Another sportsperson I was mesmerised by was Bruce Fordyce. Every year as a child it was a ritual to watch the Comrades Marathon on TV, and every year, without fail, it seemed to be dominated by a slight, small-framed but giant legend of a man. Fordyce won the race a record nine times, eight of them consecutively from 1981 to 1988, before adding a ninth victory in 1990—a feat no other runner in the race's history has matched. The Comrades itself is a brutal test of human endurance: roughly 90 kilometres between Durban and Pietermaritzburg, alternating each year between the punishing "up run" and the fast, unforgiving "down run," a course that has broken far stronger-looking men than the wiry Fordyce. What made watching him so captivating was the contrast between his unassuming build and the sheer dominance he exerted, often pulling away from the field in the second half of the race while his rivals fell away behind him. Another vivid memory was the cut-off, when an official would stand with his back to the finish line and fire a gun to mark the brutal end of the race for anyone who hadn't made it in time. Sometimes heart-wrenching, with exhausted runners crawling on hands and knees just to beat the gun, it was totally captivating viewing.
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