranged for school-boys to hold aloft the kilometre marker boards for the first 15 kilometres.

The first few suburbs pass almost unnoticed: Kenilworth, Wynberg, Plumstead, Diep River, Heathfield and then Retreat, which owes its name to the Battle of Muizenberg in 1795, the Dutch forces having retreated to this spot at one stage. On the mountain side of the road are Westlake and Pollsmoor, which served as transit camps during both World Wars. Westlake is now better known for its golf course and Pollsmoor for its prison. On the left hand side of the road, some distance below the railway line, is Rondevlei, the well known bird sanctuary, which covers 120 hectares. Two Oceans is run at a time of the year most advantageous for bird watchers. It is while going through this area (Retreat, Lakeside, etc.) that the sun will be seen to rise over the Hottentots Holland mountains in the distance.

In his book, ‘Lore of running’, Professor Tim Noakes speaks of the need for competitive runners to associate (i.e. focus their thoughts exclusively on their activity, running) while non-competitive or novice runners can dissociate and let their minds wander, taking in the surroundings and engaging in casual conversation.

For the purpose of this chapter, we find ourselves among the back of the field, lacking the ability and inclination to strive for absolute excellence but eager to maximise our appreciation of this most attractive of voyages.

From about the 10km mark, thoughts inevitably turn to the first of the two oceans, about to appear on the left hand side of the road. On the right, we pass the plateau of Steenberg, which culminates in the 1663 ft high Muizenberg Mountain. We see De Post Huys, dating back to 1673, a reminder of the early days of the Cape settlement. Built originally as a lookout post and signal station, it received a direct hit during the Battle of Muizenberg in 1795. Its identity kept secret until recently, De Post Huys has now been fully restored and is open to the public. It is regarded as the oldest habitable building in the country, having been built a year before Cape Town’s famous Castle was first occupied.

The Indian Ocean at last arrives in the form of False Bay, a vast area of water bordered by the Peninsula mountains on one side, and the Hottentots Holland range, projecting into the sea at Cape Hangklip, on the other. In days gone by, ships arriving from the east were inclined to confuse Cape Hangklip with Cape Point, hence the name False Bay. Muizenberg is the first seaside suburb we reach but, due to the railway station and other buildings, it is some time before the sea comes into view, with Surfers’ Corner immediately below us on the left. Muizenberg derives its name from Sergeant Wynand Willem Muijs, who is 1743 was in charge of a cattle post at nearby Zandvlei. This post was of some strategic importance for it guarded the road to Cape Town. Later promoted to Captain, Muijs became the Commander of the Cape Garrison. Muizenberg was once a favourite haunt of Rudyard Kipling, who used to spend long summer vacations there, swimming in the warm sea and walking along the beach.

A landmark easy to miss as we view the ocean but full of interest to the student of history is Rhode’s Cottage, it was purchased by Cecil John Rhodes from the estate of John Robertson Reid on 27 February 1899. Three years later, almost to the day, Rhodes travelled to the cottage to spend his last few weeks there. On 26 March 1902, Rhodes died in the cottage. In 1932, the cottage was donated to the Government of Northern Rhodesia by the Rhodes Trustees, and five years later, was transferred to the city of Cape Town. The following year it was declared a national monument and restoration work commenced some time later. Containing personal effects of Rhodes and items of interest associated with him, it can be visited on certain week days.

We are now engaged in probably the easiest part of our voyage. Remembering to keep up our fluid intake and to stick to our pre-race schedule, we can leisurely enjoy the gently winding and narrow road to Fish Hoek. Between us and the sea is the suburban railway line – there’s barely space for anything else. On the right, homes with unsurpassed views of the bay are built into the mountainside. With 16 km behind us, we reach St James, named after the first church built here. It has a small beach with a tidal swimming pool and is easily recognised by the multi-coloured bathing boxes lining the edge of the beach. The first Marine Biological Station in South Africa was established here in 1903, but no longer exists.

The fishing harbour of Kalk Bay follows. This is a particularly busy spot, especially in winter during the snoek season. Fish are sold on the quay-side as they are taken from the boats. Whilst most are bought by traders, fresh fish are available to members of the public. Kalk Bay harbour is a favourite spot for Cape Town’s ‘Coloured' community. The passing of time has done little to alter life here and strangers may be bewildered to hear haggling over the price of fish in the old sterling currency. Kalk Bay is an ideal place to visit for those wanting to experience something uniquely part of Cape Town.

