’ ve run the Comrades Marathon 11 times, and I’ ve bailed it, too. I’ ve seconded club mates. I’ ve commentated for and anchored the television broadcast seven times, and I’ ve been one of the race announcers 21 times. I’ ve also written magazine and newspaper reports about the grand old race, done live radio reports, spoken at clubs across the country about race preparation and visualising this magnificent running battle, coached a multiple gold medallist, and just in general loved the Comrades with all my heart. Now please understand that none of that was written to impress you. It’ s just so that you can understand the influence of this momentous event in a young kid’ s life... and how it affected the equilibrium of it and the choices in it.

I started running as an 11-year-old. In fact, I’ d go so far as to say that running found me and I found it. There was something about being out on the road, where no-one told me what to do, where to go, or how fast( or slow) to do it. No teachers, school bullies, parents or rules. Just me and the road. The road and me. And the stopwatch. It was heaven! And it was just a natural progression that I would end up running the Comrades Marathon, and these are a just a few flashbacks – no, make that snapshots – from my extraordinary Comrades life.

Running alongside RAC clubmate Mark Page

Snapshot …

Finishing my first one in 1979 – illegally – at the age of 17, and feeling like I had hardly run a step.

Snapshot …

Being called into the SABC sports office of one Trevor Quirk( remember him?) and being told that the team chose me to commentate on the women’ s race. Try sitting backwards on a motorbike for five hours and then walking like a cowboy for three days?

Snapshot …

My training partner and clubmate, golden locks bouncing in the self-generated wind, flying down Little Polly’ s and me, from the back of the bike screaming:“ Come on Bruce, he’ s just around the next corner. Go, go, go!” Fordyce went on to win yet another.

Snapshot …

Snapshot …

1978 and watching grainy TV pictures of that familiar shuffling gait of Alan Robb. Blue hooped white vested and Liverpool-red-socked, flying to the first sub-5:30 clocking. Immensely humble and fiercely competitive, little would I know then that I would spend many a pleasurable mile running next to this superb human being.

Snapshot …

A 17-year-old Arnie finishes his first Comrades

Being shown a Comrades medal. Small, yet so large. And knowing that I wanted one. No, I wanted 10 of them.

Hand-sowing extra pockets into the very self-same Bruce Noel Stevenson Fordyce’ s shorts the night before a Comrades, in a hotel room in Durban.

Snapshot …

Being too emotional to commentate as we watched in astonishment the sprightly Wally Hayward crossing the line and beating more than half the field in 9:34 at the age of 79. The great man was a machine.

Snapshot …

Making a running return to the race and treating it without the necessary respect in 1994, and blowing spectacularly in 7:19. I had to gather myself and with legs that could barely stand, did the announcing at the finish until the last runner crossed at 10:59:59.99. I was broken for two weeks!

Images: Shawn Benjamin & Courtesy Arnie Geerdts

Arnie in race commentator mode, interviewing women’ s winner 72 Gerda Steyn at the finish in 2024