Last year was my first. My training had been solid, and I was confident having placed well in my first Desert Dash 369km a few months earlier. Sure, this race had thousands more metres of ascent, but I knew already the feeling of sheer fatigue that meets you at halfway and had conquered the mental demons that attempt to convince you to quit. But then the wheels came off. I started to get sick and limped with my tail between the legs for the next 180kms. It was one of the bleakest times of my life.

And so this time around my deep, deep respect for 36one made sure my training availability was there from the December holidays already. I’d made some serious changes to my diet, and even figured out a hydration quirk that plagues me at around the 8hr mark of a ride. I lined up this year wondering if the stars would align for me.

We rolled out of Kleinplaas into the dusk, not having to contend with the dust and chaos from relay and team riders in front us due to the change in start format (big plus!). The front group was increasing the pace at every incline, and yet I was feeling comfortable. My plan was to ride within very specific power bands in the first two hours and this pace was suiting it nicely. The legs were feeling fresh – good news after having had a throat infection to contend with 4 days before the start. But the pace just kept kicking up a gear on every climb. My fellow Benoni compatriots were beginning to complain about the pace. I thought I could hold on for longer after they dropped off. Not much longer. As we hit the trees and a particularly steep section the attack came. I was off. Right, now it was time to tame my power averages and find a good solo rhythm.

I was joined soon by Brad who had been spat out by the guys at the front. To be fair, he’d been playing with them on the sharp end up front, so no wonder they attacked. Stage 1 was now in the business end. A little later Brad passed me sucking the wheel of Jeannie Dreyer (there was a local bet laid down by Dion Guy from Pain.Cave at stake for ale if one of us beat her). It was just that 5% too fast for me. Sure enough, a few kms down the road Brad was alone again. Victim to the Dreyer Express. Silly fool

Stage 2. Brad and I found ourselves in the company of Pieter and Henri, fellow 2016 solo racers. We rode well together for a long time the four of us. The conversation was great too – discovering old connections to Benoni while contemplating the merits of road and MTB riding. The cold was catching me off guard a little though. And the dust on the downhills. About 20kms before halfway I hit something big on a fast downhill and felt my rear wheel struggle to hold it’s line. The tyre had burped and lost pressure. Brad, God bless him, came back to fetch me while I bombed the tyre. We were back on, but this time joined by the next group of solo riders going hell for leather to get to halfway. But they weren’t working well together, letting one poor soul do most of the work on the long tar stretch into CP2.

No disrespect to the hospitality at CP2 (we all know that Dryland events are managed and catered exceptionally well) but after my 2016 experience of gastro-intestinal issues I packed my own food that I knew I could digest. Brad and I pushed out quickly. He didn’t eat, so I shared my food with him. I thought we were going well but a pair of lights were looming large behind us. Dane and Craig shot passed us with intent (read Dane’s blog and you’ll know why), leading the team race. Demoralising that was. But we soon caught them again – they were paying for the effort.

The section between the next two water points is a blur. This happens in the wee hours of the night. You lose sense of time, speed and distance. It can also be a magical time. In fact, contending with this is a key to Ultra racing – you have to embrace the dissociation from time and distance. I have a vague recollection of another solo rider joining us, and soon pulling away from us. I dunno. Didn’t care.

We pulled into the waterpoint before Rooiberg and Brad mentioned that he was starting to take strain now. Again, we pushed off quickly. In the back of my mind I was wondering how long Brad and I would ride together. The companionship with a fellow training rider was awesome, but this was a race after all. I contemplated attacking on Rooiberg. Stupid thought, actually knowing how brutal the climb is. A minute later Brad said he’d forgotten both his water bottles at the water point! He wasn’t going to go back, and asked me for some water. I knew then that he would not finish due to dehydration. He did not know what was coming up at Rooiberg and in Stage 4. I gave him as much water as I could afford, and proceeded with the attack on Rooiberg. I was feeling surprisingly good and was pleased to show the hill who’s boss after last year’s torture. Brad managed to catch me again at the bottom, asked for some more water, but was clearly not in a good place. He started tapping off and I pushed on to CP3.