Lime kilns were set up in the 17th Century in order to produce lime for the painting of buildings for the Dutch East India Company. Many of the white-walled homes in the area owe their appearance to this. It also explains the name Kalk Bay, meaning Lime Bay.

As we go by, the road rises slightly before turning right towards Clovelly and the mouth of the Silvermine River. The proximity of Clovelly railway station to the sea is emphasises by a sign which warns ‘No fishing from the platform’. To the right a road leads to the picturesque Clovelly Country Club. The mouth of Silvermine River was once notorious for its quicksand but it has been many years since anyone has been reported as having got into difficulties there. It is believed that the name Clovelly was provided by a visiting English woman who found some resemblance in it to a village of the same name in her native Devon. Should there be a cool south-easter blowing, it always seems, for some strange reason, to particularly chilly as we leave Clovelly and move on to Fish Hoek.

Fish Hoek is a well-populated resort with its own municipality. It has a sheltered beach which is safe for bathing. It also has another distinction – no liquor is sold there! There seems no reason to linger so we quickly press on.

As we leave Fish Hoek, we receive our first jolt. The road reaches a circle, which we skirt on the right. This involves a fairly innocuous climb of short duration. But we feel it. We’ve now travelled 20 kilometres – not too far, and we are trained to go much further. Yes, something in our bodies tells us that we’ve already used up precious energy and we’re not yet halfway. We are in no trouble but from now on we are aware that this is no cakewalk. Conversation continues but the content changes. We now talk about Chapmans Peak looming in the distance. We want to save our breath and so we speak less frequently.

The stretch along Kommetjie Road, through Sun Valley and past Noordhoek, is about 8 kilometres long but seems never-ending. It remains important to keep to one’s chosen pace and to continue to take in fluid. Those who have been drinking water only might consider switching to Coke around here, whilst those carrying energy supplements might start using them. Each runner should have his or her own tried and trusted plan sorted out before race day.

It’s normally along Kommetjie Road that one starts looking forward to seeing spectators in greater numbers. There have already been quite a few but their support, welcome though it was, was not a real necessity. We start thinking ahead and are grateful for the encouragement we receive in Sun Valley, both from refreshment stations and those living in the neighbourhood. Then comes Louw’s Corner and the first really enthusiastic welcome. The crowd is considerable, the excitement is infectious. We know we’re part of something worthwhile and we feel important ourselves.

All eyes are on Chapman’s now. We pass the Divisional Council rubbish dump, the little trading store, the Silvermine Road intersection and the half-way mark where time splits are taken. Before long, we reach the point where the road has bee blocked off for motorists and the first of the two really formidable challenges looms before us.

Chapmans is what we’ve been expecting and we’re ready for it. “Little Chappies’ comes first. It’s short and not too steep. Legs that have grown weary of the flat, welcome the change. Suddenly we’re going downhill again, but not for long. We see the sea and Noordhoek beach to our left. The wreck of the 1 500 ton Kakapo, which was used on a set in the Robert Mitchum film ‘Ryan’s Daughter’ lies half buried on the beach. Both Chapman’s Bay and the peak are believed to have been named after a British seaman, John Chapman. He was sent ashore from his vessel, the Consent, to try and locate a harbour in 1607 and was almost lost due to unfavourable weather.

We go around another corner and come to the real thing – the ascent to Chapman’s Peak proper. Despite the task ahead, the runners are exhilarated.

Excited talk is once more in evidence. Chapman’s Peak Drive is renowned as one of the most scenic in the world. As runners, we can now appreciate it as no motorist ever could. We’re fit and we’re strong – we’re receptive to everything around us. We don’t have to worry about oncoming motor vehicles – the road has been closed to traffic. Our pace is such that we can take everything in. Best of all, we have our fellow runners to share this once-a-year experience. This is where we really meet each other, get to know the different club colours, hear the comments of the novices. Locals and visitors derive extra pleasure from each other’s enjoyment.

