Penguins, Pink Tongues and ATMs - a great wedding all round

Not surprisingly I survived the wedding. Not only survived, but actually enjoyed it. I mean hey, it was a week long holiday to one of the most beautiful cities in the world, in the company of all my boys. Ideal almost!

It was Q’s first time south of the equator and he kept obsessing about figuring out whether water goes down the drain in the opposite direction from the northern hemisphere. In the end I don’t think it was ever figured out. We were too busy having a blast.

We stayed in a bunch of amazingly trendy flats in an area of Cape Town called De Waterkant (Afrikaans, and absolutely rude when pronounced properly (duh vah ter kuhnt) to us English speakers!)
Q had a field day with that one! Their website lists the properties as ideal for ‘gay stay’ which was quite far from our agenda, but nonetheless, we found out the area had other ideas… The area used to be quite rough, but has been cleaned up recently and lots of cafes, cute shops and boutique hotels line the streets. The owners are a friendly enough gay couple, who have an array of gay focused brochures and newspapers, and while we sat in the office on a serious note, discussing a potential theft of camera SD cards, I couldn’t help but pick up a copy of the Pink Tongue!!

But I definitely digress.

We went for a wedding and it was a great one. It was all a bit last minute and why not?! Stress shouldn’t be part of the party to unite two souls in my opinion. The day before the nuptials, we were huddled around an ATM en mass, trying to draw enough cash to pay the stubborn wedding planners who told us just then that thy didn’t take credit cards…

On the morning of the wedding, the ceremony was e-mailed to the officiating friend to read and remember, and on the way to the venue with our bride in tow, she let us know she’d forgotten a cake. No worries! We pulled over at a bakery in Simonstown and picked up a cute little chocolate lemon cake, which the wedding venue decorated with flowers and which came in handy later, for bride and groom to cut symbolically together and smear in each other’s faces. All in good fun.



The ceremony itself, at Boulder’s Beach, with the penguins and other visitors to the park as the background audience, was blessed with the best weather in Cape Town one could ever hope for. No wind, lots of sun…

It looked like a movie scene… Our bride looked beautiful. The whole backdrop was surreal. I don't think you could have asked for better.

I volunteered as photographer while JW and our boy's mom sat upfront to proudly ‘give away’ their son. I saved my hugs and pride for later, and wiped away the happy tears from behind my lense…

And the after party put all family differences in the bin, while we bonded and danced and drank and danced some more until it was midnight and the DJ called it a night… I think we could have gone on for hours.

The best part of this trip was seeing all the boys bond. In step-families it can go wrong so easily. It can make life uneasy and put all the relationships on edge. In our case however it has always gone well. Everyone gets along. Everyone accepts and gets on with life. And on this trip everyone had the chance to hang out (which isn't often now that the big boys are scattered across North America and we are here on the dark continent), to support each other, to be proud and to feel the love that family represents. I felt something shift. We’d all become closer. We’d all grown and we’d gained even more respect for each other. And that is good enough for me!

"We can't all be heroes - someone has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by"

The most inspirational thing I did this weekend was manage to leave my computer in it's bag, while we took off to a friend's beach house for some family time (read: lots of Scrabble, walks on the beach and over indulging)...

On my return to 'civilisation' I got a mail from a friend who is also one of the greatest teachers at my son's school (sadly he'll be leaving next school year, but that is the nature of International schools!). It appears some people accomplished a wee bit more over the Easter holiday!

I figure everyone can appreciate the inspirational value of a true story like this - of a regular guy with the right amount of determination and positive energy - achieving a lifelong dream! Excellent - have a read below. Go Johnny!!!

Friends!

Years ago, I swore that I would run a marathon before I turned 40. Well, I never really got around to it and I never really pursued this dream, partially because I don't really enjoy running. I've always liked running after a ball or a frisbee but simply running for the sake of running always seemed a little futile to me - and boring. And, if I'm honest, I've had a standing policy to avoid pain at all costs (which explains my steadfast reluctance to get any tattoos or piercings) and running for such a long distance looks and sounds painful to me.

Then I heard about the Two Oceans Marathon in Cape Town, which is not really a marathon at all. It's two races: a half marathon (21.1 km) and an ultra marathon (56 km). The idea is that one has the opportunity to run by two oceans, along the Cape Peninsula, which features some of the world's most stunning scenery imaginable. I decided to try my luck at the half-marathon, which seemed like a happy medium: not too long and hopefully pretty enough to warrant some reward beyond simply finishing. I had wanted to do it last year, but got sidetracked in my planning. Then, I wanted to do it this year but it turned out that I would be taking 14 students to Cairo the previous weekend, which seemed like a difficult combination of trips to make (Cape to Cairo in reverse, Rhodes must be turning in his grave). And yet, almost in the last moment (mid-February to be exact), Amber and I talked once more and decided that it might be worth spending our Easter holidays in Cape Town, a town we've always loved for its climate, scenery, amenities and friends. I registered for the half-marathon and suddenly I was faced with the daunting task of getting into running form in less than 10 weeks.