As I rolled into CP3 the horizon was beginning to change as dawn emerged. Man, it was spectacular. What was even more spectacular was arriving there just as Jeannie pulled in. The bet was on – I was gonna get my beers dammit! I rushed through my CP procedure and left with another solo rider ahead of Jeannie (a beanbag had sucked her in and she was looking comfortable there). Word from spectators was that I was lying 13th. Really not bad I thought! Now to consolidate and not lose position. I met Tat Brimmer and we rode together for a good few kms in Stage 4. From experience, I knew that Stage 4 was the worst experience of 36one, for two reasons: it is so pretty that it’s beauty slaps you across the face in your woeful state, making you hate the sheer beauty, and secondly because now you can see the hills and they play games with you. They just never seem to end. You think you’ve crested the hill to be greeted with another, and another, and another. It breaks you mentally. Tat was a master at small-talk to distract us, but my proverbial wheels were starting to come off and he pushed on ahead. Dammit. Now I was alone on Stage 4. I can handle the dark and spooks alone, but not effing Stage 4 man.

Eventually the last water point arrived and I knew that the climbs were done. But man, what was a smooth road to the Oudsthoorn last year was rough this year. The aches in my knees felt every jolt. I then spotted Tat upfront, but he was holding the gap. I was grasping to hold on to the hope that the spectators were wrong and that a Top 10 finish was perhaps on the cards. We hit the tar and Tat was just too far away. I had depleted both my physical and mental reserves. I was done. So I turned into Kleinplaas to hear the Sing-A-Long MC announce that I had rounded off the Top 10.

I. Could. Not. Believe. It. Relief, surprise, fatigue, and gratitude to God and my family moved through my body in waves.

Some things I’ve learned about 36one and ultra racing like this. It is certainly more mental than physical. But you’ve got to get the physical to a point where you can maximize the mental. Your training must be structured and consistent (hat tip to Dion and his coaching at Pain.Cave). You must then control what you can when so much (about 361 kms actually) is out of your control. Nutrition is a strategy. Hydration is a strategy. Supplements are a strategy. Stops are a strategy. Equipment is a strategy (especially lights). But above all, keep pedaling and keep moving forward.

On 1st December 2014 we had dinner as an extended family at the Silver Wolf Spur (Carnival Mall) for my sister’s birthday. The place was busy and they removed some table partitions from an extended table to make room for us, and placed them in the general walkway behind our table. At one point Oliver (our then 1 year old) was playing a game of peek-a-boo with us from behind the table. Unbeknownst to us he was standing on table partitions that had been stacked there in the walkway. Sam noticed this and told him to get down. He did so. As she was shuffling out of the cubicle to get him, Oliver and a waitress collided in the walkway … and he fell back against the table partitions, which then collapsed on him.

The noise was tremendous and his scream was even more so. We tried to calm him down and put ice on the bruised ankle and knee. Two waiters quickly removed the offending partition, leaving two behind in the general walkway. It took two of them to carry the partition, that’s how heavy these things are. The manager came over, concerned. A little while later, an area manager arrived, also concerned. Oliver eventually stopped crying and we opted to see how he was in the morning before taking him to hospital.

The next morning was spent in casualty, having x-rays and a cast put on his leg. Oliver had a fractured tibia and soft tissue damage on the ankle as a result of the accident. Naturally, he was distraught and in a lot of pain. When the nurses asked what happened, the words “We were at the Spur and …” had hardly come out of my mouth before they clicked their tongues saying, “Hau! Don’t speak to us about the Spur … we see too many kids with broken bones from the Spur!” “Oh”, I said, attempting to tell them that this was not because he jumped off some towering bridge in the play area, but was a result of a stupidly stacked piece of furniture that fell on him.

The owner of the Silver Wolf Spur, Renier Steyn, was now calling me to find out how Oliver was. I responded by saying that I considered this a case of negligence by his staff. He immediately told me he cannot accept liability, but that his insurers have my details and would be expecting a claim from me.