We owe much of our experience here to Sir Frederick de Waal who, as Administrator of the Cape, was responsible for the construction of Chapman’s Peak Drive. The project commenced in 1915 from the Hout Bay side. The following year the approach from Noordhoek began. The difficulties were enormous. The first section of three quarters of a mile from the Hout Bay side took virtually four years. Finally, the 10 kilometre long road, which marks the line at which the sedimentary Table Mountain sandstone has been laid on a base of Cape granite, was completed. It was officially opened by the Governor-General, Prince Arthur of Connaught, on 6 May 1922. The entire construction had cost a total of 20 000 pounds.

Enthusiasm can be our biggest enemy here. As the road winds gradually up the slope, we look ahead and see a corner at a time, each looking like the top one. The peak becomes a finishing line of its own. It is important not to lose our heads here, even if the humour of the feeding station manned by Hash House Harriers makes us feel ready to fly. A little restraint now will be rewarded on the other side. Sooner than we expect, we reach the top. A little out of breath, we recover quickly, have a quick drink and commence the descent to Hout Bay.

If our preparation and application have been sensible, we're still able to appreciate the scenery. Far below (a reminder of just how high we have climbed) is Hout Bay, with the harbour across the bay. Guarding the harbour is the imposing Sentinel, its sheer cliff-face rising 300 metres above the sea. The portion of the road which we now occupy has an abrasive surface and is awkwardly cambered, making running a somewhat painful business. Picnic spots on the side of the road are plentiful. At one, just before the 33 kilometre mark, you can expect to see and hear a bagpipe or two, and a group of cricketers and ex-cricketers offering encouragement as you pass. Regulars among them are Trevor Kilian, Mike Bowditch, 'Houtie' Niewoudt, Dennis Mulholland, Bob Thomas, Iain Moffat, Peter Swart and former Boland captain Stephen Jones. In their right hands they carry a reminder of what we hope we will find waiting, chilled, at Brookside.

The demands of downhill running, coupled with the effects of the kilometres we’ve left behind, are making their presence felt as we continue along the long winding road. Some of us ‘hit the wall’. We could do with some light relief and it comes, unexpectedly. First we hear the sound of horns. The, as we get closer, we see them. On a flat rock, just above the road, are two men, both wearing green Alpine hats with feathers and both holding long horns to their mouths. As we pass by, they call out to us their familiar greetings, ‘The snoek are coming, the snoek are running’, ‘Beer round the corner at Chappies’ and ‘Top ‘o the mornin’ to you’, the last in a distinctive Irish brogue. They also have whistles with them, the sort normally associated with football referees. They sometimes use them to blow the chant, ‘One, two, one, two, three’.

Irishman Hervie Robins and South African Ron Priguer have been doing this for years. Every Easter Saturday, whether it’s raining or shining, they do their best to cheer up the runners. Herbie uses a curved Italian horn, a prized possession that he brought home from the Italian Campaign during the Second World war. Ron has two. One is a short hunting horn of the type traditionally used for fox hunting. The snoek horn, used by snoekmongers in Cape Town in days gone by and blown at the start of the Two Oceans, is derived from it. Ron also has a metre-long postillion horn, once used in the United Kingdom to announce the arrival of mail coaches in the days of highwaymen. It was bought at an antique shop in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1961.

Ron has another link with the race. In his younger days, he was a member of Celtic Harriers, specialising in sprint events. Clubmates he remembers include the late Charlie Savage, Robin and Noel Breakey, Don Lock and Ken Wilmot. John Gainsford, the Villager and Springbok rugby player, sometimes trained with them in summer.

Sometimes, the help of the two horn-blowers goes a little further than providing musical notes and cheerful encouragement. They have been known to dispense the odd biscuit or chocolate and have even, on occasions, clambered down to the road to massage tired legs. Only when all the runners have passed, their spirits raised, do the two of them take out their hot cross buns and flask of coffee to enjoy the relaxation they’ve more than earned. Just once in all the years they’ve been there has a runner voiced his disapproval. One chap, obviously suffering and unlikely to complete his voyage, looked up at them and asked plaintively, ‘Must you make that high-pitched noise?’

Various landmarks are found on the way down to Hout Bay, some of them strongholds which once guarded Hout Bay against attack. Among them are the Gordon and West Batteries, both built by the British during the Napoleonic wars. Then there’s French-built East Fort, a well-preserved fortification with cannons facing the Sentinel across the bay. Just behind the Flora Bay cottages on the lower slopes, you will see four concrete pillars rising out of the water. These pillars mark the site of an old jetty where manganese was off-loaded from a now-disused mine in the Hout Bay mountains above Champan’s Peak Drive. Finally, as we complete our descent we see, on a rock overlooking the beach, a 1,4 metre high bronze leopard, the work of the late sculptor Ivan Mitford-Barberton, whose studio was located in the village.