As I mentioned before, I've never run before and it was a whole new experience for me. But I conscientiously got up before sunrise three times a week and ran before school. At first, I ran for 20 minutes, then 40 minutes and finally I actually ran for 70 minutes a few times. All in all, I only ran on 16 occasions and only once in the two weeks leading up to the race because I was traveling. According to my estimates, the longest distance I had run in training was 10 km - about half of the distance of the race. But I started to get better and actually felt OK about trying this insane experiment (I still maintain that running makes little sense unless you have a destination in mind or at least the possibility of scoring/preventing a goal). Nonetheless, I arrived here in Cape Town full of great ambitions: the cut-off time for the half-marathon was 3 hours and according to my calculations, I was hoping to complete the race in about 2 hours 45 minutes - just enough to qualify but not so fast that I would hurt myself.

A couple friends of mine had also registered for the race and they had each run several full and half marathons, so they were clearly well ahead of me in many respects. I had no idea what to expect and the 24 hours preceding the race, I became increasingly withdrawn and pensive, as the anxiety of attempting (and possibly failing at) this challenge approached. On the morning of the race, we woke up at 4:00 a.m., ate some granola bars, drank lots of juice and water and headed off to the start of the race, which was scheduled to kick off at 6:00. By 5:15, there we were, with 10,000 other contestants, in the pre-dawn dark, eagerly awaiting the start of the race. When the gun finally sounded (in the distance, because we were a good 500 meters from the starting line), I was almost bursting with anticipation because I simply had no idea what to expect from this crazy endeavor.

The start of the race was a bit hectic, as everyone jockeyed to establish their position in the line-up and within minutes I lost sight of my friends. From then on, I was on my own and it was a strange type of solitude, among thousands of strangers, both in the race and along the side of the road, cheering us on. At first, the only ones cheering us on were the volunteer marshals showing us the way, a few prostitutes plying their trade in the early morning hours and quite a few homeless, who rubbed their sleepy eyes in disbelief as thousands of panting athletes intruded upon their sleeping quarters. But as the sun rose over Table Mountain, providing us with a majestic view of this stunningly beautiful natural monument, the first spectators stumbled out from their homes, many still in their pyjamas, clutching their coffee cups and breakfast croissants, nodding approvingly and perhaps offering a word or two of encouragement to this or that runner. But as the sun rose steadily and the day began in earnest, the streets started filling with an increasing number of spectators and soon the roads became alive with the sound of cheering people, bands playing music and open barbecues roasting bacon and eggs. The race numbers pinned to our chest and backs had our first names printed on them, so every now and then, I would be spurned on by the seemingly random call of a "C'mon, Johannes!" or "Lookin' good, Johannes, keep it up!", which was truly encouraging. I could usually barely muster more than an acknowledging nod and a smile but it really made you feel special to be recognized - even if it was temporary and fleeting.

I am not a fast long-distance runner. Literally thousands of people passed me and I was astounded at the various body types that participated in this race. Normally, when one thinks of runners, one thinks of lean, thin and diminutive statures; you know, the stereotypical Ethiopian or Kenyan athletes, who are little more than bones, sinews and aerodynamic calves. But every single type of body was visible in this crown of runners - and most of them were significantly faster than me. But that didn't matter because my goal was to not stop to walk at any point in the race, even if it meant running at a snail's pace (which was definitely my speed going up the hill on Southern Cross Drive, which in my mind will now always remain synonymous with the term "hell"). But I kept running, even passing some other runners, much to my (and their?) surprise. By the time I reached the finishing straightaway, I was more tired than I had ever felt before and felt pain in parts of my legs (and biceps, strangely enough) that I had never even knew existed.

But as I approached the final 100 meters or so, I could not help laughing out loud, pumping my fistin the air and clapping exuberantly because I was so extremely proud of what I had accomplished. Granted, there had been thousands of people finishing before me and people probably thought I was a little pathetic in my childish joy (and maybe I was) but I couldn't care less because I had made it! I cannot describe the feeling I had crossing that finish line and I don't know if anyone will ever understand but for me this was a great personal triumph. I couldn't contain my happiness and went around patting other runners on the back, simply because I had this irresistible urge to share my joy with others. We congratulated each other and I simply could not stop smiling, despite the throbbing pain in my legs and the aching in my entire body. I was rarely as proud as I was when I was filing by the race officials handing out the bronze medals that all finishers receive, even though I was one of thousands. Oh yeah, my finishing time was 2 hours and 33 minutes, faster than I had expected, which was also cool - but totally secondary to the achievement of reaching the finish line in under 3 hours.

I soon ran into my friends, who greeted me with a great big hug. We exchanged high fives, congratulations and soon found the beer garden to celebrate with a cold drink. We then watched the winners of the ultra marathon arriving (only 30 minutes after me, even though they ran almost thrice the distance!), which was inspiring as well. But in the end, it was simply a great experience to have been a part of. I don't know if I'll ever run a full marathon because I don't think I would have the discipline necessary to train for it. Then again, I still have another 20 months before I turn 40, so perhaps I'll get crazy again and feel the urge to embark on such an adventure. For now, I'm basking in the glory of having completed this task and that is plenty of gratification for me at this point.

Now I gotta put my feet up and do something really unhealthy, so I can feel like myself again. Yours,

Johnny Enzian
Irreverent Reverend (Johannes Schwerk)

A toast to you Johnny -


for giving us all a kick in the proverbial butt - what are our dreams? Live them!!!!