So we’ve submitted our claim to Mr Steyn. In the claim we detailed all the direct costs associated with having Oliver’s leg treated, our expectation that the incident be debriefed with staff, that their policy of storing table partitions be revised to prevent future incidents like this and for additional remuneration to compensate for the inconvenience (having a toddler in a full leg cast, all the trauma and crying, the hassle of bathing him, etc) and lost consulting time (both Sam and I work for ourselves) due to caring for him.

This is when the insurers, Camargue, effectively took over. I was not allowed to speak to Mr Steyn, only them. This began to irritate me, considering it was Mr Steyn, the owner, who we wanted to take responsibility for the incident, not the insurers.

In one mail from them I saw the management report Mr Steyn submitted (remember that we had not been asked for our version of events). Mr Steyn’s report effectively turned the incident inside out making ridiculous claims like Oliver was being a nuisance to other patrons, that the waiters had repeatedly asked him to go play outside and that the accident was a result of Oliver falling off the partitions due to his mother pulling him up and down the wall behind our table. None of this happened. It was blatant lying and an effort to cover his, and his staff’s backside. I called Mr Steyn immediately. He was reassuring and said he was just going on what his staff told him, and that he too was concerned about the weight of the partitions, stating that they could break anyones leg, whether young or old. I suggested he speak to his staff because someone was lying to him. He then suggested I dispute the report in writing to the insurers. I did so, outlining the facts of what actually happened. They needed to hear our side of the story in the face of such blatant distortions by Mr Steyn and/or his staff at Silver Wolf Spur.

I’ve since received a letter from Camargue, rejecting the claim regarding “your child allegedly falling off the divider due to it being stacked incorrectly”. In the end there’s “a lack of evidence to suggest that our insured acted negligently … liability is denied.” Um, no, you seem to have got this wrong dear Insurers. He did not fall off them … THEY FELL ON HIM!

Mr Steyn, who owns a host of other restaurants on the East Rand such as Spur Lakeside Mall, Mugg & Bean Lakeside Mall and Carnival Mall, Cappuccino’s, Panarotti’s and John Dory’s, is now hiding behind his insurers. His insurer’s decision seems to suit him just fine.

Our issues with this saga are two-fold:

Firstly, Mr Steyn and Spur are refusing to accept that they are the reason why our son had his leg broken. The partitions are a) ridiculously heavy and b) were stacked negligently. Being a family ‘child friendly’ restaurant, children are walking/running in the aisles at Spur all the time. If those partitions were not there, the collision between the waitress and Oliver would not have ended up in a broken leg.

Secondly, Mr Steyn and Spur have fabricated their way out of responsibility, twisting the story to such an extent that they place full blame on Sam and Oliver. As husband to Sam and father to Oliver, this makes my blood boil.

So, this is how Mr Steyn and Spur opt to treat their customers. Instead of manning up and apologising for what was clearly negligence on behalf of his staff, Mr Steyn and the staff at Spur have done their best to weed their way out of taking responsibility. This is the way he manages his franchises and this is the way he manages his staff. He’s happy to have our patronage, but not willing to accept the responsibility of looking after us as customers. You could have dealt with this differently Mr Steyn, but chose not to for some reason.

This is why we will never set foot again in a restaurant run by Mr Steyn and Renhold Foods Holdings.

The insurers have pretty much closed the claim and indicated that their lawyers will defend the matter in litigation. So we’re sending a lawyer’s letter to Mr Steyn as a last attempt to get him to take responsibility for their negligence. The monetary side of the claim doesn’t really matter to Sam and I (it’s not a substantial amount anyway), but the principle does – that our son was harmed in his restaurant and he has distorted the story to avoid a claim being paid out.

Not on.

Spur – a bitter taste for life.

UPDATE – 3rd February 2015

Shortly after publishing this post I got a call from Amanda van Wyk, the Spur Franchise Executive for Gauteng. She apologised profusely for how this issue had been handled and promised to make it right. The next day, before even having to send out the lawyer’s letter, I received confirmation from Spur that the partitions had been stacked incorrectly, that the insurance claim would be paid out and we also received a personal letter of apology from Renier Steyn. We’ve spent the last week haggling with the insurers who wanted to negotiate on the settlement – they seemed particularly peeved at having to pay out – but I’ve just signed the form that will process payment.

