The first Foot of Africa 20 years ago, was going to be my third marathon ever. Everybody was saying how tough it was going to be, but nobody really knew what to expect. The evening before the marathon we drove from Cape Town to Bredasdorp.

A kilometer or two outside the town we were stopped at a police roadblock. The officer asked us if we were here for tomorrow’s marathon. On hearing that we were, he insisted that we must all be insane. He had great pleasure in pointing out the Red Beacon on top of the radio mast, on the mountain, and telling us that we had to run all the way up there. We were then escorted by police motor bike to the Spar in town, who were the sponsors and where all the race checking-in took place.

Very early the following morning, after having partied most of the night in the caravan park, we had to be at the Bredasdorp Showgrounds (±5 am). No private vehicle was allowed to drive to the start, so we all had to be transported on the back of large cattle trucks. It was cold and everybody had already taken off their tracksuits etc., as there were no facilities to leave anything at the start.

The race was started with the blast of a shotgun, as it still is 20 years later. I am not too sure on the number of runners then, but I think it was about 200. I soon found myself leading the race. The farm roads were rough, but very runable and I thought this was going to be a piece of ‘old takkie’. The press vehicle was a Land Rover and I found myself following it and doing a lot of talking to Charlie Savage and the rest of the press gang.

We turned off a farm road and headed up, and I mean up, towards the radio beacon and over the mountain to Napier. There was supposed to be a track of sorts, but most of the time I was making my own trail. Once the press vehicle even got stuck and I stopped to help them push themselves out. Soon I passed the press vehicle, because it was finding it even more difficult than I to find this hidden track. It did not take too long to change my mind about an easy course.

The hill was not the only problem I encounted. Every time I reached a watering table, the water was still sealed in large metal milk cans with either nobody in sight or the people standing around a scottle-braai having breakfast. A few times that morning I heard the following: “!%@*? kyk daar gaan die eerste atlete!”. Nobody was expected to break 3.5 hours so none of the tables were ready. This resulted in a ‘dry run’ for me.

At the half-way mark I passed the ladies getting ready for the half-marathon. They started quite a bit later then and so my lovely run continued. On the undulating section between Napier and Bredasdorp on top of one of the hills I came across this old couple sitting on their deck chairs having tea. The lady jumped up and ran towards me saying how hungry I looked and placed a ‘marie-biscuit’ in my hand. I could not refuse this, so a few hills later when I knew I was out of sight I discarded this into the wheat fields.

It was a great feeling finishing and winning the first Foot of Africa Marathon.

This race was and still is a great community effort. All the locals had chipped in to help in any way they could. They loved this ‘Monster’ they had created and you could feel that this race was here to stay. The prize giving was held in a hall opposite the finish. Every athlete who finished the race received a prize, presented by the person who had donated it. (It felt like it at the time.)

The prizegiving took longer than the marathon itself, but nobody was in a rush and everybody was enjoying themselves. To me, this is a race I will always remember. This is what running is all about, the challenge and the enjoyment, not so much positions and times, and it is a race like the Foot of Africa that will always bring you back to why you started running in the first place. So thank you Bredasdorp and Eps Joubert (The Founder) for starting this fantastic race 20 years ago. Long may it continue!

Stephen Donald – The first Voet van Afrika winner.