The ANC top 7 in Johannesburg, 17 December 2022, on the third day of ANC 55th National Conference. Picture: Nigel Sibanda
I read the story on the ANC’s expected visit by the sheriff after a high court order with great interest.
Of course, I have sympathy with the promotional company who has been battling for four years to get R102 million out of the ruling party for election posters and banners.
But my heart is also bleeding for the ANC. There are elections next year and the ruling party is under pressure. Clever, informed people, as well as journalists, expect the ANC’s support to dwindle to sub50% levels, which means that it won’t be able to rule on its own.
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The EFF and smaller parties are all licking their chops, because we will most likely see a coalition of sorts. It’s going to be a fascinating race.
But not as interesting as the race I’ll be involved in this weekend. My son has entered me to participate in the regional cross-country league – probably as punishment for pushing him to perform in his childhood sports career.
His excuse is that he can still remember me as a particularly fast runner in my 30s. But my 30s are well behind me and I’m not much of a runner anymore.
The past three weeks have been painful. I’ve trained hard, ached more than is healthy, cried a lot and ran in my first meeting two weeks ago. I started briskly, challenging the leading bunch for the first kilometre. I jogged the second kilometre considerably slower, settled into a slow plod for two kilometres and completed the last four kilometres only thanks to the power of prayer.
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“Why didn’t you just start slower?” the lovely Snapdragon asked when I sat outside with a collection of ice-packs that afternoon.
“Because it was so glorious to run,” I replied. “I felt young for the first 500m. I was flying on a cloud.”
I’m confident my flashy start will last longer tomorrow and my last run of shame will be shorter. But I am certain I will end slowly – three weeks is far too short for miracles.
Which is why I feel for the ANC, the party who more or less had a two-thirds majority a decade ago. They’re walking, like I did in the end two weeks ago and will undoubtedly do tomorrow. But when they were flying, it was glorious.
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