Sam and I are glad that Spur, the insurer and Mr Steyn have come to the party and taken responsibility. We can now put this behind us. It did not need to escalate to this point.

It’s not you. It’s me.

We haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s time for me to come clean about where I’ve been while you’ve been here alone. The truth is that I’ve met a new medium and have been spending time (a lot actually) with her. I can see by the look on your face that this is no surprise to you. My absence has been telling no doubt. You’re entirely justified in feeling neglected. I can understand it. Month after month without a word for you to publish. No new blog titles to add to your list. For this I apologise.

You see, I’ve felt the need to redirect my writing towards more traditional endeavours. It’s not you, it’s me.

There has been a quiet voice nagging me from afar and I’ve had to heed the call. Having a blog like you is great. You’re faithful. You’re my first love. Always there. And I thank you for that. But I’ve wondered if I can legitimately call myself a writer if I don’t have a book with my name on it. There, I said it. A book. Well, not just a book to be truthful, but two books.

Wait, wait … I know this hurts. But before you get too hysterical, let me assure you that this is not a break-up letter. It’s not you, it’s me. You will remain hosted and updated whenever there are module upgrades. People will find you first when they google my name. I’m just asking you to consider a new way of being my creative outlet. It’s an invitation to continue being a part of the family, just a broader one. Can you bring yourself to live alongside print books? It’s a kind of multi-medium polygamy. That is my question for you. If you do not take this revelation as a betrayal, can you see yourself sharing my attentions?

Let that question hang for a little because, without being to presumptuous,  I want to introduce you to these books.

Here’s de:humanise. I’ve been working on her for the last 3 years. Yes, yes, I know … this dual-writing has been going on for that long. Don’t let the title lead you down a path of victimhood here, but keep your emotions in check while I tell you about her. She’s a satirical management handbook that ridicules the state of humanity in our workplaces and aims to provoke debate amongst employees and managers about how we see people in the face of productivity pressure. I had so much fun writing her, but nowhere near the amount of fun you and I have shared over the years, let me assure you.

And then, here’s The Broken Boss. While you and I have always enjoyed frolicking in non-fiction, The Broken Boss is a venture into the realm of fiction. This may add salt to your wounds I know, but I found it is one thing to write about concepts and ideas and it is yet another to write a story. A story has its own life and needs to be honoured as it unfolds. I hope to take you into the imagination-engulfing world of short fiction one day my dear blog. Yes, what joy it will bring us.

So, my question stands, my dear first love. How about it? Can we co-habitate, can we share space, can we deepen our love affair with words in a multi-medium household?

Let me leave you now. You have much to think about. I exit now with high hopes of your positive answer my dear.

Easy right?

Besides the sheer magnitude of the event, notoriously known as SA toughest race, the other thing that makes it special is that it was broadcast exclusively over Twitter this year.

Deprived of the TV coverage associated with some of the bigger and MUCH shorter stage races, watching the RASA through the lens of community was awesome. I love twitter for that.

My favourite rider is Alexander Harris. He won in 2010 and set a new course record in 2011. This year he finished second, 5 hours behind the Dusi Duke, endurance expert Martin Dreyer, in 10 days.

10 days to cover 2300km! Wow!

This morning Harris took to twitter as he chronicled the highs and lows of his mammoth ride. I simply cannot believe he endured it all. His story is great. It reads like a veritable short form of The Lord of the Rings. Really, it does.

Here are his tweets in order:

@alexanderharris: Day 1. Rode to Ntsikeni (207kms). Near Boshelweni, broke a saddle bolt. Seeds sewn for trouble later and a sore rump! Got in at 10pm.

@alexanderharris: Also shredded my ear on Wag n bietjie bos in the Umkomaas. But altogether a good first day!

