The pros and cons of getting back into running

It was a plan that grew out of a morning of TV-watching on Youth Day last year. Louis van Huysteen had been munching his way though a tray of cocktail pretzels in his lounge last June 16, watching Sipho Ngomane surge to victory in the Comrades Marathon, when he decided that, hell, he could run the Comrades too.
If those okes could run the 90-odd kays in six hours or so, how hard could it be to finish the marathon in 12 hours? Urban legend had it that you could in fact walk from Durban to Pietermaritzburg within the 12-hour cut-off time – as long as you never stopped and always trotted down the downhills.
That was probably not true, but, as a reasonably trim 38-year-old, Louis was convinced he had it within him to finish a Comrades.
As long as he trained for it.
Now it was mid-October, and it was time to start.
The launch of Louis’ training regime coincided with his move to bohemian Melville, courtesy of his growing financial stature as an investment banker.
He’d been in his Sixth-Avenue house barely a fortnight, so he decided his maiden training jog should serve as a reconnaissance of his neighbourhood, as well as a gentle limb-loosener.
Everyone should run the Comrades once, he thought to himself as he trotted down Sixth Avenue and turned right into Beyers Naude. It was already almost 6pm, so he would just make this a quick run around Westpark cemetery.
He didn’t know the neighbourhood that well, but common sense told him he’d be able make his way anti-clockwise around the cemetery to Westdene, and thence back down into Melville.
The first stretch through the dip on Beyers went well. Louis got into his stride fairly easily and the joints seemed to be holding up well. He still had the old skills from primary-school landloop.
He took a left at the entrance to the graveyard into West Park road and began the gradual climb up towards Westdene.
Twenty minutes later he was still climbing. And his joints were starting to hurt.
Park Road had a gradual, but inexorable gradient that he could never quite see over. After another five minutes the road began curving to the right, away from Melville.
It was around 6.30pm now, and getting dark. The cemetery still lay to his left, dark and wooded, with a hedge and a wire fence protecting the perimeter. How big was this place?
There was less than 15 minutes of daylight remaining. It was too late to turn back. There had to be a left turn soon. The graveyard couldn’t stretch all the way to the coloured area. Could it? He was headed towards Westbury!
At any rate, he wasn’t taking a short cut through no graveyard. That was for sure.
Eventually, a left turn presented itself, rising steep and ominous towards a block of flats on the koppie.
Louis’ right knee was hurting badly by the time he reached the flats. He was going to have to stop jogging. But it was pitch dark and this seemed a rather dodgy neighbourhood. Only every third streetlight was working.
He willed himself through another couple of blocks, wincing in pain. His knee was on fire.
It was a rough neighbourhood of plain, tile-roofed workers’ houses behind rusting garden gates. “Sophiatown shop” said a sign in one yard. Sophiatown?
Louis stopped running. He was at least five kays from home.
But as he did so, he became aware of the sounds of the neighbourhood. The dogs of Sophiatown sensed his presence and he set off a soaring crescendo of barking.
He passed a group of three coloured guys in hoodies under a streetlight.
“Howzit,” he said, trying to sound casual and not scared.
Half a block further, the road became a downhill and he began running again. But after another block he had to stop. He was in agony. And it felt like someone was following him now.
He was navigating by instinct. He prayed he was heading down into Melville and not Westbury. He didn’t know much about the area, but he knew he didn’t want to be staggering around in Westbury at night, penniless.
There was a parking lot he’d seen on the west side of Melville. If his sense of direction was accurate, it might lie at the bottom of this hill. He might just make it that far. If not, he was stuffed.
Please let that parking lot be at the bottom of this hill. Please…