For the first time in a while, we are now on he flat ground as we journey through Hout Bay. At the 39 km mark we pass the historical Kronendal, one of the finest Cape Dutch houses, and the oldest home in Hout Bay. The land on which it was built in 1713 was granted to Willem van Dieden and Pieter van der Westhuizen by Simon van der Stel, Governor of the Cape, in 1681. Over the years ownership has changed hands on many occasions. At a recent auction conducted by well-known sporting personality Henry Goosen, Kronendal was bought by local businessmen Klaus Gautier and Werner Kritzer.

Two targets are in our minds as we prepare to leave Hout Bay. The first is the standard marathon mark, and the second is the greatest obstacle of all, the climb up to Constantia Nek. Once past the turn-off to Hout Bay harbour and Llandudno, we head towards our twin objectives.

Hopefully we are on schedule. For most of us strategy is no longer important. The need to be cautious is something of the past. From now on we just keep going as best we can. If it’s a warm day we start looking for shade. Runners will be seen crossing the road from time to time, seeking the shelter of a clump of trees, before they reach the more shaded area above.

After passing the coloured and lively Buccanners feeding station, we soon reach the marathon mark. A glance at our watches provides an indication of how hard we’ll have to work from now on.

On the right are the slopes of Constantiaberg and Vlakkenberg, while across the valley on the left is an unfamiliar view (to most) of Table Mountain. After passing the aquarium and Disa River Garden Centre (the Disa River runs more or less parallel to and on the left of our road), we reach the popular Longkloof Farm Stall. This was formerly the wine cellar of the farm Moddergat. Directly opposite is the oldest surviving building in the area, Valley Grange. The road itself dates back to a decision of Simon van der Stel to build a wagon road from Wynberg to Hout Bay. Following damage to the road caused by French troops garrisoned at the Cape during the American War of Independence, the road was rebuilt in 1804.

The final 2 kilometres to Constantia Nek are surely as arduous as can be found in any South African marathon or ultramarathon. The vast majority walk here. Unless time is too strongly against us, we might as well do the same. In fact, a brisk walker is often seen to overtake a shuffling jogger. As the road gets steeper, we know that we’re nearing the top. A few sharp bends and then we see the crowd that tells us we’ve only got a few hundred metres to go.

To welcome awaiting us at Constantia Nek is worth savouring. First we meet all the girls on the side of the road. Then we break into a jog (most of us are seen walking at this stage) as we see how many people are here to greet us. John Smuts is the announcer and we feel encouraged at the mention of our names. Constantia Nek was used by the Dutch as a signal station, keeping batteries at Hout Bay in touch with the Castle in Cape Town. A flagstaff and a signalling cannon were used to announce the approach of enemy ships. At night the alarm was the firing of the cannon, hoisting of a lantern on the flagstaff and the lighting of fires. It has been suggested that Constantia Nek was the origin of a distinctly South African regulation, i.e. the sale of alcoholic beverages only if a meal is ordered at the same time. The restaurant on the right hand side has had a long relationship with the Two Oceans, having supplied the public address system used by the race organisers. A sign on the grass outside invites thirsty runners and cyclists to drink water from their taps, while reminding us of the meals served inside.

We have little time to linger at the top. The lure of Brookside becomes stronger here. At the Nek the road divided. The right hand fork leads down to Wynberg via Alphen. The left hand fork, which continues around the mountain and which we take, is Rhodes Drive. Here lies a rude awakening for some.

We’ve been told that it’s all downhill from the Nek. Those with experience know differently. The first few hundred metres after Constantia Nek are on a gently upward slope. After three or four bends we hit the real descent and now we can make up the lost time simply by continuing to move forward with the minimum effort.