@alexanderharris: Day 2. Broke a 2nd bolt leaving Nsikeni (thought it was bad luck). Stopped at Glen Edward to fix. Martin sneaks past. Push on to Tinana.

@alexanderharris: Day 3. Loose 30mins in giant martian donga outside Tinana. Unbeknownst to me, my saddle clamp continues to grind its ratchets..trouble later

@alexanderharris: Cross Lehanas and surprisingly, get first Uruk Hai assault. Take power nap in storm water drain. Perfect fit…as long as it doesnt rain!

@alexanderharris: Roll into Rhodes about 2 hrs behind Martin. Push on to Chesney wold as the rain arrives and the roads turn into Mississippi mud fudge!

@alexanderharris: So far 3 days down and still on track for the original plan. a sub 11 day. But this all changes today as the mud takes over.

@alexanderharris: Day 4. Limp over Kappokraal, slaapkrantz and Bonthoek portages with crazy mud! Brosterlea no longer an option. Stop at Vaalbank soaked!

@alexanderharris: Day 5. Break a third bolt 30 mins out of Vaalbank. Then a 4th crossing the vlei. Walk 10kms across vlei contemplating the problem…

@alexanderharris: Finally understand the nature of problem. The rachets on my seat clap have worn out, thus unable to lock off bolt, thus torque shears bolt

@alexanderharris: limp on with cable ties and rope attaching saddle. these wear so eventually use bloudraad. Make it to Brosterlea in 8hrs!!!

@alexanderharris: Push on to Romansfontein and a waiting seat post. Break a 5th and final bolt but eventually get in. loose about 8hrs to Martin. bleak day!

@alexanderharris: Day 6. Invigorated that i have finally solved the problem. Go like mad with good weather and trail and make it to Grootdam, 255kms later

@alexanderharris: Day 7. Pull back 3 hrs on Martin. Conditions still superb. Another big day to Bucklands. 200+. Realise i have a chance of doing a sub 11

@alexanderharris: Day 8. Drop into Mordor in the day. feeling bold and try a sneak. 2 electric fence shocks later and 30 bee stings to the head and face..pow!

@alexanderharris: Roll into Cambria with face swollen and head pounding. sulk for about 45mins as i recover. now about 3hrs behind. Push on but lethargic…

@alexanderharris: Come down a hill in Baviaans in the fading light and split a heard of Buffalo in two! feeling lucky…push on slowly to Dam se Drif.

@alexanderharris: Day 9. Another big day Jonny. Push all the way to Prince Albert, 258kms. Experince a charge down by two Brown Hyena entranced by my light!

@alexanderharris: Day 10. After 2 hrs sleep at PA, move up Swartberg pass and into Gamkaskloof. Out the back and into Rouxpos for lunch. 4 hrs behind

@alexanderharris: Roll into Anysberg around 9pm. Sleep deprivation is now drastic. Multiple power naps follow as i push on to Montagu. Hallucinating …

@alexanderharris: Keep hearing the faintist music on the wind and in the air. Looking back all the time at my *partner*. The Uruk Hai come now, with no mercy!

@alexanderharris: Fall asleep on my bike coming down the steep Ouberg pass. The Lord protects me and the bike goes right into the cliff and not left off it!

@alexanderharris: Fall asleep on my bike coming down the steep Ouberg pass. The Lord protects me and the bike goes right into the cliff and not left off it!

@alexanderharris: Wake in a mangled pile in the rocky gutter. Bruised, angry but alive and thankful to Jesus! Grace as always! Stumble and dither into montagu

@alexanderharris: Day 11. Sub 11 is still on but need to push. martin about 3.5hrs up the road. Shapes in the darkness shift and plants become people

@alexanderharris: Crossing Ashton a dog bites me on the calf but too tired to care. something comes out but not a shout. Making good time though…

@alexanderharris: Miss the obvious sneak into Magregor and give up the 30 mins i had just made up, and possibly the last chance of catching Martin. Angry!

