David Loyn’s Frontline and Allan Peiper’s A Peiper’s Tale are two such books. I pick up both of these titles fairly often, always feeling inspired and invigorated from even the briefest of perusals. Both are quasi-biographical in a sense, where the author's motivations to write seem to be more a case of just having a story to tell. Both are gritty and hold back at nothing, yet neither indulge in the “sensationalism-for-profit” mantra so prevalent these days.
Bob de la Motte’s Runaway Comrade is destined to become a classic and, I suspect, an automatic addition to my own exclusive literary selection. With the central theme being his titanic mid-eighties Comrades Marathon tussles with Bruce Fordyce, de la Motte’s memoir is so much more than just another book on long-distance running. Instead, it is a veritable archive of fascinating information across a broad spectrum of subjects including politics, business, South African history, sport and just life in general. These topics and more are all discussed candidly and insightfully from his own unique perspective.
If viewed strictly in a running sense, one thing that de la Motte’s work highlights is the sublime standard of athletics in South Africa at the time. One only has to look at the running times of the top-thirty positions in the big road races of the Eighties to understand this. That said, the whole mindset of the South African runner in general, whether average or elite, was markedly different to that of today, and is highlighted as such in Arnold Geerdts’ concise - yet comprehensive - foreword.
There is a tendency to hark back to the “good old days” of South African athletics, comparing the extraordinary performances of the athletes of the Seventies and Eighties to the exponents of the present day. And rightly so; a Mark Plaatjes or a Matthews Temane in their prime would no doubt run rings around many of today’s local crop. So would a Frith van der Merwe and a Monica Drogemoller, as well as the greater South African road running community in fact, but only if based purely on relative times and performances. Why is this? There are many theories and answers to this question but it is perhaps more important to look beyond elapsed times and negative splits. Perhaps it is more telling to acknowledge that “back then” was a totally different era, where life was slower, distractions were less and instant connectivity was nary a thought.
If we think that athletes were tougher back in the day, we should no doubt multiply that notion tenfold for the legions of black runners of the era, many of whom are mentioned in depth in the pages of de la Motte’s masterpiece. And in addition to “being” tough, they really just “had it” tough so to speak. Many of these individuals were employed by the mining industry, where inter-mine athletics rivalry was perhaps one of the least acknowledged hotbeds for local athletic talent. And a spartan one at that, where athletes were required to race bi-weekly year-round in return for a clerical job, meagre wages and company minibus transport. I can vividly remember reading a magazine interview with the legendary coach Bobby McGee, where he explained just how hard life was for black South African athletes. He went on to intimate that “these guys are literally running for their lives and the mines think they are doing them a favour.” McGee is so right, the endearing message of which is recurring in Runaway Comrade.
People are what makes sport and de la Motte does a great job at highlighting the plethora of personalities that are his contemporaries. The detailed critiques of his competitors for his foray into television commentary make fascinating reading, reinforcing the fact that the vast majority of elite athletes then held down full time jobs and were multi-talented. Refreshing also is his viewing himself exclusively as a “hobby-runner,” where the slightest notion of being a professional athlete is nary an option due to his desire for optimal life balance. Morning jogging and brisk club runs form the basis of his preparation, free from the trappings gadgetry and over-analysis. The simple joy of running is emphasised where the activity and process seem far dearer to his heart than the actual outcome.
Runaway Comrade is as encyclopedic and inspirational as it is biographical. As with the titles mentioned in the opening paragraphs of this piece, Bob de la Motte’s writing is devoid of ego and rich in heart. Refreshing in an age where biographies are aplenty and authenticity is diluted.
