MEETING THE FOCKERS AND FREKKERS - Part 2

Right, back to Durbs… Not withstanding the incredible greenhouse that Durban is, we had a wonderful weekend.

I was abused treated to a run with a 10 x comrades runner on Sunday morning of 32 agonizing glorious kms through the colossal mountains undulating hills that make up this area of Natal. It was hot. I was sweating. Lots. By the time I arrived home, barely breathing and still trying to figure out how we started on a hill and ended running up a hill ala an MC Escher puzzle, I was drenched. I honestly looked like I had just stepped out from under a waterfall. Even The Chef said so. Thunder was so amazed by this event she wanted hard photographic evidence, which I’m afraid, along with my toned and tanned sports illustrated figure, did not materialize! What did however materialize was the realization that no matter how long and hard you train, nothing can beat experience and time on the legs. My comrades partner arrived home looking as fresh as a daisy with the perfect “sweat” glow, feeling relaxed and looking closer to the sports illustrated model than I could even come. And he’s male. And in his 60’s!

Shamed beyond recognition I shyed into the shower and tried to remember why in fact I enjoy this running thing so much. Getting your arsed kicked is one thing. Getting your arse kicked by someone on the wrong side of 60 doing the thing you think you may be marginally good at, is quite another. Not to mention losing all ability to remember what was discussed over those long 3 hours and hoping to all hell you didn’t put your foot in your mouth. Whilst I don’t literally remember tripping, it soon became apparent that that was not necessary to embarrass myself. Just open your mouth Crazii, that should do it.

So, ever so slightly embarrassed and very very tired, we headed to another first experience for me in the form of Church. I have not voluntarily been to church since… ever actually. At school it was a compulsory torture exercise so once I was free and clear from that institution I made sure I never did anything unless I wanted to. Religion and I (as I have mentioned before here) have a very civilized relationship. We do not get involved in each other businesses, comment on one another’s doing’s or try and change the other unless absolutely necessary for the good of each other. Cue The Chef and the whole concept of Divine Intervention. Which, it would turn out, I have obviously been lacking the last few years.

So I sat in Church, voluntarily, singing hymns and listening to people talk about God and Jesus. It was interesting. I understood some, but not much. It wasn’t painful or boring, just new and a little strange. It has now made me curious and I shall be returning to feed my curiosity as well as ask a lot of questions. Some I’m sure resulting in the not so uncommon foot in mouth disease, but others hopefully giving me an inkling of understanding into a concept and book that has the whole world talking.

More meeting of the Fockers, the Fockers Frekkers and some Focker ankle biters for good measure, I was well and truly exhausted come Monday morning. Having remembered all names from grannies to new baby cousins, boyfriends/girlfriends/parents/aunts etc etc, introducing myself several times and being thanked for getting the Chef back to Durbs, the beach was a welcome distraction. Warm sea, large umbrella and some quite time with the Chef was just what the doctored ordered. A leisurely lunch and an on time flight back to Cape Town ended one of the most fun weekends I’ve had in a while.