@alexanderharris: Arrive at Kasra some time around 12. See the gap to Martin is still around 3.5. Now its down to Stettyns. light for Martin, dark for me…

@alexanderharris: Trouthaven at 8.30pm. No chance to catch Martin now, so pushing everything to the sub 11. Have 3 extra hours in the bag i figure…

@alexanderharris: At the dam wall by 9.45pm, and soon thereafter in the infamous Stettyns kloof. the only FC test i havnt taken Steyttyns in the dark!

@alexanderharris: Hugely underestimate the complexity of a dark Stettyns. Takes another hour to the first river crossing. tear, rip, shred and stumble along..

@alexanderharris: Shins smacked to pieces but body has been comitted along time ago. Stettyns is like a puzzle, the mines of moria in the dark!

@alexanderharris: Constantly loosing the ‘track’ and praying to the Lord for signs. A rock pile here, torn tape there, even a scant path, one clue to another

@alexanderharris: Finally i make the climb out point and celebrate. my self-talk has taken on a whole new dimension. its us, all the time now, me and whoever

@alexanderharris: But ive killed all my spare time. Its 3am and the wind is pounding. A new cold front has smacked the cape and think mist covers DuToits koof

@alexanderharris: my sub 11 cut off is 6am. Ive 3 hrs left. I struggle in the dark to find the Elandspad trail. At last, im pushing along it as its too rocky

@alexanderharris: 1.5hrs later im on the N1 near the tunnel. I start the 7km climb up toward the pass. Wind is gusting. when its in the face, it stops me dead

@alexanderharris: Out of the saddle and my legs are screaming. Tendons long ripped out of the back of my patella, quads have gotten to know a meat tenderiser!

@alexanderharris: I have to give myself at least 30mins for the drop to the finish. Its complex forrest trails and links. So i grind, cursing at the wind

@alexanderharris: Finally im at the summit and its 5.30. Thick mist make it impossible to see more than 2ms. I mess aorund for 5 mins searching for the sneak

@alexanderharris: I celebrate as i find it and say a quick prayer that the Lord guides me. I know i have one shot at this, one only. One mistake and its over

@alexanderharris: I drop down the first forest road. Highly attuned at the drift and feel of the forest, listening to the Holy spirit. Right at the 1st fork..

@alexanderharris: 20mins…left at the 2nd, then its a right, and a right again. Out of the mist now. 15 mins. Straight, straight, then another right…

@alexanderharris: 10 mins. Surprised, as always, that this section is so long. Endless turns and twists, but the Lords guidence is true. I know im right…

@alexanderharris: Im now in the back of Diemersfontein and in the big blade. Good thing i put a 44 on and not the 42! who would have thought i would need it..

@alexanderharris: 5mins and i must be pacing at 50kms/hr along the paved road around the dam. I can see the lights. Legs are screaming in an alien language

@alexanderharris: vague glance at my watch and i know its going to be close…minutes in it. Two more bends. Slight uphhill, out of the saddle again…

@alexanderharris: im not going to give it up now, not now. i know its just a number. but hell, ive worked hard for that number! I turn the final bend…

@alexanderharris: Body and mind are in a strange new place. A magical place where long journeys instantly end and begin. Memories rush and flood the mind…

@alexanderharris: I cross the line and stop. I look at my watch. 10 days 23 hrs and 57 mins!

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I remember when my car was broken into some years back. The thieves stole my car radio. I had a very strong sense that my ‘space’ had been invaded and that it had in some way been defiled. Sitting in my car just did’t feel the same for a long time thereafter.

Although I was still in possession of my car and the interior was not greatly altered, there was a definitive sense that the space had been altered. There was also the sense that something more than the radio had been taken from me. That sense subsided after a while, but the memory lingers.

The knowledge of some tragedy also alters your perception of a physical space. For example, a murder happens in your neighbourhood. The way you see that house when you drive past it seems forever altered. It was once an arbitrary building, an abode, but is now suddenly less than what it was. It too is defiled. It has become something profane in a deep way. What it once was has now been altered despite the fact that the structure itself remains largely the same. The meaning we attach to that structure has thus been modified.

