If you switched on your telly now, you might catch a glimpse of me. Yup, I'm running the "Ultimate Human Race" this year, despite the organisers' insistence that I don't meet the criteria.
For years I've filled in the forms to join mankind in this test of endurance but the Comrades Marathon Association (CMA) always persists with doubts around my fitness or lack of it. Apparently, you need to participate in myriad mickey-mouse half-marathons to qualify for the Comrades. This does not make sense to me and I believe it infringes on my right to run.
I have written to the CMA countless times that I was fit as a fiddle. They insist that lack of fitness can strain the heart but everybody knows my heart survived a head-on collision with a truck only last year. After 10 hours of surgery, it's as good as new despite the cable ties that hold the valves and aorta together.
The CMA also refused to acknowledge the thousands of trips to the fridge to retrieve a cold beer as adequate exercise.
In my book, I thought inhaling teargas proved beyond reasonable doubt that I was a comrade. I had a mean katty in the 1980s as any apartheid policeman can attest. It is not my fault that when I was about to go into exile in my teens, FW de Klerk sprung a surprise and released Nelson Mandela and everybody came back home.