Never say never. One day you might find yourself running, and not because you're late… Despite trying to avoid exercise for most of his life Leon-Ben Lamprecht was bitten by the endorphin bug.
Pine Pienaar, PT teacher at Point High School, had a habit of shouting instructions out of the corner of his mouth.
"Okay!" he barked. "You're gonna do two laps around the field!"
Mr Pienaar was short - he used to play scrum half for South-Western Districts - but he made up for a lack of stature with attitude and authority.
We were a group of about 80 kids in Grade 10, barefoot, dressed in navy vests with light-blue stripes on the shoulders.
We stood on the field in front of our school in Mossel Bay in the late-morning sun. It was time for our annual fitness test.
A few guys swung their arms in circles; one or two reached for their toes to stretch their hamstrings.
I turned to my friend Ruan and whispered: "I only run when I'm being chased…"
Unfortunately for me, Mr Pienaar also had excellent hearing.
"What did you say?" he shouted.
I hesitated, boring a hole into the grass with my big toe, but then I remembered that the truth is supposed to set you free. "Sir, I said that I only run when I'm being chased."
"Okay then. Stephan will chase you."
Stephan Buys played eighth man for the first rugby team and he was the school's 800 m champion. He jogged over.
"And if he catches you, he'll tackle you."
I looked up to Stephan - literally. We were good friends, but he was at least a
head taller than I was, and about twice as wide due to hours spent in the gym.
"Don't worry, I'll give you a head start," Stephan said, patting me on the shoulder.
Prrr! Mr Pienaar's whistle cut through the air. "Come on! What are you waiting for!"
I set off. When I got around the first bend on the track painted on the field, I saw Stephan crouch down theatrically, like Usain Bolt at the start of the 100 m.
I'd have to get a move on, or I'd be eating dirt.
When I reached the 200 m mark, Stephan started running.
I couldn't help but look back nervously over my shoulder. He was gaining on me like a cheetah honing in on a baby impala.
I heard the sound of feet - not my own - and then a quick "sorry" before a shoulder dug into my back.
I was down on the grass and I slid for what felt like kilometres.
I struggled to my feet and dusted off my clothes and hair.
The rest of the class was cheering and clapping.
Mr Pienaar, of course, was laughing.
According to a 2007 study reported in National Geographic, our human ancestors started running about two million years ago, and they were built for endurance.
Professor Dennis Bramble, who led the study, suggests that the ability to run is "one of the most transforming events in human history".
That might be true, but it doesn't mean that humans like running.
Especially humans like me.
I was a good hockey player in my day, and I would never say no to game of cricket or touch rugby in the garden. It probably doesn't count, but I could also spend hours in front of the TV watching sport.
When we worked on our fitness in preparation for the hockey season, I was always at the back, keeping the goalie company.
I'd do push-ups, pull-ups and sit-ups any day, but running? Not a chance.
I was the guy wearing the T-shirt with a silhouette of someone bent over, gasping for air, and the words "I thought you said ‘rum'".
If I looked outside and saw a wisp of cloud in the sky, I'd say that I had wanted to go for a run, but now rain was imminent.
After all, running is a really inefficient mode of transport. It takes forever to get somewhere. A car is much faster!
And no one ever looks happy when they're running. Just watch the Comrades, especially when the runners have to go up Polly Shortts.
If they're indeed as happy as they claim to be, you would never be able to tell by the look on their faces.
Bunch of masochists, the lot of them!
You could say that I loved running as much as a child likes steamed cabbage, which is to say not at all.
But life is wonderfully ironic. Despite everything I've just admitted to, I'm
writing this column in a sweaty shirt having just come back from a morning
run. I'm training for a 10 km race (At night! Up a mountain!) and I'm also hoping to finish two or three half marathons during the next calendar
year, starting with the Safari Half Marathon in Wellington.
So what has changed?
It all started with a dare.
My friend Buggy said that he'd quit smoking if I did a half marathon with him.
I had long hair at the time and I was at least 15 kg overweight.
I don't like running, I thought to myself, but I also hate the idea of my friend getting lung cancer… So I agreed.
Due to a complex set of circumstances, I didn't end up running the designated race, but this was the end result: I'm running fit and Buggy still smokes.
I have also learnt something that experienced runners have known forever: When you're fit, running is actually fun.
There's something hypnotic about the feeling of your running shoes pounding the tar.
Worries about the kids' homework, your home loan, appointments with clients - they all fade away until you're focused only on the present.
It's a form of mindfulness, if mindfulness included sweat, stinky shoes and sore muscles.
Running takes your thoughts, rinses them out and gives them back all clean and fresh.
You gain a new perspective and you realise that what you thought were insurmountable challenges are just small stumbling blocks.
It's also a fun way to explore new places. I worked at this magazine as a journalist from 2009 to 2014, and during my last few years I often explored small towns on foot early in the morning. Doing so gave me a better idea of the layout of a place, and I noticed things that would have passed me by
had I been in a car.
The windows of a vehicle, even though transparent, are a barrier between you and the world.
Running is also good for you!
I lost weight, I started to feel better in general, and I can climb stairs without gasping for breath like an asthmatic goldfish on dry land.
I wish I could say that I discovered I was Wally Hayward the Second, and I'm busy rewriting the road- and trailrunning record books in South Africa.
Instead, I'm average, even slow.
And yes, there are still mornings when I wake up, see a single cloud on the horizon and decide it's wise not to risk running in the rain…
Likewise, there's a better chance of finding an honest politician than a smile on my face at the 14 km mark of a half marathon.
Now I understand all those grim expressions on Polly Shortts.
But hang on, does that mean I'm also a masochist?