Sam and I once went to see a house that was for sale. It had been standing empty for a long time. It was a lovely house but I could not figure out why it had not sold. I asked the estate agent. She reluctantly admitted that the original owner had been shot by assailants in his doorway. We were standing in the very same doorway at the time of this conversation.

We didn’t buy the house.

A similar thing happens with tragedy. Someone dies in a car accident and we place a crucifix alongside the road. That spot is forever marked. We commemorate that physical space and the tragedy seems to persist over time. Even though the tragedy occupied a very finite amount of time, be it a few minutes or hours, there is something about the tragedy that then ‘lives on’ in time. Skid marks on a road are peculiar in this way. It took only a few seconds for them to appear, but looking at them brings on a ‘slow motion’ of events as you reconstruct what may have happened at the incident. The skid marks are a ‘living’ reminder of either what happened or of what could have happened.

This phenomenon is most certainly psychological in its nature, but whether it is limited to just the mind, perception and memory I am not sure. Our memory of such events surely alters our perception of a physical space and the meaning we attack to them, but there is a deeper sense in which actual space and time have been affected by a crime or tragedy.

The counter to this argument is that the absence of knowledge of a tragedy doesn’t result in the same persistence of the tragedy at that space. You would not know that something terrible happened at a spot if it were not for some commemoration or knowledge.

But, given that knowledge, that physical space seems to alter in time.

And so, feeling like my space had been invaded was more than a feeling. It was a reality, that happened at a point in time, but the sense seemed to persist as if the fabric of space and time reverberated with that action, like a pond ripples for a period of time way beyond which the stone impacted it.

If this effect on the fabric of space and time does indeed occur, what makes crime and tragedy so special? Would not any action influence our cosmos in the same way? If so,every action creates a ripple in space and time.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I was so excited to become a dad. At times I couldn’t explain the anticipation except to say that it felt like I was about to fulfill a purpose. Sam and I had heard how difficult it was being a parent, but in the exuberance of our excitement we felt immune to such realities.

Daniel was then born.

I remember that first night in the hospital. There was a crash of reality as we put him down in his cot. This is real. This is permanent. This is a feeling I didn’t anticipate.One piece of advice we had been given was that parenting a newborn became easier, for some reason, as they hit the 12 week old mark. And so we were eagerly awaiting that time. Sure enough, Daniel seemed to get used to being alive and was easier to handle at 12 weeks. We breathed a sigh of relief. My sigh was short-lived though. While Daniel had definitely settled down I didn’t find it any easier to be a parent, husband, friend or business owner.

I was tired, so damn tired. All the time.

I put it down to our disrupted sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep or be as far away from society as possible. My ability to cope with work pressures was severely diminished. I became a little bit of a recluse.  Social gatherings were even more draining despite my intense love of my friends and family. Responding to emails was just … too … much … effort! All the while this was counter-balanced with an intense pride and satisfaction at being a dad. I felt unexplainable love for my boy, but shit man, life was tough!

It was then that I began to wonder about depression.

Depression had been an acquaintance of mine before, a few years back, when my life had gone through a mini-turmoil. Having studied Psychology I felt a little more open to admitting that I was depressed than the usual manly man would. It was that, or the plain impossibility of getting out of bed in the mornings that convinced me to visit my doc and get some pills.

This time was different though. So I did what any self-respecting young person would do when faced with an uncertainty – I googled. Lo and behold I got search results for Paternal Post-Natal Depression. Huh? I knew that new moms got PND, but fathers? How?

The light of realization began to dawn on me. My symptoms were different to my first bout of depression, but it was certainly depression. I visited my doc and she confirmed the PPND diagnosis and prescribed an anti-depressant.

Knowing that they often take a few weeks to kick in, I could not wait for the weight of life to be lifted. I remember the moment clearly. Sam and I were driving home after church one Sunday when we received an invitation to meet some friends for breakfast. That’s a great idea, I thought. I also thought how strange it was that I was looking forward to it. I then knew – the depression was lifting.