Rhodes Drive, as the name suggests, was the brainchild of Cecil John Rhodes, whose name is also commemorated in the forest reserve above the drive – Cecilia Plantation. This reserve, popular for hikers, strollers and joggers, was Rhodes’ method of preventing the mountainside from becoming covered with houses. The 46-kilometre marker is passed as the road straightens and runs under an archway of oaks above Southern Cross Drive. Continuing our descent, we encounter a thick pine forest. Along the lower fringe of Rhodes Drive are hundreds of spectators. Some have brought out their deck chairs, some are braaiing, some drink champagne and others beer. All give us immense encouragement.

Our downward plunge comes to an end as we reach Hohenhort Hill. Easily negotiated on weekend training runs, it now assumes the proportions of a mountain pass. Still, we have scented the end and we get by. Chestnut trees, planted by Rhodes, line the road as we continue. Another hill has to be climbed before we reach our next target.

As we round a bend, we see ahead what we’ve been longing for, the turnoff into Klaassens Road. On our left, protected by the majestic Castle Rock (or Nursery Buttress, to be more correct) are the famous Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, covering 560 hectares and another inheritance from Rhodes. Kirstenbosch has been developed as a garden where exclusively South African indigenous flora is collected, propagated, studied and preserved. At present about 9 000 to 21 000-odd South African flowering plants are cultivated in the garden. For the upcountry visitor, Kirstenbosch offers an ideally tranquil setting to conduct tomorrow’s post mortems.

Today we have little time to think of such matters. As we take the right hand turn into Klaasens Road, we feel homeward bound. Along the side of the road we see what is now known as Van Riebeeck’s Hedge, dating back to 1660. In the early days of the Cape Colony, conflicts between Van Riebeeck’s settlers and local inhabitants intensified into war in 1659. When the war ended, Van Riebeeck, borrowing an idea from German estate owners at Cologne, determined to ‘plant and sow bitter almonds and all kinds of quick-growing thorn bushes in the form of a land barrier so thickly that no cattle or sheep will be able to be driven through it’. For a variety of reasons, the hedge failed to be of any real effect other than to mark the border of the early settlement. Alongside the hedge and clearly visible from Klaassens Road is a plaque which reads:

“This hedge of wild almonds was planted in the year 1600 A.D. by order of Commander Jan van Riebeeck to mark the southern frontier of the Cape Colony from Kirstenbosch along Wynberg Hill to a point below the Hen and Chicken Rocks. Thence the hedge was continued by a fence of poles across the camp ground to the mouth of the Salt River.”

Directly across the road from the plaque is the huge gate of Villa Chiamar, known to locals as ‘Chiavelli’s house’, with its massive white walls. At the end of the near wall is a feeding station and the 50 km marker. Another kilometre goes by and we reach the foot bridge crossing Edinburgh Drive. It’s no problem but our tired legs do notice the steepness of the short descent on the other side.

The last 5 kilometres of any long distance race are about as tedious as they are painful. With conversation having ceased some time ago, we look only for the kilometre markers and our anxiety stretches out the distance. For a short while we move down Herschel Way, then down Monmouth Road and Eden Road, passing the 52 and 53 km markets on the way. Across the traffic circle we go and down Colinton Road past the Vineyard Hotel. We take a right turn into Kildare Road, a left turn into Glenhof Road, past the 54 km marker and then down to and across the Main Road. The last hill comes in the form of the Newlands bridge across the railway line. At the bottom of the bridge, we turn right into Mariendahl Road and the 55 km marker – just one kilometre to go.

A right turn takes us into Palmyra Road. As we head towards Claremont station, we hear excited noise coming from Brookside. Following the stream of runners in front of us, we turn left into Harman Road. Many walk here, wanting to preserve whatever strength they still have for the finish. As we reach the grass, we break into a run. The softness of the grass makes running feel like hard work for a second or two but then the crowd takes over. As the cheering hits us, so our legs regain all their energy. We look for family and friends in the crowd, but see only a blur. We head for the finishing line, astonished but happy to hear Harold Berman’s voice welcoming us individually in the huge mass of runners.

Remembering our finishing instructions, we walk steadily through the line to which we’ve been directed and have our numbers recorded. Clutching our time card and precious medal, we join friends, family and fellow runners. We’re proud to have completed the Two Oceans Marathon. It’s not the longest road race, but it’s one of the most difficult and it is certainly the most scenic. To have completed the race is an achievement, yet we know that virtually anyone in reasonable health is quite capable of doing the same. We feel happily disposed to everyone – except the idiot who wants to know what we intend doing on Easter Saturday morning next year!