Why do people want to get so sweaty in theKruger Park? Jon Minster momentarily steps back from his braai.
Late afternoon in Letaba is a special time. An elephant strides down to the river in front of the rest camp, trunk swaying. A croc slips silently into the water. A hippo grunts. A heron wades in, looking for a frog.
There's no wind: It's so still that you could drop a mopane leaf and it would land right at your feet.
Everything is golden - that special kind of Kruger gold that seems to exist nowhere else on earth. Beep! The silence is broken as a middle-aged man in Lycra pants bursts around the side of our chalet.
His shoes thump and he gulps great mouthfuls of Lowveld air. He sounds like a buffalo bull on the run from a pride of lions. He swipes his hand across his forehead - there's a wet slap as sweat hits the sand.
He pauses briefly to consult his beeping sports watch. "ONE AND A HALF KAYS!" he yells over his shoulder.
Moments later, another runner bursts forth. Her face is as purple as the beetroots I'm busy wrapping in foil for the braai
A grazing bushbuck lifts its head and a vervet monkey pauses the raid it's planning.
Both animals seem as bemused as I am by the strange sight of these hyperactive humans.
Sports Watch and Beetroot disappear down the lovely brick path along the river, their shoulders bouncing, shedding perspiration. "SORRY! SORRY!" they shout as they dodge the regular sunset traffic of birdwatchers and late afternoon strollers.
Look, I'm a huge fan of a fitness routine. At home in Cape Town, I try to ride my bicycle three times a week. I understand the health benefits of regular exercise.
But here in nature? When you're in a busy rest camp? On holiday? The behaviour of these devotees is so surprising that I assume they're eccentrics, as rare and strange as secretarybirds high-stepping through the veld.
But no. There are more. Here they come now, emerging from caravans and dome tents, rooftop tents and bungalows, chalets and rondavels.
A mom and dad with two little runners in tow, all wearing matching headbands. Another couple, slightly less sweaty. A lone stomper.
Dusty Nikes, mirrored Oakleys, lumo shirts, hydration packs, compression socks, ear pods. Runner after runner hurtles around the side of our chalet and bobs away down the river path.
I start noticing patterns: There's the headband family again - starting on lap two. And there's the lone stomper again. He's overtaken Sports Watch, who seems to have lost Beetroot.
No, there she is. She skids around the side of the chalet. "TWO POINT EIGHT KAYS!"
It's pandemonium in Letaba! Am I imagining it, or is the vervet monkey giggling?
The sun sets and the fitness fever subsides. Showers hiss and the runners emerge. They're damp and pink, hair steaming, wearing puff jackets and armed with braai tongs and Savanna Lights.
Venus twinkles above the river and the Kruger breathes out slowly, settling into night.They say you can learn everything there is to know about an animal by studying its behaviour.
Scientists in the Kruger Park have spent decades decoding the habits of everything from aardvarks to zebras. We know why a warthog enters a burrow backwards (so it can fend off anything that tries to enter the burrow after it) and what that pile of white poop is (hyena).
But when it comes to understanding the ways of Homo sapiens… Well, I feel like I still have a lot to learn.
There is another way. Some scientists like Jane Goodall attained enlightenment by immersion, literally living among her subjects, eating what they eat and doing what they do.
I think I'll have to pack my running shoes next time I visit the bush.