Depression is a strange thing, let a lone a depression that is linked to being a dad. I’m convinced that the main reason men, and fathers more especially, don’t recognize or admit they are depressed is because the onset of depression is often slow and progressive. You don’t feel abnormally sad, but what does happen is akin to that analogy of a frog in the boiling water. Throw a frog into hot water and it will jump out. Put it into cold water though and turn up the temperature and it will boil to death.

The same is true with depression. What makes it more complicated with Paternal PND is the guilt associated with a dad at the same time. Society tells you that you should be over the moon at being a dad, when in fact life feels like it is caving in. My encouragement to you would be to push through those emotions and go and get yourself check-out if you think you may be suffering from PNPD. Your symptoms may be different, but if what you’re experiencing is out of character and persistent, visit your doc. Really. Do it. Your spouse or loved one will be relieved.

On that note, I need to say something about co-parenting when you’re suffering from depression. Sam was amazing. Although I didn’t have the words to describe what I was going through at the time (she was also suffering from the severe adjustment to her body and sleep depravation), she supported me in the journey to recovery. My experience is a reminder to keep talking to your partner about where you are at. Don’t assume that you’re both experiencing the same thing.

Sam and I are now expecting our next little depression-inducing, sleep-disrupting bundle of joy. Yep, we’ve done it again, although much more aware now of how parenting affects you. You see, the joys outweigh the downs of being a dad who is prone to depression. Not for one second would I change my status as a doting, loving and proud father. My boy brings out the best (and worst at times) in me. I’m just glad that I didn’t let a neurological glitch get in the way of fulfilling my purpose.

Don’t let it get in the way of yours.

Those first few weeks after successfully signing onto the famed network are saturated with anxiety inducing spates of patience as you wait for long lost friends, awkward school mates, current colleagues and family members to accept your friend requests.

There’s a certain fulfillment in having your friend count expand. The slutting has begun.

Some time then passes. Be it a week or a few months, but it’s not likely to be more than a year or so, before the novelty wears off with an audible thud. The lure of having as many friends begins to wear off. The slutting has begun to get old.

Dealing with slight pangs of guilt as you unfriend people who weren’t actually friends to begin with is the next social networking hurdle. Fortunately, the pangs subside when you notice how clean and simple your timeline is now that you’ve adopted this selective friendliness. The slutting is over.

This is the issue tackled in the new eBook, Do Ideas, from the most excellent guys at 21 Tanks. I felt honoured when they asked me to contribute to it and share my own ‘secret’ to execution.

You really should download this book. There is outstanding advice from some of the most progressive entrepreneurs and business leaders in South Africa.

Download the free eBook here.

In reading one of the last interviews with C.S. Lewis I began to realise how important the ‘urge’ to write is, not only in social media circles, but for the sake of writing at all. Lewis was asked to give advice to young writers on how to prepare themselves:

But to speak of the craft itself, I would not know how to advise a man how to write. It is a matter
of talent and interest. I believe he must be strongly moved if he is to become a writer. Writing is like a ‘lust,’ or like ‘scratching when you itch.’ Writing comes as a result of a very strong impulse, and when it does come, I for one must get it out.”

Strongly moved.

Writing is like a ‘lust’.

It is like ‘scratching when you itch’.

It begins with a strong impulse, and ‘one must get it out’.

I’m certainly not a prolific writer or blogger, but the way Lewis describes the urge to write and the need to ‘get it out’ captures the way in which writing is cathartic for me. There are times when I am gripped by a concept, a thought, a current affair, whatever it may be at the time … and I just simply have to get my fingers moving on a keyboard.

But …

For me, and I think Lewis would agree (wow, that’s a hefty assertion, that Lewis would agree with me – ha), writing is an urge to produce content but it is also paired with an inherent desire that the content will be engaged with by an audience. The engagement can vary for sure. From simply just reading a piece to commenting on and distributing it. Either way, we writers want our audience to engage. Again, without this desire, writing would actually be journalling.

Sadly, Lewis’ life did not extend into an era (he died in 1963) in which both the urge to write and the desire for audience participation came together through technological advancement. It is a real privilege to write and publish nowadays.

Until the urge strikes again …